Finally posting this bc it’s been sitting in my drafts literally since Arsenal beat Chelsea at Stamford bridge lol
Legacy
Renée Slegers x Reader
Just a little smutty oneshot :)
Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI oral, fingering, strap. Nothing too wild, but definitely 18+!! Also teeny tiny injury mention if you really really squint.
Two nil at Stamford Bridge.
Eight years of losing, a legacy she’d inherited from not one, but two predecessors.
The weight of rivalry, of expectation, of suffering, easing in a split second.
Katie barrels towards the touchline, hollering as she runs. She throws her arms around Renée’s neck, spinning her round.
“Gaffer! We fucking did it!”
This kind of affection usually makes her clam up, pull back, maintain a professional distance. But today- today is special, and allowances must be made.
“Yeah you did.” She cuffs Katie around the head, turning to Kim who has materialised quietly beside her, grinning.
“How’s that then?”
Renée just laughs.
“Think it’ll do.”
Around them, chaos reigns. Girls are jumping on one another’s shoulders, taking photos, a couple drifting over to the crowd, signing scarves and meeting young fans. It’s loud, joyous, a raucous celebration that some in the crowd are too young to remember the last of.
But you remember. Being in the stands, stamping your feet and cheering. Just a fan, back then, a supporter. And now- now you sit in the front row, just behind the bench, a huge grin plastered on your face. You watch her, congratulating the players, shaking hands and giving hugs. She is glowing, so completely in her element, eyes crinkled in a laugh at something Leah is saying.
And then she turns, her gaze flickering up to the stands, and her eye catches yours. Her smile shifts, lip catching between her teeth. When the crowd lulls a little, she slips away, her steps towards you steady yet purposeful. She reaches the bench, steps up to the seats, and leans over the row to reach you.
You prop your elbows on the seat in front and lean down, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips. But she lingers close, even in front of all those people, and speaks just softly enough that no one can hear.
“You promised me a surprise if we won.”
The husk in her tone sends a shiver down your spine.
“Oh darling,” you reply in kind, mouth close to her ear.
“You’re getting one, don’t you worry. I’ll be waiting.”
As she steps back from the stands and heads towards the tunnel, there’s a look in Renée’s eyes. It’s dark, heavy, the kind of want that only bubbles up when it has been simmering beneath the surface for a long, long time.
She is the very vision of composure as she talks the game through with the girls, bringing the excitement down into a concerted energy. Yes, winning is great. But now they have to keep winning. She says all the words she has rehearsed before the circle breaks and the team gets ready to leave. And the entire time, she ignores the fizzing, rising energy in her stomach, the anticipation of something, although right now she has no idea what. That almost makes it better.
-🧡-
You recline back on the bed and your breath hitches as the door clicks closed downstairs.
“Baby? I’m back!” She calls, and she sounds tired.
“I’m up here!” You return, smirking at how quickly her footsteps move to the stairs. She might be tired, but she hasn’t forgotten.
“Hello beautiful… wait what?” Renée falters in the doorway, her eyes wide.
“But that’s…”
And it is. You’d thought about wearing an Arsenal shirt for this occasion, something to commemorate their victory today. But this felt more impactful- World Cup, 2015. Not easy to get hold of, but infinitely worth it for the look on her face.
“It’s your shirt.” You state simply, sitting up.
“That you never got to wear. But it’s yours. Just like that team was yours. And this team is yours. And I’m yours.”
You sit, and she just watches from the middle of the room, her mouth hanging slightly open. Then you lean forward, hands meeting the mattress, and slide down until your chest meets the quilt and your hips arch up. She can see it clearly now, white letters across your back: Slegers.
It does something to her. It’s sexy, yes, impossibly so- the bare curve of your ass beneath the hem, the tail of your black lace underwear just barely visible. But it’s more than that- it’s thoughtful, it means something, and you’re giving her a power over her narrative that nobody ever has before. This was the year everything went wrong- and now she gets to claim it back.
“Baby, I-“ she hesitates, struggling to find the words. You sit up, at the end of the bed now, and hold out your arms to her. She comes willingly, a wistful smile on her face. Instead of pulling her in, you gently unzip her training jacket, and toss it across the floor.
“I want to feel you.” You breathe, and she stands still and awestruck as you make quick work of her clothes. “Let me show you, please.”
-🧡-
You lay her on her back, amongst the pillows. As badly as you want her, the heat rolling in your stomach, it is worth it to take a moment to look at her like this. The soft curve of her chest, the swell of her hips, the jut of her collarbones as she leans her head back. Her hair is down now, flowing in dark waves over the pillows. She rarely wears it like that, but by god is it beautiful.
“You are everything.” You start, knees resting against the edge of the mattress.
“You have worked so hard. You have achieved so much. And my greatest achievement is getting to love you.”
She smiles, soft and sweet, but it quickly dissolves into a heaving exhale as you duck your head and your lips find the inside of her thigh. Renée props herself up on her elbows, watching the flex of your back with her name stretched across it as your shoulders dip.
You are slow, reverent and gentle, and the effervescent need in her stomach from earlier simmers closer to boiling point. But you pause before getting to where she needs you most, and she whines at the ache that persists. She looks up at your face, chin jutting, as you twist your hair back and tie it loosely.
“Baby.” She’s trying to be firm, but her voice shakes.
“What?” You cock your head to the side, grinning like you haven’t just left her dripping and waiting.
“This is meant to be my prize. I shouldn’t have to beg.” Her voice betrays her again, the need trembling in her tone. You hum, repositioning yourself, hooking an arm around her thigh to open her up wider. You know every inch of her, every crease that hides nerve endings, every fold that collects her wetness so deliciously.
And yet, you will never get tired of this- the scent of her, expensive soap and pure lust, the ragged sound of her breathing as you ghost your mouth closer. Then the taste of her as you drag your tongue lazily up her slit, and the moan that rips unashamedly from her throat at the contact.
The time for niceties is long gone- now her fingers tangle in your hair, and she tilts her head up to watch you as you lick lazily, indulging without agenda. A part of Renée wants to urge you on, to make you go faster, harder. But in truth, she is enjoying this- the talent and certainty of a mouth that knows her, winding her up slowly.
You do take your time; featherlight, tiny circles with the tip of your tongue over her clit, pulling away to dip it inside her whenever her hips start to shift impatiently. Your increase in pressure is controlled and precise- it makes your jaw ache, this level of restraint, but the slow, incremental build is so impossibly worth it. Primarily because it means she, so lost in the feeling of your mouth on her, doesn’t realise how close you’ve drawn her until it’s too late. She comfortably settles into a babbling prayer of expletives in both English and Dutch, words merging together in a way that doesn’t make any sense. But you know exactly what she means when she says
“Oh my god!”
And the appropriate reaction is to push two fingers inside her, curling roughly up as your mouth works. They go easily, she is so close anyway, and the blasphemy on her lips is only a sign that she is already teetering on the edge. You could almost count the number of times you curl your fingers before she locks up, orgasm seizing her in its grasp. You pause, lips resting gently on her and hand still, as she rocks, trembling, under your mouth. The needy groans dissolve into a whine as she rides it out, unabashedly bucking up under you to maintain the friction.
She keeps going longer than you would’ve thought, each aftershock sending a fresh wave of spasms and a whimper through her body. You remain in place, flat on your stomach with her name on your back, as she twitches to an eventual stop.
Her knees go slack, and her breathing starts to even out- this is your cue to sit up, easing out of her gently, eyes on her face for any sign of discomfort. There is none, she is floating- but still manages to whine at the loss.
“You good?” You ask, and Renée just nods and hums softly, eyes still half closed.
Then, without opening them, she says,
“Get the strap.”
Your heart clenches.
“Now?”
When you look back her eyes are open, pupils blown and dark, a smirk on her lips.
“Yes, now.”
When you come back, she sits up and takes it from you without a word, shimmying it into place.
“Need me to warm you up, baby?”
You didn’t really, already trembling with need, but when she offers like that it is impossible to resist. You just nod, suddenly willing to do whatever she asks.
“Hands and knees then. No, other way. That’s it.”
With your head at the foot of the bed, she sits herself behind you. It feels strangely exposing this way, but any nervous anticipation melts away as her mouth drags over you. She spits, spreading the saliva with her tongue, and the sound of it is so filthy you gasp aloud.
She laughs into you, and when she sits back a sticky string clings between your cunt and her mouth. She plucks it with the tips of her fingers, smearing the fluid back over you, the warmth of her touch flaring the need inside you. She knows, of course, she knows you just as well as you know her, if not better. She kneels up, shifting her angle as she presses a finger inside you, slowly at first, peppering gentle kisses over your hips as she works.
“That’s it,” she hums low, adding a second, curling and twisting as your body relaxes. Had she kept going you would come from that alone, the slow, dragging thrusts fuelling the burning at your core. But she pulls them out, almost abruptly, and you are waiting to feel her press against you when she does something else. You hear her shift, and then she nudges your knees apart and threads her legs through yours, hands on your hips, pulling you up and back until you’re resting on your own thighs.
Then, her voice. Soft, so quiet it’s almost a growl.
“You gonna ride me like this? Let me see you come with my name on your back?”
You whine, inching back, allowing her to position your hips until the head of the strap brushes against you. You inhale sharply as she lets go, gravity coaxing the silicone inside you, weight dropping down gradually as your body adjusts.
You sit up, and back, the angle frankly delicious, and the thought of her looking up at you is like gasoline on an open flame. Initially you rock, strap buried to the hilt, grinding against her hard enough that she snarls and smacks your ass.
“Give me more than that.”
So you do. The drag as the strap pulls out of you is unholy, your eyes rolling back and a shudder reverberating through you as you inch up. When you let your weight fall back down, the slap of your ass against her thighs echoes in the room. You start slow, kneeling almost all the way up over and over, savouring the fullness as you sink into her again and again.
The restraint feels good, putting on a show for her- you hear her breath catch as you pull the elastic from your hair again, letting it tumble down your back, and then she mumbles something as you pull it all forward over one shoulder and grind down into her.
“What?” You breathe, pausing for a second to look back at her. She is propped up again, flushed and buzzing with energy. Her eyes are wide, and as you lean back against her, you press the base of the strap firm against her clit and halt the words in her mouth.
“You…” she starts, but the words taper off into a laugh as you roll your hips down. She bucks up beneath you in retaliation and knocks a gasp from your mouth. It feels insane, the force of her against you, and she knows it too- meeting every lift of your hips with her own, barely giving you a second to catch your breath. You are overwhelmed in that moment by everything about her; her skin, sweat slick against you, the pressure of her fingers against your hipbones, the hitch of her breath, the way she fills you so entirely.
She keeps you going as your legs begin to falter, the coil of tension inside your stomach getting hotter and tighter until it is too much to take. As it snaps and releases shuddering waves of ecstasy through you, your head falls back and a cry tears from your chest. She holds you firmly as you chase the shocks radiating through your core, steady and reassuring, hands unfaltering as she guides you.
Eventually you slump forward, forehead pressed to her knee, breathless and exhausted as she wriggles out from underneath you and slips off the bed. When you finally lift your head up she is standing with her back to you, untangling the straps of the harness, slow and methodical.
“You okay?” Renée turns when she hears you move, a gentle smile on her face. You allow your body to drop down onto the bed, resting your head on your arms, and look up at her. She comes to your side without you asking, softly tracing the letters on your back with her fingertip.
“Thank you for this, by the way.” She says, and when you catch her eye there’s a misty, emotional glaze in the way she looks at you.
“It means a lot. Today was huge, but coming home to you…” she tails off.
“Yeah, I know.” You roll onto your side, reaching up to drag her to you, kissing her deep and slow.
“I love you too.”
