#< just to be clear: she’s supposed to be a teenager here | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

justrustandstardust · 11 months ago

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*✧:*one, two, three (it's not only you and me)*:･✧*:

@ryuqzn on X

"what suguru is trying to avoid saying is the whole cliché of 'we saw you from across the bar and we really like your vibe'," the white-haired man says, gaze flickering down your body. he looks back up, making eye contact.

"but it's true, so we were wondering if you'd like to join us for some fun," he says casually, blue eyes piercing.

after you get stood up, you're ready to cut your losses and head home. when a couple approaches you at the bar with a proposition, you just might end up changing your mind.

MDNI: i'm not joking, this is utter filth and minors should steer clear of it like they're teenage boys and this is a decent haircut.

pairing: geto/gojo/you

a/n: this is for someone special. you know who you are.

important: afab reader, she/her pronouns

word count: 16k (i know, i fucking know)

because i'm clinically insane, i've created a playlist to enchance your listening ~pleasure. here's the spotify version, and here's the youtube version. this is purely for the girls, gays and theys. i hope you have as much fun reading this as i did writing it. (͡ ͡° ͜ つ ͡͡°)

the clock's just struck nine, and you sigh, glancing down at your phone for the umpteenth time that evening. you suppose it's your fault for having such shit taste in men, anyways, for agreeing to meet a loser that didn't even bother to show.

swirling the straw around your drink, you kick your legs out from your seat on the barstool and ponder whether or not to ask the bartender for another. this is already your third drink; you're no lightweight but even you aren't impervious to the effects of three whiskey neats.

sighing again, you decide to cut your losses and call it a night. fuck men, you think distastefully, reaching into your bag for your wallet. literally and figuratively. you got all dressed up for some asshole that couldn't even bother to take you to bed tonight.

you're rooting around in your purse for your wallet when there’s a sudden tap on your shoulder. you glance up, and are met with the faces of possibly the two most beautiful men you've ever seen before in your life. they tower over you, and though you're sitting, you know that even if you stood up they'd easily have several inches on you. the dark-haired man is sporting a half-up half-down hairstyle, the contours of his chest and broad shoulders barely hidden by a fitted dress shirt and leather jacket.

you glance at the other man, who's light-haired and blue-eyed. his waist is so impossibly small in his dress shirt that you almost reach out to wrap your hands around it, just to see if they could fit. they're looking at you like they're seeing through you, and you blink, heady from both the alcohol and weight of their gaze.

"sorry to interrupt, but are you heading out?" the dark-haired man asks politely, leaning forward slightly. you nod slowly, unsure of what he's going to say next.

he chuckles, ducking his head. "ah, that's too bad. my partner and i were wondering if you'd like to come out with us tonight."

"come out?" you say, raising an eyebrow. the white-haired man rolls his eyes, pushing at the dark-haired man's arm.

"what suguru is trying to avoid saying is the whole cliché of 'we saw you from across the bar and we really like your vibe'," he says, making direct eye contact with you.

"but it's true, so we were wondering if you'd like to join us for some fun," he says casually, gaze unwavering. your eyes nearly bulge out of your head and you glance between them, watching as the dark-haired man —suguru?— pushes back, swatting the white-haired man on the shoulder.

"you'll have to forgive satoru, he's a bit upfront. but yes, we would love to get to know you better, if you're interested," he says purposefully, dark eyes meeting yours.

"no pressure, of course. we'd be just as happy to call you a taxi to make sure you get home safe and leave it at that," he adds, nodding at the door. your tongue feels heavy in your mouth, and you glance between them, at the cocksure expression on the white-haired man's face and the carefully open one on his partner's.

"can i know your names?" you manage, and the dark-haired man smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners.

"you can call me geto. this is gojo," he says, gesturing to the white-haired man, who boisterously sticks out his tongue and flashes a peace sign.

you tell them your name in return and geto smiles again, glancing at gojo.

"that's a beautiful name. we'd be happy to do whatever you'd like to do tonight— it's totally up to you. we'll be happy with any choice you make, even if that means our acquaintanceship ends here," geto says kindly but meaningfully, looking into your eyes so you know he's serious. gojo nods beside him, and then smirks.

"wherever you're headed won't be nearly as exciting as us, though," he intones liltingly, brow raised in challenge. geto smacks him upside the head and he winces, pouting at the abuse.

"satoru is just joking," geto says, glancing sharply at gojo. "we are completely okay with whatever you want to do. we just want to make our interest in you very, very clear."

you haven't moved for the entirety of this interaction. you glance between them again, at these two heaven-sent men on a night you were basically begging to be dicked down only to be disappointed by the universe (read: a random loser whose name you can't even remember). swallowing hard, you think that you made your choice as soon as the words left geto's lips.

"i'll come with you," is what finally comes out of your mouth, throat dry. geto's lips quirk upwards and gojo grins, extending a hand to help you down from the barstool.

"just let me pay for these drinks first," you say, going for your purse. geto shakes his head and steps forward, catching your wrist in one hand and guiding it away from your bag.

"i don't think so," he says simply, releasing your wrist and reaching into his back pocket. he throws way too many bills onto the counter and you're trying not to gape as gojo snickers, urging you to take his hand. his palm is warm to the touch as he helps you down from the barstool, geto bringing up the rear with a featherlight touch to the small of your back.

you were right. even with heels, they tower over you. flanked on either side, they walk you to the door, geto pushing it open and gesturing for you to go through. as you pass him, you catch a whiff of versace's eau fraiche, the distinct notes of rosewood filtering through your nostrils. gojo follows behind you, tapping on his phone.

it's cold, and you didn't bring a jacket. you're trying to appear like you're not shivering but geto notices anyways, shrugging off his own leather jacket to drape around your shoulders. gojo steps away, raising his phone to his ear.

"where are we going?" you ask, geto's cologne enveloping you along with his residual body heat. geto glances at gojo, who's speaking quietly to someone on the phone.

"somewhere private," he says, brushing his bangs away from his forehead. he looks at you, something darkening in his gaze. "somewhere no one will disturb us."

gojo hangs up the phone, stepping off the curb into the street. seconds later, a sleek black SUV pulls up, windows tinted. gojo goes around the other side and geto opens the door for you, holding out a hand to help you inside. it's easily the most expensive car you've ever been in, the seats plush and the interior unbelievably spacious. there are four seats facing each other, the front of the car partitioned so the driver isn't visible. gojo takes the seat opposite you, kicking up his feet and folding his hands behind his head.

geto sits down beside you, reaching into a small compartment that evaded your notice to produce a chilled bottle of water.

"so you can sober up," he explains, unscrewing the cap. "we don't want you intoxicated for what's coming next."

"what's coming next?" you parrot, taking the water. gojo snickers again, pulling a lollipop out from god knows where and popping it between his teeth. he sucks, cheeks hollowing around the candy, eyes never leaving yours.

"we're down to do whatever you want to do," geto says, turning to face you. his features are open, honest. "we just need to know what's on the table."

"everything," you reply too quickly, answer coming out instantly. geto chuckles good-naturedly, gesturing to the water.

"then you'll have to get started on that."

you've never chugged water so hastily in your life. the drive is short, ten minutes at best, and the three of you sit in comfortable silence, tempered by the sounds of smooth rnb filtering through the car's speakers. the car pulls up beside a skyscraper, endlessly tall against the city skies. gojo takes the empty bottle from your hand and carelessly tosses it aside, stepping outside and taking your hand in his to help you out of the car. geto goes around the other way, nodding at the driver as the car rolls away from the curb.

the building is locked, and you watch as gojo pulls out a black card, flashing it in front of a sensor. the doors part to reveal an immaculate marble lobby, scaffolded by floor-to-ceiling windows that are at least three stories high. building staff are positioned discreetly behind tall counters, none of whom pay gojo and geto any mind as the three of you make their way through to the elevators. your heels are clacking on the polished floor, geto's jacket snug around your shoulders.

there are eight elevators, but only one with a sensor. gojo flashes his card again, the elevator doors sliding open. geto holds the door for you as you step inside, taking gojo's proffered arm. he presses the only button on the wall —labelled PH— as geto follows you inside, the doors closing behind him. you're still holding onto gojo's arm as the elevator rises, and rises, and rises. it moves silently, the only sound the clack of the lollipop against gojo's teeth. it's been at least two full minutes and you're starting to wonder if you're genuinely in the stratosphere when there's a quiet ping and the elevator slows to a stop.

geto steps out, motioning at you to go ahead. gojo leads you down the hall to what appears to be the only suite on the entire floor. expecting the black card again, you're surprised when he presses his palm to a large, flat pad, which scans his hand and flashes green. the door clicks open and gojo heads inside, geto once again bringing up the rear.

you're confronted by the most stunning residence you've ever seen. the architecture is open-concept, with two stories connected by a spiral staircase. the same floor-to-ceiling windows from the lobby showcase the glittering city skyline, lights twinkling just below the clouds. everywhere you look, there's sleek leather and white marble, outfitted with tasteful minimal decor and modern art.

"where am i?" is all you're able to say, struggling to pick your jaw up from the floor. gojo laughs, sliding his jacket off and tossing it onto a chaise in the living room.

"don't worry about it," he winks, pulling the lollipop from between his lips and ignoring geto's subsequent eyerolling. "life is better when you get it to live it in 3D."

"he's a nepo baby," geto interjects, going around the kitchen island and opening two massive fridge doors. "and he's insufferable, so being rich makes him easier to deal with."

gojo huffs indignantly, tossing the lollipop in something discreetly disguised as a garbage.

geto rummages around in the fridge, taking out the most expensive-looking sandwich you've ever seen. "hungry?"

you shake your head, and geto looks at you, imploring. "i know you had the water, but you're going to need....energy, for what we have planned."

choice made. placing your purse down on the island, you make your way over to where he's standing, taking the baguette. hopping onto a stool, you take a bite, eyebrows shooting up your forehead at the rich flavours. brie, prosciutto, fig jam.....the list continues.

geto glances at gojo, who's now only wearing his slacks, dress shirt and tie. "satoru, you can start getting the room ready. i'll bring her when she's done."

you’re mildly surprised when gojo makes an affirmative noise and leaves without snark, setting off to one of the many rooms in the suite. after he disappears from sight, geto turns back to you.

"this is the part where i ask how you like it," he says, leaning his elbows onto the kitchen island. you swallow, fig jam tangy on your tongue.

"like i said," you meet his gaze, holding steady. "i like all of it."

geto smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners. "both ends?"

"every single one," you say purposefully, never breaking eye contact.

he chuckles, nodding to himself. "we're clean, by the way."

"as am i," you confirm, popping the last bite of sandwich into your mouth. "on birth control, too," you add, after chewing.

"good to know," geto remarks, pushing himself off his elbows. he helps you down from the stool, taking his jacket from your shoulders and setting it down on the counter. fingertips dancing along the small of your back, he guides you down the same direction gojo went earlier, stopping in front of a large door.

"last chance to change your mind," he says, voice low. he's looking at you openly, honestly. "there won't be any hard feelings either way."

you've never been so sure of anything in your life. "i want this," you breathe, suffocated by the truth of that statement. "i want both of you."

geto exhales, slow smile gracing his features. wordlessly, he opens the door, gesturing for you to go ahead. the room is dimly lit by cool-toned floorlights, but you can make out the shape of a bed in the centre, warmed by a fireplace at its opposite. the same floor-to-ceiling windows showcase the city skyline, creating a glittering effect along the room’s walls. you squint at the far-off section of the room with tiled floor, following the tile into a bathroom that houses a massive, glass doored rainfall shower, alongside an enormous claw-foot tub.

gojo is standing in front of the bed, lanky stature backlit by the cityscape outside. he's still wearing his shirt, slacks and tie, sans his shoes. the door clicks shut behind you, and you sense more than see geto take a step towards you, breath ghosting along the nape of your neck.

deafening silence engulfs the room as every single one of your hairs stand on end, the energy in the space charged. gojo hasn't moved and neither has geto, both standing stock still in the silence like they're waiting for you to make the first move.

you let out a shuddering exhale and that's all geto needs, his hand wrapping around your jaw as his mouth attaches itself to your neck. he sucks harshly, hungrily, as his other hand grips your waist from behind, pressing the entire length of his body against yours. gojo is in front of you in an instant and you don't waste a second, yanking him forward by the tie to crash your lips together.

the artificial flavour of the lollipop is sweet on his tongue as he kisses you with intention, hand slipping down to hike your leg around his waist. geto's tongue is working against your neck at the same time, the sensation of two hot mouths overwhelming. gojo sucks your lower lip into his mouth as geto bites the juncture of your neck, eliciting a whine into gojo's teeth.

heat is pooling between your legs and you can feel that they're both hard already, gojo pressed into your front and geto against your back. geto suddenly releases your jaw, taking a step back as gojo lifts you up, settling your other leg around his waist. he's still making out with you as your arms wrap around his shoulders and he walks you both to the bed, carrying you like it's effortless. he sets you down onto the bed, breaking away once you're laid flat on its smooth surface.

you make to grab his tie again and he snatches your wrist in one hand, smirking.

"eager, are we?"

"a bitch, are you?" you snipe, enjoying the way his eyes flash with amusement. he pins your wrist above your head, dipping his head down so that your noses are brushing.

"if you want something, you'll have to ask it for it," he says lowly, gaze flickering down to your mouth. "nicely."

"make me," you retort breathlessly, capturing his lips in a searing kiss. he kisses you back just as hard, broad shoulders caging you in as your hand twists uselessly in his grip.

he breaks away, releasing your wrist. geto reappears, shirtless and wearing only his black jeans. you barely have time to appreciate the muscled planes of his chest and the toned flesh of his abs as he grabs the back of gojo's head, messily bringing their mouths together.

gojo moans against his lips, palms coming up to press at his chest. without breaking apart, geto rips his shirt, buttons flying everywhere as fabric tears. somehow, the tie remains.

gojo shoves him away, stepping backwards to frown at what used to be his shirt. "that was expensive, you know."

"you can buy a dozen more," geto says mildly, turning back to you. you're transfixed, staring at gojo's bare chest that is just as defined as geto's, at the dip of his collarbones and the defined ridges of his abdomen.

gojo makes a face at his ruined shirt and disappears into the bathroom, leaving you alone with geto.

"you're wearing far too many clothes," says geto, a shadow passing over his features. you swallow, shrinking into the bed as something that's not quite fear passes over you— more like an impending sense that something is coming.

geto climbs onto the bed, getting all up into your space immediately. claiming your mouth with his own, he kisses you like he fucking owns you, subsuming every thought in your mind to the point that you don't even notice him unzipping your dress.

he removes your clothes with a care that he didn't use in taking off gojo's, gently tossing your dress aside when you're down to your bra and panties. you're staring up at him as he leans down into you, warm hand resting on your hip.

gojo reappears with a remote in his hand, and you hear a click followed by the same smooth rnb from the car. there must be speakers threaded into the walls because the sound feels like it's coming from everywhere, weaving together the neurons in your brain that have been fried by sensation.

"is this okay?" geto's voice is soft but his eyes are piercing as he lifts you up towards him, palms supporting your back. you nod haltingly, heat flooding your veins as he inclines his head to kiss you again. without stopping, he deftly unclasps your bra one-handed, throwing it against the wall without looking. all of a sudden, he pulls away, standing up and moving to the foot of the bed.

gojo swaps places with him, coming up to your torso. you raise an eyebrow in question and geto smiles knowingly, climbing onto the bed and settling in front of your legs.

"satoru and i have different areas of speciality, you could say." gojo's smirk is back on his face as he takes in the sight of your naked chest, watching the flush that you're fighting spread down your clavicle.

"don't be shy, now," he teases, ignoring your death glare. you're about to retort but the air suddenly leaves your lungs in a whoosh as gojo bends forward, taking one of your nipples into his mouth. his soft hands cup your breasts, massaging firmly as his tongue flickers against the hardening bud.

you let out a shaky exhale, toes curling as one of your hands comes up to rest in his hair. the sensation is so intense that you almost don't notice geto sliding your panties down your legs until you feel the cool air against your damp lips.

gojo continues his ministrations, sucking your nipple into his mouth and tonguing it hard, nipping when you let out a low groan. geto spreads your legs and settles between them, kneeling on the bed. dark head bent, he drops lingering kisses up your legs, all the way from your calves up to your inner thighs. his lips are warm on your skin and you're absolutely throbbing, aching for it as he gets closer to your burning core.

gojo has switched to your other breast and geto is pressing butterfly kisses to the soft flesh of the inside of your thighs, sucking tender hickeys into the thin skin. the sensations are too much and not enough all at once, overwhelming your senses but not quite satisfying the ache inside you for more.

geto's mouth is everywhere except where you want it most— he's at the crease of your thigh, at the seam of your hip, the bump of your pubic bone. his breath ghosts over your slick lips, a sly smile lifting the corner of his mouth when you buck up, chasing. as gently as a butterfly beats its wings, he circles your clit with the pad of a fingertip, not quite touching it in the way he knows you want him to. you can’t hold back the whine that escapes your mouth, and geto’s lips quirk, his expression amused. his hands are warm on your hips and it feels like coming home when his lips finally meet yours, lapping up the slickness in your folds like a man parched.

gojo has released your nipples and he's positioned himself behind you to prop your upper body up, nibbling on your earlobes with his palms still cupping your breasts. geto's dark head is buried between your legs and he's eating you out like he was fucking born for it, alternating between dipping his tongue inside of you and sealing his lips around your clit. sucking down rasping breaths, you see stars when his mouth forms a vacuum around your clit and he sucks hard , your thighs clamping around his head as your hand fists in his hair.

geto hasn't stopped, arms beneath your thighs to hold your hips down as he pushes his tongue deeper inside your sopping centre. a choked-off moan falls from your lips and gojo snickers into the skin of your neck, his naked chest and the fabric of the tie pressed into your spine.

"you're enjoying dessert, aren't you, suguru?" gojo's voice is lilting and you would retort but you can't, too busy gasping for air as geto just hums in agreement, relentlessly tonguing your clit.

gojo begins leaving lovebites all around your shoulders and you can feel his fingers twisting and pinching your nipples, the sensation heightened by geto feasting between your legs. you're so wet that his chin is glistening with it, a few strands of his dark hair slipping out and falling into his face as he eats you out with vigour, the tendons in his jaw tensing from effort.

“oh god, don’t stop,” you cry out, fists clenched in the sheets. gojo chuckles behind you, tweaking a nipple and laughing when you spasm.

“did you hear that, suguru? i think you’re gonna have to step it up.”

without taking his mouth off your clit, his long fingers slide so smoothly inside of you that they may as well have been there all along. pumping shallowly, he continues to suck on your clit, pulsing his lips and flicking his tongue around the most sensitive part of you.

you keen, high and loud, and geto doesn't need words to understand, pressing a final kiss to your clit and leaning back to thrust his hand properly. he crooks his fingers, searching, and you cry out when he hits your spot, toes curling so hard it hurts.

"right there, huh?" geto murmurs knowingly, fingering you ruthlessly. you ride the high, sparks bursting behind your eyelids. the solid warmth from behind you suddenly disappears as gojo lowers you onto the bed, and you crack an eye open just in time to see him grin devilishly and press his fingers down onto your mound, right above where geto's hand is inside of you.

the combination of inner and outer pressure is too much and you mewl, legs jerking as your walls contract and a sensation you've never felt before washes over you, almost like your body is releasing a gush of liquid.

"we got her to squirt," gojo declares smugly, continuing to press down as geto works you through your orgasm. you're arching off the bed, sheets clenched in your hands as wave after wave of pleasure crashes down upon you, an infinite tsunami upon a helpless shore.

after what feels like forever, you slump back down, chest heaving. geto gently withdraws his hand from between your legs and licks his fingers while gojo lifts his hand to release the pressure from your pelvis. you lift your head up to see gojo standing at the foot of the bed, palming the front of his pants, face scrunched up in want. geto looks to be faring no better as he gets up to stand beside gojo, bulge straining against his jeans.

"i think it's time we got these off," geto says, unzipping his pants. gojo shucks off his slacks in one go, ripping off the tie that somehow remained around his neck throughout all of this. suddenly they're both down to their underwear, black boxers tented.

they glance at you and then back at each other before gojo drops to his knees on the floor, pulling geto's boxers down with him. you watch, spent, as gojo takes geto into his mouth, swallowing around him and fondling his sack. geto tips his head back and rakes a hand through gojo’s hair, peering down at his head bobbing on his length. you're enjoying the show as geto thrusts shallowly into his mouth, his abs flexing with the motion.

gojo’s adam’s apple is bobbing as his throat works, and he keeps going until geto's breathing grows laboured, only stopping when geto gestures with his chin toward you on the bed. gojo releases him with a lewd pop and barely has a second to collect himself before geto's pushing him onto his back, stripping off his underwear and taking him down into his throat in one go. you watch, amazed, at what appears to be geto's total lack of a gag reflex.

"throat goat," gojo remarks fondly, reaching down to thread his hand through geto's dark hair. geto slaps his thigh and gojo chuckles, breaking off to groan when geto urges him on, pushing his ass forward to get him to fuck his throat.

you're still recovering from your climax when geto releases gojo from his mouth, wiping at the saliva around his lips. gojo glances at you, grinning as he pushes himself up onto his palms.

"want a turn?" he asks impishly, gesturing at geto, who stands up. you raise yourself into a sitting position up by the elbows and regard the two men in front of you and their well-endowed assets. gojo is longer but slightly thinner, like a water bottle. geto is girthier and thicker, like a beercan. you'll happily take both.

"i think she's got another orgasm in her, don't you?" geto climbs onto the bed and tugs you onto your hands and knees, gojo going behind you. "why don't you see what you can do about that, satoru."

you're gazing hungrily at the girthy length of geto, veiny and uncut up close. he's still glistening with gojo's saliva as you lick the tip, geto's palm coming to rest on your head. you're taking him down inch by inch as you feel gojo settle behind you, shivering as he trails a finger through the wetness gathered at your lips.

one hand gripping your hip, he lines himself up and pushes inside your wet heat until he's flush against your ass, forcing all the air out of your lungs. in the same instant, you reach the base of geto's length, full at both ends. you moan around him as gojo begins to thrust in earnest, the sound of skin slapping skin reverberating around the room as he fucks you relentlessly.

"shit," gojo says lowly, fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. "you're taking me like a champ."

geto's eyes are closed, his palm resting on your hair. you pull back, flattening your tongue beneath the head while your hand jacks off whatever your mouth can't reach. gojo changes angles and you can suddenly feel him in your chest, his tip so deeply inside of you that it's kissing your cervix.

you pick up the pace, tonguing the slit, and geto is openly groaning, gripping your hair hard enough that it hurts. you don't mind it— you encourage it, in fact, while gojo's fucking you hard enough that your walls will surely remember his shape. every time he brings you back onto his length, heady pleasure shoots through your veins, your toes tingling hotly. you can already feel another orgasm coming as gojo reaches a hand between your legs, searching for your clit. he twists his fingers evilly, not letting up when you let out a muffled moan around geto's girth.

"i think she likes it," gojo says, smirk audible in his voice. he rubs in tight, deliberate circles, his hand quickening as you stop sucking and just breathe, eyes rolling back in your head when he snaps his hips and simultaneously hits your spot.

you hear him laugh breathlessly, thrusts hindered somewhat as your walls spasm around him, his pace slowing as you come for the second time. he fucks you through it, pulling out when it becomes too much. gojo smacks your ass, laughing at the surprised yelp that exits your mouth.

"couldn't resist, princess," he winks at you, coming around to the front of the bed. again, they swap positions and geto moves to the back, warm hands settling around your waist. he brings you backwards onto him, your shoulder blades against his chest. he's warm, so warm, and you melt into his arms. he presses soft kisses into your neck, humming when you sigh contentedly and tip your head onto his shoulder.

"aren't you glad you had that sandwich?" he murmurs into your skin, hands roving all over your pliant body. the sound of a cap opening interrupts your reply, which was just going to be an mmhm-hmm anyways. you blink, watching gojo squeeze lube onto his fingers and stroke geto between your legs, whose eyelids flutter closed at the sensation.

after a few moments, gojo releases geto, who then lifts you up like you weigh nothing, settling you above him on your knees, one braced on either side of his hips. your back is still to his chest, and you turn your head to meet his gaze, cocking your head in question.

"lube?" you say, watching geto chuckle. he smooths a hand down your side, soothing.

"i know you don't have any problems getting wet," he smiles, gaze flickering down your body between your legs. he looks up, eyes dark. "but we can't have you feeling raw just yet."

your heart jumps in your chest when a hand grabs your chin, turning your head to face the front. you're met with the full mast of gojo, who's up on his knees in front of you, his shins pressing into the bed. it happens all at once and geto is lowering you down as you swallow around gojo, the taste of precome heady on your tongue. you sink down onto geto for what feels like forever, his tip reaching towards your ribs.

if gojo fucked you relentlessly, geto fucks you like god himself commanded him, a divine task ordained straight from the heavens above. he bounces you up and down, pushing his hips up to meet yours on every thrust. your palms are braced on gojo's thighs and you can barely breathe around him, glancing up to see his eyes screwed shut in pleasure as he wantonly pumps his hips into your mouth, sliding his length along your tongue.

geto's hands are vicelike around your waist, his hot, hard length stretching your walls every time he brings you down onto his hips. they're working in tandem, each fucking a pair of your lips, and it’s so fucking good that you could cry. you’re absolutely stuffed at both ends, hot pleasure emanating from your core to spread throughout your body every time geto pushes back into you. another orgasm is cresting on the horizon as he picks up the pace, jackrabbiting his hips as he lifts you up impossibly higher, the bed creaking from the combined force of their movements.

"god, you're tight," geto grunts, punctuated by the sound of his balls slapping your ass. "so tight, just for me."

you're so close, you're so fucking close, and you've stopped sucking entirely as geto fucks you harder, your breasts bouncing in time with the motion. gojo suddenly pulls out from your mouth and you don't have time to react before he drops into a kneeling position and grasps your jaw in his hand, bringing your lips to meet his own. gojo slides his tongue inside your mouth, his hand moving up from your jaw to hold your head as his tongue caresses yours.

you moan into his mouth, arms coming up to wrap around his neck as you pull him flush to your chest while geto continues to fuck you, bliss radiating outward from where you’re joined. your nipples are pebbled against the smooth planes of gojo's clavicle and he deepens the kiss, fingers weaving into your hair as his other hand slips down to dance along your overly sensitive clit.

geto tilts his hips and floods every sense in your body with white-hot ecstasy as he rails your spot, the curve of gojo’s smirk sharp against your mouth while his fingertips stroke your clit. you drench the bed for the second time that night as you come, back arching in geto's grip as gojo's fingertips tease the lips stretched around geto's girth, still pistoning in and out of you.

"nice, we got a second squirt," gojo crows, eyes crinkling in mirth as he draws back. he raises his hand for a high-five and you don't have to look to know geto is rolling his eyes as he slaps gojo's hand. geto slowly brings you down to lean onto him, his chest rising and falling from exertion. he's still buried inside of you and you can barely think through the haze in your mind, sagging limply into his arms. geto supports your weight, whispering quietly into your hair as you come down.

"that's it, just like that." his voice is gentle, unlike the way he was moving inside of you moments ago. he twines his arms around your waist as you both catch your breath, the broad muscle of his chest firm against your back. your eyes are closed and your entire body is relaxed, held up by geto's sturdy frame.

"you guys didn't come," you manage to say, voice thick. you feel geto's chest rumble as he laughs, low and deep in your ear.

"that's very kind of you to be concerned," he says, soft smile audible in his voice. "but it's all good. we like to draw things out."

you feel the bed dip as gojo climbs back on, the click of a bottle cap echoing in the quiet of the room.

"we're going to give you a bit of a break," gojo tells you, voice teasing. "you can relax and enjoy the show."

you blink blearily, limbs liquified as geto lifts you off and carefully sets you to his side, wrapping an arm around you as you curl up beside him. you watch while gojo lubes him up again, twisting his wrist knowingly when he meets the head. gojo glances up and they share a private moment, conversing without words. you're content to watch as an intimate smile graces geto's features and gojo leans forward to peck him on the lips, still stroking all the while.

geto withdraws his arm from around you, sitting up to settle gojo on top of his thighs. he spreads gojo's legs over his own, their faces close enough to share the same breath. the lube reappears and gojo leans his weight onto his palm, watching as geto squeezes some over his fingers. they're in an incredibly intimate position, almost lotus-like, legs folded together and gojo's other hand braced on geto's shoulder.

geto slides the first finger inside of gojo with so much confidence that it's obvious they've done this a thousand times before. gojo's spine arches and he exhales hard, eyelids fluttering shut as geto starts stretching him out. geto's dark eyes are trained on his disappearing finger, and you can see gojo's hand tensing around his shoulders. gojo's shaky breaths echo around the room when geto adds another finger, thrusting with more urgency. there's a squelching sound every time his hand meets gojo's ass, and you watch in awe as gojo takes it like he was fucking born for nothing else.

they're both hard as hell, and you're starting to wonder if it's getting painful. you don't have time to contemplate this thought for long before geto's up to three fingers and he changes the angle of his hand, gojo's body jerking violently as geto deliberately hits his spot. geto cranes his neck to suckle at gojo’s nipple, smirking into his chest when he mewls. he squeezes gojo's ass with his free hand and continues pressing his spot as gojo spasms, his lips parted in a soundless moan.

geto carefully withdraws his hand, kissing gojo softly on the lips before taking his wrists and pulling him up onto his knees. geto climbs off the bed, going to stand behind gojo. his eyes flicker over to you and you meet his gaze, cloudy with want. geto doesn't look away as he pushes himself inside of gojo, his arms wrapping around gojo's torso to tug him up against his chest. he starts thrusting carefully, letting gojo adjust to the feeling of his full length inside of him.

you can feel yourself getting wet again as geto finally closes his eyes, pressing his mouth to gojo's neck as he pulls out slowly, bringing his hips forward again. you're brimming with hunger as you watch their bodies move together, geto's one hand wrapped around gojo's throat and the other pressed flat to his chest, holding him upright. gojo is making low noises, quiet ungh-ungh-unghs as geto fills him up, again and again.

"who do you belong to?" geto grunts into his neck, hand tightening around his throat, gojo’s adam’s apple protruding between his fingers.

gojo breathes out a shuddering exhale, his knees and shins pressed into the mattress. his entire weight is leaned onto geto, who's somehow supporting him and fucking him simultaneously.

gojo bites his lip, furrowing his brow. you can see the muscles of geto's ass flexing as he plunges into gojo, not letting up for even a second.

"well," gojo rasps, sounding like he's going for contemplative but ending up wanton instead. "you'll just have to ask george clooney."

geto’s balls slap gojo's ass when he delivers a particularly punishing thrust, pushing all the air out of gojo in a loud huff.

"are you sure about that?" geto sounds remarkably composed for a man who's inside another man's ass.

gojo is only able to make a noise of affirmation in response, a strained uh-huh through his teeth. his giggle is breathless when geto releases his throat to slap his cheek, the thwack loud in the quiet.

"why don't you try again," geto's voice is rough and he changes angles, finding exactly what he's searching for when gojo's body jackknifes into his chest.

"fine, you got me,” gojo moans, throwing his head back onto geto's shoulder. "tell george that i'm —ah!— cheating on him with matt damon.”

this was clearly not the answer geto was looking for. he quickens his pace, slamming his hips hard enough into gojo’s ass to bruise. reaching a hand around to wrap around gojo’s length, his fist is a blur as he strokes in time with his thrusts.

“who do you belong to?” geto says again, strained but still pointed, leaving no room for argument. gojo’s body is strung taut, every muscle tensed with his mouth open and face pinched tight as the bed shakes.

you can only stare as the veins pop out of gojo's neck, abs contracting with his back arched against geto's chest. "i h— i heard idris elba is free— agh!"

geto releases him and pulls out in the same second, taking a full step backwards. gojo lets out a sound that sounds like a sob, body folding in half at the sudden, overwhelming emptiness.

geto continues to stand there, unmoving and unflinching. he's hard as a rock but he looks like he could wait forever as gojo curls in on himself, distraught by the lack of sensation.

gojo whimpers brokenly and brings a hand to his mouth to stifle the sound, his body visibly aching with need. "you," he sobs, on the verge of tears when it finally comes out. "only you. always you."

geto nods, just once, and the relief on gojo's face is palpable when geto yanks him upright and pushes back inside of him in one snap of his hips. geto's rhythm is harsh as he takes gojo again in his other hand, squeezing from root to tip. geto swipes his thumb over the head and gojo makes a choked-off noise, turning his head over his shoulder to tangle their tongues together.

"brat," geto says into his mouth, to which gojo can only whine in agreement.

they're both breathing heavily and it's the hottest thing you've ever fucking seen, the pleasure visible on both of their faces. gojo is biting his lip, eyes scrunched shut, and sweat is beading at geto's temple as he moves, his brows creased. gojo's mouth falls open and he keens, high and loud, body rocking into geto's as they have sex in front of you.

you just met him a few hours ago but you can tell gojo is close, his breaths growing ragged and moans increasing in pitch as he nears climax. right before the event horizon, geto lets go of gojo, stilling his movements but remaining inside of him. gojo lets out an aggravated groan and cracks an eye open, turning his head to look at you.

"this is where you come in, princess," he manages, speech almost slurred. "come here."

he doesn't have to tell you twice. scampering over, you comply when gojo motions for you to turn around. his grip is tight on your ass when he brings your hips back, the hard length of him pressing into the wetness pooled between your legs. he slips inside of your tight heat effortlessly, filling you to the hilt as geto starts fucking him again. gojo is stretching you out and you love the feeling of being so damn full, head hanging low and breasts swaying with the motion as geto fucks gojo and gojo fucks you.

the sound of skin on skin fills the room and you're seeing stars as gojo makes high-pitched sounds, geto's panting filling up the spaces in between his whimpers. it's quite possibly the most erotic thing you've ever experienced, having one man inside of you while another man is inside of him. you can't help but wonder how it feels for gojo, filling up one person with someone else filling him up simultaneously.

they're moving in time with each other, and you hear gojo's breathing become frantic as he gasps. the force of geto's thrusts are pushing him forwards into you, nudging his head repeatedly into your cervix. gojo's palms are hot on your hips, and you feel more than see his body tense up as he approaches orgasm. a loud gasp is pushed out of his chest when geto reaches around to pinch his nipples.

gojo chokes on air, rutting forward into you and pushing himself back onto geto in the same moment. he sounds wrecked with sensation as geto doesn't stop for a second, pounding into him while you clench and milk him for all he's worth.

"fuck, suguru, i'm gonna— fuck, i'm coming," gojo cries, spilling deep inside of you. geto fucks him through it, pushing gojo's load deeper inside of you as he keeps coming. gojo has stopped moving and just rides out his climax, grip loosening around your hips. geto's forcing him forwards into you over and over again, the motion bracketed by gojo's unfettered groans and his own harsh panting. after a long minute, you feel geto pull out of gojo and gojo pull out of you, the lewd noises juxtaposed against the soft music still playing.

gojo flops down onto the bed beside you, chest heaving. geto disappears into the bathroom only to reappear moments later with a damp towel, which gojo catches in one hand. he goes again into the bathroom and you hear the sound of the shower starting up.

"what's he doing?" you ask, watching gojo's chest rise and fall. he holds up a finger, slowing his breathing before he answers you.

"cleaning himself up," he says between lungfuls of air. he turns his head to look at you and winks. "he needs to wash up for what we have planned next with you."

you don't have time to ponder exactly what that could entail before gojo suddenly sits up and manhandles you onto your back, his hands pushing your collarbones. you can feel his release leaking out of you, slippery in between your thighs.

"remember what i said about asking nicely?" his blue eyes are piercing as they bore into yours. gojo is close enough that you can count his eyelashes, and you catch the lingering scent of ysl’s black opium cologne. you swallow, toes tingling at the sheer proximity.

he leans into you and you're dumbstruck by the broadness of him as he cages you in, dipping his head down to brush his nose against yours. barely breathing, you have to bite back a whimper as gojo’s mouth moves to your throat.

"manners are important, you know." sucking hungrily, he spreads your legs with a knee, reaching down to clean up the mess he made inside of you.

"shocked that you would know, seeing as you don't have any," you choke out, nails scrabbling at his shoulder blades while he wipes you clean, the light touch of gojo's hand stark in contrast to the teeth at your throat. you feel him grin into your skin.

"i'm demonstrating them right now, aren’t i?" you can't tell if you're wet from him coming inside of you or from the way he's touching you, once again too much and not enough all at once.

"don't gentlemen always clean up the messes they make?" gojo asks rhetorically, lips moving on your skin. "i'm nothing if not a gentleman."

"and i'm the goddamn president," your voice wobbles but it comes out sufficiently derisory for you in this moment. "since we're telling jokes now."

gojo bites, sucking hard enough to leave a purpled bruise. you can't stop your hand from twisting in his hair, your body arching up into him.

"i know what you want," gojo’s voice is low as he tilts your jaw up for better access, his mouth hot on your neck. he throws the soiled towel aside without looking. "and i'm not going to give it to you until you ask. nicely. "

he moves down your body, leaving bruising kisses along your sternum, your ribs, your hipbones. his palms are cool when they press into your knees, pushing your legs apart so he can kneel between them. gojo looks up at you from beneath his lashes, daring you to retort.

"i know you can do it," he drawls, voice lilting in condescension. he grazes a finger through your slick folds, darting away when your eyelids flutter. "all you need to do is ask."

sheets clenched in your hands, you bite your lip. looking down, you appraise the cocky grin on gojo's face, his eyebrow raised in challenge. he's a bitch, for sure, but it takes one to know one.

"no," is all you say, watching his gaze darken. "i don't think i will."

gojo's mouth is above your clit in a flash, breath hot on your slick lips. your hips buck up involuntarily and he leans back, laughing. you kick at his chest with a foot, resisting the urge to pout.

"come on, it won't kill you," he says mockingly. "it might even do you good to learn some manners."

his hands are firm on your hipbones and he dips his head back down, breathing along your lips. every fibre of your being is on fire and you want it so bad it hurts, throbbing hotly at your core but you will not give him the goddamn satisfaction.

he presses open-mouthed kisses to the inside of your thighs, snickering at the sharp inhale through your nose when he scrapes the thin skin with his teeth. an accidental moan slips from your mouth when he sucks a hickey into your hip, the hand that flies up to stifle it coming too late.

heart racing, a devious smile suddenly quirks your lips. "i don't need to ask," you say, tone just as mocking as gojo's. "to know geto is better at eating me out."

gojo stills against you, his mouth hot on your skin. he draws back slowly, eyes flicking up to meet yours. his grip tightens around your hips and you meet his gaze unwaveringly, watching as a shadow passes over his features.

he cocks his head, looking all the world like a predator about to snatch his prey.

"you know," he begins, and there's nothing joking or lighthearted in his tone this time. "suguru got to have his dessert, but i never got to have mine."

there's no time to ready yourself before gojo's mouth is on you, his tongue sliding inside to your centre without hesitation. your hips jerk up and he's holding you down as he licks into you, tongue caressing your walls. you cry out, one hand gripping the sheets and the other twisted in his hair. you're struck by the thought that he can probably taste himself but judging from the way he's eating you out, he clearly doesn't care.

gojo's head is moving beneath your hand as he continues ravaging you, pulling back only for a second to release one of your hips. when his hand enters you, his fingers somehow feel even deeper than his entire length did ten minutes ago. gojo is unrelenting, pushing his index and middle fingers in and out so quickly you're choking on air. every nerve in your body has been set alight, silvery ecstasy coursing through your veins like drugs as he doesn’t stop.

he's suctioned his lips around your clit, not coming up for air as his hand pumps inside of you. gojo's mouth is warm and wet as he licks and he doesn't let up even when you spasm, his forearm firm across your pelvis to hold you down while his fingers hit your spot, again and again.

you can't even moan because you can't breathe. your eyes are scrunched shut and your back is arched off the bed. you don't have to look to feel his nose pressed into the top of your mound as gojo eats you out like he's fallen ill and your folds are hiding the antidote.

you're just about to come and he stops all at once, removing his hand with a squelch and releasing your clit from between his lips. you blink blearily, eyebrows furrowing in confusion as you peer down at him. gojo's got a challenging look on his face, staring up at you resolutely.

"say please," he says, and you're about to shake your head when he leans closer to you, lips gleaming and chin slick. he trails a finger through your folds, dripping from how close you are and his own saliva. gojo's fingertip circles your clit without touching it, his touch featherlight.

"if you want to come," his voice is low, without mirth. "say it."

every cell in your body has been besieged by want and it seems like he can tell, the little shit. the corner of his mouth curls upwards when he pulls back and your body involuntarily lurches up, like it's following him. you're stubborn and you hate losing but you also really, really fucking need to finish under his tongue.

you bite your lip, the haze in your mind leaving you thoughtless save for one aching need. gojo's blue eyes flash and you're suddenly reminded of the snake, right before it entices eve into eating the apple.

his mouth is set in a firm line, expression resolute. there’s fire simmering beneath your skin and you’re absolutely burning with it, tossing your pride aside as the word finally leaves your mouth.

"please," you choke out, and his mouth splits into a smug grin, teeth shining as brightly as his hair. you only have a moment to feel intense annoyance before gojo's lips are back on yours and the feeling is instantly replaced with mind-numbing pleasure, every endorphin in your brain releasing all at once.

he's thrown your legs over his shoulders, jaw working furiously while his tongue licks into you. gojo's long fingers slip back inside of you seamlessly, aided by how wet you are and his saliva. his other hand leaves your hip and he spreads your folds with his fingers, pushing your clit out and creating the perfect conditions for him to latch his lips around it and suck.

"oh, god," you wail, both hands fisting in his air and toes curling over gojo’s shoulders. you’re heaving shallow breaths but he doesn't stop, his fingers plunging in and out of you as he sucks hard, cheeks hollowing and teeth nipping gently at the bud. you’re absolutely drowning in it, choking on air and limbs jerking when you cry out and come. your thighs squeeze his head and he probably can't breathe but you don't care and neither does he as gojo basically lets you fuck his face, taking all of you and then some.

it just keeps going, and going, and going. gojo doesn't come up for air, suckling at your clit even as you sag back onto the bed, spent. he slowly withdraws his head from between your legs, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. geto reappears, his body damp, and you crack an eye open to appraise his lithe form.

"she said i'm better at eating her out," gojo winks conspiratorially, waggling his eyebrows at you and hopping off the bed to stand up.

you don't have the strength to rebut but you don’t have to because geto rolls his eyes, climbing onto the bed to help you sit up. "i'm fairly certain she didn't."

geto reaches into a bedside drawer, pulling out a bottle of water. he unscrews the cap and raises it to your lips, his other hand supporting your back as he helps you drink.

"we're giving you another break," geto's voice is soft but his eyes are dark as you nod weakly, water trickling down your chin. geto’s touch is tender on your jaw as he thumbs at the droplets, taking the bottle from you when you're done and propping you up with a pillow. he leans in close, his loose hair falling into his face, to stroke your cheek, gaze never leaving yours.

"watch closely, okay?" he says, and you have the feeling that it isn't a question, despite being phrased as one. you're sitting on one side of the bed, which is massive enough that all three of you and probably a few more could lay comfortably side-by-side with enough room to spare. gojo turns on the fireplace, the embers crackling to life as he draws the curtains closed, casting the room in a warm glow.

gojo walks back to the bed with palpable intent guiding his footsteps, blue eyes fixed on geto. with eyes only for each other, you watch as gojo climbs onto the bed and on top of geto, whose palm has come to rest around gojo's waist, their gazes locked.

a soft sigh falls from geto's lips when gojo begins pressing tender kisses down his neck. touching him in an achingly affectionate way that seems almost uncharacteristic, gojo's hands are reverent as they hold geto’s body close. they're both achingly hard again but there's nothing rushed about the way gojo's lips are moving against his skin, every hitched breath and shuddering exhale deafeningly loud in the silence of the room.

gojo takes his time, making sure there’s not an inch of geto’s body left unmarked by his lips. he’s everywhere— at geto’s ribs, his navel, his thighs, his hipbone. the sound of geto sighing wafts into your ears like smoke, and gojo parts his legs slowly, palms on the inside of his knees. you watch gojo kneel between his legs like he’s praying, taking a long moment to stare up at geto, who meets his gaze unblinkingly. there’s a long moment where they just breathe together, having another silent conversation meant for the two of them alone.

you have the inescapable sense that you’re being let in on something precious, confirmed by the careful way gojo dips his head down in between geto’s thighs. he brings geto’s legs over his shoulders and geto reaches down to stroke his hair, carding his fingers through the soft strands. from where you’re sitting beside them, gojo’s lowered head is obscured by geto’s thighs, but the way geto inhales sharply through his nose lets you ascertain the moment gojo’s tongue enters him.

the way gojo licks into him is almost alien to the feral manner in which he was eating you out earlier, all tender kisses and measured swipes of his tongue. it’s like he’s a different person, his touch delicate on geto’s skin as he keeps his legs spread, head moving unhurriedly between his thighs. geto’s eyelids have fluttered closed, his dark hair pooled around his head as gojo continues lapping at him like gentle waves against a serene shore.

the only noises in the room are geto’s slow breaths and the wet sounds of gojo’s mouth, geto’s hardness untouched between them. he hasn’t made any move to touch himself and neither has gojo, and you watch as his body ripples with bliss, toes flexing over gojo’s shoulders.

after several long minutes, gojo lifts his head, dropping soft kisses up geto’s thigh as he lays his legs back down onto the bed. geto is breathing heavily, forearm slung over his eyes, as gojo leans over to open the bedside drawer, pulling out another bottle of water. he tips his head back, pouring water into his mouth and swishing it around before swallowing, capping the bottle and closing the drawer. he angles his body back over geto, touch featherlight across his clavicle.

geto shivers when gojo ghosts a finger down his sternum, closing his eyes when gojo takes his lips in his own. he has one hand on gojo's shoulder, the other sliding up into his hair as their mouths move languidly together. gojo has tugged one of geto's legs around his waist, slow and deliberate, not at all similar to the way he did the same to you earlier. geto arches into him, and their bodies are so intertwined that it's hard to tell where one ends and the other begins, like they've merged into one.

they're so close, in fact, that it takes you a full minute to realize gojo has been inside of geto for quite some time, his hips moving fluidly as geto wraps his arms around his shoulders and crosses his ankles behind gojo's back. his thrusts are measured, unhurried, and geto's eyes close when gojo dips his head down to nuzzle at his neck.

judging from the way he takes all of gojo effortlessly, you think that geto must have prepped in the shower. from your vantage point, you can see the muscles of gojo's back shifting as he moves, geto exhaling loudly as gojo gently picks up the pace, thrusting slowly like they could do this for the next ten, hundred, or even thousand years. the only thing you can hear are their measured breaths, the bed silent as gojo carefully brings his hips forward again and again.

geto makes a low noise and gojo understands, leaning back to lift geto's ankles onto his shoulders. it's only after he fills up geto for the dozenth time that gojo dips down, his hips never faltering, to capture geto's lips in his own. their mouths move against one another as their bodies are joined, geto's palms pressed flat to gojo's chest and gojo's hands wrapped around geto's thighs.

you watch them make love and it's breathtakingly intimate, breath hitching in your throat when they break apart and geto tucks a strand of gojo’s hair behind his ear. a slow smile spreads over gojo's face, nothing at all like the feral grin that split his lips earlier. he presses a tender kiss to the inside of geto’s calf, tilting his hips up and and letting out a soft chuckle when geto inhales sharply and his eyes snap shut, toes curling and fingers flexing against gojo's chest.

he still hasn't reached between geto's legs and you're starting to think geto must have the stamina of a fucking horse after being sucked and fucked both ways. geto opens his eyes and he meets gojo's gaze, who once again doesn't need words to understand. he pulls out of geto as smoothly as he entered him, climbing off the bed and heading for the bathroom.

geto sighs deeply, still on his back. for a long minute it's just the two of you in the quiet, and you twitch, heat pooling between your legs. he's on top of you in the next moment, pushing away the pillow supporting your body to lay you flat on the bed. "you were watching, right?"

you nod, thinking that it must be evident from how wet you are. geto's hands are braced on either side of your head and he's pulled your legs over his hips, his hair tickling your neck as his head bows down. he's radiating warmth and you catch a whiff of the same versace cologne, musky as he licks an unhurried stripe up your neck.

the energy in the room is charged and you watch his biceps tense, your gaze dropping to the firm muscle of his chest as the firelight lends his body an otherworldly halo. tilting your chin up, geto doesn't look away when he slides into you, his hips meeting yours in one deliberate thrust. your world has been reduced to one point of contact and you're melting into oblivion as geto stays unmoving deep inside of your wet heat, anchored by your arms wrapped tightly around his neck.

you're staring so deeply into his eyes that you could drown as he just stays there, completely still as your walls clench around him. your mouth is an inch from his own, breaths mingling in the quiet. the room is completely silent save for the distant hum of the shower and the crackle of the fireplace, tempered by your shallow breathing. geto looks at you through hooded eyelids, tingles shooting down to your toes as he visibly holds himself back, trembling with the effort. you’re acutely aware of your heartbeat, thundering in your ears.

when geto finally draws back and brings himself into you again, it's so good you could cry. the sex is made even more intense by the way he continues to stare through you, dark eyes glittering. never breaking eye contact, he purposefully snaps his hips again, and again, and again, each measured thrust metered by the sighs that escape your lips. your hands slide down from his neck and you can feel the muscle and sinew of his back shifting while he moves, your every sense overtaken by him as he continues to roll his hips. every time his head brushes your cervix your body undulates with pleasure, reducing you to a puddle in his arms.

geto lowers his head, breath hot against your neck, and you think about the fact that he’s the only one who hasn’t come yet. your bodies are pressed together and you can feel every inch of him as he moves inside of you, deliberate and restrained. you can tell he’s yearning for more but he doesn’t let himself have it, tensely grasping your jaw when you arch up into his chest. he doesn’t pick up the pace even when you rest your hands on his ass, the muscle flexing beneath your fingers as he just keeps going, each thrust calculated and purposeful when he slides in and out of you. chest to chest, you breathe with him, his body firm beneath your palms. he's staring endlessly into your eyes, his own so dark that they could hold the universe.

you think you could come, just like this, and it's almost like geto can read your thoughts because he stops all at once, pulling out and leaving you devastatingly empty. you’re aching at the loss but distracted by gojo as he suddenly reappears, water dripping in rivulets down his chest. geto holds a hand out behind him, accepting the lube without looking.

"you said you were good with everything, right?" geto turns to glance at you, who can once again only nod in response. geto takes your hand to bring you into an upright position, gojo going to sit behind you and it's reminiscent of before, with his damp skin pressed to your shoulder blades and geto between your legs.

geto squeezes lube onto his fingers, rubbing his palms together to warm them up. he looks up at you through his lashes, dark and daring.

you nod, just once, and geto’s first finger enters your ass with so much confidence that it feels like this is his fucking profession. gojo's palms are again around your breasts, mouth hot on your nape. your breath hitches in your throat when geto adds another finger, scissoring them inside of your ass, his other hand tight on your thigh. groaning low and long, your palms come up to rest on top of gojo's hands as his tongue laps wetly at your skin. he suddenly bites at your shoulder and you don't have the energy to swat at him, making a harrumph sound when he chuckles into your neck.

"you're up to three fingers now, did you know that?" geto says quietly, and you glance down at his wrist as it moves between your legs. damn, he's right.

geto's other hand smooths down your thigh, palm warm on your skin. "you're doing so good."

you can feel geto moving his hand inside of you as gojo presses a lingering kiss to your nape, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling your back flush against his chest, his legs encasing both of yours. his warmth envelops you as you just breathe, geto's fingers stretching you out.

you feel gojo smile into your skin. "the little lady must be tired, huh?"

your eyes are closed but you make a hmph noise, still lucid enough to retort. "i'm not a little lady, you dickhead."

gojo laughs, a hot puff of air against your neck, his arms snug around your waist. "i was talking about your clit."

chuckling breathlessly, you tip your head onto gojo's shoulder as geto continues scissoring his fingers inside of you. "okay, you're not wrong with that one."

one of gojo's arms slips out from their embrace and he leans to the side, opening the bedside drawer. his other arm suddenly retracts from around you too and your eyes snap open as your hands are yanked behind you, the click of handcuffs thunderously loud when they lock around your wrists.

you swallow hard, tugging on the restraints behind your back. nope, they're tightly secured. your heart is racing as geto removes his hand from your ass, gifting you with a view of his muscled back as he stands up and walks into the bathroom.

"first time being cuffed?" gojo asks knowingly from behind you, tracing a finger down your arm. you shiver, nodding stutteringly to the empty space in front of you. gojo rotates you in his lap to face him, your thighs on top of his own. the scent of his cologne is distinct, the notes of vanilla intensified by your proximity.

gojo lowers his head to brush his nose against yours, and you absolutely thrill at the danger in his eyes when he leans back. "it takes a lot of trust," he says lowly, glancing down at your body. gojo looks up at you, gaze dark and rife with intent. "and we don't take that lightly."

he moves you both further down the bed, laying flat once he has enough room. you're sitting on his thighs and you feel him beneath your leg, hard and wanting.

geto's palms are cold and wet around your waist when they startle you from behind and you jolt, shuddering when he presses a lingering kiss to your nape. you're sopping again already and you want nothing more than to reach forward and snatch gojo by the shoulders to drag his lips onto yours but you can't.

wrists cuffed, your body is trapped between them with gojo at your front and geto at your back. icy anticipation shoots through your veins and lights a fire in your core. you're completely at their mercy now.

gojo sees it on your face and he doesn't make you ask this time as he lifts your thighs up to guide himself inside, not stopping until the flat plane of his hipbones are pressed against the swell of your ass. mouth wet on your neck, geto bites at your shoulder, reaching around to pinch a nipple before withdrawing his hand, the bed dipping as he climbs off.

gojo's grip is firm on your hips and your knees rest outside each of his thighs, wrists still bound behind your back. the next breath you release stutters as it leaves your lips, yet gojo doesn't move. you grind down onto him, lips puffy from overuse, and take the opportunity to luxuriate in being filled up. it's too fucking good, gojo nestled so deeply inside of you that you can feel him in your sternum.

he slowly raises your thighs up from below, bringing you back down just as carefully. you bite back a whimper, every sense heightened by the way gojo and geto can do absolutely whatever they want to you right now. he brings your hips together again, gradually picking up the pace when you openly groan, breasts bobbing as you ride him.

"she takes it so well, doesn't she?" geto says from behind you, the bed shifting as he climbs on again. gojo makes a noise of agreement, hands moving to your waist to steady you. geto cups your ass, urging you on to help you ride gojo more thoroughly.

"like she was born for it," gojo agrees, squeezing your waist in his hands. one of his fingertips wanders up to your breast, dancing around a nipple. you gasp, wrists straining against the cuffs as gojo retracts, his hand rejoining the other at your waist.

you're moving together and gojo is right there every time you sink back down, thrusting up to meet you. he was right, your clit is tired, and you think that maybe you could come from this alone if he just keeps going. there's a click of a cap, the sound of lube being pushed out of a bottle, but you barely hear it, your nerves strung tight with sensation.

all of a sudden, there are palms on your spine, pressing you down onto gojo’s chest as he continues pumping his hips, his balls making a lewd sound when they slap your ass. you have no choice but to comply and you choke on air as gojo doesn't stop, the angle changing when you slant forward and allowing him to hit your spot. with your wrists behind your back, you would have fallen onto him but gojo is holding you up, one palm warm around your waist and the other supporting your shoulder.

he's fucking you earnestly now, your face an inch above his own. gojo's breathing hard, sweat collecting in the hollow of his throat as your bodies undulate against each other. once again, you ache to take his lips in yours but he doesn't let you, keeping you in place as he keeps pounding himself into you. you’re drunk with it, throwing your head back as pleasure radiates out from your core.

there's movement behind you as geto rises up on his knees, one of his hands resting on your ass as it moves up and down. he pushes your spine down even more, raising your ass in the air and gojo is ready, meeting you with his tongue and licking into your mouth. ass up and face down, your veins are flooded with icy hot anticipation and you moan into his teeth, arms twisting futilely behind your back as the cuffs hold you in place.

time grates to a halt when geto's tip breaches your ass, splitting you open from behind. you choke against gojo's lips, who stops moving, breaking away to let geto enter you properly. he's still holding you up as your head falls forward, dropping towards your chest.

"you okay?" gojo's voice is soft but laden with concern, one of his hands coming up to grasp at your jaw. he lifts your chin to meet his eyes and you're in a daze, the pressure overwhelming as geto continues pushing into you for what feels like an eternity. you nod jerkily, chin moving in his hand, and gojo brings you down to his chest, holding you close as geto keeps going until he's fully inside you at the other end.

there's a long moment where you just breathe, face pressed into gojo's shoulder, his arms wrapped tight around you. if you thought you felt full before that was nothing compared to how you feel right now. you're absolutely stuffed to the brim and there's no room left in your lungs for oxygen, every cavern and crevice of your body filled to the brim with nothing but them.

it's not quite painful but it definitely is a lot, both men shoved in to the hilt. there's only a singular velvety wall separating them and you can feel gojo and geto pressed against each other inside of you. they're still not moving, gojo's palms smoothing up and down your back as he and geto let you adjust to their simultaneous penetration.

you shift your weight and your senses are instantly overwhelmed in a way you've never felt before, every fibre of your being set alight with sensation as hot ecstasy erupts throughout your body. drooping further into gojo's shoulder, you let out a primal groan, unable to produce speech. he makes a knowing noise deep in his throat, a low mhmm-hmm, and gently props you up, holding your torso above his own. the motion moves both of them inside of you and you have to bite back a genuine wail as you feel their thicknesses rub together, hot and hard between your walls.

"just tell us when," gojo says, supporting your entire body like you weigh nothing. geto's palms are warm on your hips from behind and he strokes, soothing. "there's no rush."

geto makes an affirmative sound, the noise loud in the pin-drop silence. you would say something but you're devastated by proximity, gojo inside of you one way and geto in another. your entire being has been subsumed and you're lost in the ocean of their bodies, drifting in the warmth of their hands, the slowness of their breaths, the distinct smell of expensive cologne and sex.

carefully patting your hip, you blink your eyes open as geto gently brings you to the surface. gojo is looking at you, unhurried and steady, and you can feel the same surety radiating from geto behind you.

you heave a shuddering breath, feeling them beneath your skin, in your bones, as they reach into the deepest caverns and crevices of your body. you've never been more certain of anything else in your life when you look at gojo’s face, exhaling loudly to say one word.

"move."

they don't have to be told twice. gojo pulls out of you in the same instant as geto, both snapping their hips forward to meet at the centre of you. the cry that escapes your mouth is deafening, and the sound is punched out of you again, and again, and again as they thrust together, filling you up beyond measure. you feel like you're going to overflow, brain short-circuiting and body sagging in gojo's hands as he keeps holding you up while he moves alongside geto.

geto quickens his pace and their timing changes, gojo plunging into you in the moment that geto draws himself back. you're not empty for a single second and you fucking love it, choking on air when gojo cranes his neck down to lick your areola. the sounds the three of you are making are absolutely filthy, heavy panting and skin slapping skin as your bodies move together. it's almost like gojo and geto are connected through you and you’re punch-drunk, body moving forwards and backwards on their lengths as they fuck you simultaneously.

you have hands all over you, geto's fingers digging into your hips tight enough that you'll have bruises tomorrow, gojo's arms wrapped around your torso with his palms flat on the skin of your back. you're delirious with it, eyes rolling back as gojo pushes you into a more upright position and in doing so shoves you onto geto, who thrusts forward at the same moment that gojo hits your spot. one of them inside of you was overwhelming but both feels world-ending, pleasure erupting from everywhere and flowing all the way into your fingers and toes.

you're utterly incapable of speech at this point and you're spewing nonsense; things that sound like words but aren't, guttural moans pouring out of you like rain. your breasts are bouncing furiously and you've never felt like this in your life, each man fucking one of your holes like it's his last day on earth.

arms spasming in the restraints, you keen, high and loud. something visceral has taken over you and the pace they've set inside of you is so much yet somehow still not enough. you need to touch yourself but you can't and you want more, you fucking need more.

"h—harder," you choke, straining against the cuffs. you're aching with desire and burning for release as your entire body is pulled taut by a string that threads through all three of you. "fuck me harder."

the atmosphere in the room changes immediately. gojo's eyes flash and his fingers flex around your waist, the bed shifting as he presses his heels into the mattress to pound into you from below. geto speeds up behind you, thrusting into your ass uninhibited. you can feel them sliding together inside of you and you're fucking choking on air, spluttering as they piston in out of you at light speed.

you're suddenly yanked backwards when a hand grabs you by the cuffs, geto's grip a vice around your wrists. he doesn't stop pushing himself inside of your ass, using your weight as leverage as he leans away to thrust deeper. his free hand seizes a fistful of your hair, pulling your head backwards and shooting tingles of prickly pleasure down to your toes. with your back bowed, you're basically suspended above gojo, geto's position and his hold on your wrists creating an equilibrium between the two of you that lets him support your weight.

the position has consequently raised your face above gojo’s mouth, who hungrily claims your lips with his own while he continues pulling your hips down onto himself from below. you're teary-eyed from sensory overload, gasping against gojo's lips as geto keeps snapping his hips forwards into you, your folds squelching lewdly as gojo does the same. the scent of their cologne and the smell of sex hangs heavy in the air, stifling your lungs as you struggle to suck down air.

“do—don’t,” you rasp into gojo’s mouth, drunk with the sensation of two hot, hard lengths moving together inside of you. “don’t —ungh— stop.”

the friction is delicious and it seems like geto thinks so too, his breaths growing laboured behind you. a gasp is punched out of your lungs when he releases your hair to slap your ass hard , the crack audible even amongst all the noises the three of you are making. geto lets go of your wrists to dig his fingers into your hips once more, forcing your spine into a slope as he brings you back onto himself at a punishing speed. gojo’s length keeps rubbing into his inside of you and geto is absolutely losing himself in it, fucking you carnally as you feel more than see him finally approach climax.

gojo breaks away and he isn't looking at you anymore, staring past your face at geto, whose eyes are scrunched shut as he jackrabbits his hips. the way he's moving and the sounds he's making are borderline animalistic, all grunts and heavy breathing. geto is unraveling, his movements turning frantic and you can't do anything but take it as he pushes into you over and over again, single-mindedly chasing his own release.

gojo is still thrusting up into you and from the way he's tensed up you can tell that he's close too, but he's not focused on your pleasure or his own right now. his eyes never leave geto, whose lips have parted as he lets himself pump his hips freely into your ass. your entire body jolts from the movement, anchored by gojo's firm arm around your waist and his length still moving inside of you.

"suguru," comes gojo's voice, pointed and direct. geto opens his eyes and looks at gojo, who's wearing the most serious expression you've ever seen on his face. gojo's tone leaves no room for argument when he speaks.

"come."

geto makes a strangled noise and then it's happening all at once, his rhythm stuttering as his balls tighten and he finally, finally orgasms. he's spurting hotly into your ass and it's neverending— geto just continues coming, filling you up with his seed as his body jerks violently, wracked with pleasure.

inside of you, gojo's length has continued to press against geto’s throughout his climax, and he doesn't stop thrusting even as geto comes down. he actually speeds up when geto begins to soften inside of your ass, sitting up and dragging you onto his lap after geto pulls out.

the desire to rub your clit is so overpowering that you feel like you might actually die. your head twists despairingly over your shoulder, trying to implore geto to take your cuffs off, when a firm hand grabs your chin and turns your head back around.

gojo's gaze is unwavering as he releases your chin to grab the flesh of your ass, thrusting up and ignoring your eyes blown wide in need.

"don't look at him," his voice is even as it cuts through the frenzied wail that escapes your clenched teeth. "look at me."

you're struggling to comply because you've hit your limit— it's all too fucking much, geto’s come is slippery between your cheeks and you’re aching so hard it hurts because you need to come now. you’re gasping so deeply that it sounds like you’re choking but he doesn't care, bouncing you in his lap even as you whine from oversensitivity.

"didn't you hear me?" it sounds like a question but gojo isn't asking. you can't form words, rendered incoherent by the hurricane of sensation. you can feel him getting close too but he supersedes his own desire to finish, focusing entirely on the task at hand.

gojo's fingers tighten around your jaw, his tone just as unforgiving.

"look. at. me. "

it's akin to weathering a torrential downpour when you muster up every ounce of strength left in your feeble body to open your eyes, meeting gojo's unblinking gaze. you're struggling to suck down air while he stares into your soul, slamming you down onto himself for the last time as he spills deep inside of you, coming so hard his eyes roll back in his head. you're still moving in his lap and you're babbling incoherently as he fills you to the brim, his load and geto's separated only by a thin wall inside of you.

gojo exhales harshly, pumping his hips through the aftershocks as you milk him dry. you're trying not to let the despair show outwardly on your face and you're tugging despondently at the cuffs, thrashing so hard in the restraints that your wrists are bruising. it's only because your eyes are open that you see the wicked grin suddenly quirk gojo's lips, and you're powerless to do anything as he abruptly shoves you backwards into geto's waiting arms.

"you didn't think we forgot, did you?" gojo asks devilishly. geto's hands are warm around your chest and his fingers are pinching your nipples as gojo thrusts up, hard, and directly rails your spot at the same moment his hand darts down to thumb at your swollen clit.

the tension inside your core snaps like a rubber band and the sensory processing centre in your brain implodes instantly, every cell in your body igniting all at once. the raw ecstasy that courses through your veins is so visceral that you feel high, floating somewhere outside of your body as it just doesn’t stop. you barely register that you’re releasing wave after wave of liquid around gojo as your limbs convulse helplessly against geto's chest, every fibre of your being utterly consumed by sensation. the last thing you hear before passing out is gojo's breathless laughter, blackness engulfing the edges of your vision as you fall endlessly into geto's arms.

*****

you don’t know how much time has passed when strong arms scoop you up, wrapping around your shoulders and under the backs of your knees, carrying your limp body like you weigh nothing. your hand falls toward the floor and you absently wonder when the cuffs were taken off, your other arm folded into a warm chest. head lolling towards a collarbone, the scent of jasmine permeates the corners of your subconscious. you’re distantly aware of being carried into the bathroom, cradled with painstaking care.

there’s movement around you, the sound of footsteps and taps being turned on, the slow rush of water as it fills up the tub. your eyes are still closed when you’re carefully passed from one pair of arms to another, enveloped by warm water as you’re settled against the smooth skin of a chest, arms wrapping securely around your middle.

you’re resting on top of firm thighs, enveloped by warmth. you would open your eyes but you can’t because your body isn’t listening, limbs unresponsive and head thick with cottonwool. low sounds are falling from your lips, incoherent murmurs punctuated by the air you forcibly drag into your lungs, made nearly impossible because every fibre of your being is utterly spent. you’re suspended in the water and in this moment in time, succumbing to the black hole created by the vortex of sensation. you’re anchored by the body holding you close, palms around your middle and skin against your spine. a soft kiss is dropped on your nape before your head is gently tilted onto the smooth plane of a shoulder, your throat exposed.

behind your head, there are hands lathering up your hair, working shampoo into your roots and massaging your scalp. you make a satisfied noise, deep in your throat as the scent of citrus fills the room. shampoo is smoothed all the way to the ends of your hair before the hands retract and you hear footsteps walk around to the other side of the tub, the water rising as another body steps in. once again, you’re passed to waiting arms, a hand settling around your midsection while the other supports your spine. another pair of hands begins to wash the product out of your hair from behind as you’re held chest to chest, rinsing your hair with the bathwater until all you can smell is citrusy shampoo.

eyelids fluttering, you suddenly come face to face with geto, who’s blinking down at you. he smiles softly as gojo finishes washing your hair, pressing his lips to your forehead when you let out a gratified sigh. limbs still immobile, the water moves around you as he carefully hands you back to gojo, who’s ready at the other end of the tub. your body is completely pliant as gojo positions you slightly in front of him, leaving enough room between the two of you for his hands to rest comfortably on your shoulders, his thighs beneath yours.

you sigh again, closing your eyes when gojo kneads the flesh of your shoulders, applying enough pressure to release the tension but not so much that it’s painful. bringing your feet onto his lap, geto presses his knuckles into the sole of your foot, dragging them down when you exhale. they massage you like you’re precious, every touch considerate. you melt, relaxed both by the water and their slow hands.

geto releases your feet and then there’s the sound of a pump, gojo still holding you up by the shoulders while geto begins to gently work soap into the curves and angles of your body, hands delicate on your skin. in the same moment, you hear gojo squeeze something onto his hands, fingers moving to your hair as he threads conditioner through the strands.

blinking blearily, you raise a weary hand to your forehead, rubbing at a tender spot in the centre. geto gently catches your wrist in one hand, guiding it away from your face.

“let us take care of you,” he says softly, submerging your hand beneath the surface of the water. “all you need to do is rest.”

gojo is rinsing your hair again and geto’s thumbs are rubbing tender circles into your temples, easing the hazy feeling in your mind. you’re trying your damnedest to keep your eyes open but you’re surrendering to exhaustion by the second, eyelids drooping as gojo finishes washing your hair. geto takes you in his arms once more when gojo stands up, climbing out of the tub to dry off.

“you did so well,” geto murmurs into your neck. you would reply but your tongue is leaden, limbs loose as gojo lifts you out of the water, his chest warm against your cheek as he walks you both out of the bathroom and toward a waiting towel on the bed. he lays you flat before carefully unfolding your body to start the process of drying. the towel is fluffy and plush against your flesh and gojo takes great care in touching you, his breathing steady while he caresses your skin through the towel.

being cleaned up has tired you out and you’re losing your grip on consciousness, head heavy as your eyes close. there are hands supporting your back, raising a bottle to your mouth and gently parting your lips to help you drink. the water isn’t as much gulped as it is poured down your throat, cold seeping into your core. the chill is quickly replaced by a warm blanket, tugged up to your shoulders, and the sensation of two bodies, one bracketing either side of you.

you’re warm with sleep, listening to the measured draw of their breaths as they inhale, exhale, inhale and exhale again. there’s a palm on your spine and another on your side as you fall into the abyss, content to let the yawning mouth of exhaustion swallow you whole.

*****

when you wake up several hours later, you have no idea how much time has passed. the bed is empty save for you in the middle, cushioned by a border of pillows. you’re still naked but warmed by the cocoon of the blanket, which has trapped heat beneath its surface. collecting yourself, last night comes back to you all at once, flashes of hot mouths and firm hands and quick tongues. it was by far the best sex you’ve ever had in your life, and probably also the best sex you will have until the end of it.

you sit up, realizing that you’re so hungry you could definitely consume an elephant. your stomach rumbles in agreement and you’re starving but you almost don’t want to leave the bed to bear the cold world outside, the high thread count and goosefeather pillows enticing you to come back even as you stand up. there are clothes laid over a chaise in the corner; upon closer inspection, you see a comfortable bra and underwear, along with a sweater and leggings. your dress from last night is folded neatly, your lacy bra and fancy panties tucked discreetly into a bag beside it.

glancing down at your body properly, you notice for the first time the bruises around your wrists, which are rubbed raw. you peer down at your chest, which is similarly bruised. still naked, you make your way to the bathroom, gasping at the sight of your body in the mirror.

there’s no unmarred skin left on your neck; it’s absolutely littered with hickeys and bruises. your thighs are in a similar state, and you twist around to inspect your back, lovebites and marks scattered across your shoulder blades. your ass is bruised red and purple in the shape of fingerprints, the fading handprint impossible to miss across one of your cheeks. dimly, you register a dull throb between your legs. departing from the bathroom, you can’t help but be impressed because damn, they went to town on you.

you tug the sweater over your head and pull the leggings on, both from designer brands. picking up your dress and the bag, you take a second to marvel at the stunning view before you leave. the residence is situated so high into the sky that you’re struck by the ridiculous thought that they both literally and figuratively took you to cloud nine.

the suite is even more opulent in the daylight, white marble gleaming and tall arches cavernous as you walk down the hall towards the kitchen. gojo is perched on a barstool when you round the corner, tapping on his phone. geto is at the stove, flipping something in a pan.

gojo perks up at the sound of your footsteps, spinning around in the stool. “the beast awakens!”

you make a face at him, setting down your bag and dress onto the counter. “one of us is a beast, and it’s definitely not me.”

gojo titters, spinning in his chair. “i knew my gut was right when i spotted you.”

there’s a plate piled high with pancakes waiting for you, still warm. syrup and butter are off to the side and you wince when you sit down, pain radiating from your ass even though the barstool’s leather is soft.

geto turns around, holding a spatula and wearing an apron that says kiss the cook, but don’t touch the buns! the concerned expression on his face makes you bite back your smile.

“you okay?” he asks, unconvinced when you nod. his brow furrows as he looks at you, scanning your body. “we went really hard last night, i’m sorry. you’re going to be sore for a while.”

“you have nothing to be sorry about,” you say, picking up a knife and fork to dig into the pancakes. “i’ve never enjoyed anything more in my life.”

geto chuckles, turning back to the pan. “i’m glad. we had a really good time, too.”

you’re eating the pancakes with so much fervour that gojo glances up from his phone, an impressed look on his face.

“we also have eggs and croissants, if pancakes aren’t the vibe,” geto says from the stove, his back still to you. your mouth is too stuffed with pancake to reply.

“i think she’s fine with the pancakes,” gojo snickers, puffing his cheeks in imitation and ignoring the glare you cast in his direction.

geto somehow senses that gojo is being a brat and turns around, brandishing his spatula. “the only reason we’re even having the breakfast of a kindergartner is because cavity-man over here needed his sugar fix.” he turns back around to flip a pancake presumably destined for said cavity-man’s stomach.

“dentists love me,” gojo sniffs, hopping down from the barstool. he breaks the rule emblazoned on geto’s apron and squeezes his ass from behind, letting out a squawk when geto whirls around and smacks him with the spatula.

cleaning your plate at a remarkable speed, you’re just starting to wonder where your phone and purse have gone when gojo appears with both in his hands. he makes no move to bring them to you and you sigh aggravatedly, climbing down from the barstool to take them from him yourself.

he smirks evilly, holding them high in the air and far beyond your reach. “didn’t we have a conversation about manners?”

you resist the urge to jump, mainly because your ass hurts too much to do so, and settle for scowling at gojo, who’s still holding your things tauntingly above your head. he’s so unbearably tall that any hope you have of swatting at his hands is laughable.

geto walks over and reaches up, fingers plucking your phone and purse from gojo’s hands. he ignores gojo’s indignant huff as he hands them to you.

“we’d love to give you our numbers,” he says, eyes kind. “if you’re up for it, we’d really like to do this again sometime.”

like a vampire, all you need is an invitation and you’ll just keep showing up forever. “i would love nothing more.”

standing in front of both of them, you’re once again struck by how tall they are. gojo is leaning an arm onto geto’s shoulder, who’s still holding the spatula. they gaze at you and for a moment you’re reminded of last night. not usually one to be bashful, you duck your head, biting your lip. the events of last night will be staying with you for a while.

“there’s a car waiting for you downstairs whenever you’re ready to go,” geto says, and you look up. “though we wouldn’t mind if you stayed a little longer.”

gojo pushes away from geto, striding forward to grab your wrist and drag you into the living space. he plops you down onto the couch in front of a massive tv, taking your things from your hands and tossing them beside you.

“you’re right, i’m a fucking beast at mario kart,” gojo drawls, opening something you didn’t realize was a drawer and pulling out two controllers. “i’m princess peach, of course.”

you accept the controller, rolling your eyes. “why does that make so much sense?”

gojo doesn’t dignify that with a response, turning on the switch before yelling into the kitchen where geto is still cooking. “suguru, i want extra sprinkles on my pancakes!”

“kill yourself,” geto calls back. gojo takes this reply as an affirmative and jostles your shoulder, pointing at the nintendo logo when the screen flickers to life. “you can be bowser, since he looks just like you.”

you can’t help but laugh, the smell of pancakes wafting into the room as gojo glances sideways, his eyes dancing. smiling to yourself, you conclude that being stood up is the best thing that ever could have happened to you.

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miraculouslbcnreactions · 4 months ago

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Wait, I was reading your posts and came across something I've found confusing. How is Adrien asking Ladybug wth she is doing in Volpina a bad thing? From Adrien's perspective, Ladybug's a celebrity tracking down a middle schooler with zero clout and humiliating her for lying about meeting her before. That's, uh yeah? Imagine if that happened irl lmao. Millions of teenage girls would perish at 1D's hands. My middle school would be a horror story. And it's made clear multiple times in the episode that her motivation is jealousy. It's one of the few episodes where the lesson Marinette gets makes sense I think, because she was genuinely spiteful in shitting on this random girl in front of her crush. That's significantly different than Ladybug just asking for a retraction from the Ladyblog. It's also one of the few times when Adrien's celebrity background actually affects how he acts, and it makes sense that Marinette doesn't make the connection between superhero=celebrity=not allowed to scream at middleschoolers in public. If half the kids in her school didn't lie about meeting Ladybug before, my suspension of disbelief is gone.

I've seen this argument before and it makes no sense to me, especially in the context of the lie that Lila actually told and the way the Lila confrontation actually goes down. A lot of people who have this take seem to think that Lila's lie was, "Ladybug saved me," and that Ladybug made a big public confrontation which is not what canon actually gave us. The confrontation was done in a mostly private setting and, while we never see Lila's full Ladyblog interview, this is how Ladybug sums up the interview in Volpina:

Ladybug:(sarcastically) Well hey Lila! How's it going? Long time no see. I saw your interview on the Ladyblog, awesome job. Oh sure! I remember our instant connection when I saved your life and we've been really good friends ever since! Practically BFF's! Uh actually, when did I save your life again, Lila? I don't recall. Oh yes! Of course, now I remember. Never! And we're not friends either! Miss Show-Off here was trying to impress you and everyone around her.

Lila didn't just lie about meeting Ladybug, she lied about having an ongoing, close relationship with Ladybug, two very different things. And Ladybug isn't just a celebrity, she's a superhero who is fighting an active terrorist. If I had to rewrite this confrontation, I'd keep it pretty much the same and just change the "Miss Show-Off" line to something like:

Miss Show-Off here was trying to impress you and everyone around her, putting herself and all of you at major risk! You know that Hawkmoth would do anything to get these, right? (gestures at her earrings) Did you even stop to think about what he'd do if he learned the identity of my supposed best friend? Of course not. You were too busy trying to look cool to stop and think things through like an actual superhero! We keep our identities and relationships secret for a reason!

Is this the kindest, most gentle way to confront someone like Lila? No, but it's very in character for Marinette to be filled with righteous fury when she sees someone using her name for their own personal gain. I really can't blame her for getting incredibly angry at this total stranger presenting herself as a Ladybug authority and using that authority to manipulate Marinette's friends. As I've said before, take away the crush complication and Marinette's actions still make total sense to me.

I'm not a huge proponent of virtue ethics. That's the idea that you need proper motivation for an act to be morally justified. If you do the right thing for the wrong reason, then the act is bad no matter how good the results and vice versa. If you view the world that way, then sure, you could possibly argue that Marinette's actions were wrong just like you can also argue that Gabriel's actions were totally fine, but I don't view the world that way. Switch Marinette's motivation from jealousy and a little righteous fury to pure righteous fury and almost nothing changes. She'd still need to confront Lila, the words would just be a little different.

It's not like this confrontation stops Lila, either. Chameleon gives us this:

Lila: (in flashback) Not only did Ladybug save my life, we've become very close friends. Marinette: She lies with every breath. Nino: Wait. You eavesdropped on Lila and Adrien? That's not cool. Alya: A good reporter always verifies her sources. Can you prove she doesn't actually know Ladybug?

Quick mini rant before I give the next Chameleon quote: this isn't how verifying your sources works, Alya! You should be verifying that Lila does know Ladybug, not the other way around! Right now, Marinette and Lila have equal authority on the topic as far as you know and there is no evidence to support either claim, so you should be looking for proof that Lila isn't lying! Proof isn't a first come, first serve problem even though a lot of people fall into that trap. This is especially true since Lila goes on to make claims like this:

Lila: Of course Ladybug saved my life. She never misses an opportunity to rescue her best friends. Max: Didn't your tinnitus give you vertigo when you went up the Eiffel Tower? Lila: Oh no. Ladybug knows me so well that she brought me an earplug to stick in my right ear.

So Lila keeps right on lying about her relationship with Ladybug, presenting them as close friends, making it even harder for me to get on the "Marinette was in the wrong for privately confronting Lila" train. If anything, Marinette was too tame! She needed to go full scorched earth and have Alya post a public retraction that included a message about the dangers of claiming to be personal friends with someone you don't actually know.

If the show went that route and had Ladybug give an equally furious smack-down and Alya posted it without a second thought, THEN I'd probably be on team "Marinette needed to tone herself down because she went too far" because that isn't a heat-of-the-moment reaction. It's something Marinette would have time to think through. But Volpina didn't go there. Instead, we just get Marinette reacting live to someone using her name to flirt with her crush. Remember, this is the setup to Marinette transforming and jumping in to stop Lila:

Lila: Not only did Ladybug save my life, we've become very close friends because we have something very special in common- it's what I wanted to tell you about. I'm the descendant of a vixen superheroine myself, Volpina. Adrien: Volpina? Marinette: Volpina? Adrien: Wait a minute! I think I read about her in my book. Lila:(stopping him from grabbing the book) Of course she's in your book. She's one of the most important superheroes. More powerful and more celebrated than Ladybug. Between you and me Ladybug doesn't even make the top ten. My grandma gave me this necklace. [Marinette runs off to transform] Adrien: (holding Lila's necklace) Are you telling me this is a Miraculous?! (Ladybug lands in front of them)

This wasn't a planned confrontation. It was Marinette reacting live to some pretty massive lies. If Ladybug had been swinging by and just overhead this, then the scene once again wouldn't change much. That's why blaming Marinette for confronting Lila in the "wrong way" feels so victim blame-y to me. "How dare Ladybug not be perfectly poised at all times and react with grace when someone lies about being her close friend and teammate!" is not a take I'm ever going to agree with. And if you want to use the middle schooler defense? Then it applies to Marinette, too. She and Lila are the same age. Why the different standards just because Marinette has fame that she never asked for or sought out?

I've never been much of a fan of holding celebrities to an "always on" standard where their every interaction needs to be done with poise and grace even if the interaction happens out in the wild and not at a planned even where the celebrity can be mentally prepared for dealing with fans. That's extra true for accidental celebrities like Ladybug. Marinette didn't take up the earrings for fame and they certainly haven't brought her fortune, plus she has no PR training. Expecting her to be a PR master who knows how to handle her accidental fame is, once again, a little too victim blame-y for my tastes. Ladybug is here to save the world, not sign autographs. You can hold her to politician standards when you start paying her for risking her life on the daily.

There's a version of Lila where I would have a different take. A version where the lie really is minor and Marinette really did "overreact", but even there my lesson wouldn't be "Marinette was totally in the wrong" because I genuinely think that sends the wrong message to kids and kids are the show's target audience. Think about what you're actually saying here, "Because Marinette is famous, she needs to accept that people will lie about her and just ignore them even if people believe the lie."

While that isn't exactly a wrong take, it's still really messed up. It's not okay for people to use Marinette's name like that just because she's famous. The reason she needs to learn to let it go is because that's what's best for her mental health, not because her fame makes her lesser than others when it comes to things like personal privacy. The lies are not magically okay just because she's well known.

Remember, Marinette is a fictional character, but the kids watching this show are very real and they're way more likely to be Lilas than Marinettes. And the kids that do relate to Marinette in this episode? They'll be kids who have dealt with the rumor mill spreading lies about them or their friends without the celebrity complication. The show should not be telling either set of kids that Marinette is the one in the wrong here. That is the wrong moral and why I hate this episode so much. I might feel differently if the intended audience was teens and if this plot was allowed to be more complex, but none of that is true. The show is aimed at kids ages 5 to 12 and every episode is supposed to teach its own moral with Volpina's moral being "Marinette was explicitly and totally in the wrong here."

This is the age of internet personalities where there are more easily-accessible celebrities than ever and where many of them do not have the wealth needed to protect themselves from fans nor the PR training to know how to handle extreme fans if there even is PR training for that! That means that it's honestly really important for kids to learn to view these individuals as people who it's wrong to lie about and who deserve the same respect as non-famous people. Treating celebrities as public commodities is how we get things like the Kit Connor scandal where an 18-year-old actor felt forced to publicly come out because the internet wouldn't shut up about his sexuality. Oh, and since you brought up one direction, I'll also note that the band members have publicly stated that online shipping discourse has negatively impacted their relationships. So, yeah, I'm never going to agree that kids should be told that it's okay to lie about celebrities or treat them as fictional characters to play with and that the celebrities are the ones who are wrong if they get upset about that behavior. That shit is toxic.

If we go the "minor" lie route, then my version of this episode would be a very sad one where Marinette learns that people are going to ignore her boundaries and lie about her and there's nothing she can do about it. A lesson in mental health training that will hopefully help kids who are dealing with bullies, but that does not present Marinette as totally in the wrong. It just teaches her when to pick a fight and when to let it go, which is a very important skill to learn even outside of lies about your own person. There will be many times when you hear people say something that you vehemently disagree with and it's important to learn when to pick a fight and when to just let it go, knowing that no good will come from speaking up even if you're 100% in the right. It's a very sad, but also very necessary skill.

I think Adrien has a place in that story. A place where he still tells Ladybug to let it go, but it should NOT have been played the way it was in canon where he acted like Ladybug was totally out of line. He needed to be way more compassionate and understanding of her very justified anger. I've written Adrien giving advice on this topic before and it's always presented as, "people are going to be assholes and you have to learn to ignore them for your own well being," not as, "you are wrong to be upset about strangers telling lies about you. You agreed to deal with this when you decided to be a hero" because what kind of asinine lesson is that?

You could also keep Adrien's canon reaction and have the lesson be him learning that it's okay to have boundaries. That his fame doesn't negate his bodily autonomy and right to be treated with dignity. That people chasing him down, invading his personal space, and otherwise preventing him from living a normal life is wrong. I love it when fanfics take this approach to Adrien's part in the Lila conflict. It's very cathartic to see his friends supporting him and protecting him from Lila.

I really have tried to see Volpina from the "Marinette was totally in the wrong" perspective because I've come across it several times, but I just can't wrap my head around it. If you've got a counter argument, then feel free to try to change my mind because I've given you my full thoughts here, but know that I'm probably not budging on this one. You'd have to make some pretty dramatic changes to canon for me to feel like this take has a point. I think the only way that I'd be on Lila's side is if it was very clear that no one believed Lila and Marinette still had the same reaction that we see in canon as that does feel like going too far. But everyone believed Lila so that's not a solid argument and I'm just never going to agree that people have to be cool with others lying about them just because they're famous. I honestly despise celebrity culture so much and hate that people are basically forced to deal with that bullshit if they want to be successful in certain artistic fields.

#anon ask #lila salt #ml writing critical #ml writing salt #volpina salt #ml's wacky morals

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hurtspideyparker · 8 months ago

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The team learns about Peter's stress baking fairly quickly after he moves into the tower.

"Why does this place smell like cookies?" Tony asks suspiciously, "Pepper put an end to homemade care packages after that Cap incident."

Steve protests from the dining table. "Hey, that fan seemed totally normal. Y'know in my generation you do not mess with baked goods, that's sacred."

Natasha pats his back comfortingly as she joins the conversation.

"They came from the kid. They're actually pretty good, here."

Nat hands a still-warm cookie to Tony, who bites it curiously.

"Damn, it melts in my mouth like buttery ambrosia and still has a perfect crunch around the edges. Is that a nutty aftertaste?"

"Yes!" Peter yells from the other room, a clatter sounding before his head pokes around the wall, oven mitts still attached to his hands.

"I brown the butter, it really deepens the flavour!"

"Good on you kid. What's the occasion?"

Peter stutters, "uhhhh, no occasion. I just like cookies!"

He disappears around the corner again, and Tony sends a confused glance towards his teammates.

Steve shrugs his shoulders, mouth still full of cookie, and Natasha sends him an arched brow. Tony isn't sure what that means, but feels intimidated enough to exit the room anyway.

* * *

The baking lasts the rest of the week, until Peter comes home yelling, "I aced my calculus midterm!!!" running out of the elevator with a stapled set of papers in his hand.

"So no more baking?" Nat asks neutrally.

"Nope! Woohoo!"

Just like that the kid is gone, jumping down the hall towards his bedroom.

Tony looks at Nat quizzically.

"It was midterm week. He baked 3 dozen cookies, 2 types of muffins, and a cheesecake."

"So he stress bakes?"

"He stress bakes."

* * *

It becomes a "thing" in the tower.

Sam eats toast from freshly baked bread one morning while watching Bruce quiz Peter on his upcoming AP history test. Each slice is cut, toasted, and buttered to perfection by Peter while he explains sectionalism in the 20th century.

* * *

Bucky grates carrots while Peter mixes a bowl of dry ingredients furiously, the boy mumbling to himself non-stop.

"Has he gone insane?" Clint asks from the doorway.

"Spanish oral exam," Bucky replies.

"Ay caramba."

"Tal vez pueda sobornar a mi maestra con glaseado de queso crema..." Peter starts mumbling. (Maybe I can bribe my teacher with cream cheese frosting...)

Bucky and Clint share a concerned look.

Clint approaches the boy, "put down the spatula Pete, let's talk about this."

Peter looks up in alarm.

"In English! Just English!"

* * *

"What's up kid? It's spring break, what could you possibly be stressing about."

Today Tony walks into a full kitchen; Wanda, Natasha, and Pepper are occupying the space while Peter pours something creamy into a metal bowl.

"He's asking MJ out tonight, so he's making cookies and cream ice cream in case it goes wrong." Natasha crosses her arms when she replies to him, eyes focused on Peter's mixing.

"Does ice cream even count as stress baking? The very meaning of 'bake' is to put under heat. But I suppose it does feel wrong to call it cooking."

Peter looks up, his brown eyes large and sad like a baby cow, "I still baked the cookies from scratch."

"Yeah he's a real Nara Smith!" Wanda adds enthusiastically.

"Oookay... I'll pretend I know what that means. And since when do we have an ice cream maker?" Tony points to the fancy hardware out on the kitchen counter.

"Oh, I got that for him. We lacked a lot of the tools for basic baking recipes," Pepper informs him.

Tony ponders how ice cream machines count as a basic baking tool, and decides not to argue with three powerful women and their favourite lovesick teenager.

Peter picks up his bowl and moves it into the freezer, clearing away a couple frozen pizzas and a bag of peas.

"Should I even bother with the cones?" Peter asks with a pout.

"Pete she's gonna say yes! Also if you're wallowing in misery with a tub of ice cream we still want our cones so we can emotionally support you with a crunchy treat," Wanda says with a supportive smile.

The others nod along.

"You're right!" Peter agrees before turning around and grabbing an honest-to-god waffle cone maker, with the cone shaping kit to boot.

"Why..." Tony begins to protest, "y'know what, I don't care. Let me know how it goes kid."

The man is ignored as he moves through the kitchen to grab a banana, the women coaching Peter on his manners, flirting, and first date ideas as he exits the room.

* * *

Thor hums around the delicious treat.

"Mmm. You know young Peter, you could have a shop for your creations. Is there a Stark Industries for baked goods?" Thor asks the young lad, crumbs falling from his mouth as he chews the cookie bar.

"I didn't invent the blondie Thor. I was just trying to explain what it is, a cookie brownie! I did decorate them all by myself though," he says with a satisfied grin.

"Ah yes," Thor lifts up another blondie by the pretzel stick Peter put in the squares, attached with a bit of melted chocolate so they're shaped like Mjolnir, "now you are all worthy of the hammer. Ha! This is funny, I'm sure the others will find your talents equally amusing."

Peter picks up his own mini-Mjolnjr and waves it around, "it is I, son of Odin. Don't worry puny Midgardians, I will protect you with my mighty hammer and beautiful hair!"

Thor laughs thunderously at the impression, clapping.

Bruce walks into the room, enticed by the laughter.

"Ah! My friend, Peter has made edible Mjolnirs so you, too, may be worthy. It's delicious and hilarious. Imagine Banner wielding my hammer, ha! Ridiculous," Thor is all too amused by the situation.

Bruce gives Peter an offended look as Thor continues laughing with himself, the younger just shrugging. Bruce takes one of the treats anyways, pointedly not holding it by the pretzel stick.

"Y'know Pete, have you ever considered opening a bakery? You are quite talented. I think the Avengers alone would keep you in business," Bruce asks politely.

"Well I only like to bake when I'm stressed. That wouldn't be a very stable business model," Peter points out.

"True. Although running a business can be quite stressful, so maybe you'd have a continuous supply?"

"Hm. Efficient and unhealthy," Peter nods like it's the perfect plan.

"Wow you really are Stark's intern."

Thor bursts out into another bout of raucous laughter.

"Imagine Stark wielding my dessert hammer," Thor barely gets the words out, "Stark being worthy-AH HAHA."

Bruce and Peter share a look of wide-eyed alarm before joining in on the laughter.

They all share the moment before Bruce straightens up a bit to ask, "what are you even worried about anyways Peter?"

Peter wipes a tear from his eye, "I forgot to call Aunt May this morning like I always do and she only let me move here if I promised I wouldn't neglect her. So now I'm too scared to check my phone."

"I see," Bruce sympathizes.

"Yeah, baking is good for procrastinating. I pretend I'm being productive while also creating comfort food for after my breakdowns."

* * *

Tony steps into the dining room one afternoon to find Peter slicing apples while Steve sits across from him cutting intricate patterns into pie crust. There is an array of leaves and flowers set out on the flour-sprinkled table.

"So is the ornamentation necessary, or is Cap also developing a delicious self-soothing habit," Tony inquires.

"I was just talking to Peter about pie recipes from the 40s and he asked if I could help make his prettier," Steve smiles up at his companions, "it's actually a lot of fun, I can't say I've ever used food to make art before."

"He's a natural talent Mr. Stark!"

Tony agrees with the quirk of an eyebrow and cheeky sideways nod. He observes for a moment before asking something that's been bothering him recently.

"Pete, I gotta ask. Why baking? You inherited your Aunt's terrible cooking skills, and it's not like you're built for other domestic duties. Your room is a mess. What gives? How are you so... refined?"

Peter pauses his chopping to look up incredulously.

"It's science Mr. Stark. Baking is just chemistry! I'm great at chemistry," he says with a grin.

Tony thinks about it.

"Huh. I guess you're right. So, what has you stressed this time? Girl troubles? You get too good a grade in P.E. and Flash is suspicious? Decathlon competition?" Tony lists off some of his previous turmoils.

He hopes it's the decathalon again, those butter tarts were divine.

"Um. Can I finish my apple filling before I tell you? I'll lose motivation if you start yelling at me..." Peter says with a hopeful smile, strain lying underneath it.

Tony's eyes narrow.

"Okay so I maybe blew up your test tubes when trying to develop fire webs and Dum-E may have covered your entire lab in fire supression foam."

Tony's jaw clenches, "I'm gonna let you stew in fear for a bit longer because apple is my favourite - if this was pumpkin you'd already be squashed - but best believe I'm not done with you yet." Tony slowly takes a deep breath before pointing a finger at Peter. "Never change kid, never change."

Tony leaves, distinctly in the opposite direction of his lab, and Peter goes back to slicing apples, now with a genuine smile on his face.

#peter parker #marvel mcu #irondad and spiderson #the avengers #tony stark #spider man #avengers #canon is dead I only know happy found family Stark tower fanfiction #mcu #steve rogers #natasha romanoff #bruce banner #clint barton #thor odinson #pepper potts #wanda maximoff #bucky barnes #sam wilson #peter parker fluff

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charlesf1leclerc · 2 months ago

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Summary- one day your whole world turns upside down and where will your lives go from here

Warnings- teenagers, smut , alcohol mentions, not thoroughly proof read ( so let me know if any major errors )

A/N- please note this story is only for entertainment and not in anyway linked to what real life people mentioned in this story may do or how they may act!

SERIES MASTERLIST

9 months prior- 13th of November Lando’s birthday

Lando’s house was buzzing who knew someone could have this many friends. I guess someone whose house is big enough to fit the whole year level will invite the whole year level. But this was a bit extreme for only a 17th birthday.

I didn’t really want to be here but in order to not get bullied and love a normal teenage life I had to experience the fun sometimes so here I was surrounded by a bunch of people I don’t like at a snobby boys birthday.

I don’t drink but there had to be some form of non alcoholic drink in this house so I escaped to the kitchen to look. As I stood in front of the open fridge I felt a presence beside me and then I saw him.

“ you good rummaging through my fridge “

“ maybe if you put some actual drinks out not just pure alcohol I wouldn’t have to”

“ you’re at a party sweetheart” he laughed

“I’m 17” I snapped

“Me too” he grinned

“ none of use are allowed to be drinking and if we are drinking you should have a parental note”

“Ok now you have really brought the mood down”

“ why are you talking to me anyway lando? ” I sighed

“ just doing what I’m supposed to greeting my guests and stopping them from going through my stuff” Lando closed the fridge door and turned to the kitchen counter pouring liquid from a clear jug into a red solo cup.Before he walked over and handed it out to me

“ what’s that?”

“ trust me, its lemonade” I take the cup and sniff it. It’s actually lemonade.

“ I didn’t forget about people like you” he smiled before walking away and going back to his friends

The night continued after my encounter with Lando Norris. My friends gossiped on the couches outside, we ate lots of food, danced, of course took the famous mirror selfies that would be posted on instagram later and the main event the cake.

The party was winding down and not many people were left anymore, I had to wait for Mad’s to finish her partying before leaving and she was having way too much fun with a particular person to be leaving anytime soon. So her I was sat on the couch in Lando’s living room.

“ your still here , abit pat your bed time I thought” and he was back , this time sitting next to me.

“ I have to wait for my friends otherwise yes I would be in bed” I kept my eyes straight ahead

“ well want to pass the time then” I looked at him confused

“ with what?” I asked

He simply just picked up the Nintendo controller and handed it to me

“Mario?” He suggested

“ what is it with you and your karting don’t you ever do anything else?” Still I did take the controller, I didn’t have anything better to do.

“ no I don’t “ he turned the TV on and started up the game. I was not nearly as professional as him, he took Mario kart very seriously but never the less it was still actually really fun, I didn’t know he could be so easy to be around.

I would say we had been playing for a good 30mins before I got bored of Mario Kart because Lando could never got bored of it.

“ what should we do now” he asked. He wasn’t tired? He wasn’t done spending time with me?

“ How about I go find my friend cause it’s getting really late” I laughed

“ how about I kiss you” my eyebrows shot up, what. Say something , do something.

My ears must be deceiving me because there is no way he just said that to me.

“W-What?” I breathed out

“ you heard me”

“ did I? “ I asked softly

“ you did , I know you did and I also know you didn’t laugh and walk away”

Why didn’t I walk away, maybe I wanted to kiss him, maybe I wanted him to kiss me….

Ok I want him to kiss me!

I just lean in and somehow our lips are touching. They are also doing a lot more than touching, I’m actually kissing Lando Norris.

His left hand comes up to grab my jaw and pull me closer and my arms wrap around his shoulders. There’s no way this is actually happening someone better pinch me because it’s getting to good.

Then he stops.

“ come to my room” no NO NO walk away this cannot be good.

But I don’t want to walk away.

“ Or do you like everyone looking at us” he continues. It’s only then that I realise we are still in the living room and even if there is only a handful of guests left it still makes me feel awkward.

“ ok” is all I whisper out before he grabs my hand and takes my upstairs.

His room was surprisingly clean and neat, although it was still cluttered with karting posters , trophies and helmets. It was actually a nice room to be in.

Lando shut the door behind us before turning back around to me

“I’m gonna kiss you again “ he smiled

And I let him. Let’s just say I was about to let him do a lot of things.

I ended up laying in the middle of his double bed in nothing but my bra and underwear as he hovered over me.

“ you sure this is what you want?” He tucked abit of hair behind my head.

“ I’ve never done this before” I replied

“ that’s why I want you to be sure” he didn’t want to push me and I respected that

“ I’m sure, positive , this is what I want”

He only smiled and then leant down catching my lips before trailing down my body.

This is what I wanted, who knows what would happen after this but I know that this is where I wanted to be and who I wanted to be with.

A/N- just so you know I won’t be going to hard with any sexual or smut scenes until both characters turn 18 which in the story isn’t that far away! But when I do put out more smut scenes please note you can feel free to skip past them as the story can still make sense if you skip them. Anyway hope your enjoying

taglist: comment below to be added

@barcelonaloverf1life@harrysdimple05@hc-dutch@formula1mount@itsbwokenln4 @phantomxoxo @dorothea47 @emmaweasley @joannamuns9n @alexisquinnlee-bc @g3org1al33 @ladyoflynx

#f1 x reader #x reader #fanfic #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #lando norris x reader #imagine #pierre gasly x reader #lando norris #lando norris fanfic #f1 fandom #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fic #lando norris imagine #lando x reader #lando imagine #lando x you

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judesdrabbles · 1 month ago

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The Cure (part 1)

Hello everyone, this will be the first part in my series ‘The Cure’, featuring my oc Vincent. This fic is quite slow, since I want everything to go quite gradually. I hope you guys enjoy. <3

yan!psychiatrist x reader

PART 2 / PART 3 / PART 4

word count: 1K

warnings: reader is afab, obsessive tendencies, reader has anxiety, Vincent is extremely apathetic here

Pens were portrayed in a neat line on his desk, next to his patients files and some square glasses. They were clean. Polished. Just how he liked it.

People always find things to obsess over. It’s only natural. Otherwise, you’ll get bored. Silly teenage girls and their crushes on fictional characters. The insecure male finding validation in the stock market. The lonely, middle aged woman and her fascination with her neighbor. The old man and his collection of train models. Obsession was the thread that tied humanity together.

Vincent understood this better than most. If obsession were an art, he would be its most devoted patron.

There was never a quick spark of interest for him. There had never been a ‘phase’ of anything. Because if he was interested in something, he would become consumed by it. Wanted to know everything about it until it’s laid bare, plucked dry of everything it once contained. He wanted to know, to understand.

Nothing is casual for Vincent.

That said, not much interested him either.

‘Um.. sir?’

The man, who is supposed to be your new psychiatrist, seemed to jump up from his thoughts and glances over at you. You were standing hesitatingly in the doorway.

‘I’m sorry, but patients are supposed to be waiting in the waiting room.’ The man says curtly. His dark eyes seemed to flash in annoyance.

‘Oh- Yeah, I know.’ You say, laughing nervously. ‘But I had an appointment at five, you see? It’s already thirty minutes past..’ You stay quiet for a bit. ‘And, uh, your door was open..’

The man looks over at a watch on his wrist. She was right. It was already 5.30. How could he be so careless? He gently takes the glasses from his desk and puts them onto his nose. He clears his throat and walks over to you.

‘Forgive me, Miss..?’

‘Y/N.’ You answer, pressing your lips together. ‘I hope those 30 minutes don’t get charged.’

He shakes your hand and a small smile forms on his lips. It was a cold smile. It didn’t reach his eyes. ‘Dr. Vincent, pleasure. And no, of course not, I’ll make sure of it.’ He gestures to a seat on the opposite side of his desk. ‘You can sit there, if you’d like. Or you can sit on the couch, if you’re more comfortable there.’

The office of Dr. Vincent was .. lavish. Only one glance and you could see that this guy had some money, were it to be for either the polished leather chairs, the hard wooden floors or the tall book shelves that covered the walls. And everything was neat. Almost too neat. It made you feel bad for coming in here with your normal sneakers and clothes instead of dressed up in a formal dress and heels. Especially since the psychiatrist himself seemed to dress impeccably, too.

‘I’ll sit on the chair, thanks.’ You say as you sit down. ‘It’s a nice office you have here.’

Dr. Vincent rubbed his hand on his suit, as if he just touched something dirty, and sat down opposite of you. ‘Thank you, Y/N.’ He answered. ‘Now.. it was a few days ago that I got your file in. I understand that you were referred to me since your old psychiatrist retired, hm?’

You nod. She had been such a sweetheart. You almost wanted to quit therapy all together when you heard she would retire. But she got a replacement. A new psychiatrist, moved from another town.

‘Yeah. We don’t have a lot of therapists or psychiatrists here, so I was genuinely shocked when they said there was a replacement.’

Dr. Vincent chuckles. He had his hand neatly folded in his lap, all the while looking at you. There was a slight flush on your cheeks. Nervousness? You didn’t seem nervous. Or were you good at hiding it?

‘Tell me what you worked trough with your previous therapist, Y/N.’

Dr. Vincent’s stiffness made you a little uncomfortable, and he seemed to notice that. He smiled reassuringly, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes again. Was he bored?

‘We worked trough my anxiety.’ You say, looking past him since his dark eyes seemed to pierce trough you. ‘Social.. situations and stuff. How I can handle it.’

Dr. Vincents eyes seemed to light up with newfound interest. ‘Right. Did you feel like you made progress?’

‘I mean, I am here, talking to you, a stranger. That’s something; right?’

He nodded, though his thoughts began to stray. He didn’t get many patients in his old city. And the ones that did come, were boring. They were like the wallpaper in his office. Unremarkable- fading into the background of his mind.

Again, nothing really interested him. Not the common patient that came in with relationship problems. Not the grieving mother. No, he didn’t worry one hair on his head about it. The pens on his desk interested him more.

‘Seemed like you made some good progress, then. I hope I can become more for you than just a stranger, though. Otherwise these sessions might prove challenging.’ He says.

You chuckle softly. ‘Time will tell. Need to decide if I like you or not.’

Dr. Vincent’s eyebrow raises. A sudden spark in his eyes appeared, again.

There was something about you.

Something that intrigued him.

‘I’m sorry, it was a joke.’ You say awkwardly when he doesn’t respond. He just chuckles.

‘I’m not offended, don’t worry.’ He remarks, his voice low and measured. ‘In fact, I value honesty. So, please, tell me more, Y/N..’

#yandere #yandere x reader #oc x reader #yandere oc #yandere doctor #yandere character #yandere imagines #vince my oc

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iamquiantrelle · 15 days ago

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VIRGIN TERRITORY (chapter 2) ────── iamquaintrelle

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

# tags: @whoevenisthiz @irishmanwhore @lettersofgold @deonn-jaelle @sucredreamer @leighjadeclimbedmtkilimanjaro @rougereds @f1-football-fiend @judectrl @ayeshami @greyishbach

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

It's been three days since The Comment™️, and Leila's standing in front of her bathroom mirror trying to make her box braids cooperate while simultaneously giving herself a pep talk about professional boundaries. The Madrid morning sun is streaming through her apartment window, making the gold threads in her hair shimmer like they're trying to show off.

"Just another day at the office," she mutters to her reflection. "A very expensive office with a very beautiful boss who thinks you're just okay."

Her phone buzzes – probably Yolanda's daily check-in. Her best friend had been skeptical from day one about this whole situation.

"Girl, you know how them African men be," Yolanda had said when Leila first got the job, and Leila had immediately jumped to defend against the stereotype because hello? It's 2024 and we're really still doing this?

But now? Standing here in her Madrid apartment getting ready to face another day of Aurélien's casual touches and unconscious flirting that apparently meant nothing? Maybe Yolanda had a point. Not about African men in general – that's still a trash take – but about Aurélien specifically.

Because yeah, he's French on paper, but his blood is pure Cameroonian and she's been around him long enough to see it clear as day. The way he'd shown off during that Bridge show with Samuel Eto'o and Francis Ngannou, like he was just kickin' it with his cousins. How he switches between French and that specific Cameroonian-French dialect when he's on the phone with his family. The way his whole demeanor shifts when his mama's cooking pondu.

She reaches for her most professional blazer – the one that says "I'm here to work, not to pine over you like a teenager." No more of those oversized sweaters he likes to cuddle into during morning meetings. No more letting him play with her braids while they review his schedule. No more melting when he calls her "ma puce" in that rough morning voice.

Her phone buzzes again. This time it's a text from the man himself:

Boss Man AT: Can you bring breakfast today? Missing your biscuits...

Three days ago, that message would've had her rushing to the kitchen to whip up his favorites. Now? She types back a crisp: You have a fully stocked kitchen and a recipe book. I'll see you at 9 for the Nike meeting.

She can almost see his confused face, probably wondering why his reliable source of Southern comfort food is suddenly acting brand new. But that's what he wanted, right? Just okay means just business.

"Keep that same energy," she tells her reflection, adjusting her blazer one last time. No more of this Georgia peach sweetness. If he wants okay, she can give him okay. Professional okay. Efficient okay. The kind of okay that doesn't make him honey brown sugar wings or laugh at his bad jokes or pretend not to notice when he falls asleep on her shoulder during long flights.

The kind of okay that doesn't catch feelings for men who see her as nothing more than a convenient source of soul food and schedule management.

Another text from him: Are you mad at me?

She stares at it for a long moment. Types and deletes three different responses before settling on: I'll have your schedule ready when I arrive.

Because what's she supposed to say? "Yes, I'm mad because you called me okay while I've been over here catching feelings like a whole idiot"? "No, I'm not mad, I'm just heartbroken because I let myself forget that I'm just the help"?

Her mama didn't raise no fool, even if her heart's been acting like one lately. Time to remember that this is just a job. A really good job with excellent benefits and a boss who's unfairly gorgeous and who probably has half the models in Europe on speed dial.

"Just another day at the office," she repeats, grabbing her keys and her emotional support water bottle. Just another day of pretending her heart doesn't do backflips every time he smiles.

But this time? This time she's keeping those backflips strictly professional.

Even if it kills her.

The drive to Aurélien's place feels different when you're trying to maintain professional boundaries. No more stopping at that little café he loves for pain au chocolat. No more singing along to his playlist that she definitely hasn't downloaded (okay, she has, but she's not playing it today). Just straight business, straight roads, straight to the point.

When she pulls up to his gate, she hesitates before punching in the code. Three days ago, she'd have walked right in, probably already planning what to cook for his breakfast. Now she hits the intercom instead.

"Yes?" His voice crackles through the speaker, sounding confused because she never uses this thing.

"It's Leila. Here for the Nike meeting prep."

A pause. Long enough that she almost thinks he's not going to buzz her in. Then: "Since when do you use the intercom, ma puce?"

"Since it's the professional thing to do," she answers, proud that her voice stays steady even though that pet name still hits her right in the chest. "Can you let me in? We're on a schedule."

Another pause, then the gate swings open. She drives up the familiar path, noticing Ocho already at the front door, tail wagging like he's personally offended she hasn't been properly spoiling him these past few days.

Aurélien opens the door before she can knock (because yeah, she was going to knock too – new professional Leila is committed). He's standing there in just his training shorts, hair still wet from the shower, looking like some kind of trap God had specifically designed to test her resolve.

"You're really gonna knock?" he asks, that little furrow between his brows that usually means he's trying to figure out a tactical problem on the field. "At your own house?"

"This isn't my house," she corrects him, sliding past without their usual hug even though Ocho is doing his best to trip her up for pets. "It's your house. I'm your PA."

She sets up her laptop at the kitchen island – not the couch where they usually do morning meetings, because that's too comfortable, too familiar, too many memories of him playing with her braids while they go over his schedule.

"Leila."

"The Nike people want to go over the new contract clauses," she says, pulling up her notes without looking at him. "And then you have that photoshoot for–"

"Leila." His voice is closer now, right behind her chair. "Look at me."

"We don't have time–"

"Since when?"

She finally turns, finds him looking at her with an expression she can't quite read. "Since when what?"

"Since when don't we have time? Since when do you use the intercom? Since when do you not make breakfast? Since when are you not you?"

And that? That actually makes her mad. Because who is he to question who she is when he's the one who reduced her entire existence to "okay"?

"Since I remembered what my job actually is," she says, turning back to her laptop. "Now can we focus? The Nike meeting is at nine and you still need to get dressed. Something professional please, not those ripped jeans you love."

"Ma puce–"

"And stop calling me that." The words come out sharper than she intended. "I'm your PA, not your–"

She cuts herself off because what was she going to say? Not your friend? Not your cook? Not your emotional support Black girl who's been stupid enough to catch feelings?

"Not my what?" Now he sounds almost angry, which is rich coming from someone who's the actual cause of this whole situation.

"Not important," she finishes, pulling up his calendar. "Now about the Nike meeting–"

"Who said you're not important?"

The genuine confusion in his voice almost breaks her. Almost makes her want to look at him. Almost makes her want to explain everything.

Almost.

"Your schedule is updated for the week," she says instead. "I've coordinated with Jules about that charity event, and your mother called about dinner on–"

His hand appears in her field of vision, closing her laptop. "What happened?"

"Nothing happened. I'm just doing my job. The job you pay me for. Now can you please get dressed? We have a meeting to prepare for and you're..." she waves vaguely at his general shirtless situation, "...distracting."

That last word slips out before she can catch it, and she sees the way his expression shifts, like he's just caught the scent of something interesting on the field.

"Distracting?"

"Unprofessional," she corrects quickly. "You're being unprofessional. Shirt. Now. Please."

He doesn't move, just keeps looking at her like she's a puzzle he's trying to solve. "Did I do something?"

Yes. No. Maybe. You made me fall in love with you and then called me okay and I don't know how to handle any of this.

"You did nothing," she says, and at least that part is true. He did nothing because she means nothing. She's just okay. "But we're going to be late if you don't get dressed."

He stays there for another moment, like he's waiting for something. Then finally: "D'accord. But this conversation isn't over."

"The only conversation we need to have is about the Nike contract," she calls after him as he heads upstairs. "And please wear the blue suit! The grey one needs pressing!"

She waits until she hears his bedroom door close before letting out the breath she's been holding. Just another day at the office. Just another day of pretending her heart isn't breaking.

She can do this.

She absolutely cannot do this.

The Nike headquarters in Madrid is all glass and chrome and people who look like they just stepped out of a lifestyle blog. Leila follows Aurélien into the conference room, tablet in hand, trying to maintain that professional distance even though he keeps finding reasons to touch her lower back as they walk. Old habits die hard, apparently.

She's setting up her notes when she feels it – that distinct sensation of being watched. She glances up to find one of the Nike interns looking at her like she's a whole snack, and not in that lowkey way she's used to dealing with. Man is straight up LOOKING looking.

He's cute, objectively speaking. Marco, according to his badge. All honey-toned skin and warm brown eyes, perfectly styled dark hair and a smile that probably works wonders on dating apps. Not usually her type – she tends to gravitate toward men built like NBA players, dark skin, the kind of smile that lights up rooms (she's not thinking about Aurélien, she's NOT) – but maybe Yolanda's right. Maybe she needs to expand her horizons.

The meeting starts, and she's trying to focus on contract clauses and marketing strategies, but she keeps catching Marco's eyes across the table. He's definitely interested, shooting her these little smiles that make her feel seen in a way she hasn't since... well. Since that comment.

She's so focused on not focusing on Marco that she almost misses the shift in Aurélien's energy. Almost, but not quite. Because she knows this man's moods like she knows her mama's recipes, and right now? He's got that same energy he gets when someone makes a bad tackle in training.

"As I was saying," Marco's speaking now, something about social media integration, but Aurélien cuts him off.

"My PA handles all my social media coordination," he says, voice carrying that edge she usually only hears when journalists ask stupid questions. "Leila has final say on everything."

She blinks because that's... not true? Like, she helps with his social media but she definitely doesn't have "final say" on anything. She's about to correct him when she feels his hand on her knee under the table, a touch that would've made her melt three days ago but now just confuses her.

The meeting wraps up, all handshakes and professional smiles, and she's gathering her things when Marco approaches her desk.

"Hey," he smiles, and yeah, okay, maybe she could get used to this type that isn't her type. "I was thinking, you know, for coordination purposes..."

He slides his business card across the table, and she doesn't need to flip it over to know his personal number is on the back. This isn't her first rodeo with smooth corporate boys.

"For coordination," she repeats, trying not to smile too obviously. Behind her, she swears she can feel Aurélien's attention like a physical weight.

"Purely professional," Marco grins, but his eyes say something entirely different. "Although if you wanted to discuss strategy over dinner sometime..."

"Leila." Aurélien's voice cuts through whatever smoothness Marco was about to deploy. "We have that thing."

"What thing?" she asks, because they absolutely do not have a thing.

"That thing," he insists, and now his hand is back on her lower back, more possessive than guiding. "You know, the important one."

Marco looks between them, something knowing in his expression that makes Leila want to explain that it's not like that, that she's just "okay" actually, that her boss just has boundary issues.

Instead, she takes the card, making sure her fingers brush against Marco's just because she can. Just because maybe she needs to remind herself that she's not completely invisible to the male population. Just because maybe she needs Aurélien to see that she can be more than okay to someone else.

"I'll call if we need to... coordinate," she says, and Marco's answering smile is bright enough to light up the room.

She feels Aurélien's fingers flex against her back.

"Great meeting," he says, but his voice suggests it was anything but. "We should go. For the thing."

"Right," she sighs, gathering her tablet. "The very important thing that definitely exists."

She lets him guide her out, very aware of Marco's eyes following them, even more aware of how Aurélien's hand hasn't left her back. The card feels like it's burning a hole in her pocket, a tiny rebellion against... what exactly? Her type? Her feelings? The man currently trying to speed-walk her to the elevator like she might sprint back to that conference room if he moves too slow?

"So," she says once they're alone in the elevator. "What's this very important thing we're apparently late for?"

"Lunch," he says shortly. "With my mother."

"Your mother is in Paris."

"Then I guess we'll have to FaceTime her."

She looks at him then, really looks at him for the first time in three days. He's got that jaw clench going on, the one that usually means he's stressed about a big match. But they don't have any games this week, so...

"You're really going to pretend we have lunch plans just because that intern was trying to–"

"He wasn't trying to coordinate anything," Aurélien cuts her off, stabbing the lobby button like it personally offended him. "He was trying to–"

"To what?" She's actually curious now. "To ask out your 'okay' PA?"

His head snaps toward her so fast she's worried about whiplash. "What did you just say?"

But the elevator doors are opening and she's already moving, putting that professional distance back between them. She's got Marco's card in her pocket and a whole new perspective on her "type" and maybe, just maybe, a tiny bit of her power back.

She feels his eyes on her all the way to his car, and she's not thinking about what that means.

She's not. She absolutely is.

The drive to wherever they're going is so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Leila's pressed against the passenger door of his Urus like she's trying to become one with it, while Aurélien's got both hands on the wheel (for once) and is chewing on his bottom lip like it personally offended him. Every now and then he mumbles something in that mix of French and Cameroonian dialect that she's pretty sure isn't appropriate for polite company.

She pretends to be very interested in her phone, definitely not stealing glances at how his jaw is doing that clenching thing or how his knuckles are white on the steering wheel.

They end up at this little place in the heart of Madrid that she knows for a fact isn't on his approved restaurant list (his nutritionist is going to have WORDS), but she's not about to remind him. Not when he's radiating this energy that's somewhere between "post-loss press conference" and "that time Jude ate his last protein bar."

They're barely settled into their seats when his phone starts ringing, his mama's face lighting up the screen.

"Maman," he answers, immediately softening like he always does for her. "Oui, je suis avec Leila."

"My baby!" His mother's voice carries through the speaker. "Why haven't you been feeding my son, chérie? He's looking thin."

Leila can't help but smile because trust Josette Tchouaméni to get straight to the point. "He has a fully stocked kitchen and knows how to use it."

"Ah, so that's why he's pouting? No more of your cooking?"

"Maman," Aurélien protests, but his mother waves him off.

"Don't 'maman' me. What did you do to make her stop cooking for you? You know Leila only cooks for people she l–"

"How's Papa?" Aurélien cuts in quickly, and Leila pretends not to notice the nervous tick in his neck. "Is his back better?"

They chat for a few more minutes, his mother expertly guilting them both about not visiting enough, before hanging up. The waiter brings their food – definitely not nutritionist approved – and they eat in silence for a moment before:

"I'm headed to Clairefontaine on Thursday."

"Yeah, I know," she doesn't look up from her plate. "I manage your schedule, remember?"

"You should come."

She squints at him across the table. She's only been to Clairefontaine once, before the Euros last summer. It wasn't awful – actually kind of nice, if you ignore how she spent half the time trying not to openly stare at what was essentially a collection of the finest Black men French football had to offer. But still.

"I have a hair appointment that day."

His lips curl into that smirk that usually means trouble. "So catch a flight after. Your girl doesn't close until seven anyway."

She narrows her eyes because how does he know her stylist's hours? "Why do I need to come to Clairefontaine?"

"Because..." he takes a deliberately slow bite of his food, "it's your job, ma puce."

The way he says 'job' makes it sound like something else entirely. She watches him continue eating like he hasn't just completely disrupted her plans for a peaceful Thursday of getting her hair done and definitely not thinking about him.

"My job is to manage your schedule, not babysit you at national team camp."

"Mhm," he hums around another bite. "And since my schedule includes Clairefontaine..."

"I can manage your schedule from Madrid."

"You could," he agrees, finally looking up at her. "But then who's going to make sure I eat properly?"

"The team has nutritionists."

"Who's going to organize my recovery sessions?"

"The physios."

"Who's going to keep me company when I can't sleep before matches?"

"I'm sure one of your many model friends would be happy to–"

She stops herself but it's too late. His eyes sharpen with interest.

"Is that what this is about? The models?"

"This is about maintaining professional boundaries," she says primly, stabbing at her salad. "Something you seem to have trouble with."

"Says the woman who just gave her number to a Nike intern."

"I did not give him my number. He gave me his card. For coordination purposes."

Aurélien actually snorts. "Is that what they're calling it now?"

"You know what?" She pushes her plate away. "I don't actually have to explain myself to you. You're my boss, remember? Just my okay boss with his okay PA who–"

"What did you just say?"

But she's already standing, gathering her things. "I'll book your usual room at Clairefontaine."

She's halfway to the door when his voice stops her:

"It has a spa. For after your hair appointment."

She doesn't turn around, but she doesn't keep walking either.

"And Marcus will be there. You know he loves your cornbread."

Now that's just playing dirty. Marcus Thuram makes actual puppy eyes when she cooks.

"And Ibou's been asking about you."

"Stop trying to bribe me."

"Is it working?"

She finally turns to find him watching her with that look that usually means he's about to score a goal. Like he already knows he's won but he's going to enjoy the game anyway.

"I'll think about it."

His smile is immediate and bright. "I'll have the jet ready after your appointment."

"I didn't say yes!"

But he's already back to eating, that satisfied smirk still playing on his lips. "Whatever you say, ma puce. Whatever you say."

She leaves the restaurant knowing two things:

1. She's definitely going to Clairefontaine

2. She's absolutely screwed

The drizzle at Clairefontaine is doing absolutely criminal things to Leila's press and curl while she stands next to Didier Deschamps, holding an umbrella and questioning all her life choices. Primarily the choice to listen to Theresa about "giving her hair a break from braids" without checking the weather app first, because now she's stuck in three days of rain before they head to Budapest for their match against IsNotReal (and really, of ALL the teams they could've drawn...).

But it's hard to be too mad about anything when she's got what might be the finest collection of Black men outside of Essence Fest running laps in front of her. Because listen. LISTEN. Nobody prepared her for this part of the PA job – standing here getting a whole panoramic view of what happens when God decides to show all the way out.

The French national team lineup has literally a flavor for every girl's type of man, and somebody needs to preserve this in the Louvre immediately because it's giving museum quality. You want light skins with braids? They got that. Light skins with locs? Present. Light skins with fades? Check. Tall dark skin thicker than a Snickers with fades that look like they could bench press a car? Baby, they got that too. Tall dark skin sprinter built with fades that look like they could outrun your commitment issues? Absolutely. Tall basketball player types with perfect taper fades? (She's not thinking about Aurélien, she's NOT.) Brown skins that look like they walked straight out of your prayers? Every single shade in the Fenty foundation range is represented and they're all just... running around like this is normal.

Her eyes might be doing a little too much as they jog past, that subtle up-down-up scanning that would have her mama reaching for a switch if she could see her now. But honestly? She's just doing what any person with working eyes would do – appreciating art. Very fine, very athletic art that's currently glistening in the rain like they're being professionally lit by God's personal lighting crew.

And speaking of divine lighting – here comes Aurélien jogging past with Cama and Jules, looking like every single one of her inappropriate thoughts decided to take human form. His curls are getting damp from the rain, skin gleaming, and this man has the absolute AUDACITY to throw her a wink as he passes. Like he didn't just catch her mentally drafting half the national team like it was fantasy football but make it fine as hell.

She rolls her eyes at him because she refuses to give him the satisfaction, but who is she kidding? That smirk he sends back is doing things to her blood pressure that should probably be illegal in at least twelve countries.

"Everything okay?" Didier asks in his heavily accented voice, and she realizes she might have sighed a little too loudly.

"Just thinking about the rain," she lies smoothly, definitely not thinking about how Aurélien's training shorts are a personal attack at this point. "And my hair."

Didier chuckles like he knows exactly what she's actually thinking about, which is mortifying because here she is thirsting over his players like she's running a whole scouting combine.

Another lap, another parade of fine men, and this time Aurélien breaks formation just to jog backward in front of her, showing off because apparently being a whole football god isn't enough – he has to be extra about it too.

"Hair looks nice, ma puce," he calls out, and she contemplates whether hitting him with her umbrella would violate her contract.

"Yeux devant, Tchouaméni," Didier calls, but she can hear the amusement in his voice.

Aurélien rejoins the group, but not before shooting her another one of those looks that makes her want to call his mama and apologize in advance for all the unholy thoughts she's having about her son.

The rain picks up and she can feel her press and curl starting to revert. Theresa really gonna have to catch her hands when she gets back to Madrid because this is just disrespectful. But then the team comes around for another lap, looking like a whole Nike commercial directed by God himself, and maybe... maybe the rain isn't so bad after all.

She's just here doing her job, really. Managing schedules. Taking notes. Definitely not ranking every player by fine-ness while pretending to pay attention to Didier's tactical discussion.

But she's absolutely getting braids next time.

And probably need to schedule a confession.

Because the thoughts she's having about Aurélien in those shorts are absolutely not suitable for public consumption.

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

Walking into the Clairefontaine cafeteria with her dinner tray feels like high school all over again, except this time instead of mean girls and math nerds, she's surrounded by some of the finest specimens of manhood France has ever produced. The air is thick with rapid-fire French conversations coming from every direction, and listen – Leila's trying her best out here but her Duolingo streak is only two weeks old. All she's got to work with is what Aurélien's taught her, which is mostly just curse words for traffic situations and terms of endearment that make her heart do stupid things.

She's scanning for a quiet corner to recalibrate after spending all afternoon trying not to obviously thirst over the practice session (and maybe say a prayer for her hair which is somehow still holding on), when–

"Mon chérie amour!"

That deep voice could only belong to one person. Her eyes find Marcus Thuram, all 6'4" of him, looking like he walked off a GQ cover. He's waving her over like an excited puppy, except he's built like a whole defensive line and honestly? It should be illegal to be that fine and that adorable at the same time.

Michael Olise scoots over to make room for her, and suddenly she's surrounded by what might actually be the most attractive table in all of France. There's Ibou with his model face, Ousmane with those big doe eyes of his, Khephren (who definitely got the same genes as his brother), Mike Maignan looking like Black Panther's M'Baku's fine ass cousin (which is exactly why she calls him that in her head), and William Saliba who's just... respectfully fine as hell.

And because the universe has a sense of humor, literally a foot away are Jules, Cama, and Aurélien – who's currently looking at Marcus like he personally offended his entire ancestral line. What is his problem?

"You have to cook for us tomorrow," Marcus is saying, fixing her with those puppy eyes that should come with a warning label. "Please?"

"The nutritionists will murder me," she protests, but Marcus's pout could probably end wars. Actually end them.

Khephren says something in French that makes Marcus flip him off, and she catches just enough to know he's teasing his brother about the puppy eyes.

"Maybe I can make something before we leave..."

"Why does he get special treatment?" Mike cuts in, looking absolutely offended. "What about me?"

And suddenly it's like she's unleashed chaos because they're all talking at once in French, each making their case for why they deserve her cooking, and her head is SPINNING.

"Tranquille!" she yells in French, one of the few words she actually knows how to use properly, and they all freeze mid-argument, looking at her with varying degrees of surprise.

"I'll cook for everyone, okay?" She can't help but smirk at their hopeful faces. "Rice and beans..."

"Yes!" Mike's practically bouncing in his seat.

"Macaroni and cheese, fried chicken..."

The way these men start rubbing their hands together like cartoon villains is sending her.

"And," she pauses because she knows what's coming, "the pièce de résistance... collard greens cooked with smoked turkey necks."

"Oh mon dieu!" William actually looks skyward, prayer hands and all, like she just announced the second coming.

"Wait," Jules pipes up, "no cornbread?"

And then they're ALL looking at her like she just canceled Christmas, a whole table of professional athletes about to riot over the possibility of no cornbread.

"Yes," she groans, but she's fighting a smile. "There will always be cornbread."

Marcus grabs her hand and actually kisses it like she just promised him the keys to heaven instead of some soul food, and she catches Aurélien's fork bending slightly in his grip.

"You're an angel," Marcus declares, still holding her hand. "A Black American angel sent to save us from protein shakes and steamed chicken."

"Si tu ne laisses pas sa main," Aurélien's voice carries over, smooth as silk but sharp as a blade, "Vous ne pourrez pas tenir une fourchette pour en manger."

But Marcus just grins wider, because apparently he has a death wish. "Shut up."

Leila looks between them, trying to figure out what's happening, but then Ibou starts listing all his favorite soul food dishes in his accented English, and she's pulled back into what's becoming an impromptu menu planning session with some of the most attractive men in Europe.

Just another day at the office, right?

"The mac and cheese," Mike is saying with the seriousness of someone discussing world peace, "it will have the crust on top, non?"

"Boy, who you think raised me?" Leila puts a hand to her chest, offended. "Of course it has the crust. What kind of woman you think I am?"

"The best kind," Marcus grins, and she swears she hears something snap at Aurélien's table. Probably another fork. RIP to Clairefontaine's cutlery budget.

Khephren leans forward, all earnest eyes and ridiculous cheekbones. "The last time you cooked, Aure brought leftovers to training and wouldn't share."

"Because it wasn't for y'all," Aurélien cuts in, and when did he get close enough to join the conversation? "She made that for me specifically."

"Technically," Jules pipes up because he lives for chaos apparently, "she made it for movie night but you claimed the whole container."

"Speaking of claiming things," William says with a smile that means trouble, "Leila, you free Saturday? There's this nice restaurant in Paris–"

"She's busy." Aurélien doesn't even let him finish.

"I don't remember asking you," William shoots back, still smiling. "Unless you're her secretary now too?"

"I'm her–" Aurélien starts, then stops, jaw working like he's trying to find the right words.

"Her what?" Marcus asks innocently, but his eyes are dancing with mischief. "Her boss who thinks she's just okay?"

The whole table goes quiet and Leila nearly chokes on her water because how did he– she looks at Jules who suddenly finds the ceiling very interesting.

"That's not," Aurélien's actually flustered now, "I didn't mean–"

"Because if she's just okay," Ibou joins in because apparently it's National Roast Aurélien Day, "then you won't mind if she comes to Liverpool next weekend? My mama's been asking about her cooking."

"Your mama hasn't even met her!"

"But she will when Leila comes to visit."

"She's not going to Liverpool." Aurelien said flatly.

"Again," William’s grin is wicked now, "pretty sure that's not your decision, mon ami."

Leila watches this tennis match of tension with growing fascination.

"I'm right here," she reminds them. "And I can decide for myself where I–"

"You should come to Monaco," Khephren cuts in smoothly. "Much nicer than Liverpool. Better weather."

"Excuse me?" Ibou looks personally offended.

"The disrespect," William shakes his head. "Everyone knows London is better than both."

"London?" Mike scoffs. "Milan clears."

And suddenly they're all arguing about whose city is better, each making their case for why she should visit them, and she's sitting there wondering how this dinner turned into The Bachelorette: European Footballer Edition.

"I have an idea," Marcus says loud enough to cut through the chaos. "Why doesn't Leila decide where she wants to go?"

They all turn to look at her expectantly, even Aurélien who's looking like he's one suggestion away from tackling somebody.

"I..." she looks around at all these ridiculous, beautiful men and can't help but laugh. "I haven't even cooked for y'all yet and you're already planning my European tour?"

"The cooking is just a bonus," William winks. "It's your company I want."

"Isn't that right, Auré?" Jules adds with fake innocence.

Aurélien stands up so abruptly his chair scrapes against the floor. "We have an early training session tomorrow. Leila, we should go over the schedule."

"The schedule that's already printed and distributed to everyone?" she asks sweetly.

"Yes. That one. Now."

"But we haven't even gotten to dessert," Marcus protests. "She hasn't told us if she's making sweet potato pie."

"Or banana pudding," Mike adds hopefully.

"Or–"

"Now, Leila."

She looks at his face – jaw clenched, eyes intense – and sighs. "Fine. But y'all better not change any of these dinner requests while I'm gone. My grocery list is already looking like I'm feeding a small army."

"An army of fine men who appreciate you," Marcus says just loud enough for Aurélien to hear, and she's pretty sure she sees a vein pulse in his forehead.

"Five minutes," Aurélien grits out. "I'll be in the conference room."

He stalks off like a man on a mission, and Jules is trying so hard not to laugh he's actually shaking with it.

"So," William grins once Aurélien's out of earshot, "about that dinner in Paris..."

"Don't push it," Jules warns, but he's smiling. "Let him suffer a little longer first."

"Let who suffer?" Leila asks, but they all just share knowing looks that make her feel like she's missing something obvious.

"Just remember," Marcus calls as she gets up to follow Aurélien, "I asked for your cooking first!"

"But I appreciated it more!" Mike argues.

"Shut up," Ibou cuts in, "I offered a whole trip to Liverpool!"

She leaves them bickering, shaking her head but smiling. These men are ridiculous and fine and absolutely too much.

But mostly? She's wondering why Aurélien looked ready to commit multiple homicides over some dinner plans.

The conference room feels too small with just the two of them in it, Aurélien pacing like a caged lion while Leila stands by the door wondering what kind of alternate universe she's stepped into. The "okay" comment is hanging in the air between them like an uninvited guest, but he's apparently choosing to ignore it completely.

"You can't date the team," he says abruptly, stopping his pacing to look at her.

She actually chokes on air because WHAT? "I'm sorry?"

"The team. You can't date them."

"I wasn't–" she sputters, trying to make sense of this conversation. "I wasn't planning to?"

"Good." His jaw is doing that thing it does before big matches, all tense and sharp enough to cut glass. "I'll handle them."

"Handle them?" She's really trying to follow his logic here. "Handle what exactly? They were just asking about food–"

"William asked you to dinner."

"As a joke!"

"Marcus kissed your hand."

"Because I promised him cornbread! Are you hearing yourself right now?"

But he's already heading for the door, radiating big "I'm going to fight everyone" energy. "I'll handle it," he repeats.

"Aurélien–"

"Just... no dating the team." He pauses at the door, not quite looking at her. "It's not professional."

And then he's gone, stalking down the hallway, leaving her standing there wondering what the actual fuck just happened.

Because that wasn't about professionalism. That wasn't about team dynamics. That was...

"What the fuck was that about?" she asks the empty conference room, but the conference room, unhelpfully, doesn't answer.

And she's definitely not thinking about how his eyes looked when Marcus kissed her hand. Or how his voice got all low and dangerous when William mentioned dinner. Or how this whole thing feels a lot like...

Nope. Not going there.

She's absolutely going there, but first, she needs to figure out how to keep him from murdering half the French national team over some cornbread.

Being the only PA at Clairefontaine isn't supposed to feel like a big deal, but it absolutely is. Leila's trying not to think too hard about how many strings Aurélien must've pulled to get her here – because thinking about that means thinking about why, and she's not ready to unpack all that before breakfast.

She's good at her job, sure. Got Didier wrapped around her finger from day one. And yeah, okay, maybe she's particularly good at handling high-maintenance footballers thanks to her natural sociability and endless patience.

But still. This is the French national team. These things don't just happen.

Kind of like how it didn't just happen that she spent three whole days before meeting Aurélien practicing his name, saying it over and over. The way his whole face had lit up when she got it right that first time, like she'd given him a gift instead of just basic pronunciation courtesy.

And maybe that was the beginning of how seamlessly she fit into his life, like there'd been a Leila-shaped space just waiting for her to fill it. Like they were made to–

Nope. Absolutely not. We are NOT doing this today.

She pulls on her wide-leg navy sweats and the national team long sleeve she sweet-talked out of the kit manager last night (her smile works wonders on everyone except apparently the one person she actually wants it to work on). Her silk press is still miraculously holding on, pulled up in a ponytail that Theresa would probably yell at her for, but whatever. She's got bigger problems right now.

The cafeteria is already buzzing when she walks in, full of sleepy footballers trying to fuel up before morning training. She spots her usual suspects – Jules, Cama, and Aurélien – at their regular table, and takes a deep breath before heading over.

"Morning sunshine," Cama greets her in English, because he's actually an angel who notices when people are struggling with rapid-fire French at seven in the morning. "Sleep well?"

"As well as anyone can sleep knowing they have to cook for twenty professional athletes in Sunday," she replies, sliding into her seat.

Jules snorts into his protein shake. "More like thirty. Pretty sure half the staff want in on this soul food situation too."

Aurélien doesn't say anything, just watches her over his coffee cup with those eyes that are entirely too intense for this early in the morning. His voice, when he finally speaks, is still rough with sleep and she hates that it still affects her like this.

"You don't have to cook for everyone," he says, and there's that edge again from yesterday. "They can't just expect–"

"Pretty sure she can decide what she wants to do," Jules cuts in smoothly. "Right, Lei?"

There's that weird tension again, crackling in the air between them like static electricity. Cama looks between them all with raised eyebrows.

"Did I miss something?" he asks. "Because the vibes are really off."

"Nothing to miss," Leila says quickly, focusing on her breakfast. "Everything's fine."

"Mhm," Cama hums, unconvinced. "That's why Aure looks like that?"

Before anyone can respond, Didier's voice cuts through the cafeteria: "Allez, allons-y! La formation commence dans quinze!"

The scramble of twenty-something men trying to finish their breakfast at once would be funny if Leila wasn't hyperaware of Aurélien's eyes still on her. She busies herself with her phone, pretending to check his schedule like she hasn't had it memorized for weeks.

"Don't forget your jacket," he says quietly as he stands. "It's supposed to rain again."

She looks up, caught off guard by the softness in his voice, but he's already walking away. Jules and Cama share a look that she pretends not to see.

"So," Cama grins, "about this tension..."

"Don't you have training to get to?"

"Just saying, if this was a show, I'd definitely binge watch it."

"Go. Run. Now."

His laugh follows him out, leaving her sitting there wondering how this became her life – being the only PA at Clairefontaine, planning soul food feasts for the French national team, and trying very hard not to notice how Aurélien still looks back at her before he exits the cafeteria.

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

The water break comes right as the sun decides to make a guest appearance, and Leila's trying not to obviously appreciate how everyone's training tops are clinging in all the right places. She's professional. She's composed. She's–

"Hey gorgeous."

She turns to find William jogging up to her, all six-foot-whatever of him with that smile that probably has half of London in their feelings. She returns his smile because listen – she might be going through it, but she's not BLIND.

"Need something?" she asks, already reaching for an extra water bottle because she's good at her job like that.

"Actually, yeah." He takes the water but doesn't step back, instead leaning slightly closer. "I was serious about Saturday. Dinner?"

"Oh!" The sound escapes before she can catch it. Her eyes automatically drift to where Aurélien is standing with Mike and Jules, looking like he's trying to murder someone with his mind.

William deliberately steps into her line of sight, blocking her view. "You don't have to ask permission, do you?" It comes out like half joke, half question, but his eyes are kind. He gets it, even if she wishes he didn't.

And you know what? He's right.

Because here's the thing: Aurélien really out here talking about "unprofessional" when this man has used her as a human pillow during team flights. Has played with her hair during meetings like it's his personal stress ball. Has straight up demanded morning cuddles before reviewing his schedule because apparently personal space isn't in his vocabulary.

But she's supposed to maintain "professional boundaries"?

Nah.

"Nope," she says, straightening her spine. "No permission needed."

Because she's grown. Because she needs to get over this embarrassing crush on her boss who thinks she's just okay. Because William Saliba is standing here looking like a whole meal, asking her to dinner with that accent that makes everything sound like poetry, and she deserves nice things.

"Saturday works perfectly," she adds, and his answering smile could power half of Madrid.

"Parfait," he says, and even that one word has her feeling some type of way. "I'll text you the details?"

"Looking forward to it."

He jogs back to practice looking mighty pleased with himself, and she very deliberately doesn't look in Aurélien's direction. She doesn't need to – she can feel his eyes burning a hole in the side of her head.

And you know what? Good.

Let him see what it feels like to watch someone you... to watch someone else get attention. Let him deal with whatever this energy is that has him acting brand new. Let him–

"Cinq minutes!" Didier calls out, and she watches William flash her one more smile before joining the group.

Her phone buzzes almost immediately:

Jules: you really woke up and chose violence huh

Leila: I chose dinner actually

Jules: with Wilo though?? 👀

Leila: what's wrong with Wilo?

Jules: nothing if you're trying to send someone to an early grave

Leila: not my problem

Jules: the violence of it all 😭

She puts her phone away, ignoring the way she can feel Aurélien's attention like a physical weight. Because this is good. This is healthy. This is her moving on from whatever fantasy she'd built up in her head about her boss who clearly doesn't–

"Les yeux sur la balle, Saliba!" Aurélien's voice carries across the field, sharp enough to cut.

William just grins wider. "Oh, ils sont."

And maybe... this is exactly what she needs. A date with a fine man who actually sees her. Who isn't her boss. Who thinks she's more than just okay.

There's something particularly violent about the way Leila's critiquing herself in the mirror right now, turning this way and that like her reflection might suddenly give her different answers. The black sweater dress is doing everything it's supposed to do – hugging every curve, every soft roll, every thick thigh that matches its partner. Her body's built like a direct response to gravity, all hips and breasts with a waist that's not exactly snatched but works with what God gave her.

"It's just dinner," she tells her reflection, but dinner with a whole professional footballer is different than those struggle Tinder dates she's been on. Those guys didn't come with paparazzi risks and teammate drama and a very specific boss who's probably planning murders right about now.

Not that I care what Aurélien thinks.

Her hair's falling just below her collarbone in that middle part that took twenty minutes to get right, makeup subtle enough to look effortless (it wasn't), and she's wearing this new perfume that smells expensive enough to make her feel like she belongs in whatever fancy restaurant William's picked out.

The thought of William has her breaking out in a nervous sweat because listen – the man is fine fine, but she's still very much a virgin and very much not ready to explain that to someone who probably has models in his DMs. What if he expects... what if he wants... what if–

"Get it together," she mutters, grabbing her clutch. "It's just dinner."

The elevator ride down to the main entry hall feels like it takes seventeen years, her heart doing backflips the whole way. She's rehearsing possible conversation topics in her head (please lord don't let her ramble about football statistics) when the doors open and–

"Oh for fuck's sake."

Because there's William looking like a whole meal in his white shirt, jeans, and leather jacket (that gold chain should be illegal honestly), but he's not alone. No, because that would be too easy. Instead, he's surrounded by Mike, Marcus, Ibou, and Jules the Professional Gossip, all of them looking way too pleased with themselves.

She makes her way over, trying to ignore the chorus of French catcalls and whistles (she catches "magnifique" and "sublime" and definitely some words that would make their mothers wash their mouths out with soap).

"Damn, Lei!" Ibou's grin is wicked. "You trying to kill our boy Wilo before the match?"

"The dress is doing God's work," Marcus adds with an appreciative whistle.

"I think you mean doing the devil's work," Mike corrects, fanning himself dramatically.

William rolls his eyes at all of them, but he's smiling as he takes her hand. "Ready?"

She's about to answer when she feels it – that familiar weight of attention that can only mean one thing. She looks back to find Aurélien has joined the group, and the look on his face...

Listen. She's seen this man angry before. Has seen him after bad losses, after red cards, after journalists say stupid things about him and his family. But this? This is different. This is something darker, something that makes her skin prickle even from across the room.

William must feel her tense because he squeezes her hand gently. "You good?"

She turns back to him, forcing herself to focus on this moment, on this very fine man who actually wants to take her to dinner. "Perfect."

He opens an umbrella as they step outside (because of course it's raining again), holding it over her like the gentleman he is. Behind them, she can hear the boys still carrying on:

"Vingt euros disent qu’ils s’embrassent avant le dessert!"

"Cinquante disent qu’Auro casse quelque chose avant qu’ils ne reviennent!"

"Une centaine dit–"

The door closes, cutting off their chaos, leaving just the sound of rain and their footsteps and her heart doing its best to escape her chest.

"They're ridiculous," William says softly, but he's smiling.

"That's one word for it."

They reach his car – another ridiculously expensive SUV because apparently that's issued with the France call-up – and he opens her door for her.

"You look beautiful, by the way," he says it simply, like it's just a fact. Not 'okay'. Not qualified. Just beautiful.

And maybe... maybe this is exactly what she needs.

Even if her traitorous heart still skips when she catches Aurélien watching them drive away in her side mirror.

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

The media room at Clairefontaine is thick with tension and the sound of FIFA, Aurélien absolutely demolishing the controller like it personally set up his PA's date with William. Jules and Cama keep sharing these looks that say more than words ever could.

"Je n'arrive pas à croire que Wilo ait fait ça. C'est censé être mon pote." ("I can't believe Wilo did this. He's supposed to be my boy.") Aurélien's voice is tight with something darker than just regular gaming frustration.

"Fait quoi exactement?" ("Did what exactly?") Jules asks, careful and measured like he's defusing a bomb. "Inviter une femme célibataire à dîner?" ("Asked out a single woman to dinner?")

"Elle n'est pas juste une femme célibataire, c'est ma puce!" ("She's not just any single woman, she's my dear!") The words explode out of him before he can catch them, and the room goes deadly quiet except for the game music.

Cama pauses the game. "Ta puce?" ("Your dear?")

"Ma PA," ("My PA,") Aurélien corrects quickly, but it's too late. "Je lui ai dit que c'était pas professionnel de sortir avec l'équipe." ("I told her it wasn't professional to date the team.")

"Et c'est professionnel de la câliner pendant les réunions?" ("And it's professional to cuddle her during meetings?") Jules' voice drips with sarcasm. "De jouer avec ses tresses? De l'appeler 'ma puce'?" ("To play with her braids? To call her 'my dear'?")

"C'est différent." ("That's different.")

"Comment?" ("How?")

Aurélien just grunts, going back to destroying everyone in FIFA. But Jules isn't done.

"Tu sais qu'elle t'a entendu la traiter de 'okay' à la piscine?" ("You know she heard you call her 'okay' at the pool party?")

"Mais elle l'est!" ("But she is!") Aurélien protests, then at Jules' murderous look adds quickly, "Dans le bon sens!" ("In a good way!")

"T'es vraiment con, mon frère." ("You're so fucking stupid, bro.") Jules throws his controller down. "Elle est plus que 'okay' et tu le sais." ("She's more than 'okay' and you know it.")

"Je peux pas..." ("I can't...") Aurélien runs a hand through his curls in frustration. "Je peux pas l'aimer comme ça." ("I can't like her like that.")

"Pourquoi pas?" ("Why not?") Cama asks quietly.

"Parce que... parce qu'elle est ma PA!" ("Because... because she's my PA!")

"Des excuses, toujours des excuses," ("Excuses, excuses,") Jules sighs. "On n'est plus des gosses, AT. On est des hommes maintenant. Si tu ressens quelque chose pour quelqu'un, tu dois le dire." ("We're not kids anymore, AT. We're men now. If you're feeling someone, you have to communicate it.")

Aurélien lets out a laugh that sounds more pained than amused. "C'est différent. Je ne l'aime pas comme ça. C'est ma PA. C'est comme ça qu'on se fait poursuivre en justice." ("This is different. I don't like her like that. She's my PA. That's how people get sued.")

"Et si elle ressentait la même chose?" ("What if she's feeling you too?") Jules asks carefully.

"Leila? Avoir des sentiments pour moi?" ("Leila? Having feelings for me?") Aurélien scoffs. "C'est drôle." ("That's funny.")

The silence that follows is heavy with meaning. Jules and Cama exchange another look that speaks volumes.

"Quoi?" ("What?") Aurélien demands, finally catching their expressions.

But neither of them answer, just watch him with this mix of pity and exasperation that makes him want to throw something.

"Elle portait cette robe ce soir..." ("She was wearing that dress tonight...") he says quietly, almost to himself.

"Oui, pour son rencard avec Wilo." ("Yes, for her date with Wilo.") Jules' voice is pointed. "Pas pour toi." ("Not for you.")

"Tu sais," ("You know,") Cama adds casually, too casually, "pendant que tu es là à dire qu'elle est 'juste okay', Wilo est probablement en train de lui montrer à quel point il la trouve extraordinaire." ("while you're here saying she's 'just okay', Wilo is probably showing her just how extraordinary he thinks she is.")

"Je vais le tuer." ("I'm going to kill him.")

"Le problème," ("The problem,") Jules says quietly, "c'est pas Wilo." ("isn't Wilo.")

And deep down, Aurélien knows he's right, but that doesn't mean he has to like it.

"Arrête d'être une putain de chochotte," ("Stop being a fucking pussy,") Jules says, done with the whole situation. "Si tu veux Leila, vas la chercher. C'est aussi simple que ça." ("If you want Leila, go get her. Simple as that.")

"Ce n'est pas si simple," ("It's not that simple,") Aurélien protests, but it sounds weak even to his own ears. "Elle est ma PA–" ("She's my PA–")

"On a compris!" ("We get it!") Cama throws his hands up. "Elle est ta PA, et alors? Comment tu sais que tu vas tout foutre en l'air si t'es trop chickenshit pour essayer?" ("She's your PA, so what? How would you know if you're gonna fuck it up if you're being chickenshit?")

Aurélien opens his mouth to argue but Cama isn't done.

"Leila est géniale et toi tu te tapes des mannequins pour essayer de cacher que tu craques pour elle. C'est tordu, mec." ("Leila is cool and you're fucking models to try to hide from you feeling her. Twisted as fuck, man.")

"Je ne–" ("I don't–")

"Tu peux la laisser sortir avec Wilo – parce que tu sais à quel point il est persistant quand quelqu'un lui plaît – et être malheureux, ou tu peux régler ça maintenant." ("You can let her date Wilo – because you know how persistent he is with a person he's feeling – and be miserable, or you can nip this in the bud.")

"Exactement," ("Exactly,") Jules concurs, leaning forward. "Tu crois que Wilo va la traiter comme 'juste okay'? Tu crois qu'il va hésiter à lui montrer qu'il la veut?" ("You think Wilo's gonna treat her like 'just okay'? You think he's gonna hesitate to show her he wants her?")

The thought of William showing Leila anything makes something dark appear Aurélien's chest. The image of them at dinner right now, William probably making her laugh, probably touching her hand across the table, probably looking at her the way Aurélien wants to but won't let himself–

"Elle mérite mieux que 'okay'," ("She deserves better than 'okay',") Cama says softly. "Et tu le sais." ("And you know it.")

"Je sais pas comment..." ("I don't know how...") Aurélien trails off, running his hands through his hair in frustration.

"Comment quoi? Être honnête avec tes sentiments?" ("How what? To be honest with your feelings?") Jules scoffs. "T'as vingt-quatre ans, pas quatorze. Grandis un peu." ("You're twenty-four, not fourteen. Grow up a little.")

"Mais là, tout ce que tu fais c'est regarder un autre mec faire ce que t'es trop lâche pour faire," Cama shrugs. ("But right now, all you're doing is watching another guy do what you're too scared to do.")

Aurélien sits there for a long moment, thinking about Leila in that dress that made his brain short-circuit. About how she looked at William. About how she hasn't really looked at him in days, not since the 'okay' comment. Not since he tried to tell her who she could and couldn't date like he had any right to.

"Elle est probablement en train de l'embrasser maintenant," ("She's probably kissing him right now,") Jules says casually, but his eyes are sharp on Aurélien's face.

The PS5 controller in Aurélien's hands makes an ominous cracking sound.

"Tu vois?" ("You see?") Cama gestures at Aurélien's white-knuckled grip. "C'est ça qu'on appelle de la jalousie, mon pote. Pas très 'professionnel' comme réaction pour 'juste une PA', non?" ("That's what we call jealousy, my guy. Not very 'professional' reaction for 'just a PA', right?")

"Je ne suis pas–" ("I'm not–")

"Jaloux?" ("Jealous?") Jules cuts him off. "Alors pourquoi t'as l'air de vouloir commettre un meurtre chaque fois que quelqu'un la regarde trop longtemps?" ("Then why do you look like you want to commit murder every time someone looks at her too long?")

Aurélien's silence is telling.

"Écoute," ("Listen,") Cama says, serious now. "Wilo est un bon gars. Il va bien la traiter. Il va lui montrer qu'elle est spéciale. Et toi? Tu vas juste rester assis là à te dire que c'est 'pas professionnel' pendant qu'un autre mec fait d'elle sa copine?" ("Wilo's a good guy. He's gonna treat her right. He's gonna show her she's special. And you? You're just gonna sit there telling yourself it's 'not professional' while another guy makes her his girl?")

The controller finally gives up the ghost, splitting right down the middle.

"Putain," ("Fuck,") Aurélien mutters, staring at the broken pieces like they hold some answer he can't find.

"Le choix est simple," ("The choice is simple,") Jules says, standing up. "Soit tu continues à être un lâche et tu la perds, soit tu deviens un homme et tu lui dis la vérité." ("Either you keep being a coward and lose her, or you man up and tell her the truth.")

"Et si je la perds quand même?" ("And if I lose her anyway?") The question comes out smaller than he intended.

"Alors au moins tu auras essayé," ("Then at least you'll have tried,") Cama says. "C'est mieux que de la regarder partir avec Wilo en te demandant 'et si'." ("Better than watching her leave with Wilo wondering 'what if'.")

Aurélien sits there long after they leave, thinking about Leila's smile, about her laugh, about how she's probably giving both to William right now.

And maybe... they're right.

Maybe it's time to stop being a coward, yet first, he owes someone an apology for the controller.

…………tbd

#aurelien tchouameni #quainwritings #quain’s masterlist #virgin territory #aurelien tchouameni x black oc #aurelien tchouameni fanfiction #aurelien tchouameni fanfic #aurelien tchouameni fic #aurelien tchouameni x reader #footballer x oc #footballer x reader #real madrid fanfic

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starsoftheeye · 6 months ago

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I'm planning out a Drifting Stars fic rn, so here's a snippet of the first chapter because I need to post something about this fic. This is a first draft so it may change but I'm pretty happy with it for now

“Woah, woah, hey what’s going on? Stanford!”

--------------

Stanley watched, anger melting to fear as his twin brother began to float backwards, as if being pulled by some invisible hand towards the glowing machine

He watched as his brothers face contorted into an expression of fear he had never seen on his face before. All those years, and Stanley had never seen his bother look so afraid. Not like this. Not even as a kid hiding himself from the other kids their age, as a teenager watching him out the window of a house no longer a home, not even just a few minutes prior, so overcome with paranoia that he would think Stanley would ever want to hurt him. No, Ford had never looked so scared in his life, and Stanley had never known a fear like this himself

“Stanley! Stanley, help me!”

“Help me!!”

His brother, his twin brother, was floating away too fast and too slow all at once. His brother, who had grown up with him, who had abandoned him, who had came to him for help when he didn’t know who else to trust, was floating backwards into an oblivion of light, and Stanley felt powerless to do anything

“Oh no, what do I do?”

“What do we do?”

“Stanley! Stanley!”

Ford was thrashing in the air, desperately trying to push himself forward, but to no avail. He kept drifting backwards, and now he was beginning to submerge into the portal, the light around him rippling like he was being lowered into a pool

“Do something!”

“We gotta do something!”

Stan looked around for something, anything that he could use. A rope, a pole, something for Ford to hold onto, to keep him out of whatever hell was on the other side of the portal, but there was nothing he could use. And his brother continued to drift backwards, slowly being consumed by swirling blue light

“Stanley!”

“Grunkle Stan!”

Stan looked at his great-niece, his sweet great-niece who wore hand-made sweaters, and knitted him “Our Hero” banners, who named a pig Waddles and was so excited to start highschool, and he saw the same fear in her eyes as his brother all those years ago

He was held back by more than his own uselessness this time, gravity crushing him into the pipe behind him, keeping him in place, keeping him from running forward, from shutting down the damn portal, keeping him from saving another piece of his world pulled into the unknown back by the same cruel hand that had held his brother

“Grunkle Stan, how do we stop it? How do we save her?” Dippers voice was so far away yet so clear, and yet Stan couldn’t say a word

This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen

She was just a kid

It was like 30 years had never passed, and he was still the same piece of shit who couldn’t protect his family

She was looking straight at him, and the look on her face would be burnt into his mind for the rest of this life. Begging him to do something, anything, to help her somehow

“Mabel, grab something! Anything!”

But he couldn’t

“I can’t!”

Goddamn it, he couldn’t do anything

“We gotta shut it down, we gotta shut it down!!”

Curse this stupid gravity, he had to help her!

“I can’t move, dude!”

He couldn’t take losing one more person

“Help me!!”

Not her, please god not her

“Mabel!”

No, no, no!!

“Dipper!!”

Blinding light. Complete silence.

Then everything came crashing down at once. And Mabel was gone

#criticism is welcome just dont be a dick lol #also im kind of mean to stan in this one so apologies to him i guess #he isnt gonna have a great time in this fic tho #gravity falls #gravity falls au #drifting stars au #drifting stars #stanley pines #stan pines #stanford pines #ford pines #mabel pines #dipper pines #the book of bill #fanfic #fanfiction

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glow-worms-are-believers · 2 years ago

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Mistaken Identities (dp x dc)

Danny had been doing his thing, looking around, making sure he didn't alter anything in the past, minding his own business. Officially, this was supposed to be a trip to gather more blood blossom samples for Team Phantom to study, but he had ended up being a little sidetracked. Apparently though, puritan times made for beautiful forests, sue him if he was enjoying a moment of peace in his otherwise crazy life. So here he was, relaxing for the first time in way too long when this guy just barged into the clearing. Danny straightened up with a yelp which had the guy stopping in his tracks before he turned to look at Danny.

"Be not afraid, child. I mean you no harm," the man said.

Danny squinted as he looked up at the half-shadowed face of the man that seemed vaguely familiar.

"Boy?"

"Uh-" Danny managed as he realized he was supposed to answer. "Oh yeah, no problem, man."

The man tilted his head which directed Danny's attention to his weird buckle-hat. Sobering up as he recognized the clothes from his previous jaunt in the past where Sam had almost gotten burnt at the stake, he mentally congratulated himself for turning back into a human before his nap. He really didn't want to end up trapped in blood blossoms by witch-finders again.

"Are you lost?" The man said, as he edged closer. "Do you require aid?"

The halfa jumped to his feet. "Nope!" Danny said before letting out a nervous laugh. "No aid, I'm all good. Thanks though."

The man opened his mouth to say something before another voice, higher pitched stopped him. "You are back!" A woman wearing a simple dress, with a few birds fluttering around her like a Disney princess approached them.

"Annie," answered the man.

"Come," she said before leading him away with only a glance towards the teenager. The man let himself be dragged away, but not before a last few words. "If you are ever in need of assistance, please do not hesitate."

Danny waved his hand. "Yep. For sure, dude. Thanks!"

Then before the man had turned away completely, the woman grabbed his hat playfully which revealed his face completely to the weak moonlight, and coincidentally to Danny's view. The couple disappeared between the thick foliage as Danny sat, struck dumb with what he had just witnessed.

"Oh my god," he whispered to himself. "That was Bruce fucking Wayne."

Danny had seen enough rag magazines and newspapers with his face printed on the cover to recognize the billionaire for sure. What the hell was he doing in Puritan times? Then, it hit Danny like a brick. Natural portals. They weren't common, or stable and they'd been known to spirit away people randomly. Clearly, they also had some pretty severe side-effects including amnesia considering the old-timey speech pattern Mr. Wayne was using.

There was only one thing for it, Danny clearly had to bring Mr. Wayne back to the present. Not only because it was the right thing to do, but also because a missing billionaire was bound to attract a good amount of attention and if anyone connected this to the ghost zone... Well if the GIW was bad now, Danny didn't want to know what other kind of unsavoury people would pop up if ghosts were better-known. Just imagining the Justice League getting involved was giving Danny the shivers. No, the best thing to do was get Mr. Wayne back to his time and hope he wouldn't remember much of what had happened and wouldn't dig into it further.

Just as he was nodding to himself, he heard a scream coming from not too far away. He transformed before flying towards the noise, only to find the woman he'd seen before with Mr. Wayne being captured by a bunch of men wearing the same kinds of hat.

"She's a witch! Burn her!" He heard someone yell. "Hang her dead!" Someone else said.

This was giving Danny some major flashback to Sam's very own witch burning and without wasting a second, he phased the woman right out of their grips and flew them away from the angry mob.

As soon as he landed and let go of the woman, she turned to him and gripped his arm instead. "You have to help him!"

"Help who?" Danny asked, wincing.

"Mordecai!" she said, her grip tight.

"Is that the man who was with you earlier?" the teenager asked.

The woman nodded before pointing southeast. "He is in the caves, fighting the dragon!"

Danny didn't waste anytime before flying in the direction she had pointed to. Going intangible helped with speed, and he phased through the ground, going straight for the aforementioned cave. He just phased through when he caught sight of Mr. Wayne. As he got closer, he could feel some sort of energy radiating from the man. Just then, the energy started building up and Mr. Wayne started to go transparent. Panicking, Danny did the first thing he could think of and absorbed the mounting energy to himself. It felt like a shot of adrenaline except way, way stronger and for a moment everything blanked out, before the world came into focus again. When he looked around, he couldn't find a trace of Mr. Wayne, but from the energy left over he could tell exactly when he had landed. The Golden Age of Piracy.

"Goddamit!" Danny yelled as he once again felt Bruce Wayne slip through his grasp as he stole away the potent energy from the billionaire's body before it could follow wherever he was going next. First it had been pirates, then the Wild West and lastly it was 20th century Gotham, clearly the natural portal had been all kinds of fucked up for Mr. Wayne to have been dragged from time period to time period. It was a miracle he was even still alive, the poor man! Danny let out a harsh sigh as he parsed out through the information the energy had left him with. This time he'd gotten the information for the two next time-jumps, which meant, Danny could get ahead of this for once and finally catch Mr. Wayne before he could jump again.

With a steadying intake of breath, Danny took out the Infiniv-map and set his destination before he let himself follow through. As he got through he could hear a bunch of different voices, all talking over each other.

"-distortions mean what I think it-"

"-not fair!"

"-time is breaking-"

"-only leave his body once he's dead."

Danny paid no mind as he locked eyes on Mr. Wayne who was lying in Wonder Woman's arms, in a black bodysuit, looking worse for the wear. The same energy as before was emanating from him, though this time it was even stronger. Danny approached carefully, invisible before he put a hand onto Mr. Wayne's chest and concentrated on drawing all the energy into himself. It wasn't like the other times, the flow was faster and he was having trouble staying focused as more and more flew into him. His brows scrunched in concentration, and unbeknownst to him, the invisibility dropped.

All the heroes in the room turned to look at the suddenly appearing white-haired teen who had a hand on Batman's chest. As they stared in confusion, the teen started to glow. It grew brighter and brighter before everyone had to shield their eyes as there was a pulse of bright light that died down almost immediately after. Wonder Woman had to blink the spots out of her vision as she felt the weight in her arms start to shift and let out a groan. "Bruce!"

She set him down and helped him put his head between his knees, as she gently stroked his back. Superman settled on his other side while Red Robin just sat in front of him, still half-believing Bruce was really back.

"What happened?" Bruce mumbled. "The omega radiation, I thought-"

"I'd like to know that too," Green Lantern said before he turned towards the glowy kid who was still blinking his eyes as if to chase away afterimages.

"His energy signature is the same as Darkseid," Raven said, her own eyes having not left the teenager since he had appeared.

"You don't mean..." started Superman as all the heroes turned to look at the kid slowly. The latter finally looked up as if sensing he was the focus of many eyes and cringed as he met the combined stares of the Justice League.

"Yes," Raven answered. "This is Darkseid's son."

#my guy Danny has no idea what is going on #at least nobody's shooting at him #he would still like to know who is that Darkseid guy and why do these people think he's his dad #dc x dp #dp x dc #danny is Darkseid's son #(at least that's what the justice league think)#this is what happens when you absorb unknown energy willy-nilly #it's just not sanitary who knows where that energy could have come from tsk tsk #I just read Batman: The Return of Bruce Wayne #so just know this is entirely based off of that #('that' being that period when Bruce was lost in time)#roxpox #roxpoxwrote

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gay-jesus-probably · 1 year ago

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I like the general fandom trend to just take the plot of Hyrule Warriors as a loose guideline at best and just use the whole concept as a good excuse to get blorbos to interact across timelines, BUT I'm very disappointed that everyone is missing the comedic potential of a very specific squad of characters:

Young Link (aka Mask), who walks out of the nightmare of Majora's Mask and immediately gets portal kidnapped into a temporal war, takes one look at the whole mess and decides that you could not fucking pay him to admit to being the resident expert on Time Shenanigans. He introduces himself with the title of Hero of Termina, and definitely doesn't have any other ones, that would be crazy. Hero of Time? Never heard of him.

Tetra, who is a kickass pirate captain with zero patience for people trying to shove her into the Designated Princess role, and realizes immediately that Oh Fuck, this Hyrule has a lot of Ideas about how the Hero and the Princess are supposed to properly play their parts, the second they realize she's technically a Zelda they're gonna shove her in a goddamn dress and damsel her again, that's not happening. So she's definitely just a really cool pirate captain, nothing else going on here at all, definitely not the heir of the Hylian royal family in her time, that'd be crazy.

Ravio, who is literally just a palette swapped Link, meaning that the second his hood comes off, things are gonna get Awkward. There's no way in hell he's dealing with all that Hero baggage, that's Link work, so that giant bunny hood/mask is practically superglued to his head, and he's not taking it off for love or money.

Spirit Tracks Zelda, who is just in the Phantom Armour the whole time, and passing herself off as just a friendly ghost posessing a suit of armour to help the Hero of Spirits. Of course she isn't Princess Zelda, that's ridiculous, if she were a Zelda then people would start getting really weird about her technically being dead, and boy does that ever sound like a whole Thing she doesn't want to deal with, so she can't possibly be Zelda, she's just a nice ghost knight. Also, her teenage grandma is here, and that's kinda weird, so it's easier to just not admit to being royalty and avoid that awkward conversation.

Finally there's Sheik, who is not the Princess Zelda of the era straight up abandoning her war torn country for months at a time so she can risk her life in extreme cosplay for no clear reason, but is instead the actual Sheik from Ocarina of Time, who just beat Ganondorf like a month ago and is still trying to process what the fuck to do now. Also, he's been pretending to be a boy since he was ten, and is realizing there's a pretty good chance that he isn't pretending anymore, so that's a whole other can of worms. But for the last seven years of his life, being Princess Zelda meant certain death, so he's not really inclined to introduce himself like when in a new and stressful situation (not to mention he might actually just not be a girl named Zelda anymore), so he automatically introduces himself as just Sheik the spooky ninja man, and fuck he's in too deep to back out now, looks like he's committing to the bit. If you think you sense the Triforce of Wisdom on him, no you don't.

Cue shenanigans as the five of them attempt to hide that they're all actually kind of A Big Deal. The group motto is "Nobody says shit", which is usually delivered as a frantic hiss whenever someone slips up. Just the reunion between Sheik and Mask alone would be absolutely buckwild given how they parted, and how they're both frantically pretending to Not be involved with each other. For added hilarity and/or drama, Sheik gives his semi-bullshit cover story of having just been a friend of the Hero of Time, then runs into said Hero of Time and they both have to desperately pretend not to know each other, because if anyone picks up on the mountain of baggage between them then Mask is busted, and he won't hesitate to drag Sheik down with him out of sheer spite. Not to mention the weird balance of Sheik being used to this Link being a teenager that's actually a small child, and now has to adjust to Link who is a small child that's actually a teenager.

Also, i really feel like we're all missing out on the comedy potential of Ganondorf recognizing Young Link on sight and the two of them immediately launching into a grudge match with some extremely personal and specific insults on both sides. Meanwhile literally everybody else is just standing there watching, trying to process the fact that out of every single person that's been pulled out of time, Ganondorf only has personal beef with a literal nine year old.

I just feel like we're all really sleeping on the potential for Shenanigans here. The whole thing is an absurd mess, why not have some fun with it?

#legend of zelda #hyrule warriors #for the record im picturing the sheik-mask reunion as being the spiderman pointing meme for like five minutes #also my mental image of sheik is extremely Bad haircut (he does it himself with a knife and doesnt care about making it even)#and a ridiculous tanline across his face from wearing a mask all day #OOT magiaclly growing out zelda's hair and manifesting a Royal Gown was some top tier bullshit and i'm always angry about it #like dude. literally all of princess zelda's finery was made for a ten year old #she's like eighteen now. nobody's making royal finery for teenage zelda. where was she supposed to get that dress.#i am eternally on my agenda to let zelda wear some goddamn pants without an immediate magic makeover to *fix* it #anyways nintendo's sexism aside i like sheik being trans its very fun and sexy of him #tfw you go into hiding to escape political assassination and accidentally trans your gender in the process

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maxdibert · 4 months ago

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Pretty messed up how some people are fans of a creepy and obsessive guy who didn’t care if a man and a child died just so he could get the girl.

Alright, let's break this down, anon, because there's a lot to unpack here.

I think I've mentioned this in several posts already, but I'll repeat it: Severus owed James Potter NOTHING—no compassion, no empathy, no mercy. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. James Potter was a rich, popular brat who abused his social and economic capital to torment a poor, unsupported boy for seven years just because he didn't like him from the moment they met on the train to Hogwarts, and from that moment on, he had it in for him. He was a terrible bully who used his friends to join in on that nasty bullying. So if Snape didn’t care that he died, well, Snape had every right to feel that way. Do you go to victims of domestic violence and tell them they should feel sorry for their abusers? No, right? Well, this is the same thing. James was an abuser, Severus was his victim. Severus did more than enough by not telling Voldemort to torture him to death with Cruciatus, because I would have. Honestly, I don't understand why Snaters always bring up the whole "James was dead and Snape walked over his body" as if it were some horrible thing when, hello! You're talking about an ABUSER being dead, mate. Of course, he walked right over his body—what surprises me is that he didn’t throw a party.

Harry had to die. I know this sounds terrible, but it’s basically what the prophecy indicated. He was a target that Voldemort wasn’t going to let slip away, his fate was sealed. And yes, it’s unethical. And yes, it’s immoral. But the truth is that wars are unethical and highly immoral, and horrible, monstrous decisions are often made. Harry was not an option—asking for mercy for him was pointless because there wasn’t going to be any.

I don’t think Severus ever believed that if James was out of the picture, Lily would go to him or anything like that. I mean, they hadn’t spoken for five years—about six by that time. Severus NEVER harassed or stalked Lily. The only time he went after her was when the whole SWM incident happened, and he tried to apologise. Once she made it clear she didn’t want anything to do with him anymore, Severus respected her decision, and as far as we know from canon, they never interacted again. So, I don’t think, after six years of not talking, with his supposed former best friend having married and had a child with his personal bully, Severus had many expectations of them ending up in any sort of romantic relationship. I think, quite simply, that Lily always represented the only good part of his childhood—the only happy memories, the only moments of peace amidst the hellish violence he endured at home. I believe this was crucial for someone like him, whose childhood and teenage years were marked by violence, and he wasn’t willing to let the one good thing in his life end up murdered.

I agree that Severus is highly obsessive, but haters tend to frame this in a derogatory way, referring to his "obsession" with Lily, and I think it needs some clarification. Yes, Severus is obsessive, and he’s terribly immature at times, and he overreacts enormously when confronted with something that really triggers him (just look at how quickly he loses his temper with Sirius, for instance). This is obviously because he’s someone who never had the opportunity to grow up normally or develop cognitively as he should have, because his whole life was marked by violence. His home life was violent, and at school, he endured violence, and then at 20 years old, he handed his soul over to Dumbledore’s cause and had to work for nearly two decades at a school that was the epicentre of many of his traumas. He literally had neither the spaces nor the environments needed to heal and grow into a functional adult, and you can clearly see this in his behaviour. I’ve always said Severus is more of a diva than the cold, mysterious character people often make him out to be in fanon. To me, he’s someone who, on a personal level, hasn’t been able to grow emotionally in a healthy way and doesn’t know how to manage certain situations, especially those tied to his emotional issues. That said, I also don’t think he was romantically and/or sexually obsessed with Lily. I do think he loved her or was infatuated with her in his youth—first love, crush, whatever. But I don’t believe his need to avenge her death was due to romantic or obsessive love. I think it’s more about his obsession with repaying his debt to her. Severus always felt partially responsible for Lily’s death, and that’s where his obsession lies: it’s not that he’s obsessed with her, per se, but with the fact that he feels guilty for what happened. He feels, in some way, responsible for the death of the one person who showed him kindness, affection, and care during his childhood, which made her the most important person in his life at one point. And guilt often leads to obsession, much like grief that is not properly processed, and I don’t think that kind of obsession is creepy. I think it’s a very human kind of obsession.

Lastly, I don’t find Severus creepy at all. Why is he creepy? I mean, Harry was running around with his invisibility cloak, spying on everyone. The Marauders had A BLOODY MAP that allowed them to track everyone at Hogwarts 24/7 like some kind of magical GPS. Is Severus really the creepy one here? There are literally Animagi who turn into animals to spy on people—I have to laugh at the whole creepy argument.

That being said, if you’re going to come into my DMs to complain about Severus, at least bring some convincing arguments because it’s a bit tiresome hearing the same nonsense over and over again.

#my severus snape statement #honestly if you want to insult him at least be more smart #severus snape #pro severus snape #pro snape #severus snape defense #snater #snaters #severus snape fandom #snapedom #james potter #anti james potter #marauders #anti marauders #sirius black #lily evans #young snape #young severus #snape community

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silv3rswirls · 1 year ago

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Fawn

warnings: 18+, age gap(reader is 18), coercion, corruption, praise, humiliation, dirty talk, hair pulling, gaslighting and manipulation, alcoholism, some religious themes/talk, virgin/innocent reader, dark thoughts/fantasies, very vague mentions of familial abuse, shamming, obsession, overall yoongi is a ✨creep✨

Note: sometimes I piss myself off because I've been dying over this fic for days and now I don't even like it much anymore- can I have nothing?😭idk might start writing more smut now??

You were a fawn in headlights when he first saw you in that clearing. Your back had been to him and at first, he had swore and scoffed at you because who hangs around in the woods disturbing his peace? Everyone in this town knew he lurked behind the tree line, drinking himself stupid and doing whatever fucked up activities they rumored him to. Yoongi never minded being the talk of the town. He’d been an outcast since his teenage years. Since he stopped going to church with his family like every other prim family populating the place. They took some fun teenage rebellion and ran with it- he liked to think himself not as messed up as people whispered he was. He’d always thought himself not to be until he met you.

He found you picking berries and flowers, anything that looked pretty out in the forest. You were kneeling trying to choose the perfect dandelion to add to your basket when he stormed over; pissed that someone was in his usual drink until he couldn’t move anymore spot. He liked it because it was a short walk from where he liked to stare at the Sunday churchgoers leaving and freak them out. He could recall seeing you before, always glued to your mother's side wherever you went.

But he stayed away and kept to himself like always. He couldn’t say he had many, if any, friends around here. He’d been on his own since graduating and his family moved away shortly after. He hadn’t been close to them at the time so being left alone was welcomed at first. As for everyone else; if someone didn’t fit in around here they were an outcast without much care and it seemed that no one cared for him.

“What are you doing?” He barked, scowling as he approached you. Bottles clinked in the bag he was loosely holding and his cigarette was at the end of its life. You stood up, stumbling back a bit in shock. Yoongi wasn’t a kind person, so you’d heard, and his appearance didn’t do anything to help. He was scowling, his hair was frazzled from rolling out of bed an hour or so ago. Dressed in darker colors, a sweater and thick coat layered in him. You wanted to laugh over how tired and grumpy he looked, but the nervous swirl in your stomach told you not to.

“I’m just picking flowers” You straightened up, knuckles white as you gripped the basket and your free hand smoothing down your skirt.

“Well this is my spot” he rolled his eyes. He didn’t want to hear your stupid humming or see that ridiculous frilly dress you were in. Something about it pissed him off, he couldn’t place it exactly, but whatever it was would put a damper on his getting shitfaced in the woods plan for today. Besides, you had just come from Sunday service, he didn’t need any annoying pestering about drinking or sinning, or whatever he was sure you would pester him about.

Your eyes landed in his bag, before flicking up to him a bit wide. “Are you drinking out here?”

“So what if I am?”

He watches you look around, pressing your lips together for a moment. “Could I try?” His brows raised in surprise. interesting outcome of all of this he supposed? “It’s just, I’ve always wanted to.”

“I know your mom, she’s crazy, you know? Where is she?”

“Still at service, she helps plan the food drive” You smiled a bit proud, “It’s next week.”

Yoongi hummed. She was a nutjob, he’d lost track of how many times she’d harassed him in the past month alone. “So while she’s planning to feed the needy you want to drink?” You nodded and he looked around in disbelief. Was this a joke? Was someone going to jump out and condemn him for even entertaining this?

“Here” he fished out a bottle and held it out to you. He watched you smile, a curious twinkle in your eyes as you carefully set your flowers down and took it. He waited for you to try, there wasn’t anything better to do anyway.

Your sudden shyness poked him the wrong way. He watched you bring it to your lips for a moment before lowering it with a new nervous expression. Second guessing your rebellion? “Come on” he urged, moving to grab your arm and pull you over to him. You stumbled, kicking over your flowers and stepping on them as he dragged you over.

“Hey-” you cringed, the bottle clinking against your teeth as Yoongi held you firm in place and forced the drink into your mouth. “I don’t like it” You managed to get out between the burn of liquor and sputtering as you tried to breathe. You broke away, yoongi dumping the rest of the bottle onto you; dripping it down your hair and face, and soaking your pink cardigan. “Why would you do that?” Your voice wobbled, and your eyes were wet as you looked at him.

“You said you wanted to try, stop being a baby about it.” He rolled his eyes. He watched the heat of embarrassment color your cheeks, big wet streaks stained your face and your hair clumped wet against your skin. “Get out of here now and don’t come back.”

He watches you grab your things and scurry away, and in the distance, he can hear your mother scolding you from the parking lot.

“Why does everyone hate Yoongi?”

The already tense air between you and your mother grew thicker on the ride home. She was angry over the smashed flowers you brought her for her centerpieces and even angrier over your now damp and smelly clothing. The fact that you had come running back to the car in tears, crying like a child over Yoongi.

“Isn’t what he did to you answer enough sweetheart?” She sighed, “He’s never been right, even when he was your age.” She cringed, “Ever since his parents left he’s gotten worse. He’s a creep honey, stay away from him.”

“His parents left him?” You perked up slightly, basically ignoring everything else she said. “Why would they do that? That’s so sad.”

“If he was my child I’d leave him too” She scoffed, “don’t feel sorry for him, he’s everything I’ve ever warned you about. You don’t want to get tied up in all that mess right?” She asked. You didn’t answer.

The second time you ran into Yoongi was in the same stretch of woods. You had nervously ventured out there a few weeks after the last time, unsure if you wanted to run into him or not. Your mother was right about him being scary. You’d never interacted with anyone so harsh before, everyone your mother kept in your circle was kind and caring, just as you were. All women, no men really got close thanks to her. Other than being intrigued about being around him and all the things he did that everyone had drilled into your head were wrong; you felt a bit bad for the older man. You couldn’t imagine being all alone like he was or listening to all the awful things people said about him. He couldn’t be as evil as people wanted you to think, right?

Maybe he just needed a friend?

When he saw you again he smiled in welcoming. After spending a few weeks mulling over what happened and being publicly shouted at for ‘harassing her poor child’, Yoongi had decided he wanted to get closer to you. What better way to stick it to your mom than to mess around with you some more? You were naive enough not to catch on, so what was the harm?

You just talked for a few hours with him. He listened more than opened up. He listened to you talk about what you liked to do, where to find all the best flowers around here, about how you were nervous about the little recital the church was having next month for the Holidays, and how they wanted you to sing in it.

He watched you fiddle with the robbins decorating your hair. Watched you kick your legs back and forth off the rocks you were perched on beside him. Watched how your skirt scrunched and rode up just slightly every time you moved.

He went home that night feeling a bit odd over the experience. You seemed genuinely glad to have someone new to talk to. He wasn’t sure how he felt, because you looked so cute sitting next to him chatting his ear off.

He was fucked to put it lightly. You were everything he hated about the people in this town. Stupid and blindly following the herd…but with more of an innocence. All Yoongi knew was that he was down bad and frankly, a little pissed about it. How many whores had he had in the past and how many could he go out and find at this moment? Too many, maybe they were getting boring to him because right now all he could think about was you. He wanted to poke fun at and just piss everyone off at first, but now…now he just wanted corrupt you. Odd, he’d never felt the want to do it before to anyone, but something about you was sticking to him. How could he not with how cute and innocent you acted around him? Your fault really...hadn't your mother already warned you about men like him? He wanted to take you until the innocent air surrounding you was gone until all you could think about is him and how good he fucked your little virgin cunt. How cute you’d be under him. Covering your breasts and trying to hide away from his hungry eyes. Your cute little moans, moans you’d likely never made before. The feeling of you stretching around him for the first time. A little too much to handle, but you’re eager to please him. How wet you’d be, how it’d be such a challenge to bottom out, and how you’d squirm and try to resist the urge to be run over the edge as his hips pressed into yours. Your thighs twitch and try to close, too overwhelmed by the new sensations happening in your body. He’d leave you ruined; never to be the same again.

Yoongi blinked himself out of thought, he was sitting outside of his house having zoned out thinking about it all.

Well, change of plans he supposed?

Two weeks later snow began to fall and hanging out with you had become routine. Admittedly, it wasn’t that bad. Other than an insatiable want to get you in his bed, he couldn’t say he hated every moment spent hanging around you. It was refreshing not to be by himself all day, he hadn’t had a real friend since early high school, and every day since had pretty much been spent alone. Stuck with a family that refused to speak to him until he admitted his sin and went back to church to grovel for forgiveness; he’d never do that even now. To his surprise you hardly talked about your family or religion; he had part expected you to try and drill it all into him. But you were pretty quiet and liked to laugh at all the ‘silly’ things he did as you liked to put it. You thought the way he slurred words when he was drunk was cute, but wouldn’t touch a drink from him after what happened, not unless he sweet-talked you enough. Sometimes it felt like he could sweet talk you into doing anything he wanted. Sometimes you’d let him put a shot glass to your lips and pour it down, wincing at the burn and getting watery-eyed. Yoongi wasn’t interested in bringing you anything gentle, he liked the hard stuff that could send him over the edge with a few drinks.

“Yoongi?” You asked one night. He was sitting beside you on the park bench, wrapped up in a plethora of jackets and hoodies trying to fight against the bitter air. Obviously, he couldn’t go to your place, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted you hanging around his yet. Truth be told he wasn’t sure if he could contain himself seeing you sitting in his bed just talking with that sweet tone of yours. Your eyes looking up at him, wide and fully focused on what he was doing or saying. You’d be wearing one of those silly frilled dresses you liked; he was sure of it. He’d thought about it so many times. How you’d let him get close and run a hand over your thigh, then over your stomach, to your chest. You’d let him kiss you, he knew you would. You liked doing what he said. You were so curious to partake in all the things he liked to do; all the things you weren’t supposed to do. One night he passed you a blunt without thinking much of it, you took it but nearly choked trying to smoke it for the first time. So you settled on letting him blow smoke in your face because he wanted to and you kept lying that you liked the smell of it.

“Yoongi?” You repeated, pulling him out of his daydream. He hummed, “Can I ask you something personal?”

“Go for it.” He’d lie if he didn’t want to answer, he lied to you a lot and you never seemed to pick up on it.

“Have you been in love before?”

“No.” He looked over at you again. You were playing with your hands in your lap, your nose was red from the cold and your hair was covered in snowflakes. He was still damp from earlier when you made him do a snow angel alongside you. “Why?”

“I don’t know “your face flushed, “I just wish I knew what it felt like. I’ve never been able to have a boyfriend” you explained, “Mom said I have to wait longer, I think she wants to find someone for me.”

“Well, that’s what good girls are supposed to do, right?” He asked, rolling his head back to look at the street light above and watching the snow flurries cluster around it.

You were quiet for a moment, “I guess. I don’t know I’ve just been thinking alot lately, questioning some things.”

Yoongi nodded, he could remember when he started to as well. Hearing how everything in your circle talked about Yoongi didn’t sit right. Everyone should love everyone and get along, that is what you had thought everyone preached around you your whole life. Now they spoke about him like trash, ever since he poured the liquor on you. You hardly even cared much after the fact. It had been thrilling in your otherwise mundane life. Everyone thought you were staying clear of him, but you liked hanging out with him. Every evening when your mother left for work you ran to him. And every Sunday morning people still talked about what happened. How Yoongi shouldn’t be allowed to stay around here, how he was nasty and unholy, and how he'd do horrible things to you if you got close again.

“You want a boyfriend?”

“My mom would kill me if she knew I did.”

Yoongi wet his lips and tugged your jacket until you looked at him. You were pouting, eyes cast down as you thought about it. “Well,” he started waiting for you to look up at him with your little doe eyes met his. “I could be your boyfriend” it rolled off his tongue, music to your ears. “No one will know, we’ll do all the things girlfriends and boyfriends do.” He waited for your reply, “unless you don’t like me?” He couldn’t remember the last time he spoke in such a tone: a soft and nearly whiny one.

“No, I do!” You blurted out. “I want you to be my boyfriend, please Yoongi?”

He could listen to you say please all night.

“You’re not scared about breaking your mom's rules?” He egged in, “Not very good of you to lie.”

You scooted closer to him, grabbing his hand and pouting. “I-I don’t care about lying to her. Really! I’ve always wanted a boyfriend and I really like you, so why not?”

“Okay” he grinned, “I’ll be your boyfriend baby.” You grinned, genuinely excited. “We should make it official though, give me a kiss?”

You picked at the edges of your sleeves, “Y-yeah…but I’ve never…done that.”

Good, he thought. He wanted to be your first anything and everything. To teach you how to be a good girlfriend for him. “It’s okay, I’ll teach you. Just follow my lead.”

He grabbed your face, encouraging you to get even closer. Your legs pressed against his and he held your waist tight. He could see the shine of your strawberry lip gloss and the pink ribbon in your hair tickled his hand as he held your cheek. You were enthralled, gazing into his eyes like hearts were exploding behind you. He kissed you, trying to start slow and keep the cute boyfriend appearance up, but he was ready to get heated and messy with you. He did- kissed you harder, nibbled your lip, and pressed his tongue into your mouth. You were so meek under him, trying your best to keep up.

Your lipgloss was smeared- most of it left on Yoongi. You made it just-in-time before your mother got home. You scurried upstairs to change and pretend you’ve been in bed all night. You still felt breathless over the kisses. How he held you and how he asked you to be his girlfriend. You didn’t know how it was supposed to go, but you were sure he did it well. He had to. You hurried yourself under the covers.

You had a boyfriend!

You kissed him!!

You smiled thinking about his hands holding you- how big they felt against your waist and his sting against your cheek. His lips were chapped and a bit cold against yours. He said he liked your lipgloss- the one you begged your mom to let you get just so you could wear it for him.

“You’ve never touched yourself before?” You weren’t sure how the topic had been brought up, but Yoongi had just become far more interested in your video call after you let your secret slip out. You’d been lying around in bed talking to him for the past few hours. He was at home while you were stuck in bed for the night. Your mom was sick and hadn’t gone to work in a few days. You’d been missing Yoongi so he promised to call you.

“No…we’re not supposed to…my mom always tells me I shouldn’t it’s not pure and good.” You explained. Yoongi rolled his eyes, what a fanatic.

“I used to think that, my family taught me the same things.” He started, “But I don’t agree. It’s normal, we’re all a little dirty sometimes, right bunny?”

You flushed, you liked it when he called you that.

“I miss you, I’ve been thinking about kissing you all day. I wanna teach you more though, do you want to learn more next time?”

You nodded, slowly as you thought about his words. “You like when I kiss you?”

“Yeah,” you giggled. “Of course I do!”

Yoongi hummed, looking over the nightgown you were wearing. He liked kissing you well enough but he was starting to crave more. It’d been a while since he’d had sex, fantasizing about you while getting off was getting boring. He looked over your crossed legs, a bit upset it was long enough to cover your thighs- he liked them. It was, however, just snug enough to give him a subtle outline of your breasts, your nipples a bit hard grazing the fabric if you moved the right way. “Why’d you stop talking?” You pouted.

“You like my voice?”

You nodded, “I really like it.”

“Wanna hear me call you pretty some more? How vain of you bunny. That’s a sin” he snickered, “does my voice turn you on?”

“I think so” You grew quieter, taking one headphone out and setting it aside to listen for your mother.

“Is she still sleeping?”

“I think so.”

“You wanna do something for me, baby?” You nodded eagerly. “Touch yourself for me.” His tone was almost demanding, and needy as he shifted in his seat.

“But I’ve never…I’m not sure.”

“Come on, try it for me?” Yoongi asked and very slowly you got off of your bed, leaving your phone propped against some pillows as instructed. Yoongi smirked, watching you look around your bedroom and to the door, double-checking the lock and listening for your mother. He was already feeling warm, mouth a bit dry as he looked you up and down. He couldn't help but to slip down his pants and tug at his cock in anticipation. The fact that you were so nervous, anxious that you’d get caught and reprimanded…that cute little nightgown you were wearing. “Just lift your nightgown” he wet his lips, watching you pick at the thin fabric and shyly lift it for him. “That’s it just a little, there you go” he encouraged, eyes glued to your panties. “Not so bad, right?” He smiled, and you let out a nervous, breathy giggle. “Turn around now” he watches you do as told, he hummed “bend over.” He watches you check your door again, a bit hesitant. “Don’t disappoint me now…good girl. Just…” Yoongi ogled over your ass, how the soft white fabric of your panties stretched over it, and how your legs pressed together now and again. “Just touch yourself for me” he finished. You did it for him, snaking a hand between your legs and clumsily playing with yourself.

“Feels good?” He laughed at the little moans you let out now and again. “Don’t get shy, you’re so cute. Just show off for me baby.”

“You said you wanted to see it” Yoongi bit back a laugh.

“I know, but…not here.” Your nose scrunched as you took another weary look around the alleyway. “Someone will see.”

“That’s what makes it fun” He grinned. He was feeling himself a little too much after a few drinks in his favorite bar. They wouldn’t ID him, and he knew they wouldn’t ID you. It was across town, too much of a trek for anyone who knew who you were to see. He’d gone through a few beers and some shots with you following him. You didn’t like the beer and refused a second shot, so he rolled his eyes and got you something smoother, fruitier. You were more content sipping on it, kicking your legs off the stool, and begging him to come to see you in the Holiday service on Sunday.

“You want me to come Sunday or not?”

“That’s not fair” you whined. Yoongi shrugged, leaning against the brick wall with his hips jutted out slightly. “Get on your knees for me bunny.” He watched you sink down, complaining when the slosh of rain and snow stained your stockings. “I’ll by you new ones” He assured, watching your brow knit ever so slightly as you fiddled with his belt; loosening it and going for his jeans button. He could feel his throat getting dry, ever since that little show he talked you through a few days ago he had been plagued with thoughts of you nonstop. You pulled his jeans down a bit, looking up at him for reassurance before shyly going for the boxers. He was already hard, it didn't take much from you nowadays. His fingers twitched, he wanted ot grab your hair and go to town, but he tried to take in your wide eyes, cautious little touches, and overall curiosity of it all.

“I don’t know if I should be doing this” Your voice was small, torn as you looked up at him again with a frown. “It feels wrong, I don’t know.”

“It’s okay, it's normal. Lots of girls do it, don’t you want to make me feel good? I made you feel good the other night, it’s only fair.”

"I know you better than you think baby. I know those dirty little sides of you no one else does. You keep saying this is wrong and you shouldn't be doing it…but you’ve been saying for days how you want to please me. Now it’s time. Want me to help you?” He murmured. You nodded, a mix of excitement and nervousness in your stomach as you looked around one last time. He snaked a hand through your hair and guided you closer. His tip grazed your lips, pouty and slick from your lipgloss. Egairly you opened your mouth for him, trying to breathe through the new feeling and anxiety of having him in your mouth for the first time.

Yoongi on the other hand felt like he could melt then and there. The feeling of your hot mouth against him sent tingles down his spine. “Just suck on it a little, grab the rest with your hand, and stroke it for me, baby.” your hand felt so small and cold against him, it made him shiver. He tugged your head a bit, he couldn’t help it. Your inexperience was too much for him. He loved the clumsiness, the little noise you made as you choked on him, how drool dripped down your chin and stained your blouse. “I know you can take it bunny, tell me if you can’t- fuck” he hissed, “you’re so good for me.”

He came in your mouth- he hadn't planned to but hadn’t been able to help it the moment you peered back up to him. Your face flushed, your eyes wide and teary, still looking at him in adoration. You pulled back, saying something about not liking the taste and wincing when more landed on your face. Yoongi was too immersed in trying to calm down to make some witty remark, he just took a moment to steady his breathing and look down at you. “Sorry,” he was quick to get his pants back up and get down to your level to help clean up. He sighed, watching you pick at your ruined stockings and skirt, “We’ll go to the mall tomorrow, and I’ll try to come to see you Sunday.”

He tried to seem indifferent to the way your face lit up, lunging to hug him. He smiled and took you home.

After taking you to the mall and replacing your clothes, Yoongi felt needier than usual for you. He was ready to take up, ready to steal that innocence away.

“Stop pretending you don’t want to” Yoongi laughed. “Do you like it?” Yoongi grinned. You squirmed in his lap. He could tell you were trying not to like it, your brow scrunched slightly. When he grabbed your face and made you look at him he could see the concern clouded with lust in your eyes. “I know you like it, stop lying to yourself” He had taken you home for the first time, wasting little time before pulling you to the bedroom for a makeout.

“I do” you whimper, “but…I’m not supposed to do stuff like this” You frowned, “Not until I get married and-”

“We’re not having sex though, we’re just playing a little, right?” He asked, grabbing your hips tighter, pressing his bulge against you. Your skirt rode up more, your knees pressed into the sofa as he guided you to grind against him. You were starting to get a little bold when you were with him, it was hard not to when he was constantly grabbing at you and saying all the right things to get you worked up. He was ready to take this to the next level- ready to fuck you.

“Come on, fuck yourself against me, baby, you’re already soaked and I’ve barely touched you.” He slipped back into his mindset fast. Your hips moved with his, he could feel the wet spot staining his jeans as you moaned and squeaked in surprise every time he pulled you hard against him. “Want me to fuck you? Seems like it, want me to ruin your insides?” He was into it, into how good your clothed cunt felt against his jeans and hard-on, how red your face was getting and the little beads of nervous sweat forming on your forehead. How your fingers clasped his shirt and nails pinched his skin, how into you seemed to be getting.

“I shouldn’t, but it feels so good” You cried, while Yoongi nearly came at your breathly little whines.

“it's okay to be dirty like this, it makes you feel good, right? makes you want to cum like a good girl for me?” Yoongi went on, “Or we can stop, you can just pretend we didn’t do anything and go home, is that what you want?” “No” you cried, “It feels good. I wanna cum.” You shyly spoke, quickening your pace as he rutted against you.

“You gonna let me fuck you now?” He had been half serious when he said it, still content with sucking on and leaving hickeys on your shoulder. When you say yes? He felt like his brain short-circuited, he had you on your back in an instant; staring down at you like a hungry animal. Your shirt was unbuttoned, chest flushed and marked up from the groping. You were looking at him through lidded eyes, your legs still pressed together in anticipation as he moved in.

“Fuck this is so wrong, isn’t it bunny?” Yoongi let out a shaky exhale, “I’ve wanted to do this for so long, god you feel so good.” You were flushed under him, biting back moans and trying to take the pain of the first stretch like a good girl, like you knew he wanted you to. “I’m trying to go slow baby, but fuck…You’ll forgive me if I can’t, right?” He leaned closer to you, peppering kisses over your neck and sucking dark marks on your skin. “Please forgive me, baby, I’m gonna ruin you.” He murmured. He knew you’d never hate him, he knew you’d forgive him for anything he did to you.

taglist: @aft3rhrs

#yandere bts #yandere min yoongi #yoongi smut #min yoongi x reader #yoongi x reader #yandere bts x reader #bts x reader

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fungateshortcakes · 4 months ago

Text

Deadly Dinner (old!Logan x fem!reader)

Pairing: old man Logan × fem!mutant! Reader

Summary: A nice family invites you, your husband Logan, Charles and Laura to dinner at their farm. You have a lovely time, yet Logan insists on leaving despite being offered a place to sleep. Maybe you should have listened to him?

Wordcount: 5.1k

Genre: angst, heavy angst, little tiny bit of fluff, follows the plot of the movie (Logan 2017)

Warnings: english is not my first languange! first time posting on tumblr, blood, goore, wounds, violence, death, X24, guns, stabbing, one time use of (Y/N)

I've never uploaded to tumblr before, so I am still trying to figure things out. Let me know if you liked it!

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You knew Logan didn't really like sitting here at the dinnertable with this new family when he was supposed to sit in his car and get Laura to her destination - which he didn't believe to be real, but what other choice did he have?

For you, this felt..nice. It was like catching a long needed break, bringing back domestic moments like this even for just a little while. You had missed that in your marriage with Logan for a long time now. He was getting old, getting tired, shutting you off more often than not. And even if this was just play pretend - Laura being your little daughter, despite you knowing her for barely a week, and Charles being Logans father - for a second you allowed yourself to be fooled and enjoy this moment as it was.

"Oh she is adorable" Kathryn cooed as she watched Laura stuff her mouth full of food with her bare hands. You chuckled nervously and went to wipe her greasy fingers clean, to which she looked at you with a slight glare. You gave her a warning glance no one else could see and handed her cuttlery. You turned back to Kathryn with a forced smile. "Isn't she just? That cute little face makes up for all the manners she doesn't have" you elbowed softly into her side, she pouted and began to eat with her fork and knife, albeit unhappy with your decision.

Kathryn laughed, remembering how her teenage son Nate was at that age. "Don't be too dramatic, when Nate was that age, he was no different" she flashed her teeth while watching Laura eat her food in big bites as if she had been starving. "I miss when my big boy was still this little" she giggled and pinched her sons cheek, who groaned in annoyance.

"How did you cope with her going to kindergarden for the first time? Nate is going to college soon and I still can't manage seeing him all grown up" The woman swooned, turning her whole attention to Logan and you, completely neglecting her food. It also had been a good while for her that she got to talk to someone about this, she was eager for a conversation.

This was awkward. Logan and you never actually had children, nor did you two want any in the first place. Not to mention the fact that Laura was no ordinary child created by the love of two people, with a normal life and normal childhood. Your mouth remained open as you looked at her. You kicked Logan under the table and looked at him for help.

He cleared his throat. "Uhm...well. I'd say Laura had a harder time than us" he chuckled, the sound more of a rasp as he scratched his neck. You quickly clocked in. "Right, yeah. When we went to bring her in for her first day, Logan had to peel her off his leg because she didn't want us to go" you smiled and leaned against Logan, his eyes softening. "She cried the whole day until we picked her up again"

A warm feeling spread through Logans chest, dulling the every day ache for a short moment at the thought of what could have been. "Aww, sounds like someone really loves their mommy and daddy." Kathryn cooed to Laura. Laura couldn't care less about the words that were spoken and didn't really give the woman any reaction besides looking at her for a split second after she noticed someone talked to her. Kathryn was a bit...weirded out, to say the least. But it was good enough.

"Nate was the complete opposite" Will suddenly threw in, chewing his food soundly. "The second he hit the ground - he was off. Like he couldn't wait to get away from his mom" he lifted his fist to his mouth and coughed "not that I would blame him-" he muttered before his booming laugh echoed through the room after his wife had slapped his arm. "I'm kiddin" he snickered, holding his hands up in defense.

The whole table laughed, some forced, others genuine. Charles cleared his throat, pulling the attention to him. "In that matter, Laura is just like her father. Ever since Logan met (Y/n), he was stuck to her like glue. And it has been that way ever since"

The family ooe'd at you both, Logan huffing out a quiet laugh as he shrugged his shoulders in that 'what can I say' way, the crows feet near his eyes crinkling deeply.

You hadn't seen him like that in ages, the expression on his face coming as close to what someone would call joy as it could with the pain plaguing him every single minute of his time.

You rubbed his back, leaning your head on his broad shoulder that slumbed only a little under your actions. "Where did the two of you meet, hm?" Kathryn asked, eager to know more about your relationship. You grasped Logans hand under the table, for reassurance of course.

"Well my, my father ran a school for a lot of years. Right, Charles?"

Charles smiled and nodded his head. "Yes, yes it was...it was a kind of special needs school" he lied, Logan softly snorting at the choice of Charles words. "Uh-huh, that's a good description" you laughed at the sarcasm dripping from his voice. Of course Charles couldn't say what this 'school' truely was. But still.

"He was there" Charles started, pointing to Logan. "And she was, too"

Kathryn clasped her hands together. "Oh! So you are something like highschool sweethearts?" she assumed, smiling brightly at Logan and you. "I guess you could say that, yes" you answered and her smile only went wider at what she heard. She put a hand over her heart. "So true love does exist, how lovely"

For her, it sounded like Logan and you had been together ever since you were teenagers. To think that your love was still strong after all these years made her so incredibly happy for you two. Truth was, back at the mansion, you were well in your twenties when you met Logan. Not to mention that he was already over a hundred years old or so at the time. Besides that - you hated each other. Which didn't mean that what Charles said was wrong. Oh no. Logan followed you around everywhere. It annoyed you and he didn't even know why he did it. Turns out, he wanted to protect you ever since he laid eyes on you. Without reason. He just did. Keeping you safe was his priority.

It still was.

Not that you weren't fully cabable of handling any danger yourself. You were a beast in combat and could heal your own as well as other peoples wounds. And yet he felt a whole lot better if he was by your side and could keep an eye out. Just in case.

After you had waited for Laura to still her seemingly insatable hunger, Logan stood up from the table. "Well ma'am, I can't thank you enough for this. Uh, it was great. But we have a long drive ahead of us, so.." he trailed off, tapping Lauras shoulder so she would stand up. You frowned up at him but Kathryn spoke up before you could. "But you need to rest, don't you?" He lifted a hand dismissively "Yeah, we'll find a motel somewhere"

You and him locked eyes and you gently shook your head, he sighed. "The nearest one is two hours from here and it's not even that nice" Will argued and you raised your brows at Logan as if to say 'you seriously want to sleep in a murky hotel when we can stay here for the night?'

"We have a perfectly fine room upstairs for your father and your daughter. And you and your wife can sleep in the livingroom on the convertible" Kathryn reasoned even further as Logan pulled Laura up from her seat by the arm. He stopped to look at the woman. "Kathryn, it's very, very nice of you, but we really should go"

Logan turned, pulling Laura along but you stood up, blocking his way. "We can leave early in the morning. Break of dawn, as it were" Charles chimed in, looking intentively at Logan. "Listen to your father. Come on, just one night. I would agree with you if you'd let me drive once in a while instead. But you'd rather drop dead than let me behind the wheel." You muttered, looking deeply into his tired eyes, your hands gently roaming up and down his sides. "You need a break. Nothing will happen, okay?" The eyecontact in this moment was important to you, yet he huffed and looked away. You quickly catched his jaw, turning him back to you. "Okay?" you asked again.

You could see the wheels turning in his head, his eyes moving over your face with his internal fight. He sighed. "Okay" he whispered, kissing your forhead before stepping away. "Why don't we wash up, Pop?" Logan sighed, gripping the handle of Charles wheelchair, pushing him out of the dining area to a bathroom.

You smiled softly as Kathryn gave your daughter- well, Laura, a piece of cake for dessert and the little girl smiled softly for once. She was...just like Logan.

Turning to the big pile of dishes in the sink, you rolled up your sleves and began scrubbing at the dirty plates. You felt a presence behind you. "What are you doing?" Kathryn laughed in surprise as she watched you washing their dishes as if you were their cleaning lady. You knew the next words that would come out of her mouth would be something along the lines of 'you are our guest' and 'let me finish this up while you get comfortable with your husband'

You flashed a smile at her "You gave us a delicious meal and let us stay the night, this is the least I can do to show my gratitude and appreciation" and that quickly shut her up. She was thankful and you knew, that was all that mattered.

The clinking of cuttlery could be heard as you washed the forks and spoons thoroughly with a soap drenched sponge. It was a mindless activity for you, your hands only focused on getting every speck of left-over food off the steel and ceramic, you didn't even realise you were softly humming to yourself. Your mind was elsewhere. That's when you jumped as the water suddenly spurted all over the place, the pipes creaking dangerously. You quickly turned off the water flow before there was a loud "Ah, shit!" and the front door fell shut.

The next second Logan and Charles were out the bathroom. Will explained that the pump station that supplied them with water was a mile away and got itself shut off from time to time. From what Nate said, some douchbag men were the reason for it. No big deal, right? They still had a water tank that had been freshly filled by the heavy rain yesterday, which you used to complete washing the dishes. Yet, Kathryn wanted her husband to fix the problem right away and since he wasn't in the mood to argue with his wife in front of guests, he reluctantly gave in to go out to the fields.

"My son is happy to go with you" Charles chimed in, nodding over to Logan who looked at him as if he had grown a second head. "No, no, its fine" Will declined the offer. Partly because he clearly saw that Logan wasn't really keen on the idea and to Will, Logan looked rather tired, weary and- insustainable, not to say weak. If these assholes came, what kind of help would Logan even be? The last Will needed was to bring you back your husband, all beaten up or something.

Logan of course new better. Yes, he was weary, he was tired, but he's still got it. He'd manage, somehow. Logan threw a last glance at Charles before his shoulders slumbed a bit in defeat. "Allright, I'll go" he rasped and walked over to you. He put his warm, rugged hand on your shoulder, kissing your temple. "I'll be back in a moment, sweetheart. I will get Charles settled, you think you can handle Laura on your own?" there it was again, that slight smirk that made his eyes crinkle. You smiled at his attempt at teasing you. If your hands wouldn’t have been sopping wet and the others weren't there, you would have certainly wrapped your arms around his neck. Instead, you bumped his side with your hip. "Look who's talking" you teased back with a small grin. You leaned over to kiss him on the cheek- or as much as you could reach from it, which ended up being more beard than skin. "I will wait for you in the livingroom once I'm done until you get back. I love you"

Logan brought Charles up to the guestroom Kathryn had prepared and went out with Will shortly after. Before you knew, Laura had silently followed Nate up to his room. The house was quiet, even upstairs.

You hummed softly as all you could smell were the sweet soapy bubbles in the sink. You used a small bowl you filled with water from a tank under the sink cabinet to rinse off the dishsoap from the porcelan cups and wine glasses, scrubbing with a rough sponge to leave it shiny and spotless. It was a bit more tedious than if you had running water, but you enjoyed this domestic moment you had to yourself. The last few days had been draining and exhausting, keeping your stress levels high with every dangerous thing life had thrown at you.

You had hope that after all of this, after bringing Laura safe and sound to Eden, that maybe some things would return to normal, that it would get better. You just wanted your husband back. Not in the sense of him not being there anymore in the flesh- but he had been so emotionally absent from you for the past years. You loved him, and he loved you too. It was just hard to keep believing that. You always thought that you were something worth living for to him. You were well aware of the pain he went through every day, the reminders that were constantly thrown at him that he couldn't do things like he used to, the voice in his head only telling him to kill himself to get out of that misery. You had catched him more often than not playing with the adamantium bullet, sometimes even with a shotgun pressed under his chin. You'd rather not see that again- ever.

As you had finished every last piece and put it next to the sink, you searched for a cloth to rub the plates and cuttlery dry. One hand held the spoon while the other engulfed it with the rag, drying it in between every tooth.

Suddenly, you felt a pair of strong hands on your hips, the frizzy texture of a beard scratching the exposed skin of your neck. You hadn't heard how he came in. After the initial shock, you relaxed under your husbands hands and continued your task. "Are you back already? That was pretty quick. I hope these assholes didn't give you two too much trouble" you muttered absentmindedly as you changed out the dry dishes in your hand with still wet ones. "I saw Laura walking up the stairs, she is probably with Charles. Maybe you could check if she's asleep yet before we go to bed" you suggested but never heard and answer from Logan. Yet his grip stayed firmly on your hips. You figured he was just tired, too worn out to care.

His hands felt weirdly...cold. And stiff. Logans were usually warm and lose around your waist or shoulder. This felt different now that you thought about it. What happened out there?

"I'll meet you in the livingroom once I am done here, okay?" you asked then, still no answer. You could only feel his hands travel up from your hips to your waist, resting there. "Are you alright, sweetheart?" you asked him carefully. He smelled different. Like he just broke out of a medical institute, reeking like sanitized air. You grew a bit tense, and you thought he could feel that.

Finally, you decided to turn your head. "Logan-?" you asked, but before you could get the words out, six adamantium blades pierced through your torso, the tips poking out on either side. You choked out a pained yelp, your legs feeling weak. That man behind you, whoever or what he was- he lifted you up to have gravity pull you down more onto his claws. He enjoyed the gutteral cry you let out before he let his blades retract, your body falling onto the ground, your head hitting the kitchen tiles.

Blood gushed from the wounds on your waist, throbbing pain hammered against your skull. You couldn't pass out. If you passed out, you'd die. With short grunts filled with agony, you twisted your aching body to the side, your eyes glancing at the figure of a man, his footsteps thundering up the stairs. You whimpered out, but it was more of a breathless weeze. "No...No, Laura. Charles" you rasped quitely.

The world kept spinning in harsh circles. Don't pass out. Don't pass out. While you could heal, it was unlike Logans ability to do so. While wounds, cuts and bruises vanished the second he got them, or at least that's how it used to be, you had to touch the affected area with your fingers. The bigger the wound, the longer it would take for you to heal it. The bigger the wound, the more the healing process drained your energy. But you couldn't let him get to Laura and Charles. You wouldn't forgive yourself.

You jammed your fingers into the clean cut holes, wailing in pain, your body protesting against your actions as it coiled in on itself. You sobbed out as you tried to bundle your energy and concentrate it to your fingertips, the burning sensation of flesh, intenstines and muscles stitching themselves back together all over your torso.

Tears spilled out of your eyes as you wriggled around in pain on the floor like a worm that had been cut in half. You gasped deeply to fill your lungs with air, completely forgetting to continue to breathe from the amount of energy this took out of you. You tried to stand, tried to get up and save Laura and Charles. But your knees buckled underneath you and you fell back against the kitchen aisle.

With a heaving breath, you sat up to lean your back against the oven door, heart thumping against your ribcage after you heard cries and a gunshot from upstairs. Who was that guy? He had claws. Like Logan. This couldn't be, this wasn't your Logan, right? Right?

Speaking of which, your husband came stumbling into the house, only wearing his white tank, a look of panic etched on his face. As you saw him, you breathed a short sigh of relief. But it worried you even more. Because if the man that had stabbed you wasn't him- then who was he!?

Logans knees nearly buckled under him from the sight of you, your blood spilled onto the tiles, staining your shirt, smeared all over your hands and arms. He fell to his knees next to you, eyes roaming over your body. He saw the six hole shaped wounds on either side of your torso, his gut twisting nauseously as he pictured what happened.

His chest heaved, his strong arms slipping under your legs and back, lifting you up with a pained grunt. "It wasn’t me- oh god it wasn’t me" he rasped, but it sounded more like an reassurance to himself than to you. Because you knew that- he would never do that to you. He made you touch the wounds on your side with your hand, his fingers trembling as he did. "Heal yourself, c'mon please" he pleaded you, his heart squeezing deeply in his chest as he heard you whine in agony, your body too tired and weary to continue.

He brought you outside and laid you into the back of his pick up truck, pressing your hands to your torso tightly. You had broken out into a cold sweat, your gaze a bit blurry as you looked at him. You couldn't say a word, you had to heal yourself. And every breath, every exhale and mutter of our voice pushed you further away from your goal.

Logan brushed his shaking thumb firmly over your cheek, trying to soothe you. And himself. With one last longing look, he turned around to pick up Charles and Laura. But before he could open the door to the house, it was already opened and he was face to face with - himself?

The mans face and his were identical, but the stranger was youthful. No wrinkles, no scars, not a trace of grey in his buzzed hair or beard. Only a deep scowl on his face. Both held intense eyecontact but made no sign of movement. Not until Logans gaze fell downward after hearing a distressed shriek below him.

The man had Laura.

The stranger huffed through his nostrils as he shoved himself past Logan and began to stomp towards a row of armored cars, Laura struggling in the device he had put her in. "No...Laura" you croaked helplessly as you watched, your voice barely above a whisper.

You turned your aching body back to Logan, ready to beg him to save her - but he was already gone, running up the stairs to find Charles. Before you knew it, tears continued to spill out of your eyes and down your cheeks. Everything happened so fast, everything was so much all at once. You were no help, you couldn't fight.

You couldn't save your daughter.

You were on the brink of unconsciousness, your eyes falling shut every now and then as your skull throbbed with pain. You forced yourself to stay awake, forced yourself to listen to Lauras cries as a reminder what a failure you were. Logan was right, you should have left after dinner.

You saw as another three set of cars drove onto the farm, a group of men getting out and standing in the mans way. They talked to him and he lowered Laura onto the ground. You breathed a sigh of short relief, hissing as finally one wound closed up completely on both sides. Five more to go...

A pained grunt threw you out of your haze. It was Logan, with Charles in his arms. Stumbling, he brought him over to you and only then did you see the three wounds on his chest. Your breath caught in your throat as his weak body was laid next to you. "I can heal him" you rasped but Logan knew better. Charles wouldn’t make it, despite the amount of energy you would put into healing him. And the last thing Logan needed was both of you dying without him being able to do anything about it. He swatted your hand away with a hurt look. He had made a decision.

Logan and you leaned over Charles, your tear falling onto his cheek right after he took his last breath. "No..." you whispered shakily, looking up to Logan, his jaw working tightly as he blinked, as if the weight of the moment had settled within him.

An explosion went off behind you, bringing your attention to the man that had Laura. He had killed the group of farmer assholes and was now distracted by the noise and fire. That's when Logan took off.

",Logan, no!" you shrieked in sheer panic, your voice raw, as Logan threw himself at his doppelganger, stabbing him into his neck. He buried his claws into him over and over, grunting as he did. But that bastard healed instantly, just like he did once. The doppelganger roared and flipped Logan over himself, smashing him down against the ground by his claws.

You heard blood splatter, wood cracking, the cutting of blades and the screams of your husband as he was pierced by blades mercilessly, his body growing tired.

You couldn't bear to look as the man rammed his blades through Logans armpit and out of the top of his shoulder. You started hyperventilating as all you could do was listen to your husband getting killed. You cried, desperately pushing your fingertips into your wounds and getting a hold of yourself again. You had lost so much blood, it was hard to know what was up and what was down.

Another wound closed up, and another. You couldn't feel your legs as you growled out, putting the last bit of energy into healing yourself so you could help Logan. Or at least get Laura to safety.

A car crashed into Logans doppelganger, pushing him into the exposed sharp ends of a destroyed tractor piece, trapping him there. He grunted, growling animalistically, struggling to get free. Will slowly got out of the car, a shotgun pointed to the man he had just hit with his car. Frustrated and angry, he shot him three times, the third time taking his eye out of it's socket before he finally quieted down.

Stumbling, Will turned around to face Logan, the real one out of the two. Wills gaze graced over Logans withered and battled body, the way the crimson blood soaked his white tank, dripping down his arms, face and hands. It was everywhere.

Both men panted as they looked at each other, Logan struggling to stand up as his knees kept buckling underneath him. Will grunted and lifted his shotgun, pointing it at Logan with shaking hands. Logan watched, swallowing thickly before he let his head hang, eyes closing and ready for it to end.

"No! No, don't shoot him" you gasped, suddenly standing in front of Logan defensively, holding up your hand to show that you were unarmed. "It wasn’t him, please" you pleaded, but for what? That he wouldn’t shoot just because you said it wasn’t Logans fault? That wouldn’t bring his family back. So what use did it have?

You took a shaky breath. "I know that you are angry, that you are hurt. And you have every right to be" you said to him, trying to find a change in Wills expression, but there was none.

"If you need to shoot someone...shoot me" you uttered. Logans eyes widened and he hoped he had heard you wrong. "No" he slurred, a hint of desperation in his voice as he pushed himself to stand up. You paid him no mind.

"If you need to let your anger out on someone, use me. But don't hurt my husband. He won't survive a bullet. Please" you begged him. Your heart was pounding in your throat, your sides were still aching, but not bleeding anymore. Were you scared? Of course you were. Scared of death, scared of losing the love of your life, scared to leave him and Laura alone...scared to be left alone with a kid that was so smiliar to him.

Despite your pleading, Will pulled the trigger. You jumped at the sound but were pretty much still alive. His gun was empty. And he was dead. With a loud thump, the man fell to the ground, unmoving.

Both you and Logan sighed with a hint of relief. You turned to him, the sight of him all beaten up like a knife to the heart. You made him sit down on the ground, leaning him against the wheel of a tractor. He was protesting, trying to stand up. "My god, Logan, stop fussing! You can’t walk, goddamnit!" you yelled at him, which shut him up. He wasn't mad at you for raising your voice. He knew you were stressed and worried about him. You didn't mean to shout at him. He grunted as you lifted up his shirt, exposing a fleshy wound. "Sh, sh, it's all going to be okay" you breathed, fingers penetrating the wounds. He groaned out and you cooed at him, tears rolling down your face. "I'm so sorry. I'm going to heal you as best as I can, then we are going to get Laura and get out of here, drive somewhere safe, okay?" You whispered to him, watching his face contort in pain as his flesh sewed itself back together.

Logan huffed as he saw that your own wounds hadn't finished healing yet, either. He graced them softly with his hand. "Your waist.." he croaked but you shushed him. "Don't worry about me. I'll manage. But you won't on your own" you answered, already feeling a headache forming as your energy was drained, flowing into repairing your husband so he wasn't on the brink of passing out anymore.

Once the biggest wounds were somewhat closed up, Logan had already healed some surface cuts into scars himself. You kissed his forhead before helping him up, his 300lbs body leaning on you for balance.

You slotted him into the passanger seat of the pick up truck before jogging up to Laura, scooping the shrieking girl into your arms. You opened the drivers door and pushed Laura over to Logan before getting behind the wheel yourself and shutting the door. Laura yelled as she saw the dead body of Charles in the back of the truck, Logan had to hold her down into her seat as you drove off.

"What do you think you are doing?" Logan coughes roughly, you could practically hear the frown in his voice. He was displeased with you driving the car, he didn't want you to get involved into a car accident. He also wanted you to rest, this was a lot today. "Do you seriously want to start this now?" you growled at him. This was not the time to argue about mundane stuff like this.

He didn't say another word after that and you sighed deeply. "I want you to rest, okay? Just this one time, let me drive" you mumbled, tired of fighting with him. The air in the car was thick, but the car only went quiet after Logan had freed Laura from her restraints.

You drove in silence, your grip tense on the steering wheel. You felt a hand on your thigh. Logan softly squeezed the meat of your thigh, a way of him saying sorry. To show that you accepted his apology, because why should you be angry at him for long?, you put your hand over his.

You looked at him for a moment. "I love you." he said. And you were glad that after today, after everything, you were still able to hear him say that.

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wileys-russo · 1 year ago

Text

floral hearts II a.putellas x reader

based on this request here floral hearts II a.putellas x reader

"gracias." alexia smiled tiredly at the young boy on the register, tapping her card to pay for the bag of groceries sat on the counter in front of her.

a day off was supposed to mean rest. but for alexia it normally meant racing around tying up all the loose ends which seemed to fall apart while she was at training throughout the week.

her car was serviced and washed, apartment tidied and deep cleaned, countless loads of laundry washed, folded and put away. she'd done her groceries and was looking forward to cooking one of her mami's family recipes.

ready to relish in the comfort of a good home cooked meal eaten hot rather than the reheated meal prep she was used to throughout the week when in a rush from one commitment to the other.

but of course in her haste she'd forgotten a few key ingredients, including trash bags and toilet paper which she knew she would need and not have time to grab throughout the week.

so tucked away from prying eyes in a matching hoodie and sweats she'd raced back on foot to the corner store.

alexia's leg bounced impatiently as her payment took time to process, the boy apologizing as she sent him a small smile which never quite met her eyes.

as the machine beeped she sighed assuming that meant it had cleared, but when a large red cross flashed she inhaled sharply as the boy again apologized and fumbled about trying to reset it.

her eyes darting around the store alexia's body began to tense as she noticed a group of teenage boys hovering by the doors, their gazes locked on her and trading cards in hand as her eyes squeezed shut.

they weren't unknown to her, in fact she was hardly surprised to see them given they somehow popped up everywhere and anywhere demanding she sign things for them.

the security at the training complex had photos of them and always knew to shoo them off as alexia wasn't the only player they seemed to target. but today there was only alexia and after brushing them off outside her apartment complex the midfielder knew they wouldn't be giving up so easily.

it wasn't as if they were fans, if they were alexia would have no issues signing a few cards or taking a quick photo with a polite smile. but it was never a photo they were after, or a smile, it was a signature.

a signature on something alexia knew would be copied and pasted from greed, which would then be sold online for money and the boys would re-appear another day and the cycle would start over again.

tapping again alexia was relieved when the payment went through near instantly, quietly assuring the boy it was okay as he apologized again for the trouble and she grabbed her bag.

her lips pursed into a thin line she hadn't even reached the door yet before the begging started, and her stomach clenched seeing two of them with phones up recording the interaction.

ignoring them entirely she breezed past and out the doors, hearing their voices follow after her as she suddenly wished she'd driven rather than walked, their insistent begging only drawing the attention of others.

"not today." alexia shook her head firmly as she was forced to stop at a crossing and they caught up to her, cars zooming across the road preventing her from continuing on forward.

"no photos." alexia pushed away one of the boys phones which was thrust in her face, clearly still recording as they held out pens and cards and continued their begging.

alexias chest tightened as more attention was drawn to her, not missing the judgemental eyes cast upon her by passers by who didn't know the real story, and for a moment alexia considered just signing a few things for the sake of saving her reputation.

but then the crossing turned green and she took off, long legs striding quickly and putting a small bit of distance between her and the boys who hurried after her still yelling, their words harsher now as they accused her of favoritism and refusing to sign because they weren't girls.

eyes darting about for an escape alexia quickly stepped into the flower shop on the corner, hurrying to hide herself as she heard the boys come thundering in after her and she winced, ready to just step out and give into what they wanted if she had any hope of getting home.

but before she could take another step a figure appeared, watering can in one hand and a broom in the other. "oye chicos! none of that in here, out!" you told the boys off sternly and pointed back to the street, knowing too well they weren't going to be customers.

"out!" you repeated firmly, ignoring their protests you remained unwavering, hand pointing to the door with a raised eyebrow as they deflated and retreated, insults slung your way under their breath as you rolled your eyes, door slamming after them with a jingle.

putting the broom down behind the counter alexia watched as you moved about watering some of the plants stacked up near the door, clearly talking to them quietly which caused a small smile to appear on the catalan's face.

the midfielder now finally able to breathe paused for a moment to take in the small store. she'd walked past countless amounts of times and always admired the gorgeous floral arrangements in the window, the bouquets different every day and always with the freshest and in season flowers.

"oh sorry! i didn't hear anyone else come in." you turned around and jumped slightly noticing the blonde hovering a few feet behind you, a slight blush coating your cheeks.

"no no sorry i was just-" alexia stumbled over words trying to explain the situation, a rosy pink blush on her own face as you now faced her and alexia took you in properly.

your hair was pulled back loosely with a cream coloured clip, a few loose strands framing your face and a pair of glasses pushed on the top of your head. your lips were plump and now watching her become so flustered they'd quirked up into a small smile, showcasing two tiny dimples in the corner of your mouth.

"they were bothering you?" your smile turned downward now, manicured eyebrows furrowing as you caught onto what she was trying to say.

"sí. i am so sorry for bringing them in here, it is beautiful and i would have hated if they broke anything." alexia shifted the bag of groceries on her shoulder as you waved her off.

"i am glad you felt safe enough to seek shelter here, please anytime. plus, it is a little hard to break a flower." you teased lightly with a dazzling smile that alexia swore she might move mountains for to see directed her way again.

"can i help you with anything? though i would understand if you'd like to get home now they are gone." you smiled a little softer this time, moving back behind the counter and putting the watering can down.

alexia wracked her brain for an excuse to spend a little more time, quite captivated by your beauty and a little desperate to learn more.

"eh, a plant?" she guessed with an awkward smile. "any particular sort of plant?" you questioned with an amused twinkle in your eyes. "easy to keep alive." alexia attempted a joke, rewarded with a quick peal of laughter from you as you dropped your glasses down onto your nose and nodded for her to follow you.

as you lead her toward the back alexia's eyes were drawn to the dizzying collection of flowers in your arsenal, some of which she hadn't even seen before.

she was amazed at just how perfect all of the arrangements were. never too much greenery, all with a few fresher buds that were yet to flower so they would last longer, intensely bright pops of pinks and orange contrasted with softer tones of lavender and coral.

catching sight of herself in a small mirror alexia's eyes widened in horror and she yanked her hood off her head, running hands through her hair in an attempt to style it.

her face was bare and alexia winced at the deep seeded bags unable to be hidden beneath her eyes, run a little ragged this week with countless commitments outside of football all piling up on top of her which is what had her so in need of this day off in the first place.

"these are all very low maintenance." she caught up to you as you'd reached the back of the shop which was more of a nursery, countless pot plants hanging from the eaves and stacked up on stands, every single shade of green one could imagine.

you started to walk her through the plants which, as requested, were the hardest to kill, explaining how often to water them and where they would best be sat in either direct or filtered sunlight, indoor or outdoor.

but alexia was far too interested in a different sight.

the catalan only looking on with a pining gaze as your mouth moved and your hands gestured from plant to plant, it was as if someone put you on mute as alexia didn't register or hear a single word you said only nodding on dumbfounded.

the footballer studied each little feature of your face, delighting herself as she discovered something new. like the tiny bouquet of tulips tattooed behind your ear, or the tiny crescent moon shaped scar which lay just above your eyebrow.

"do any of those sound like they might work?" you asked, snapping alexia out of it as she panicked and hastily pointed to the first plant she laid eyes on. "one of my favorites." you smiled happily, picking it up carefully and turning to head back toward the counter as alexia hurried after you.

"oh no please, on the house." you gently pushed away her hand, card held between her fingertips ready to pay. "no no i couldn't-" alexia started but with a firm look from you she fell silent as you nodded satisfied.

"does your boss like when you give things away for free?" alexia teased, shifting her bag on her shoulder to be able to pick up the plant. "mm she doesn't mind." you smiled knowingly and alexia paused for a moment.

"did you need something else?" you asked with slight concern as the captain caught herself and cleared her throat, thanking you again and hurrying out of the store.

you watched her go with a slight smile of amusement, carefully watching out the window until she was out of sight before you grabbed your keys out, locking the front door and flipping the sign to closed.

"clean up time mis bebés." you called out with a clap, speaking to the flowers and the plants of course as you grabbed out your phone and played some music, starting to tidy up your store which you were supposed to have done a half hour ago.

now home and having eaten dinner alexia sat at the kitchen counter, empty bowl in front of her as she stared down the plant sitting in front of her.

"you better not die." alexia warned the little plant sternly as she stood, and having not listened to a word you said moved it to a little often sun bathed spot by her balcony doors.

having already showered and changed alexia washed up her dishes from dinner, putting the leftovers in a tupperware and sliding it into the fridge before sinking into her sofa.

flicking on the television and a random soap opera alexia's mind drifted anywhere but the characters on the screen, wandering back to her interactions with you this afternoon.

her eyebrows furrowed as she wracked her brain trying to remember the name of the store, but unable to and with it just on the tip of her tongue she grabbed out her phone. knowing it was within walking distance it didn't take her long to find it on maps.

opening instagram instead now she typed it in and sucked her bottom lip into her teeth, perking up as indeed the store did have an account which she clicked into and followed right away.

a small smile graced her face as she scrolled through the feed which was gorgeously draped with all every dizzying colour of the rainbow, alexia shaking her head in sheer wonder of the perfectly curated bouquets on display.

she recognized it was you holding up each one of course, though your face was always hidden by the floral arrangements adding in a thrilling sense of mystery to the page.

her chest filled with a slight sense of pride and maybe a little sprinkling of victory that she knew who was behind each one, able to map out your face in her mind, your dazzling smile haunting her as did the melodic sound of your laughter.

it was then that alexia promised herself she would see you again, and this time under slightly less ragged conditions.

and see you again she did.

you looked up from where you'd been trimming some marigolds ready for an order for tomorrow when the bell had chimed signalling you had a customer, likely one of your last ones for the day given you closed in a few minutes.

with over seven orders to get done tonight you had a long few hours ahead and so you'd be lying if you said you weren't relieved that you recognized the customer in question.

"you again." you smiled fondly at the footballer as she made her way to the counter, alexia now no stranger since your initial run in you now both felt quite comfortable around one another.

though alexia was always hesitant if your friendly demeanor was simply an impulse, or if your soft spoken tone was only thanks to your people skills and customer service background.

but today the air felt just a little different, and your smile didn't quite meet your eyes, not dissimilar to alexia's the day she'd sought solace in the shop she now knew to be yours.

the day you'd finally put her out of her misery after giving her yet another little free gift in a small bundle of poppies and wild vine was one which had her blushing in embarrassment as again she'd questioned if you would be in trouble for not charging her.

"i know the boss quite well, she won't mind." you echoed as you often did with a wink, alexia rolling her eyes and insisting she pay.

"alexia. this is my store, i can give away my flowers and my plants to whoever i like, please take them." your hand had settled on top of hers as her fingers drummed against the counter pushing for you to let her pay.

"oh." was all she managed out, and your features softened at the clear embarrassment present in hers, quickly changing subject and moving forward without another word much to the taller girls relief.

"hola chica." alexia smiled and your cheeks warmed as she gently pressed her lips against them in greeting, the two of you quite familiar now as it had been nearly two weeks since your initial encounter.

"so who are we buying for today then capi?" you raised an eyebrow in amusement as alexia pushed herself off the counter and began to wander around, eyes roaming what was left for the day with a shrug.

"because on monday it was your mami, wednesday for your hermana, friday it was another plant, saturday for your amiga's birthday, tuesday for your mami again and now..." you recounted all of the various times alexia had popped in.

"eh..." alexia struggled to think of a reason bar the actual one which was just to see you. "for yourself maybe? the right flowers bring very good energy into a home." you suggested as alexia nodded, head turning away from you to hide the flush warming her neck.

"what do you suggest then cari?" alexia asked, projecting a confidence she did not currently feel as still she wandered the store and did not meet your eye which followed her steps.

"when is your birthday?" you asked, resuming your trimming of the marigolds on the counter making sure to still keep her in your sight. "february fourth. why?" alexia glanced at you curiously over your shoulder as you smiled.

"mmm aquarias, of course." you hummed with a nod, carefully wrapping up the marigolds and setting them aside. "and what does that mean?" alexia huffed, turning to look at you properly with a slight frown as you rounded the counter.

"nothing. but your birth flower is..." you held up a finger, slipping past her and hoping you still had some out the back. alexia waited patiently as you disappeared, a few minutes passing as she contemplated checking on you.

glancing at the time on her watch guilt flooded her seeing technically you were supposed to be closed right now, and with a few steps she found herself at the front door and flipped the open sign to show so, not wanting you caught off guard by any new customers.

also knowing it was unlikely you would make her pay for whatever you were constructing out the back she took a twenty dollar note from her pocket and slid it under your bell on the counter with a small smile.

her head turned as footsteps sounded and you returned. "iris and violet, also primrose! but unfortunately i need those for an order tomorrow." you smiled apologetically, a bundle of bright purple flowers clenched in your hand wrapped in some brown paper with a lavender colored ribbon.

"they are beautiful, gracias." she accepted them as you held them out to her with a satisfied smile at her obvious delight, of course as alexia expected dismissing her attempts to pay for them.

"you look busy, i will leave you be cari. thank you again for these, they are perfect." alexia thanked you, again the taller girl kissing your cheek and with a small smile she was headed for the door as you hesitated.

"alexia." you spoke, her hand on the door she turned with a raised eyebrow.

"i might be misreading this, and if i am i apologise. but if you would like to see me you don't have to keep coming in for flowers you do not need, you can just...ask me out." you played with the sleeves of your cardigan, trying to disguise the fear of rejection as her eyes widened.

"oh." was again all she managed out seeing a flash of worry cross your face. "i have misread. i am so sorry!" you apologized, humiliation filling your chest as you darted behind the counter and ducked down as if needing to find something, hoping she would just leave.

you heard the door and deflated a little, pushing yourself up and jumping in surprise at the hazel eyes which met yours, alexia giving you a slightly awkward smile.

"would you like to go out on a date with me? please." "sí ale, i really would."

hearing your alarm go off you awoke on instinct, hand darting out to tap it off as you rubbed your eyes and sighed, taking a few moments to allow your body to wake up a little, the time only three in the morning.

you attempted to get out of bed but an arm caught your midsection, pulling you back under the covers with a grunt. you smiled with a shake of your head, rolling onto your side and propping yourself up on one arm.

"ale. mi amor i have to go!" you whispered softly, pushing her hair out of her face as one eye cracked open and glared up at you. "take a day off." the footballer mumbled, grip on you only tightening making you laugh.

"you take a day off." you teased, poking at her nose as her lips pushed into a slight pout and both her eyes now slowly opened. "can i come with you?" the next words out of her mouth surprised you, eyebrows raised as your finger traced across the soft and tanned skin of her face.

"querida its too early, you only went to bed a few hours ago and you have training at nine." you warned with an apologetic smile, pressing a tender kiss to the crown of her head and squirming as her nose tucked into your neck and she exhaled tiredly.

"i can sleep after training princesa, i want to come. please?" she asked hopefully as your thumb gently wiped some of the sleep from the corner of her eye. "ale i don't know, i don't want you exhausted for training." you sighed with a slight frown.

"we have been up late doing things before and i would still get up at five to go for a run and i am fine." alexia smiled suggestively, hand dragging across your stomach causing goosebumps to prickle your skin. "things hm?" you grinned, her free hand clasping the back of your neck and pulling you down into a proper kiss.

"did that convince you to let me come?" alexia smiled cheekily as she let you up, your head spinning a little as you sighed, smile ghosting your lips.

"sí, you can come."

"i told you it was too early precioso." you laughed, squishing the catalans cheeks in your hand as her chin rested on your shoulder and her body latched tightly onto yours from behind.

"m'fine, go get your flowers bebita." alexia mumbled, softly kissing your neck and nodding for you to step forward into the warehouse. the time was now just past four, the perfect time as hardly anyone had arrived to the wholesalers markets yet and you would have first pick of everything.

alexia letting go of you she settled for holding your hand instead, following after you as you went from seller to seller, making your orders and signing for them with a smile, alexia watching fondly as you conversed with the friendly faces you saw each morning.

she'd only come with you once before, blown away by the stunning flowers on offer and just how many lay ready to be bought in the large warehouse. as time passed it began to fill up with more people, alexia letting go of your hand and allowing you to be a little faster as she kept a close eye on you, sipping at her coffee.

"okay amor. done! daniel will drive the truck back with everything in it once its all loaded." you returned to your girlfriends side, waving at the man across the room who wiggled his fingers and returned to flirting with one of the sellers making you chuckled.

her arm stretched over your shoulders the two of you made your way out of the now very busy market, heading for where alexia had parked still insisting on driving despite the fact she was half asleep.

reaching the car you waited patiently by your door, knowing if you tried to open it for yourself the blonde would only tug you back and kick it closed before opening it for you.

"hola." alexia smiled as her body pressed into yours, interlocking fingers as you were pushed gently into the side of her car. you were caught off guard as her head dipped and her mouth met yours, nipping at your bottom lip and with a squeeze of your hips and a little gasp her tongue slipped in.

though just as quickly as it had started she was pulling away, hovering over you with a soft smile which was mirrored on your own features, eyebrow quirked curiously.

"and what was that for?" you asked as her hip bumped you out of the way and she opened your door for you.

"just for you." alexia grinned, stealing another quick kiss as you slid into the car and she closed the door before rounding to her own side. "oh gracias!" she laughed playfully as you leaned over and pushed her door open for her.

your head falling to the headrest you watched as she slipped her key into the ignition, lovesick smile on your face and adoration in your eyes at the woman sat across from you.

meeting your gaze alexias own face softened and she leaned across to press her lips to yours once more, mumbling a few words against them.

"mi preciosa niña de las flores."

#woso #woso x reader #woso community #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso blurbs

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