#the under the table trop just HITS every time

[ipostmysimpingstuffanonymously]

I read fumbling towards ecstasy by cateye360 And it was fucking amazing Uncensored Version on the SatoSho Discord

[headheartbellarke]

HOME | Charlie Gillespie

Requested by anon:  "Hi! If request are open can you do a charlie imagine where him and the reader (she/her) met on a project a while back and have been friends for a while, but the reader kinda had a crappy home life so she gets overwhelmed by charlies family being so loving and perfect and she basically breaks down and feels like she doesn’t fit in and isn’t good enough for him? please and thank you so much, ur writing is amazing!!!"

PAIRING(s): Charlie Gillespie x fem! reader

WARNING(s): mentions of abuse, trauma, anxiety, angst, fluff

WORDS: 2,036

SUMMARY: charlie takes co-star and girlfriend y/n home for christmas but that leads to self doubt in her (im so bad at these) [note: this takes place in 2021]

    As Charlie pulls out the key from the ignition, I sigh, wringing my hands nervously. He unbuckles his seatbelt and faces me, giving me a bright, happy smile.

  “My family is so excited to meet you.” He says, reaching forward to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.

  “What if they hate me?” I whisper.

  My boyfriend, Charlie, and I first met on the set of Charmed – we were both in the first episode, but I left it after that due to scheduling conflicts with my other show, Chilling Adventures of Sabrina. I had been a part of CAOS since its first episode – I played the role of Sabrina’s cousin, Sarah Spellman.

  Back then, we were just friends. After I left Charmed, we would text and call each other occasionally. Whenever we were in the same city, we would meet up – but that was hard considering we both had quite different lives. So, we didn’t think of each other as more than friends – sure I thought that he was attractive, but that’s it.

  But, in 2020, after CAOS was cancelled, I got a call from the casting director of Julie and The Phantoms: she was the one who had previously cast me in CAOS, and she believed that I’d be perfect for the role of Julie’s British cousin who joins her school after her parents relocate to LA – I also play Reggie’s love interest.

  I texted Charlie immediately after my manager finalized all the details for the new role. He had been excited and when shooting started in 2021, we were pretty inseparable.

  After a few weeks, I had developed a major crush on him ad the rest of the cast had also picked up on that. They were also convinced that Charlie liked me (which I didn’t believe at that time but later found out that it was, indeed, true) and they used to tease us about it all the time. Finally, a couple weeks before production ended, he asked me out on a date and it’s been really, really great so far.

  We’ve been dating for about nine months now and honestly, he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. He’s my home – all my life I’ve always felt lost, but I feel like I truly belong with him.

  Now, he laughs. “Baby. I promise you – they already love you. My mother’s been bugging me to bring you home ever since we started dating, and you’ve already met Megan, and she loves you.”

  “If you say so.” I say, still not convinced.

  He grins and we get out of his car and face his childhood home. I take a deep breath, shaking off my nerves. He knocks three times on the front door, and it opens immediately after.

  A petite, blonde woman steps out, with a wide smile on her face. She opens her arms as Charlie yells, “Mamacita!”

  “Mon chéri. Ça fait trop longtemps!”

  “Je vous ai manqué!”

  I have absolutely no idea what they are saying, but the scene in front of me is so heart-warming. Charlie’s mother is genuinely happy to see her son – one can tell by the way she’s holding him, almost like he’s a little child. Charlie is quite a couple inches taller than her, but he’s nestled his face into her shoulder.

  I can’t stop a grin from breaking out on my face. It’s honestly rather lovely. But I also feel a slight pang in my heart knowing that no one ever greets me like this when I go home.

  They separate from each other and she squeezes his shoulders, looking at him with so much love that I have to look away. I have never seen a mother look at their child like that, with such intense love. That’s dumb, I know. Mothers are supposed to love their children. But all my mother ever looks at me with is disappointment, anger, disgust, and – you get it.

  She notices me next and claps her hands. “You must be Y/N!”

  “Hi, Mrs. Gillespie. It’s so nice to meet you!” I extend a hand toward her.

  “Aw, come here! You’re gorgeous.”

  She pulls me in for a hug too, and for a moment I’m engulfed by the smell of white musk and the feeling of warmth.

  We pull apart and I smile at her, genuinely. All my anxiety has washed away.

  “My son is always talking about you, about how pretty you are and –”

  “Let’s go inside!” Charlie quickly cuts her off, eyes widened as I laugh.

  “But I wanna know what he says!”

  Mrs Gillespie winks at me as Charlie turns scarlet. “I’ll tell you when he’s gone.”

***

    Another roar of laughter erupts around the dinner table.

  Honestly, I’ve never seen a family like this – a family so connected, so loving. All of Charlie’s siblings – from his three older brothers to his little sister are here for Christmas Eve, and all of them are teasing each other, telling childhood stories, and just having the best time. I was, too. That was until I suddenly realized how I don’t fit in here.

  Everyone here grew up completely different than I did. When I was young, about two years old – my dad left my mom and I for another woman. I haven’t seen him since – although, he sends me a postcard and some money on holidays and birthdays. He’s travelling around the world with his new wife and is apparently ‘happier than he’s ever been.’

  The reason he left is because kids ‘freak’ him out and he isn’t ‘ready’ for that kind of responsibility. I mean, it wasn’t like he was fifteen when he had me: he was twenty-seven, and already married to my mother for about two years then.

  Naturally, my mother blames me for her divorce. I was born out of an accidental pregnancy, so my mother made sure to remind me every day that I was unwanted, and my birth was what ‘pushed’ him to leave us. Every single day, my mother told me that I shouldn’t have been born, that I was a mistake, that I was worthless, unlovable and so, so many more horrible things. She used to drink like crazy, and if I accidentally faced her in that state, she would sometimes hit me.

  Years and years of abuse and all that childhood trauma led me to develop a fear of abandonment, trust issues, intimacy issues, anxiety, and depression. Throughout school, I had been closed off, unable to form relationships and friendships with other people. I had feared anything and everything – I couldn’t even maintain eye contact with people.

  Of course, when I auditioned for CAOS and moved away to LA, away from that toxic environment, I got help and turned my life around. (My mother was incredibly happy to see me go since she had married another guy and now has a family with him – so I was the only thing left that reminded her of my father.) I learnt to accept, prioritize, and love myself – but I’m still working on that, of course.

  But, I know, deep down, no matter how well I am, or how happy I am – there will always be a part of me that’s broken. I’ve grown to accept that, accept the fact that I’ll always carry the trauma with me.

  But Charlie doesn’t. He’s lived a good life, and he deserves someone who can give him their everything – and that’s not me.

  As much as I hate to say it, I’m not good enough for him.

  He senses a change in my demeanour and squeezes my hand under the table. I give him a weak smile.

***

    “Y/N/N, what’s wrong?”

  I look up at my boyfriend. He has a look of concern on his face as he takes a seat next to me on the couch.

  I sigh into the quiet. Everyone has fallen asleep, except Charlie and I – we are seated in his living room in front of the fireplace.

  “Nothing. I’m just really tired.”

  “That’s not true, Y/N. You were fine throughout dinner – oh my god, it’s the ice cream, isn’t it?”

  “What?”

  “The pistachio ice cream that Maman made. It was weirdly bitter, eh? It’s okay, you can tell me.”

  I purse my lips. “No, Charlie. The ice cream was great.”

  “Are you sure? You’ve been down since desert.”

  “It’s not the ice cream, babe.”

  “Okay, then, what is it?”

  He looks at me expectantly, and I can sense that he’s feeling anxious.

  “I just – I realized that I don’t fit in.”

  He furrows his brows, but before he can say anything, I start speaking again. “Charlie, you have such a loving and perfect family. And you know how I grew up. What I went through. So, you know that I’m not used to this. I’m not – I’ve never seen love like this in a family, you know. And I don’t fit in here! While your mother was being so nice to me, I kept wondering when she’s going to scream at me. Or when your father was genuinely interested in me, I kept thinking that maybe he’s trying to find a way to get rid of me. It’s just – it’s just the way I grew up, and I’ll always be like this, Char. Your family is so nice, and it shocks me, honestly. And I think that maybe it’s better if you date someone who grew up the way you did, someone who’s like you. Because I have been broken my whole life, and I don’t think that I can give you everything that you need. I don’t think I’m good enough for you. You’re the best person that I’ve ever met, and I think you should be with someone who’s worthy of you.”

  I whisper the last part, and feel a teardrop fall into the space between my collarbones. I look down because I’m too afraid of what he might say.

  I hear him breathe out heavily and I feel him take my hands in his.

  “Don’t you ever say that.”

  “But it’s true –”

  “Y/N. Don’t you dare doubt yourself. You are good enough. No, you’re perfect. You’re the strongest woman I know. I completely understand why you feel what you’re feeling right now.”

  He scoots closer to me and cups my cheeks in his hands. “And it’s okay. It’s okay to feel that way. It’s okay to feel shocked. That doesn’t make you a bad person, nor does it make you not good enough. In fact, it makes all the stronger – you went through so much as a kid, and still, you have space in your heart for me. You know, I never doubt the fact that you love me, ever. Because you always make me feel special, make me feel good about myself and always make sure that I’m happy. You always go out of your way to take care of me, and you always make me feel at home. I don’t want anyone other than you. I love you so much and I never, ever wanna lose you.”

  I think I’m fully crying now, as Charlie continues, “It’s okay to feel that way. Take your time. But I’m never leaving you. You’re my person, and you’ll always fit in with me, baby. Always.”

  “Charlie…”

  I look at him properly, and I can see the pain in his eyes as a tear traces along the curve of his cheek. He sniffs, saying, “I’m sorry. I just can’t imagine being with anyone other than you.”

  “Why are you so good to me?” I whisper, my throat still tight from the emotions.

  “Because you deserve someone good, and I can only hope that I’m good for you.”

  I wrap my arms around his neck and bury my face in his shoulder as a sob escapes my body. “I’m so sorry, baby. So, so sorry.” I keep whispering that, while he rubs my back, saying ‘it’s okay.’

  “I love you so much, Charlie. Honestly, thanks for being so good to me. You have no idea what you mean to me.”

  I can feel him smile as he says, “I think I have a pretty good idea, yeah.”

***

jatp requests are open <3

[randomingoftherandomness]

Hi Gab! Prompt: Booker's "ghost" presence is everywhere. Nick cutting the sandwich crust that Booker hates until he realizes he doesn't have to because he's not there anymore. Joe finished reading a book and looking forward to discussing the book with Booker and he is not there. Those kinds of situations ... Angst. Perhaps with a hopeful ending?

Nice! I’ve been meaning to do something spooky.

--

The knife cuts through bread with ease. Crust crunching under the blade, cutting through the soft air pockets, slicing down until it meets the porcelain plate under it. 

“Ew,” Booker wrinkles his nose, leaning forward on the palms of his hands where he is perched on the kitchen counter. His hair falls over his eyes as he laughs around his disgust. In the quiet of the kitchen, he hears a soft beeping carry over the sounds of the afternoon.

Crossing his feet at his bare ankles, he inhales deeply. “Gross, Nicky. How are you still living like this?”

Nicky grins. Hands moving the plate around and smoothly divorcing the crust from the rest of his sandwich. “You eat like a child. No, wait!” Booker kicks his legs out. “You are a child! More than I ever was.”

The grin blossoms into a full-blown chuckle. 

“Booker, I will eat my sandwich, however, the fuck I want to,” Nicky says easily. Picking it up, he bites into it, making a soft hum of satisfaction as he chews. Turning around he marches out of the kitchen without a second glance. 

Booker sighs.

--

Using the tip of his finger, he flicks at the page, only to have Joe push it back down. 

“Read faster, you old fuck.”

Upon receiving nothing but silence, he curls into himself, suddenly feeling a chill chase through his bloodstream. He tucks his fingers under the cuffs of his sweater, pulling his feet under his calves. Joe pauses in his reading to flick the rattling ancient fan onto a higher setting. 

He turns the page. Booker licks his lips, settling down to watch Joe’s eyes move over the words on paper. “Read to me,” He whispers. “Please.”

Joe clears his throat, finger shooting out to tap at the page, lips moving in thoughtful consideration.Booker hums, closing his eyes and letting Joe’s voice wash over him.  “As the French poet says, Le temps d’apprendre à vivre il est déjà trop tard, by the time we learn to live, it’s already too late. And yet there must be some small joy in finding that we are each put in a position to complete the lives of others, to close the ledger they left open and play their last card for them.”

“What could be more gratifying than to know that it will always be up to someone else to complete and round out our life? Someone whom we loved and who loves us enough. In my case, I’d like it to be you, even if we are no longer together. It’s like already knowing who will be the one who’ll shut my eyes.”

Booker swallows thickly around the knot in his throat. He looks up just in time to see the surgical lights flash in his eyes.

--

Paper spill over the edge of the table and Andy lets out an almighty roar as she buries her labrys into the glossy surface. Nile shoots a hand out to hold her steady her by her wrist. 

“No trace of him,” Nicky flicks through the few files still left untouched by the blood they’d spilt. “All I have is a... Is a number. Code 7712B20.” His lips take on a pinched quality and Booker tries not to smile.

“You’re trying. It’s all that counts,” He says. A fresh wave of lethargy sweeps over him and he grits his teeth. “Just keep trying.”

Joe makes his way back to the cowering scientist who flinches and tries to scramble back, smearing his piss all over the floor as he goes. He waylays him, grabbing him by the front of his shirt, lifting him up and throwing him onto a nearby chair that creaks under his body weight.

“Talk.”

The man whimpers. Joe shoots him in the foot. 

His screams echo around the laboratory and he starts to cry. Booker would puty the man, but there’s a whole wall of vials, tubes, samples upon samples of everything they had pulled out of him for god knows how long.

Booker pushes himself off where he leans against a noticeboard. He weaves between each and every one of them, footfalls silent. Nicky has abandoned his files and is now by Joe’s side. With a methodical ruthlessness, begins breaking the scientist’s fingers one by one. They’re up to three now. Booker thinks that fucker will start shitting his pants by six.

Good, some dulled rage in him pulse. 

Nile comes to stand next to him and Andy wrenches her weapon free from the table behind them. Booker lifts a hand, brushing the back of his fingers against her cheek. In some distant part of his mind, he thinks he feels something tugging at his consciousness and knows he doesn’t have much time left.

Voices shout in his ear. Orders and boots hitting ground ringing in his ears as if being transmitted from the other end of a very long hallway.

“Look for me,” He whispers. “Find me.”

[cupidmarwani-archive]

Scoring (Olivia/Alex/Carmen)

Summary: Alex thinks two players for the French team are hot. Lucky for her they feel the same. (World Cup Fic, Smut)

WC: 2797

Alex has worked hard to get where she is. She’s been playing soccer since she was a little girl, made a career out of it, and now made the U.S. team in the world cup. She doesn’t speak much French- only knowing how to say hello, goodbye, please, thank you, and do you speak English- but that doesn’t put a damper on where she is and the teammates she’s with. Their white jerseys mark them as a beacon of hope on the huge field. Something to focus on other than the screaming crowd and the announcements that are in French slightly more often than they aren’t.

It’s during half-time that she first takes a real look at the other time. They’ve been relegated to blobs of navy blue, but now she can see their faces. Two of the players nearest to her, Benson and Noble, are talking between sips of water, getting refreshed before they speak to their coach. They stand close to each other, touching, faces inches away. Noble takes Benson’s hair down and scrapes it into a neater ponytail with her fingers before wiping them on Benso8n’s jersey with a laugh. They seem happy.

“Venez!” The French coach yells, and the two women jog over. Alex thinks she sees their hands interlock. She doesn’t have something like that, but she wants to. “Vous dépêchez-vous! Benson! Noble! Vite!”

At the same time, the American coach demands Alex’s attention and she’s forced to turn her attention away. They’re talking about substitutions, about how to play the second half of the game and better counter the French team, but all she can think about are Benson and Noble, whose faces she’s seen on some posters and advertisements, she thinks. Benson likes to show off. She likes fancy kicks and keeping the ball under her control. But Noble, Noble is a defender. She’s not one to score, but she can kick like hell. Pied de Mine, she was called in an interview once. It means foot of lead, or something like that. Makes sense, as far as Alex is concerned.

For the entire rest of the game, as Alex crouches on her knees more often than she doesn’t and watches the action at the other end of the field, her attention is on Benson and Noble. They work well together, she notices. Pass back and forth more to each other than to the other players, get the ball moving faster and faster.

Of course, at some point, Noble gets control of the ball and the next thing Alex knows, she’s in the action. She lifts a knee to get it under control before it spins down, and gets ready to pass it to Novak at her left to avoid the swarm of navy headed right for them. Before she gets the chance, Benson is right there and Alex is kicking the ball back behind her ankles and trying to protect it until she gets a free chance to pass, weaving between the French players and keeping the ball close like a mother hen guards her egg.

Then she messes up.

Alex overestimates the room she has, and suddenly she’s in the air, and then on her back, and her head smacks against the turf. Jesus. Her chest aches a little and so do her legs, where she must’ve crashed into someone. A whistle from the ref halts the game just as Alex opens her eyes to, of course, Benson.

“Mademoiselle? Vous etes bien?”

Alex pushes herself into a sitting position. “I… English?”

Benson’s face screws up for a moment. In a heavy accent, she asks, “You are okay, miss?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think I’m fine.”

She gives a thumbs up to the referee and allows Benson to help Alex back to her feet. Her head is a little pained, but she can work through the last twenty minutes of the game just fine, thank you.

For the rest of the match, nothing eventful happens. The score remains 1-1, Alex doesn’t collide with anyone else, and there aren’t any penal shots or cards. It ends a tie, and then there are interviewers coming onto the field to wave microphones in everyone’s face. One of the midfielders for the American team is talking to someone, but Alex is still watching Benson and Noble. Noble is on Benson’s shoulders now, yelling and laughing. They look happy.

Alex takes her jersey off and heads to the sidelines for some water and a towel. She needs a shower, some dinner, and an HBO documentary to fall asleep to afterwards. First thing in the morning, she’ll head to the gym with Novak and Rollins, and then they’ll likely do a little bit of sightseeing since their next match isn’t for a few days.

“Ey!”

Benson is carrying Noble over on her shoulders, occasionally pressing small kisses to the inside of her knee. “Bon jeu, bon jeu, bon jeu,” Benson repeats to every American player they pass.

“Est-ce que votre équipe va manger ensemble ce soir?” Noble asks, only for Benson to squeeze her leg. “J’suis désolée, mon dieu, Olivia! Miss, is it that your team eats together tonight?”

“Yeah, we’re having team dinner.”

A moment later, Noble nods. “Ouais, we are too. After, if you have not more plans, we would like to buy you drinks? As sorry for knocking you down.”

“Okay. We’re in Reims, so if you know a good bar?”

“Vingt et un heure?” Noble says softly to Benson.

“Bien.”

“At twenty one hours- that is nine for you? Nine? We will come to see you and take you for drinking.”

------

Someone knocks on the door of Alex’s hotel room at exactly nine pm. She ate dinner with her team, got ribbed by Novak about Noble and Benson flirting, and had a nice shower to get rid of the sweat and dirt from the game. She’d like to think she’s dressed nicely. Jeans and her favorite button down, white with little sharks in various colors. She’s even got her converse on for a pop of red. She thinks she looks good when she opens the door to Benson and Noble, both dressed down in tee shirts and their team jackets. They look beautiful, though, like the sort of women Alex would flirt with in a bar back home, although they’re obviously holding hands now.

“J’t’ai dit, non?” Benson says softly. “C’est quoi son nom? Lui demandes.”

“You can say Carmen,” Noble says, pointing to herself, “and Olivia. You call yourself what?”

“Alex.”

Carmen smiles. “Alex. Follow, we will take you to the bar.”

As soon as Alex locks her hotel door and slips her key card back into her pocket, Olivia grabs one of her hands and interlocks their fingers like hers and Carmen’s, and the three of them head toward the elevators. They’re probably going to stay in the hotel bar, Alex thinks, and is proved correct when they take their place at a little mahogany table and Olivia goes up to the bar to get drinks.

“How long have you played?” Carmen asks. She has a beautiful smile. Alex can’t stop looking at it? “We played from the time we were small.”

“I started in fourth grade. I must’ve been…” Alex counts back, “nine? Ten?”

Olivia comes back. “Un champagne pour moi.” She sets a glass of bubbly on the table. “Un pour toi.” She gives one to Carmen. “Et un pour vous, la belle.”

“Use your English,” Carmen teases. “On l’amuse, ouais?”

Pouting, Olivia sits beside Alex and presses their bodies close enough that Alex can feel the warmth radiating off her, count the little freckles on her nose and cheeks. Olivia looks like sunshine, but Carmen looks like the moon. Between the two of them, they make a good pair.

“I must be sorry. My English is not very well.”

Alex waves a hand. “It’s no problem. Did you two grow up together?”

“Non.” Carmen laughs. “I was growing up in Clichy, Olivia in the- septiѐme, mon p’tit chou? She was growing up in the seven neighborhood. That is the one with the Eiffel Tower.”

“We met playing football. We played not the same team for club, but for national, yes. She kissed me the first time at last world cup.” Alex opens her mouth to respond, but gets distracted watching Olivia down her champagne like a shot and lean forward over the table with her forearms pressed together. Alex very pointedly doesn’t look. “It makes nice to talk, but we came here because I want to touch your… English word, Carmen? How do they call it? Son minou?”

Whatever she said, it was vulgar. Alex knows that much from context, and from the way Carmen nearly chokes on her drink.

“Trop vite, Olivia! On a dit qu’on lui parle premiere, et lui demande s’il fait bien.”

Olivia laughs and presses a kiss to Carmen’s cheek. “Alex, you are a lovely woman. I would love to get to know you actually. But what I want more than that right now, is that I want you to sit yourself above my face.”

“Olivia!”

If she could see her reflection, Alex is sure she would be blushing. “I, uh, yes?”

There’s a self-satisfied smirk on Olivia’s face. “Is it that your room at the hotel is well?”

“Yeah.”

Olivia stands up, pulls Carmen to her feet as well, and looks to Alex with that same, smug, not quite smile on her face that suggests mischief. She’s like a fairy, a sprite, full of mischief and promises.

They all walk back to Alex’s hotel together, Olivia standing between Carmen and Alex holding each of their hands, swinging them back and forth childishly in a stark contrast to what they’re about to do. Alex can’t wait to see what happens, even if she obviously knows the basics, because she’s never actually done anything with more than one person at once. Definitely not with someone as confident as Olivia seems to be, even with the language barrier.

In the elevator on the way up to Alex’s room, Olivia starts kissing her. Her lips are soft, her teeth sharp when they needle against her bottom lip. Carmen’s lips are soft too, but her kisses even more so when they start along Alex’s throat. The whole ride up feels like she’s floating. She’s caught, trapped between two angels. In heaven.

Carmen slips Alex’s key card out of her back pocket and opens the door for them, before tossing the piece of plastic off somewhere irritating Alex will struggle to find in the morning. It doesn’t matter right now.

“L’aides se déshabiller,” Olivia breathes against Alex’s lips.

Then Carmen is pushing against Alex’s hips and she stumbles back until her knees hit the mattress. She starts tugging at Alex’s slacks while Olivia’s fingers start undoing the buttons on her shirt. Warm hands slide up her back afterward, unclasp her bra. Everything is warm, hot even, as Olivia feels her chest. It’s not quite clinical, but it’s exploratory, more practiced than emotional. Something about that makes it more intense.

As soon as she’s undressed, Olivia spins her around and lets herself fall back on the bed. Carmen’s behind her, urging her to move up, up, until her thighs bracket Olivia’s face. Slightly freckled hands grab on to take control just as a wet tongue presses itself between Alex’s folds. Carmen presses up against her from behind and gets her hands on Alex’s breasts as well. She’s an expert at it too, but in a different kind of way. She touches slow and careful, rubs the rough pad of her thumbs over pink nipples.

“Vous l’aimez? Sa langue à votre chatte? Elle est douée, non?”

“I don’t- ah- I don’t speak French.”

Carmen laughs in her ear and it sounds the way honey tastes. “Just enjoy, hmm? Olivia is so good at what she does.”

Exactly alongside those words, Olivia gets around to more precise, deadly kitten licks against her clit. It’s been too long, probably, since Alex was touched by something other than her own fingers  or the little pink vibe that she has stowed in her suitcase. That had been fun to explain at customs, but it’s easier than stumbling through being a celebrity buying a sex toy in a foreign country.

“You must taste so good for Olivia. She tastes good, mon p’tit chou?”

Olivia moans enthusiastically, and it feels better than any toy ever could. This has to be a dream, Alex thinks, for two gorgeous women to be so invested in making her feel like she’s on cloud nine. Fuck. She’s resisting the urge to pull Olivia’s hair, because it’s not polite. Alex would like to believe she’s a gentlewoman, and a good bedfellow. Does anyone say that anymore?  She doesn’t get the chance to think about that very much, because Carmen grabs her by the hips and pulls her back, giving them both a beautiful look at the wetness dripping off Olivia’s face.

“Doux. Mon coeur, tu veux la goûter?”

Alex is momentarily nudged aside for Carmen and Olivia to kiss, Olivia obviously pushing her tongue into the other woman’s mouth, and she really doesn’t mind just watching for a moment. They know each other’s mouths, each other’s bodies. They’re so tender together. Alex could spend an eternity watching them kiss, but gets distracted by Carmen’s hand trailing down Olivia’s stomach and slipping beneath the waistband of their jeans. They need to get undressed too.

When they part for Olivia to whine desperately, Alex takes the opportunity to grab at the cuffs of Olivia’s jeans and start tugging the denim off her toned legs. They’re so long. Up high, nestled against the crook of Olivia’s hips, are bruises in various stages of healing, but all clearly dark and possessive and clearly the work of Carmen’s patience when she gets her lips around a piece of delicate skin.

“Off,” Olivia commands, managing to make brief eye contact with Alex as she loops a finger in the waistband of Carmen’s jeans.

Alex gets the message, and fumbles with the button. It’ll be impossible to strip them off completely in the position Carmen currently holds, but she gets them down her hips and halfway toward her knees, boxers included. It’s not surprising that she wears them instead of normal underwear- most of the players do. These are more comfortable and practical than a strip of cotton, or God forbid, lace.

“You heard her. Off, c’mon, off.”

With another soft, warming laugh, Carmen stands up long enough to finish stripping herself and rip her tee shirt off her bed. She sticks her tongue out at Olivia’s subsequent whine for the sudden lack of stimulation to her clit. Then Carmen gets Olivia’s torso naked, and by then, all of them are on an even footing with nothing to hide and everything to give.

This time, it’s Alex who Carmen reaches for. She kisses her like they’re more than just two women who met today and fell into bed with the help of a third, one who’s pretty damn good at eating pussy. Jesus Christ. Carmen’s fingers that had felt so nice on her nipples not too long ago find their way between Alex’s legs to rub up against her clit for a moment before moving lower. Two slender fingers push their way into her at an angle which allows for Alex to grind forward against the heel of her hand.

“Ey- vous pouvez pas me laisser! Vennez,” Olivia whines, making Carmen laugh before bringing herself and Alex back onto the mattress to all lay together. Olivia curls up warmly against Alex’s back and touches her too, back to tracing circles around her clit while Carmen fingers her slowly. She’s going to be covered in marks from her collarbones to her hips, and she doesn’t mind in the slightest.

“Do you want me to- to touch-”

“Shh,” Olivia breathes against her shoulder, barely audible. “Let us to take care of you. I told Carmen, I told her, I should take ma pine. I want to make you to feel good.”

“What?”

Carmen curls her fingers against Alex’s g-spot. “In English, it calls herself a strap? On the internet, that is what they say to me. They want my strap.”

“Jesus.”

“Non, Olivia et Carmen.”

Now all she can think about is Olivia grabbing her thighs and fucking her deep and long while Carmen whispers more filthy words in her ear, mostly in French, which sounds so much hotter than it has any right to be. It must be her tone of voice.

Alex knows she’ll have to ask them for the chance to get fucked even deeper than she already is the second she gets the chance.

(TRANSLATIONS)