#you will prove me wrong there probably....

[dollracha]

𐙚 just friends ⋆ l.f x reader

pairing: fwb! lee felix x gender neutral! reader genre: angst, smau, smut warnings: friends with benefits ⋆ no happy ending ⋆ swearing ⋆ special guests: bang chan & lee know ⋆ chan is called chris ⋆ vaguely written sex ⋆ riding (mentioned) ⋆ oral sex (male & gn recieving) ⋆ moody / mean felix ⋆ felix has an ex ⋆ felix is an asshole ⋆ short scenes ⋆ self gaslighting wc: 2.3k synopsis: becoming friends with benefits with felix wasn't a bad idea. that's what you convinced yourself when it started. nothing would change. (that was a lie.) request: hii is your request slot still open? if its not feel free to ignore my request. Soo Im thinking about fwb angst yk? Like maybe Seungmin or Felix. I would rly rly appreciate it if u did the request, have a nice day!! author's note: i wouldn’t call this full on smut but i did write some less descriptive sex scenes. the focus is more on the angst. also felix is mean. i said that once but i'm gonna say it again. (ps. there's no redemption arc pt. 2 because i actually enjoy the suffering of this.)

© dollracha do not copy reupload or repost.

you always thought that most friends with benefits situations would be secret; that you’d sneak around behind your friend’s backs, careless yet careful to make sure they never found out. lee felix proved you wrong.

you’re out at the bar with your friends, he’s got his arm around you. after a few drinks, he’s suggesting you come home with him. or you’re at home on a saturday morning and he asks you to come grocery shopping with him, just for the company. whenever you’re out with your friends, it’s more likely than not that felix is at your side.

all of your friends know about your situation with felix. you used to be embarrassed, but that washed away quickly. you don’t feel anything about it, or at least you try not to. 

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

“are you two together or something?” chris asks, his face twisted with confusion. it’s a reasonable question. felix has you pulled into his lap. he’s been fiddling with the pendant on your necklace for a few minutes. the two of you have been receiving looks from your friends, entirely noticed by you while felix remains unaware. 

“no?” he drops your pendant, and looks at chris like he’s an idiot for insinuating it. “nobody has a problem when lee know hyung grabs your ass. but suddenly because i’m holding y/n everyone’s got a problem?”

“what?” minho doesn’t move as he glares at felix. ‘the audacity of this kid…’ 

“no one’s got a problem.” chris intervenes between them before it has the chance to escalate. “it was just a question, mate.” 

felix practically shoves you off his lap to stand. you stumble as you try not to fall. “they’re obviously not my fucking partner.” he spits, and heads straight for the door. it stings. you know your dynamic, it’s nothing romantic. you’re just best friends who can’t keep their hands off each other. that doesn’t stop the hurt.

you look between your friends, and felix, and back again. “i’m gonna go make sure he’s okay.” chris shakes his head, but doesn’t say a word nor stop you.

you catch up to felix just before before the elevator door shuts. “felix,” he doesn’t spare you a glance. “wha—” he interrupts you. “—it’s bullshit. they’re all cozy with each other. no problem. that’s fine. but when it comes to me there’s a bunch of questions and shit?” he turns to you finally, posing the question and finally remembering to hit the button for the first floor.

“it was one question, felix.” you try to calm him down, it probably won’t work. he’s been very sensitive to the topic of relationships as of recent. “i don’t think chris is necessarily wrong for asking, and–”

“so you think he has the right to be in my business?” 

“no. that’s not what i said.”

“then what is it?”

“you were a little rough. chris wasn’t rude. you took an unwarranted shot at minho. they’re our friends.” 

“you’re my friend too and you don’t pull that shit.” anyone else would think he was brushing off your point, but you know he’s getting it. he’s reaching out to pull you close, and then the elevator door opens. he walks out first, and spares a glance behind him. 

“come home with me?” he asks, and you nod. 

“let’s go.”

  ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

he’s not always moody, but the 'what are we?' talk always manages to put him in a mood. most of the time, you two are just friends, who fuck each other on the side. nothing more. 

that’s how it started. felix was a few weeks free from a bad breakup. he was pent up, needed to relieve the stress, anger and sadness bottled up inside of him. and there you were, sitting on his couch like a godsend. it started slow. he pulls you into his arms like he has many times before. friends, cuddling together. until it’s not. his hand rests on your knee, it slowly makes its way up your thighs. you only realize how hot his touch makes you feel when his fingers sneak under the hem of your shorts.

“can i?” he asks, his lips brushing against your ear. 

a part of you (that, maybe, you should have listened to) tells you to say no. but you don’t. you nod your head, and for good measure, you say “yes.”

felix decides to try his luck further, his other hand grips your chin, and forces you to look at him. there’s a hunger in his eyes, like he’s ready to devour you whole given the chance. “can i kiss you?” he practically is, his lips brush against yours as he speaks. 

you knew it wouldn’t mean anything. you always took felix as a romantic. the fact that he was so willing to touch you with no ado made everything clear: this was a one time hookup. were you using him, in his emotionally fragile, pent up state? was he using you? you weren’t sure. 

“yes,” it’s another stupid decision, but it doesn’t feel quite wrong when his lips are against yours. when he kisses you with such need, such urgency. you lose all thoughts of moral, of rationale. all that matters is felix.

a few minutes of eager kissing is all he can stand. he slips his shirt off, and pushes up the hem of yours then hesitates. “can i?” again, you should have said no. you don’t.

“please,”

it’s a blur after that. he takes your shirt off. then it’s your shorts, your underwear. he makes you cum on his mouth. he’s reveling in the way you grip his hair, the way you moan his name like it’s the only one that you know. it makes him feel wanted, needed. like for once, in the past few months, he’s doing something right.

he’s got you itching to return the favor, to feel the weight of him on your tongue, taste him and feel as he hits the back of your throat. felix gets impatient. he grips your hair and fucks into your mouth. his cock hits the back of your throat and you tear up. he’s quick to soothe your tears, “i caused them, ‘s only right.” he says.

as he cums, he holds you in place. he looks up at the ceiling, groaning as you take his load. it’s not your name he moans. it’s his ex’s. it gets caught in his throat like a strangled sob–refusing to come out, yet refusing to stay inside. you both pretend it didn’t happen.

for now, it’s all he wants. you continue with your movie night as if nothing happened. 

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

it’s almost a routine now. you hook up at least twice a week. he’s always the one to invite you over. sometimes it’s a relief. you’re stressed about something going on in your life and he’s a perfect distraction. other times, he’s the one making your life harder. he’s begging you to come over late, and your problem? you can’t say no. you have the freedom to. you know he’d pout for a second, before telling you to sleep well and you’ll hang out later. 

and when you do come over, which it’s unlikely that you won’t succumb to his request, he’s on you immediately. he doesn’t waste time stripping you, taking you to the bed when he’s patient, and the couch when he can’t wait another moment to have you. 

one thing that felix doesn’t do, is mark you. he’ll kiss you with vigor. he’ll suck at your skin, bite at your chest, but it’s all done with just enough gentleness that your skin remains unmarked. you know, you check in the mirror like you’ll wake up one morning and discover his love lasts on your skin. it’s the disconnect between love and lust. if he loved you, maybe he’d claim you as such. he’d mark your skin with red and purple hickeys. he doesn’t love you. you know that.

you don’t love him as anything more than a friend. you should stop dreaming about things reserved for lovers when you’re just friends.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

sometimes, there’s a domestic bliss that settles between the two of you. It really has you thinking that you could be his. you’ll be in his kitchen, his hands are wrapped around your waist as you cook a quick, late dinner. his head rests on your shoulder and he sways you to the music you put on. 

or you’re cuddling in his bed. he’s the big spoon and you’re the little spoon. he has a pillow propped over his arm, his other hand draped over your waist. you’re talking about everything and nothing, all at once. the weather. his childhood. your first pet. the weirdness of sourdough starter. 

you know that the only love between the two of you is the kind friends share. 

screw the kisses that are so sweet they make you think he’s in love with you. screw the way he moans your name now as he cums. the way he looks up at you as you ride him, something so hungry, so insatiable in his big doe eyes. screw way he holds you as you come down from your high, his hands stable and firm on your shaking hips. it keeps you from floating off into a realm, a universe where lee felix could actually love you like the romantic you’ve seen him be for everyone else he’s had in his bed. there’s no way any of it could be love. at least, that’s what you keep telling yourself. if he hadn’t made it abundantly clear to everyone you know that you’re ‘just friends’, you might have mistaken the lust in his eyes for love. every lie becomes true once you repeat it enough. every hope, every desire gets crushed once met with the cruel fist of reality one too many times.

do you punish yourself with the facade that he loves you, or the facade that he doesn’t? either way, you can’t resist him. you can’t say no. he needs you. or is it you that needs him? who gets hurt when nothing was ever supposed to be at stake? if you’re an addict, lee felix is your drug, and you’ve not yet seen the consequences of taking too much.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

six months fly by quickly. six months of being friends with benefits with felix. to the date. it’s a normal day, though you don’t see him. you don’t talk to him. you haven’t talked to him since yesterday afternoon. 

the only warning when glass breaks, is the fall. felix’s absence is the fall. the ‘ping!’ of a text message is the impact on the ground, the shatter into a million pieces.

you should have known better than to think it was going to last. really, what did you expect? felix to confess his love to you, rose petals on the bed and candlelight? every good thing comes to an end. whatever you had with felix was never an exception.

it’s not like you loved him, though. like you had that kind of fantasy. it just felt like a breach of your friendship for him to run back to his ex, and not say a word.

you can’t help the anger that takes over. felix was seeing his ex again? after seven months of being apart. he’s running back into those arms. it disgusts you, so much so that you feel your stomach churn. it makes you want to throw up.

you're crying and you don't even know why. there was nothing going on between you two. everything in the past few months meant nothing. right?

wrong. it was something. you couldn't quite explain it, but it was worth far more than going back to a shitty ex.

usually, when felix causes your tears, he's there to wipe them away. they're because of everything he's doing right. this time, it's all wrong; he's not here to dry them up either.

you know chris wouldn’t lie to you. you also know felix wouldn’t keep that from you.

or would he?

© dollracha do not copy reupload or repost.

[lilykatelyn-blog]

NIKI BF HEADCANONS PT 2.

warnings: none <3

requested by: @straykids143stay

WE’RE BACK!!

ᰔᩚ so he would totally make you do dance challenges with him. like 10 times out of 10, he’d make you film something with him and then post it to his insta.

ᰔᩚ basically bro wouldn’t even care about PDA. he’s so affectionate with jay sometimes so he’d totally be fine with it.

ᰔᩚ lowkey, he’d have probably met you at a concert and worked up the courage to sign your paper and secretly write his number on there.

ᰔᩚ PLEASE RUN YOUR FINGERS THROUGH THOSE LUSCIOUS LOCKS, he’s so fine, I might crash out. he’d totally have everyone gagged with his looks when he winks at you.

ᰔᩚ he absolutely doesn’t mind you biasing another member, as long as he’s your bias wrecker. and I feel like he’d be so in love if you told him you loved dancing.

ᰔᩚ TELL HIM YOU LOVE HIM, he does NOT get enough love, our baby. I-Land took his self image, crumpled it up, tossed it to the depths of hell, brought it back, cut it up, put it back together, shredded it, ate it, swallowed it, shit it out, and then put it in the garbage disposal.

ᰔᩚ he would so be ticklish. like just one tinnyyy finger running up his arm and he’d be cackling on the floor. give him a tiny kiss on his jaw and he’d be giggling from how much it tickled.

ᰔᩚ his morning voice is so deep, you cannot prove me wrong. HAVE YOU HEARD HIS AD LIBS IN CRIMINAL LOVE? BRO IS 19 AND CAN SPEAK LIKE FREAKING SURTUR FROM THOR RAGNAROK

that’s all I have for now my lovelies 💕💕💕

Pls request if u want more because I will so totally upload some more awesome sauce head canons.

[iamquiantrelle]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

William: Landed safely? Already miss you x

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

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

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

Still.

Still.

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

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

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

Aurélien: Ma puce, s'il te plaît.

She turns her phone off.

Some decisions need sleep first.

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

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

A text from Jules breaks through her spiral:

You back?

Auré's been impossible

Like, worse than when someone eats his protein bars

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her heart does a complicated flip.

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

But tonight?

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

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

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

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

But she doesn't.

Can't.

Won't.

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

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

"I'm already up, ma puce."

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

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

And then she actually looks at him and – oh.

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

For her.

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

She's supposed to be indifferent.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods, something vulnerable crossing his face.

"Prove it."

"What?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Tell me how."

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

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

"We'll see."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What the hell is going on here?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Uncle–"

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

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

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

"I'm not harassing–"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"By becoming a human koala?"

"By whatever it takes."

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

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

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

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

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

What even is her life anymore?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just another day at the office.

Except nothing about this feels like just anything anymore.

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

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

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

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

"It wasn't just that–"

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

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

"No."

"No?"

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

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

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

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

His silence at the red light speaks volumes.

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

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

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

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

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

"Bet."

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

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

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

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

But she's definitely calling William tonight.

Some conversations need to happen before others can begin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The slight pause on his end speaks volumes.

"About Aurélien?"

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

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

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

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

"Will–"

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

"Not history exactly–"

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

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

"But you might love him?"

The question hangs between them like smoke.

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

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

"I'm sorry–"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like sir, are you having a stroke or…?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lord have mercy.

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

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

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

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

"What?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You notice all that?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Since when do you do subtle?"

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

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

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

"And what if what I need is time?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You did research?"

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

"You did not–"

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

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

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

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

"You like it though?"

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

"Maybe is better than no."

"Don't get cocky."

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

"Oh?"

"Mhm. Backup plans. Several of them."

"Care to share?"

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

"More riddles?"

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

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

"You're trouble," she tells him.

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

She's in trouble.

So much trouble.

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

Maybe some trouble is worth it.

Maybe this trouble specifically.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Thanks."

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

Just postponed.

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

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

"No?"

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

"Who says I'm impressed?"

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

"Maybe I was just being polite."

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

"Excuse me?"

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

"Only one?"

"Want to hear the others?"

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

"I could show you instead."

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

"Aurélien..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No," she breathes against his mouth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Holy shit.

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

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

Lord.

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

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

Aurélien: Already miss your taste

Leila: Go to sleep

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

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

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

"Ma puce."

Sweet baby Jesus.

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

Just another Monday morning.

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

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

You okay? Haven't heard from you since yesterday

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

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

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

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

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

"Aurélien..."

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

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

"I have to answer that."

"Do you though?"

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

William's text can wait.

Her self-control apparently can't.

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

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

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

"Aurélien–"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You didn't have to–"

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

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

"How did you–"

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

Of course she did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I do not–"

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

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

"One more thing."

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

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

Seeing Aurélien Tchouaméni stumble over words is definitely new.

"It's just what?"

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

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

"Help me put it on?"

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

"Aurélien..."

"Mhm?"

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

"Worth it."

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

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

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

"And Carlo will actually kill me this time."

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

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

"Ready?"

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

"Keys?" she manages.

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

"What?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His answering smile could power all of Madrid.

Sunday night….with Wilo…..

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

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

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

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

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

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

But instead, his phone goes silent. No message.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[cupidkenji]

Gnaw

Now Playing: Gnaw - Alex G everything I knew was looking just as it should Pairing: Nam gyu (player 124) x AFAB!reader CW: smut, oral (r receiving), choking but not in a freaky way he literally chokes reader to get them unconscious (no somno), kidnapping kind of (he takes them back to their house), knifeplay 💀, restraints being used (reader's wrists are tied), noncon technically but again mentally reader is into it, toxic ex bf, he's really whipped tho, minor bloodplay, undertones of sadism, lokey father figure vibes from Nam gyu (i'm so sorry), probably kind of OOC, university AU Summary: After that night, you ran. You should know by now you can never get far from him. Disclaimer: Reader is always thought of to be chubby/bigger when writing but I do my best to not physically describe reader at all with stuff like skin tone or body type. Anyone can read this as reader is not depicted but if there's a slip up please let me know. <3 WC: 3.7k (again) this is a part 2! read part 1 here.

the worms are eating away at my brain i am going crazy. please for this story just imagine you have one of those bed frames that are individual bars w space in between them instead of like one solid thing. also i really need to start writing these earlier in the day so i have the energy to proof read them. i'm sorry for my sins have mercy on me.

The sunlight seared through a pair of shitty motel curtains, attempting to penetrate your shut eyelids. It was the sixth day you were waking up in a scratchy bed on the run down side of your already dirty town. It was the sixth day you would spend missing him. 

You knew it was wrong, immoral to even think of returning to the man who had done such a thing. Who was clearly at a place in his life where he could do such a thing. Even through all the intellectualizing of his actions, the pleading you did with yourself to be disgusted, you weren’t. You knew it the second he cleaned you up and went to sleep, and it was terrifying, so you ran. As soon as you were sober, you ran to the only sanctuary you could afford as a college student who was also renting an apartment and a vehicle. You had already overstayed your welcome, knowing that the six days would cost you more than you wanted to shell out. You didn’t know how long you planned to be gone, originally fleeing the scene to be able to think. It was only proving more difficult as the days ticked on. You’d come all the way out here to talk yourself into hating him, only to carve out an even bigger space within yourself that he was to occupy. You missed him. The more you thought about it, the more apparent it became, and that just pushed you to stay longer. To wait out the bruising feeling eating at you the more you forced yourself away. 

You skipped class, not daring to step foot on campus lest he be waiting for her. The thought made your head fizz, a horrified and excited feeling mingling as they wrapped around the nerves in your stomach. Just the possibility of seeing him overwhelmed you, but you were simultaneously sick from the distance. You were sick of your surroundings, too. The walls were gray and stained, and you feared the hygiene status of the bed you were sleeping in. You hadn’t had much time to pack when you’d left, grabbing miscellaneous clothing that had yet to be put away and shoving it in a backpack. You hadn’t brought a blanket or a pillow, something you regretted. The suffocating nature of the beige room prompted the nightly walks you’d been taking. It was a bearable temperature, and the full perimeter of the building provided a decent amount of ground to cover. You hadn’t grabbed a charger, leaving your phone dead and you bored. Without any artificial stimulation to occupy your head, you took notice of the normally unnoticeable aspects of such a place. There were bits of a wired fence on the right side of the parking lot, the few lamps that lit the outside up had security cameras on them that didn’t work. You couldn't sleep one night, so you’d gone to look at them, finding that when the cords reached the end of the pole, they’d been haphazardly cut. It looked rushed and frayed, like a child had done it with safety scissors. It was deceiving, truly. There was no safety in an already dim parking lot. 

On tonight’s walk, you mulled over the date you’d return by. You still needed to graduate, and realistically, you couldn’t avoid your life forever. You were getting progressively more tired, sleeping less each night you stayed, missing the comfort of your own bed. The ground was uneven and cracked under your shoes, reminding you of the gray, crumbling building you were supposed to retrieve your roommate from. Reminding you of him, how stupid all of this was. There was a familiar smell in the air as you rounded a corner, nearly back to your room. It was distinct, heady and musky, as if you were back on that street and looking up at the flowing smoke again. You did your usual observation of the desolate asphalt full of empty parking spots.

And what the fuck were the odds?

He was already looking at you, the end of his cigarette glowing orange as he took a drag, like a sniper taking aim. He was a mere silhouette being poorly lit up by a streetlight that barely worked, but you knew. It was this feeling of magnetism, the same way he knew exactly who he was looking at, you felt the world around you melt, the air around you became irrelevant as your eyes locked on him. There was another man there, leaning against the hood of his car with Nam gyu right next to him, taking no notice of you as he spoke. You couldn’t make out his words with how far away you were. The man you’d been avoiding making little sounds of acknowledgement while being completely trained on you, posture relaxed and comfortable. He found you.

His friend nudged him, mumbling something and standing up. The both of them walked back into what was presumably the man’s room after snuffing out what they were smoking. You didn’t even register your legs beelining for your room. You threw whatever you had into the backpack you’d brought. You needed to get the fuck out of here. It was an unfathomably cruel move from whatever higher power was in charge of this situation. The two of you were being forced together like sand and water. He was everywhere, no matter where you were he would inevitably catch up. Maybe it took him three months the first time, but clearly he was done waiting. You rushed the check out process, not knowing how long his friend would keep him occupied now that he knew you were here. Maybe he wouldn’t even care. The thought made your stomach twist, but still, you needed to go. Your car seemed like an endless walk from the front doors, parked in the corner closest to your room, dark and unsuspecting. In such an empty place, you didn’t want your car to sit illuminated, as if advertised. This motel had a reputation, and you wanted to keep your means of travel safe. 

Your hands shook slightly as you hit the unlock button on your keys, yanking the handle to the backseat and throwing your bag somewhere in the back. It was just clothes, you didn’t care if it rolled around or hit the floor during the commute to wherever you were going, you just cared about getting out. The slam of the back door shutting seemed louder than what was appropriate for such a bone-deep silence for this time of night. Opening the driver’s side, you barely had enough room to squeeze through before it was being shoved closed from behind you. On impulse, you tried to turn around, startled and drowning in adrenaline; but before you could, the crook of his right arm encompassed your neck, tightening like a snake who was readying the prey for consumption. Your hands shot up, grasping his forearm with a futile grip, as if you could will his arm away from you. The pressure on your windpipe was bleeding black into the edges of your sight, static mingling with your hearing as your head got lighter. You could hear quiet shushes and reassurances coming from the man behind you, as though talking a child back into sleep after a nightmare. You dug your nails into the fabric of his sweatshirt as a weak sob barreled out of your mouth. He only pushed a little harder, pulling you into him. The proximity comforted you despite his actions, and you used the last little bit of energy you had to condemn yourself, body going limp against him after the last internal inquiry of what the fuck was wrong with you. He had also noticed the camera situation, knowing that his actions would go undocumented in the empty little place. He walked you over the passenger seat, hauling you in and buckling you up like a kid in a car seat. He started the route to your house, it was a Friday, your roommate would surely be out. He knew she was barely ever at the house, after staying there on and off for two years, he thinks he could probably count how many times he saw her sleep there on one hand. It wasn’t a long drive, twenty minutes or so, and you’d be home.

–

The normally disarming lamplight of your bedroom reeled in your consciousness from the void it had been thrown to. It didn’t feel particularly calming - not now. Your head was on your pillow, a focused Nam gyu diligently knotting a rope around your wrists, bundling them together and lacing the restraint through your headboard. Your neck felt bruised, sore and pulsing with a light pain as the blood rushed to your head. Your legs tensed on instinct, noticing the motion was not detained. He hadn’t tied your legs. You tugged once at the rope, testing the endurance just as much as you were testing your own strength. Your muscles felt nearly atrophied, the action making an ache ricochet through the oxygen-depleted muscles. Your whole body felt tired, heavy. Your exhale was shaky, slowly deflating from your lungs as if your body was made of stone. 

“Oh, good.” He double checked the knot, tugging once to solidify it’s hold on you before standing up to look down on you. “I didn’t know how long you’d be out.” He sounded so casual, as if instead of choking you unconscious and dragging you home, he’d simply carried you in from the car after you’d fallen asleep in it. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Your voice was quiet and gravelly, like your throat was coated in sand. Your lip trembled at the feeling of being so close to him. God, you were like a fucking puppy; can’t even be away from him for a week without turning into a weird sentimental puddle upon seeing him again. “Please untie me.” Your eyes watered as you spoke. You’d barely been awake five minutes and you were on the brink of tears. Pathetic. 

His eyes flicked over your face at the sight of your eyes welling up, a little glint of something familiar sparking in them for just a moment. “I can’t.” He shrugged, imitating disappointment at the notion. “You keep running from me. How are we supposed to resolve this if you can’t even keep still?”

Resolve this. Your eyes closed at the words, attempting to stop the tears from spilling at the thought. You’d left him for a reason. It was repeated over and over in your head like a mantra. You had to stick to it even if you couldn’t remember what the desire to be away from him felt like. Even as your chest heaved slightly with panic, you hoped he wouldn’t move. You hoped he would keep talking just so you could hear his voice, be near him. It wasn’t a rational wish by any means, but you could feel the intensity of it in your fucking bones with how consuming it was. 

“I’m not a patient man, honey. I waited for so fucking long.” He leaned over your dormant frame, putting one knee on the bed and moving his other to mirror the motion, effectively pinning your hips down under his weight. “You know, it wasn’t even your roommate who wanted you there. She just left her phone unlocked, and I knew you’d show up if she asked.”

“What-” Your words halted in your throat as he drew a pocket knife from the pocket of his sweatshirt. Jesus.  “Please - you don’t understand-” 

“Relax.” The word was chuckled slightly as he cut you off, like the panic that shot through your eyes at the sight of the blade in his hands was unjustified, like you were being irrational. “I think I was too selfish that night, hm?” The look he was giving you felt like it could kill you if he really wanted it to. Intense and suffocating, full of excitement and devotion. “You clearly hadn’t been touched in months and I got ahead of myself.” He shook his head slightly as his eyes looked over you, your chest was moving quick and shallow as you breathed, stomach tensing as he lifted your shirt up just an inch, caressing the skin above the waistband with his thumb. It barely even seemed intentional, as if his hands subconsciously drew themselves to you, needed to be touching you. 

Any urge you had to respond kept dying before it could be expelled. What do you even say to a situation like this? He was so at ease, explaining himself like a truly remorseful lover would. To anyone who didn’t know his inflection, that’s where it would end;  but you were so in tune with him, you could hear the edge of entertainment that his words carried. Maybe he was sorry, maybe he just liked seeing you unsure.

“I’m gonna make it up to you.” Your breath stumbled as he said it, your wrists grating unconsciously against the confines. “But it hurt my feelings when you ran like that.” He put a hand to his heart as he spoke, emphasizing his words. “So I’m gonna hurt you a little, too.” You felt the point of the blade make contact with the skin that his thumb had been smoothing over minutes before. It was enough to make the first tear fall from the corner of your eye. There was no pressure, just the threat of his words ringing true. Even in this scenario out of most peoples’ nightmares, you still didn’t think he’d truly hurt you, not irreparably. He’d always had sadistic tendencies, you even sometimes - shamefully - thought about the potential that was undoubtedly lurking beneath the surface of his presentability. He could get mean sometimes, especially when he was high, but never like this. He was sober, you could see it in his eyes and the way he moved. He just wanted to do this, wanted to be in control. 

He could practically feel the mesh of emotion seeping from your veins, taking longer than necessary to talk just to watch you soak in it. “Just enough to teach you some manners, honey.” His thumb trailed a line of pure heat along your jaw. “Don’t worry. You’ll probably even like it, knowing you.” 

A weird feeling jolted through the active nerves in your stomach. It was such a direct callout, based in certainty that he carried in his voice. You felt caught, recalling all the times he most likely knew exactly what you were thinking. Another tear streamed down the side of your face. 

The steel in his hand glistened in the low light of your bedroom, the sharpness of it being dragged down the fabric of your shirt, severing the only semblance of modesty you had left; the material draping open and bearing your skin to him. You’d been practically ready for bed by the time you took your walk, foregoing any additional coverage underneath the shirt, leaving all of you vulnerable to the exploration of his eyes. He pushed the sagging cloth to hang more off your shoulders, grazing his hands over the naked parts of you. It was gentle, restrained, like he couldn’t bear the time it would take to touch all of you because he needed it that badly. 

You felt the sting of an opening wound a second later, a whimper barely fleeing your throat. It wasn’t deep, he didn’t push hard. His lips parted as the blood rose to the surface of the small cut, pooling within it and releasing a single drop to pour down the side of your stomach. Before it could gain traction, he smeared the runny crimson, letting the liquid coat the print of his thumb. His pupils dilated at the sight, his breath coming out shakier than he’d like as his blood seemed to thrum in his veins. 

Your face twisted at the feeling, molten lava pooling in your stomach and burning you from the inside out. You felt hot, immune responses and arousal both running rampant in your body. You’d never felt more awake. He lowered his head to your exposed collarbone, brutally reminiscent of the night that predated this one. “See? Not so bad.” He led his hand up to your mouth, palm skimming your side as he hovered his thumb above your sealed lips, muttering out a request to open your mouth for me and you did because he was inexplicably intoxicating. Your tongue was coated in bitter metal combining with the discreet and slight flavor of his skin. You felt dizzy. 

He mouthed down the expanse of your upper body, leaving patches of your skin shiny with his saliva and stinging from the occasional love bite he would leave. He marked his places of affection with small cuts, each one sending a wave of warmth lower and lower, fanning the flames down to where he would ultimately end up. He would kiss over each future scar he left on you, a bloody comparison to your relationship as a whole, his actions making your heart ache and your back arch. You had been trying your hardest to stay quiet, trembling exhales being the only thing you couldn’t suppress; but he had a way of wearing you down in the most pleasurable ways imaginable, gradually building you up to the whimpers that were slipping past your crumbling resolve. 

With caring hands, he pulled at the waistband of your pants, folding them out from under your hips and bending each of your legs forward to get them fully off of your legs, laying them back down once he had. The room felt colder than it ever had. He stared with pride at the state of your perpetually clenched thighs, groping at the tense muscles. “What’d I tell you, huh?” He tucked the blade of the knife under the seam of your underwear, pulling up and slicing clean through them. “I don’t know why you want out when you like it so much.” Cutting the other seam, he let the fabric slide off of you, discarding the shreds of useless hindrance and taking in the full sight of you. 

You didn’t know why you ran either. You did like it. You liked it so fucking much that it scared you. Maybe it was a fear of feeling good, or a fear of what this kind of connection would inevitably do to you, what kind of a man he was. You’d tried to leave him and ended up panting, wet skin glistening and covered in gashes; and the worst part was you liked it. How the fuck could you like something like this?

He left various other claims of territory on your thighs. Teeth marks, nicks from the knife, worshipping kisses of a man in love. Everything action committed against your wanting flesh had so much emotion laced in it that you could barely take it. You were overwhelmed, your brain half shut down, only stopping itself from going dark because then you wouldn’t be able to feel him, to accept what he was giving you. 

He pushed your thighs out of their locked state, soothing over the irritation littered on them with his thumbs and his lips, dulling the sting with an even greater ache that was bleeding directly into the center of you. You felt like he’d lit you on fire. 

The tip of his index finger scorched a line up the place you’d been anticipating, shamelessly gliding in copious arousal that had been pooling since you saw him leaning on the hood of that car. It was a touch that seemed to pump life back into you, invigorating and familiar. Something you missed so much that you were sure you’d never be able to fathom the depth of it. He cursed, quiet and breathy; and you groaned at the feeling of friction, even if it was just a little. 

His mouth on you was sudden, but not rushed; the spontaneity of it forcing a gasp from you. His actions were calculated, arms wrapping around your thighs to keep you open, malleable and pinned. His hands were tense on your legs, fingers digging in tight as if he was struggling with his own internal grievances. You weren’t sure if it was restraint, or desperation, or something uncharted between the two of you. It was scary to think that something could be undefined right now, that maybe he was lost too. 

The warmth of his mouth on you after already having your body thoroughly overworked nearly knocked you unconscious for the second time that night. Your head was as thrown back as it could be given the state of your arms, chest reaching for the ceiling. Your poor wrists burned in the grit of the rope, but it only seemed to add to the peak you were being pushed to. He brought his index finger to sweep through the bountiful wetness in between your legs, this time pushing in and curling up, his second finger joining soon after. 

“Gyu - please -” The nickname was so domestic, something that hadn’t left your lips in months but seemed to feel as natural as breathing in this moment. The loving tone hit him like a wave, drawing a reflexive groan from his mouth. His eyes were practically black from how much his pupils encompassed the iris, his own eyes looking a little watery as a less extreme mimic of yours.

“Missed the way you taste.” The auditory affirmation paired with his fingers and his mouth sent you toppling. His fingers never let up, his mouth detaching to plant light kisses on the bone of your hip, looking up at your breathtaking form with an awestruck gaze that you couldn’t see through your closed eyes and tilted back head. 

You panted, thinking it was over. Maybe he’d fuck you, or maybe he would make you tea and the two of you would finally talk about things. He just moved his soaking fingers up to your clit, your body jumping slightly at the sensitivity. 

“Wait-” 

“Shh, just take it.” He spoke low and moved back to where he was, starting again when you had barely started coming down. His declaration of making it up to you rung in your ears. How long was long enough to be considered even? You writhed with overstimulation as you thought about it. Ten minutes? Thirty minutes? An hour? Your second orgasm hit you hard in the middle of your useless inquiries, and you realize it didn’t really matter.

You were in for a long fucking night regardless.

𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃❮𓁿❯𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃

tags: @mitsxuri @citarnosis @namgyunation (tagging you lovely folks because you all mentioned wanting more content. please let me know if you want your @ removed and i will do it ASAP <3)

[rapunzellovesbooks]

It is so disheartening to simply go post a comment on the BGT account about missing Luke and Colin and then still find people answering me writing things like „oh he is too busy probably at a MAGA convention with his gf“.

Like wtf is wrong with people. First of all, you literally know nothing about this girl, everyone made up the vilest lies to make her a bad person simply for being in the same frame as Luke. There is zero evidence of any of that ever happening, also, we are in the damn UK. But logic is not for you I guess. Second of all, those channels and any channel really should be to praise and celebrate the actors, not referencing in any way his or anyone‘s private life. And I know that it is maybe one comment but you cannot kill an idea and there other folks, less intelligent than me, who read shit like that and believe it.

I will always ship Luke and Nicola, first and foremost as a pair whose bond I really like. It does not even have to be romantic for you to like them paired together in scenes, interviews, events. That is what they meant when they said they find it sweet.

It is simply astounding to me that people still do that. You do not know this girl, you might not like her cause she „gets in the way of the ship“ or whatever but she is a human being and fabricating lies and posting them on the Internet is just wrong. This goes for Nicola, Luke and everyone.

You want more Polin bts? Stop doing that. You want to see Luke again? Stop doing that.

I do not have to like A to know that she is not what people have painted her as. You know why? Cause there is no was Luke would even meet with her if all lf those things were true. As soon as a pap pic came out, people started making up stuff about her to try and prove a point. Which one? No idea. Also, Luke has been deemed the most like Colin of all the cast, no lies there. By assocciation, these people villainising him as well, again, with no proof other than their wounded egos. A could have been any other girl and still you would find something. Or make it up I should say.

People saying he is blacklisted or some other bs simply for not being in one seconds long video or at fashion week. Folks, that makes no sense. He was in SMA, just shot a movie in Rome and is currently filming Season 4, amongst other things probably. You do not handle his schedule, you have no clue where he is or is not, so stop posting those stupid comments on official BGT accounts (or any). There are folks there who might read that and then you are actually hurting Luke and driving him even more out of sharing stuff with us.

And for people saying they are doing it for Nic… Nic would hate you for that. Just saying.

[duskborndream]

Inhun (Player 001 x 456) Fic Rec

Dream a Little Dream of Me by vintagelilacs: (Rated M)

The Front Man released him. “I entertained your demands to re-enter the games, indulged your misguided notions and faulty sense of duty. I let you play the hero, at the expense of my own guards. I let you have your fun.” “Why indulge me at all?” Gi-hun burst out. “Unless some part of you agrees with me?” “I gave you a chance to prove me wrong. You failed.” “I failed because you murdered Jung-bae.” Gi-hun’s voice hitched over the lump in his throat. “And Young-il.” And probably every other member of their failed coup. The Front Man stilled. “Player 001 has not been eliminated.” Gi-hun’s heart gave a painful lurch. He must’ve heard wrong. That, or this was another game. Another trick to drive him to the breaking point. “What did you say?” “Cooperate and you’ll see Player 001 again, as a sign of goodwill.”

[olderthannetfic]

https://www.tumblr.com/olderthannetfic/773454611598196736/so-awhile-back-news-went-around-that-tom-holland?source=share

I guess what's at play here is tha some people have their heads so deep in the the "being attracted to white men is a moral failing" mudpit that they literally think all white men are indistinguishable and interchangable and that anyone who thinks one is hot only does so for racist reasons and necessarily thinks they're all hot.

Domhnall Gleeson is incredibly hot and handsome (which are separate things). Adam Driver is interesting looking and a little handsome but not hot. Tom Holland is a cute kid, neither hot nor handsome.

And the fact that half of you are rolling up your sleeves right now to tell me I'm wrong just proves my point.

And John Boyega is both hot and handsome now, but in 2015 he was a cute kid.

If you're not attracted to men or white people at all and just can't see the appeal for any of those actors, thas makes perfect sense. But if you're the kind of person who hangs out on OTNF's journal you're probably not the kind of person who has mistaken their own attractions for moral superiority and is looking for ways to call people racist for thinking an actor in a movie looks nice.

--

[sharklovingaquarist]

I think one of the biggest infringements on a humans non-physical rights is the desecration of identity. Therefore, women are suffering tremendously. But you never hear about that. Even statistics will be skewed in order to prioritize males because God forbid one of those matted, stinking animals experiences anything negative. Of course, our job as women is to make sure NOTHING touches them. Wahhhhhhh, male suicide.... women attempt more. Men love stats until stats prove them wrong. One statistic says males commit more and it needs no further inspection, but stats show males commit more than half of violent crime, and it's not plausible. It's not my fault males own more firearms. Im tired of the male victim mindset.

Im tired of males taking feminist rhetoric and, in such male fashion, spinning our work to say its really MALES who are hurting. Im tired of walking on eggshells in front of males and their liberal feminist dick riders when it comes to this. People act like I'm Satan for not loving the same people who are taking our right to health, even my mental health, through refusal of medication. But no one cares to ask how this is impacting women's mental health.

It has always been a fact that in a heterosexual relationship, the dynamic has the woman serving the males' needs. Be it excusing a man lashing out at his wife who is battling cancer or a man telling his wife, of whom he is expecting a child with, that he won't "look down there" while shes in excruciating pain. A man who then refuses to touch his wife after their child is born. "He's probably stressed." "Men dont handle that stuff well." It has to have them at the center for it to be considered true emotion, and that is the irony.

I experience this with my father. He can't remember the simplest things about me, but he's "just not doing well mentally... Okay??? Me neither? That's why all of these studies surround shit like their inability to communicate and being lonely.

Their emotional well-being is not womens issue. They'll do studies on how men lose their emotional support... but what about women. How many women felt supported emotionally by husbands? Because last time I checked, men were asking wives for sex a day after enduring childbirth. Men were leaving wives bleeding after their fetus naturally aborted because they "were afraid of the blood." Men were still sitting watching football while their wife, who was 8 months pregnant, was cooking and cleaning dishes. Men have always made their happiness about their personal well-being. Women derived happiness from the people around them thriving

Men can't cry? Oh, poor babies. They can't cry or their manhood, their most precious manhood, will be threatened. Unfortunately, I can not cry either, or else I'm hysterical, but I understand how that's not as pressing as your ego. A mans pride is threatened by vulnerability in some rare cases, compared to a woman's sanity.

When a male cries in grief he is confronted with belief. Its made human and genuine. When a woman cries in grief, it's her animal maternal instincts pushing through, and people rush to infantilize her for 3 seconds before forgetting what she was even sad over. Losing my Peryite recently has made me really recognize this pattern

If you're a man and get offended over this, stop and think for one second. Did I invalidate your emotions, or did I call out the fact that you attach every sentient thought you have to being a male? Men can have issues, but not because they're males. I hope yall soon learn that something doesn't have to be designated "boys only" in order for it to be genuine, I know that's what you've been taught.

I know I said I'd do a deep dive into emotions, and I kinda did now. I was going to combine how media proves the male emotion craze bullshit wrong, but I kind of separated them into two posts.

[allthingssteddie]

Steve Harrington sat nervously in his office, fidgeting with his pen. This was it, his first client as a therapist. He had been looking forward to this. despite his parents' doubts about his career choice.

"They're never going to pay you enough," his mother had said.

"It's a waste of time," his father had chimed in.

But Steve Steve wanted to prove them wrong. And wanted to prove to him self to that he wasn’t that asshole like in high school and wanted to actually help people. He just wasn’t expecting someone from high school in his office.

The door opened, and Eddie Munson walked in to the room stoping when he saw Steve. “Ha, he exclaimed "You're my therapist “King Steve? “Eddie’s eyes sparkled with amusement as he took in Steve's professional attire, his gaze lingering on the diploma on the wall.

Steve felt a flush rise to his cheeks

“Eddie, hey... wow, it's been a while," Steve stuttered, trying to compose himself.

Eddie smirked. "This is priceless." Steve scratched the back of his neck. "Maybe I should find you someone else. Sorry, Eddie, I should have figured it out was you."

Eddie smirked. "Nah, Steve, I definitely want you."

"No, really, I should—" Steve started.

"Steve, really, it's fine," Eddie said with a hint of a smile.

"Maybe you can even fix me," he mused,

Steve knew he should probably talk to his supervisors about switching, but he figured maybe he could make things right by him.

Eddie leaned back, a hint of amusement on his face. "So, King Steve, what do you want to know?"

Steve sighed, a gentle smile on his lips. "Eddie, if we're going to continue this, I really think you should just call me Steve."

Eddie smirked. "Okay, Steve."

Steve's expression turned serious. "So, Eddie, I understand you were court ordered to attend therapy. Can you tell me a little bit about what happened?"

Eddie made himself comfortable, laying down on the couch. "I don't know, I just got in a little trouble, that's all. It wasn't even my fault." Steve nodded encouragingly, his eyes locked onto Eddie's.

"Okay, well, let's start with that. What kind of trouble did you get into?" Eddie spun this ridiculous story, speaking quickly and with conviction.

Steve listened attentively, trying to keep a straight face. Every so often, he'd interrupt with a question he knew it was bullshit but he found it funny.

As their sessions continued, Steve listened but but part of him wanted to push Eddie to open up, to share his true feelings. But whenever Steve tried, Eddie would shut down, rolling his eyes and clamming up.

So Steve let Eddie continue these tale, he had to hand it to Eddie he had imagination. But as the months passed, something unexpected happened. Eddie, who had initially been court ordered to attend therapy, began to show up voluntarily.

Their sessions started, becoming less about therapy and more about... something else. Steve couldn't quite put his finger on it, but he knew he had to put a stop to it.

Steve's voice was gentle but firm. "Eddie, I think it's time we ended our sessions."

Eddie's face fell, his eyes welling up with tears. "Why? What did I do wrong?" he asked, his voice trembling.

Steve hesitated, unsure how to explain. "It's not that you did anything wrong, Eddie. It's just that...I have feelings for you." He paused, expecting rejection. "I know I shouldn't, and I don't expect you to feel the same. I'm sorry."

Eddie's expression transformed in an instant. A sly smile spread across his face, and his eyes sparkled with mischief. "Feelings, huh?" He sat up, his posture confident. "Want to grab coffee and discuss these feelings?"

[wosoafc]

kyra fluff!!

Have you ever seen the rain? (pretend like the song is here, still trying to figure that out)

Kyra Cooney-Cross x catley!reader

summary: your anniversary with kyra doesn't go as planned...

warnings: a bit suggestiv

words: 2.7k

„Hey Less“ Kyra turns to less, her best friend at arsenal, after they sit down next to each other on the team bus. „Hm?“ Less asks, taking a protein bar out of her bag and offers kyra a half, just like they always do after a match. „I need relationship advice“. „Ohh“ a grin breaks out on alessias face „Tell me more“ she says while leaning back in the chair. Alessia was the first kyra told about you, she knew everything. From the first date, the first kiss and even the first fight. You adored alessia, she and kyra were a combination that would never fail to make you laugh. So naturally alessia would be the first one kyra would go to if she needed some help involving you

„Soo you know our anniversary is coming up right?“ she starts but is interrupted by steph peeking through the seats from behind „What do you mean anniversay? You are only 6 months into the relationship right?“ she asks confused, so less and kyra share a look because they are probably gonna be in trouble. „Umm yeah when we told you we were already together for half a year“ kyra grins lightly, biting her lip at what steph might say. „Whattt??“ steph asks loudly which earns the attention from the rest oft he team. Kyra just nods and says a quiet sorry but steph keeps frowning and diverts her gaze to alessia. „And you knew before me? Since when?“ she interrogates her. „Umm like, one week after their first date“ less can’t contain a little grin at stephs reaction. „You little pest, and my sister too. I deserved to know before everyone else!“ steph protests but the girls before her just start to giggle. „Maybe because you decided to act like their mom since you found out“ katie joins in the little argument, not being able to stay away from drama. „I am not!“ steph protests, being sure until right now that you always thought of her being the cool older sister.

But they are probably right about that observation. Steph being your older sister made her quite protective, especially because you guys lived so far from home she always felt like she needed to look after you. Obviously that was something you have always appreciated, especially at the beginning when everything was new in london. But in that case, the case being kyra, it was not good at all. You really wanted to tell her, usually steph and you would share everything. But you were scared that she might destroy it. Of course those worries proved tob e wrong. Steph still gave Kyra a stern talk about what would happen if she’d break your heart, but other than that she was just happy you were happy. Still, that doesn’t keep her from acting like your mum once in a while.

 „Yes you are stephy, c’mon you didn’t even let them sleep in one room when y/n snuck into our hotel“ leah giggles from behind her, finding it hilarious to wind steph up. She is just way too easy to annoy, maybe that was the reason kyra has always been an absolute pest towards her. „It was before a match day! And they are way too young for stuff like that“ steph arguments back but everyone just laughs until they all say in unsion „yes mum“ which makes the girls laugh even louder. „Oh just shut up“ steph grumbles and falls back on her seat „i thought you are my friends, but apparently kyra and my sister have taken that place now“. Katie laughs and scoops in next to steph before throwing her arm around stephs shoulder. „C’mon we’re just taking the mick out of you.“ She grins down at steph who’s lips now have to twitch a bit, still trying to look stern. „Whatever“ she rolls her eyes which makes kyra and less giggle once again, that earns them a serious look from steph but a few seconds later the older woman can’t keep it in anymore and has to laugh as well.

„Alright alright guys i really need help okay?“ kyra has to calm everyone down while they all had a good laugh. „You don’t know what to get her for the anniversay right?“ less asks and kyra shakes her head „no i got a present but i wanna do something nice with her, we got a day off and we should use that. But i just don’t know what to do?“ kyra explains her troubles while the rest is listening carefully. „Ohh that’s a nice thought kyra. What did you get her?“ less asks but kyra just turns tomato read. „I’d rather not say“ she mumbles, but everyone can guess by that what it might be and the group, except steph, errups in laughter once again. „Okay okay we don’t need to know the details. What about the cinema?“ leah ist he first one to finally answer kyras question with a helpful idea. „Hmm i don’t know, you can’t really talk there right?“ kyra thinks out loud and the group nods at that, understanding what she means. „We went to a concert last week and had a nice dinner beforehand, what about that?“ less joins in but kyra shakes her head again. „I already looked for tickets but there is no good gig in town.“ Kyra explains which is followed by a groan. „This girl is impossible, all she wants to do when we’re together is cuddle and…well i won’t say because steph might loose her mind completely.“ They all chuckle again before looking to steph who just rolls her eyes. „Ha ha, good for you i know y/n a bit longer than 6 months, or a year apparently.“ She grins and kyra raises her eyebrows intrigued „Pleeease tell me stephy, I’m getting desperate here.“ She begs and steph sighs before she nods.

„Alright, she has always loved picknicks and when we were little girls she would always dream about how her perfect man, sorry ky she has not figured out her sexuality back then, would take her to a picknick at her favourite spot in the city. Well that was back in melbourne, but she does have a favourite spot in london too right?“ steph answers kyras question who sighs out relieved because that was a really good idea. „Yes i know exactly the place, thanks stephyyyy. You just earned a spot to be my second favourite catley“ she grins and steph raises her eyebrow at that. „Who was it before?“. „Calvin“ kyra shrugs with a grin. „Fair point“ steph admits.

„Now let less help you plan the thing, it would be a disaster if you’d do it by yourself“. Kyra laughs but has to admit that steph is probably right about that. So she turns her attention back to alessia who is eager to plan out the perfect picknick, being way more cheesy and romantic than kyra.

A week later the day finally arrives and kyra is so nervous about the whole thing. Even though her and less planned out every detail, she still has to manage to prepare it all. It’s still early in the morning, sun streaming through the curtains while you are still fast asleep next to her, exhausted from your bedroom antics last night. After leaving a small kiss on your head kyra slips out of bed and goes downstairs to make some breakfast and get ready. When you come down about an hour later kyra is humming to the music she put on, preparing two mugs of tea. You lean against the doorframe, watching the scene before you sneak up to kyra and hug her from behind. „Happy anniversay baby“ you whisper in her ear before giving her a light kiss on the cheek. Kyra turns around with a big grin on her face. „to you too darling“ she whispers back before giving you a proper kiss. You make out softly for a while but when you try to lift kyra onto the counter she stops you with a little laugh. „That has to wait love, i got big plans for us today“ kyra grins and hands you a mug of tea. „You do? I though we would just have a nice day in“ you ask surprised by those news. „Nope, you will go to your sister and she’ll tell you the rest.“ You raise your eyebrows and take a sip oft he warm tea „Alright, you not gonna tell me anything at all?“. Kyra chuckles at your noisiness but just shakes her head. „Nope, except wear something nice for me okay?“. Getting more excited about the surprise kyra apparently has prepared for you, you nod and run upstairs to pack your things.

A few hours later you find yourself getting out of the tube at chalk farm station, looking around for a sign of kyra. All the information you got from steph was a time, place and to pack a jacket. It was 7 PM, the sun slowly beginning to set already. Finally, you were starting to get a bit restless, kyra waves at you from the sidewalk. „Y/n! Come here“ she yells and you walk to her quickly. „Hey there“ she says and looks at you properly „You look beautiful babe“ Kyra adds and then takes your hand to lead the way. „We’re we going baaabe“ you ask desperate, still not having a clue what kyra had in mind.

But after walking a few minutes you arrive at the bottom of primrose hill and look over to kyra „That’s my favourite spot ky!“. „I know come on, you must be starving“ kyra grins and pulls you up the hill. A few moments later you fall your girlfriend around her neck „Kyra thats amazing!“. You were standing right in front of a nice blanket with a picknick basket on top. It’s decorated with fairy lights and candles as well as a bouquet of your favourite flowers. Already two glasses of bubbly champagne waiting for you, everything accompanied by some soft music coming out of a speaker. „Cheers babe, to us“ kyra smiles brightly, proud of herself for managing all of it and hands you one oft he glasses. „Cheers kyra“ you kiss her cheek before taking a sip. You sit down together, taking in the moment and just talking about god and the world. But right before taking out the food something happened that was definitely not on your bingo card for today.

It just started to rain like there was no tomorrow. From one moment to another you were drenched in rain, desperately trying to pack away everything kyra has prepared. But that really was a lost cause. You could sense how kyra was freaking out about this happening. Her distressed face broke your heart because you knew how much time and thought she has put into this. „Hey babe“ you take her hand and stop her from trying to safe the food, because to be honest that was a lost cause. „Hm?“ she looks up, eyes a bit glassy. „Heyy come here“ you smile softly and cup her cheeks „It’s only a bit of rain“ you kiss her forehead gently to comfort your girlfriend. „I-Im so sorry i should have planned this better“ kyra mumbles and looks to the ground „I just wanted this to be perfect“. You sigh and lift up her chin before pulling her closer by the waist. „My perfect just involves you, come on sit down“ you smile and fall onto the rain drenched blanket. „But everything is wet“ kyra laughs at you, it was a ridiculous sight to be honest. „Down“ you say again, so kyra chuckles and falls down onto the blanket next to you. You throw an arm around her shoulder and kiss her head softly, which is now resting on your shoulder. After a few moments of sitting in the rain, lucky it was a warm summer shower, you break the silence. „How did you know?“. „What?“ kyra chuckles and lifts her head up to look at you. „How did you know this was my dream date?“ you ask again and smile brightly, looking deep into kyras big brown eyes. „This is not your dream date, your dream date is an actual well prepared picknick at your favourite spot in the city“ she scoffs, annoyed by the failure again. „Well i guess i have a new dream date now, sitting with you in the rain“ you console her.

So kyra sighs again and finally nods „You are right, this is still nice, and kind of romantic“ she giggles before you interrupt her with a deep kiss. Her hands immediately fall to your waist to pull you closer which only makes you deepen the kiss more. It was an awfully cheesy scene. Both of you sitting in the rain, completely forgetting the world around, just enjoying each other. When breath became an issue you finally pull away and a wide grin breaks out on both of your faces. „I-I love you“ you whisper carefully, that for a second kyra thinks she misheard you. Even though being together for a year you never managed to say those words. You knew for a long time that you were falling deeply in love with the australian girl. And you wanted to tell her, desperately.

You wanted to tell her when she first tried to cook your favourite dinner, which ended in a big cloud of smoke. You wanted to tell her when she pulled you to your feet at an irish pub and started to dance like no one else was around. And you desperately wanted to tell her after your first night together. Almost 6 months into the relationship and you still haven’t been intimate, but kyra was patient and kind about you wanting to do it slow. So when it finally happened, you were overwhelmed by emotion and love fort he girl you got to call your girlfriend. Kyra has said it many many times by now. She never urged you to say it back, never pressured you. But you could feel how much this means to her by the wide smile forming on her face. „I love you too“ she whispers and pulls you back into a heated kiss. After another make out session you are slightly starting to shiver. „We have to get you home baby, you gonna get sick“ kyra decides and pulls you up with her. „Babe?“ kyra says after packing the stuff together quickly. „Hm?“. „I’m gonna warm you up real good at home“ she winks with a pat on your bum before pulling you after her towards a cab. You cant contain a blush, clearly affected by kyras words.

After making it home, kyra did keep her promise to warm you up. Many many times. So after god knows how long, you take a look on your phone and find about 10 missed calls from steph. „What the hell does she want?“ you ask kyra who is currently cuddled into your chest. „Dunno, just call her back“ she mumbles, clearly tired from your most recent activities. So you press the facetime button, steph already picking up after the first two rings. „Y/n! Finally“ she grins into the phone. „Hey steph, what do you want?“ you ask her while stroking kyras hair gently with your other hand. „I was just worried about the rain, did you guys got to enjoy the picknick anyway?“. You chuckle at your older sisters worries „Well we were drenched in rain but that didn’t stop us from having a nice time“. „Oh no, well if you still enjoyed it okay…thats the most important thing!“ she smiles. You nod eagerly, watching kyra who was just sitting up to lean into the frame. „Stephy don’t worry i warmed her up afterwards“ she grins cheekily while pulling the duvet over her bare shoulder. Steph groans and hangs up rightaway. You burst out in laughter, slapping kyras shoulder slightly. „You’re so smug i hate you“ you laugh but she just shakes her head, grinning. „No you loooove me“ kyra sings which makes you giggle even more. „I really do“ you sigh and cuddle into her side when your phone pings again.

Steph: I don’t know how you keep up with that pest.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hope you liked it, feel free to send in more requests!!

[marygih]

Julius

Sometimes I feel like no one really understood Julius' proposal as a character.

He was not created to be a romantic partner, and his age is intentional, precisely to block the possibility of any romance. Basically Julius exists so that we know that Horace is gay, without Ransom needing to show it explicitly. It's the writer's way of saying "Yes, he's gay, I left that implied, but I'm not going to canonize it explicitly and you won't be able to ship him canonically either."

Julius represents that impossible crush that some teenagers have at some point in their lives. They weren't meant to be a couple, all of this is just to show us that Horace really likes boys. He's just dazzled by Julius, the two of them could never be together, Ransom did this on purpose.

Now, since I'm talking about Julius, I'm going to talk about something that's been bothering me for a while.

It's no secret that I don't particularly like Julius, his arrogant personality irritated me deeply, but I'm still defending him on a crucial point.

I hate how some defame him for no reason, I've seen Julius implicitly treated as a predator " omg Julius who is 18 years old didn't dump Horace, how can he let a kid flirt with him? It's so suspicious of Julius to allow a kid to flirt with him!"

Honestly, this is so dishonest! He probably didn't even notice the flirting, Horace is a complete stranger to him, there is nothing to prove that Julius is also gay, the fucking world was ending, his life and that of his mother were in danger, do you really think he would be wasting his time paying attention to an unknown child complimenting his clothes?

Julius was in such a fucked up situation, he literally had the weight of the world on his shoulders and he faithfully believed that he was the protagonist of the prophecy. And then he almost died several times, and witnessed his own mother die. Definitely not the mood for a romance.

Evil is in the eye of the beholder. Not for a single second did Julius hint that he was interested in Horace. There is a single scene of them holding hands, just after Julius lost his mother and Horace was the only person to comfort him. Horace stood by him at the worst moment of his life, but Horace is just a stranger, Julius is broken.

When they meet, Horace tries to start a conversation and Julius doesn't even pay attention to him, and then all their interactions are in action scenes where they are both fighting to survive.

When Miss Petrel dies, Julius's world comes crashing down. And Horace is the only one who offers her comfort, it's a scene of consolation and not a fucking romance. It is always Horace who tries to help the boy, he is the one who approaches, Julius never shows anything, and I dare say that if the situation were the other way around, with Horace losing Miss Peregrine, Julius wouldn't be as attentive or supportive.

So this thing about Julius being wrong in letting Horace "flirt with him" doesn't make sense. Definitely the last thing on Julius' mind after seeing his mother murdered was worrying about a preteen he just met being too nice to him.

It's so easy to defame the character by taking his scenes out of context.

He and Horace ride together✨/ fleeing from monsters to save their own lives. ☠️

They hold hands on the train✨/ After Julius sees his mother's murder and is very traumatized since his life was super safe and this is literally the first trauma in his life. ☠️

Horace takes care of Julius's wounds✨/ he's the only one who understands anything about peculiar medicine and Julius is literally gray and dying. ☠️

Horace is at Julius and Enoch's bedside in the infirmary✨/ Julius is in a coma.☠️

Duct all this: Julius has no romantic intentions towards Horace, he definitely didn't notice the flirting, he is VERY traumatized, grieving and drowning in his own pain. He's clearly depressed as his old speech about being a great hero capable of saving the world from Caul drastically changes to "I'm disposable."

I don't like Julius as a character (for the same reason I don't like Horace from the old testament) arrogance and lack of character development. Even though I don't have much empathy for Julius, I came to his defense in this matter. He literally did nothing, I can criticize his actions , not something he didn't do.

In another context, this "attitude" of Julius would really be suspicious and problematic, but definitely not in this situation, you can't blame someone for something he didn't even realize was happening. With the world literally ending, people you love dying, definitely the last thing you're going to pay attention to is some unknown teenager praising you and offering condolences.

[bluerasbunny]

alright, since the last one went swimmingly,

as always, i'll draw the result once the poll is over!

[the-kinning-hour]

I like to think about the impact that being isolated as a teen had on Shigaraki as a person.

I don’t mean angst, not understanding his own feelings or awkward social life. I mean that he definitely has gotten most of his non-hero related facts about society and people from the internet.

imagine; Shigaraki genuinely not understanding the concept of gender or sexuality because he’s only ever seen it discussed in reddit debates. He is baffled when he meets Magne but accepting. That night he searches “how to support trans employee professional easy”

Shigaraki asking Quora, “Why is my father so insistent on me making friends? It makes me uncomfortable. I don’t like people.” And having 20 moms in his replies telling him to get out of his room and join clubs

Shigaraki not knowing basic things about women (seeing as he was not raised around any) and awkwardly googling the phrase “PMS-ing” when Toga complains about cramping, expecting it to be teenage slang and instead going down the rabbit hole of the horrific experience of periods

Shigaraki not knowing why Sako is bowing his head toward Kurogiri and saying “itadakimasu” every time he eats with the League and wondering if the magician is trying to usurp his spot as Kurogiri’s favorite via boot licking

Shigaraki taking a “Do you have autism” quiz on Quotev and expressing his concerns to Kurogiri at 2 am when he scores 100% (he doesn’t know what autism even is)

Overall, I think people don’t take advantage of how funny it could be to interact with the ultimate antisocial dweeb Shigaraki who has a total of zero normal experiences

[whoruntheworld-lesbians]

One of my favorite parts of eah is that there is so much ship potential. Literally everywhere. You throw two names together, I'll have a list of headcanons on your desk by Monday.

[constelationprize]

Thinking many many thoughts about how Jean was Riko's partner for a YEAR and was still rooming with Goon #3. Because that was how unwilling Riko was to let go of Kevin. And how that implies that Jean was placed as his partner both because of the practicality of Kevin being gone AND as a punishment for letting him go in the first place. Being partners with Jean could actually slow Riko down depending on how often he's hurt (because I don't think Riko was all that exempt from the rules to the point where his partner's performance would completely not matter) and he was still placed there. Riko was just THAT angry at him over Kevin's escape. And all the while he was keeping Kevin's side of room like an altar, even back when he didn't even think Kevin could PLAY, because of an injury he caused.

[belliesandburps]

Would you be willing to do dialogue for Epel?

(Surprisingly, I got quite a few Epel requests, so I'm gonna blend them all into this one like Ruggie and Jack.)

Burping in public (Around dormmates)

(blushes and covers mouth) "Ah...! E-Excuse me...!!"

(goes wide-eyed and clamps mouth shut) "......S-S-Sorry, dorm leader..."

(smiles nervously) "...T-That was because of a potion, I swear..."

(covers his mouth) "Oh, g-goodness! Pardon me, that was...(feels another burp coming, but swallows it down and grimaces)...mph...(palms his chest)...p-pardon me..."

(pushes a fist to his mouth) "Mph, sorry...my stomach has been bothering me all day..."

(looks around nervously) "...You won't tell Vil about that, right...?"

Burping in public (Around friends)

"Whew! (pats his stomach) That was a GOOD one!"

"Oof! Sweet tarnation! They ain't gettin' any quieter, haha!"

"Damn, that felt good!"

(grins) "Let's see ya top THAT!"

Woooo boy... (rubs his stomach) Ah may'uh wolfed down mah lunch a lil too dang fast, heh..."

"Pfft, that was weak, hol' up... (gulps down more and more air until he can't take anymore, then lets out a MUCH louder and longer belch that ends with him sighing) Haaaaaahhhhh...whew...THAT'S more like it..."

Burping for the first time around friends

(grins) "What? Didn't think I could let a monster like that rip?"

"Hehe, I know, 'so dainty and proper, probably doesn't even KNOW how to burp,' right?"

(smirks and daintily covers his mouth) "Hehe, ex-CUSE me...where'd my manners go all'uh the sudden?"

(sighs boorishly and pats his belly shamelessly) "Haaaahhhh...WHEW! Heh, sorry 'bout-uUrp-that, mph...shouldn't'uh had lunch before studyin' with Vil. Ah been stuck 'round him fer hours so I had t'hold that one in all dang day..."

(smirks cockily) "Pfft, that was nothin'. Check THIS out...(takes in several gulps of air, puts his hand on his stomach as it fills up with the excess air, then pushes down firmly and lets rip a HUGE burp, before sighing with relief and patting his belly)"

(grins and folds his arms behind his head carefree) "Heh, pretty loud, ain't they? Back home, I could out-burp anybody foolhardy 'nuff t'try and take me on...(grins more impishly)...still can..."

Burping after chugging a soda

"Oof...oh man, think ah done guzzled that one a lil fast...OOOOUUUUURRRRRP!!!! Guhhh..."

"Gaaaahhh...haha! Did y'all HEAR that?! Hot DAMN!"

(blushes and smile sheepishly) "H-Heh, s'cuse me...guess ah was kinda thirsty..."

"Woo dang...! (rubs his stomach firmly) So bubbly...bruUuUuUuph...BWWWOOOOURRRAAAAAAAPH!!!!! Phew...! (pats his belly)"

"Haahhh...(palms his chest) That's the stuff right there..."

(grins cheekily) "Hehe, imagine if VIL heard that one...(smile dips)...actually, let's not..."

Burping after stuffing himself

"Gruuuoooohhhh man...(rubs his bulging belly up and down)...feels like ah'm gonna BURST..."

"Haaahhh...(pats his rounded gut contently)...ain't had pies that good in ages..."

"Whew...that was a biggun, ain't it...(gropes his overstuffed middle and gives it a light jostle)...an' right now, so am I, heh..."

(huffs and hits his chest to knock loose another fierce burp) "Gaahhhh...sorry, when I'm THIS dang bloated, all that there gas gets kinda stuck..."

(sighs contently and holds his belly with both hands) "Haaaahhhhhh...felt my gut shake like crazy with that one..."

(gives a hiccup and a dainty afterburp before flopping onto his back; his large belly jutting up over him) "...Urgh...s-so...dang...ffFUUUUUUUULL...!!!"

Burping to kink-tease

"Ah, heh, s'cuse me...ain't very gentlemanly, huh?"

(smirks) "Hehe, ya like that? Don'tchu worry...(rubs his stomach teasingly)...loooooots more where that came from..."

"Pfft, that gets yer goat goin', does it? Well, good thing fer you that I'm a burpin' machine, hehe."

"You want bigger? (grins cockily) Ya came t'the right guy...(swallows more and more air, holding his stomach as it fills up with the excess oxygen, and then grips it tightly as a MASSIVE belch blasts past his maw and leaves him moaning)...hhhhhaaaaaaaahhhh...toldja I'm the champ."

"Hehe, sorry, did that rile ya up a lil too much? (quickly gulps down a sharp but single gulp of air and immediately burps it back up) There, that was smaller, so it oughta be easier fer ya, right?"

"Ahhhh, hehe...y'know, I dunno what I love more. Burpin' or watchin' you get all hot'n bothered every time I do..."

Nauseous burps

(quickly covers mouth) "Urrf...oOohh, that one hurt..."

(holds his churning stomach) "...Guhh...sorry, dorm leadeEUurp!! (quickly covers mouth) Oh no..."

(clamps mouth shut and burps heavily behind his fist) "Mph...ohhhh man...(rubs his belly slowly)...my gut's burblin' like grandma's gumbo..."

(rubs his stomach up and down) "Urgh...there's so much gas in my gut...(swallows down air)...BRRRAAAAAAAPH!!! Guh...BLLUUUUUOOORRRRUUUP!!!! Ugh...just keeps comin'..."

(slumps forward and clutches his knees) "...Uuuuugh...hoooo man...ah feel another burp just brewin' but...definitely feel somethin' else brewin' too..."

(goes green and covers his mouth) "...Mph...somethin' definitely came up with that one...hrrrMMMmph! BBBRRRRRMMMPH!!! (hugs his stomach and goes wide-eyed as he rushes to the bathroom)"