#Beyond his boxing career

[nfllivescores]

Amir Khan Appointed Honorary Captain of the Pakistan Army

Honorary Captain In a move that has resonated across the sporting world, British-Pakistani boxing champion Amir Khan has been appointed as an honorary captain of the Pakistan Army. This prestigious title not only highlights Khan’s remarkable achievements in the boxing ring but also underscores his dedication to his heritage and his philanthropic endeavors. The appointment signifies a new chapter…

[someone-will-remember-us]

There is no collective noun for rapists but spend a week at the Pelicot trial and you wonder why. As the early morning queue of women who’ve come to support Gisèle Pelicot passes through security at the Palais de Justice, Avignon, you spy men with downturned faces scurrying across the lobby past the press. In court they sit on the left, clustered around a glass box containing more men, those in custody for the gravest crimes. Since there are 50 in total, the alleged rapists have been tried in batches and I’m just here for the final seven: Boris, Philippe, Nicolas, Nizair, Joseph, Christian, Charly.

Plus Dominique Pelicot himself, who invited them all into his marital bedroom, where he had his wife waiting, drugged and naked, and who joined in and filmed it all. Pelicot, 71, crumpled and fat now, but with a residual bulky power, sits sullenly alone with his guard in a separate glass box, protected from the other men who blame and detest him. Often after lunch he appears to doze off.

Such nondescript men. Grizzled, middle-aged (the mean is 47 years old), smart-casual in windcheaters or leather jackets and their best trainers, like minicab drivers waiting for fares. Ordinary men in many respects, not vagrants, junkies or career criminals. This week’s seven includes a fireman, an electrician and a journalist; several are fathers, two were keen weightlifters, one bred dogs. French trials helpfully begin with a personality profile formed from interviews with the men, their friends and colleagues. Poverty, domestic violence and mental breakdowns feature, but also that a man is “kind” or “gentle”, had a lovely childhood, adored his grandparents or is devoted to his mum.

Yet each one had sex with an unconscious woman, that is beyond doubt, thanks to Pelicot’s camera mounted on a tripod beside the bed, and by his own admission. “I am a rapist,” he has declared, “like the others in this room.”

From the Pelicot affair have come demands for reform to French rape law, for sexual violence to be treated more seriously, for an investigation into “chemical submission” — the coercive use of sedatives. But one question overshadows all others. How many men would have done the same? If Pelicot could recruit at least 70 willing participants (a number could not be identified) within a 25-mile radius of Mazan, the Provençal town where the couple retired, how many in the whole of France? As I walk through Avignon with Juliette Campion of radio station France Info, who bears the strain of reporting this case since September, she gestures to a bureau de tabac: “You think, ‘Would a guy in there have raped Gisèle? Or men in the boulangerie or those on the street?’ Women are looking at men differently: they’re asking, ‘Could you or you or you?’ ”

On the right of the court, behind her counsel of three serious, dark-haired young men, is Gisèle Pelicot with her female companion from victim support, leaning on the wall, as far from the men as the room allows, but facing her ex-husband. Her composure is remarkable. Although clearly tired and strained, she retains a quiet vivacity reflected in her clothes. Instead of shrinking away in black, she dresses each day as if meeting friends for drinks on a sunny terrace. A chic scarf, a faux fur bag, patent leather boots. Clothes that say, “I still have a life.” Every evening, when women line up to clap her out of court, she speaks to them warmly, neither reticent nor relishing the attention. Every day she walks through the cobbled streets past graffiti saying, “Gisèle, les femmes te remercient” (Gisèle, women thank you) to lunch at the same excellent brasserie, and people turn to gaze at her in awe.

The extraordinary woman who refused to be silenced

The humiliations of Gisèle Pelicot have a mythic quality. This is a woman who discovered the man she married aged 20, with whom she had three children and seven grandchildren, waited until she was deeply asleep before removing her pyjamas, dressing her in “sexy” underwear or writing on her buttocks, “I am a good submissive bitch,” then he let a stranger penetrate her inert body, filmed it, washed her intimately and replaced her pyjamas. This is a woman who thought she was going insane, had Alzheimer’s or a brain tumour, whose children thought she was dying, who stopped driving and going out alone, who slept all day and once woke puzzled why her hair was shorter. “But madame,” said her hairdresser, “you came in yesterday.” This is a woman who had mysterious gynaecological problems, including a swollen cervix (and still lives with four STDs), who thought her husband wonderful for accompanying her to medical tests, including an MRI.

This is a woman who, when her husband was arrested for “upskirting” in a Leclerc supermarket and police found the contents of his phone, discovered her whole 50-year marriage was a travesty, that he’d raped her in a service station car park, on Valentine’s Day and on her 66th birthday, and may have raped their daughter too. This is a woman who has listened to legal arguments about whether a man put his tongue inside or merely kissed her vagina, who heard another man say he’d only returned to rape her a second time because he couldn’t find anyone better, who sits in a courtroom while three giant TV screens show clips of her body being coldly humped by yet another “ordinary” guy.

Yet this is a woman who gathered up every scrap of her humiliation and with it constructed a mirror that she holds up defiantly to the court and to French society itself. “Shame must change sides,” she said, and in insisting the entire trial be conducted openly, that the worst men can do to women is witnessed by the whole world, she has done exactly that.

I ask many women I meet in Avignon how men in their lives regard the accused. They say they call them losers and freaks, that these are men on the margins, with no relation to themselves. But, along with the testimony I hear, the people I talk to believe this case raises many questions about French sexual mores. Whatever the decision later this month by five judges — there is no jury — Gisèle Pelicot will never be forgotten.

The court turns to Christian L, a fireman with a straggly castaway beard, who speaks from the glass box because after he was arrested, police found 4,000 child sex abuse and zoophilic images on his hard drive. We hear from his girlfriend, Sylvie, a small blonde in a grey hoodie, who says he’s a wonderful man, and is suspected of destroying evidence. Christian L recalls the victims he watched die in fires, the coffins of 11 colleagues he carried, the mental breakdowns that ensued. He was married but after his two daughters were born says he went off sex with his wife and turned to libertinisme. Strange, I think, that the French have coined this noble, philosophical concept, with its whiff of the barricades, to describe what we call swinging or dogging.

Like all the men, Christian met Pelicot through coco.fr — the murky, unmoderated site since closed down and now the focus of many major police investigations — on a forum called À son insu (without her knowledge). Christian L had already enjoyed “Sleeping Beauty” encounters with ten other couples. He spells out the rules: that you only dealt with the husband, sending him photos for approval, and during the sexual encounter he ran the show. Sometimes the wife woke up, other times not. How did he know, asked Gisèle’s lawyer, Stéphane Babonneau, that she consented?

“In a libertine encounter,” Christian L explained, “it is the husband’s responsibility to ensure consent.”

But how could you be sure?

“Are we expected to sign a contract?” Christian L spluttered.

“You could ask the woman,” Babonneau suggested.

How the case could change French law

Given the overwhelming video evidence, the defendants can only claim Pelicot deceived or drugged them, or they believed Gisèle was collaborating in a game. If this case were before a British court, rape would be decided by two tests: whether Gisèle had “capacity to consent” (tough to argue given Pelicot admits to drugging her) and whether the men had “reasonable belief” in her consent. Unlike most European countries, French rape law has no concept of consent. Rather, it is defined as penetration “by violence, constraint, threat or surprise”. (The prosecution case rests on a convoluted definition of surprise.)

But rather than demand consent be added to the law, French feminists are divided. Some agree with President Macron, who supports change; many others argue that consent would put the onus on the victim to prove her conduct was not an invitation. This seems an odd objection, especially as the whole purpose of the video evidence is to show no one could believe Gisèle capable of consent, given she was so lifeless one man asked Pelicot, “Is your wife dead?”

Alice Géraud is the author of Sambre, an investigation into how, due to the indifference and cruelty of police, a caretaker called Dino Scala in northern France managed to rape 54 women over a period of 30 years. “The Pelicot case with 50 defendants and one victim feels a strange inverse of Sambre.”

Géraud believes the Pelicot affair could provide the same impetus for change as a famous 1974 case of two Belgian tourists, Anne-Marie Tonglet and Aracelli Castellano, who, camping near Marseilles, were brutally raped by three local men. As was normal practice, the crime was downgraded from felony to misdemeanour on the basis the victims eventually stopped resisting. But the women, a lesbian couple, persisted and thanks to their feminist lawyer, Gisèle Halimi, it became the first rape case to be heard in the higher assizes court. Like Gisèle Pelicot, the women waived their anonymity. “We believe that it’s one thing for a man to rape,” said Halimi, “and another to know it’ll get around his village, his work, the papers.” Shame changed sides: the men were jailed and the French criminal code was rewritten defining rape as a serious offence.

For Géraud, the greatest current injustice is that whether a man has raped one women or 50, the maximum sentence is 20 years (here a serial rapist can be jailed for life). “This is law made by men,” she says, “with a grave lack of knowledge of rape culture.” She is scornful too about libertinisme as a universal excuse for male sexual exploitation. “Libertinisme was why Coco existed for so long,” she says. “It is the justification for prostitution, for the porn industry.”

Charly A is the youngest of all the defendants, just 22 when he first entered the Pelicot house. Small, bearded, now 30, we learn his childhood was chaotic, his father an alcoholic, his mother had many sexual partners; there are hints of abuse. “This is a family of secrets,” concludes the personality profiler. A psychiatrist adds he is immature, struggles to sustain relationships and instead consumes porn, “especially the Milf [Mother I’d like to f***] category with mature women”. In 2016, he made contact with Pelicot via Coco: “He said his wife would be lying there pretending to be asleep, he doesn’t tell me more.”

Over time Pelicot asks Charly if he knows anyone they could drug for sex and he proffers the only woman in his life — his own mother. Pelicot gives him pills (which Charly claims to have thrown away), shows him how to crush them, keeps pressing him to use them. “When can I come and we f*** your mother?” he asks in one video, but Charly keeps stalling, saying his brother is at home. Yet he returns to violate Gisèle, always with Pelicot, once with another man, a total of six times. “Did you feel like you were in a porn film?” asks Babonneau. Charly shakes his head.

Until this point, very late in the trial, the influence of internet pornography has barely been explored. The court only notes paedophiliac images, not “normal” usage. Yet Mathieu Lacambre, a psychiatrist who evaluates Charly A, remarks how porn sites not only push users to more extreme content but to enact porn fantasies in real life. “Until now Charly A was behind the screens,” he says. “Now [in Gisèle] he has an object served up on a platter a few miles from home. The sleeping princess Milf, voilà.”

A rented home in a quiet cul-de-sac

I drive out to Mazan, a lovely honey-stoned French village set in the vineyards below Mont Ventoux, where the Pelicots retired from Villiers-sur-Marne, a Paris commuter town where he was electrician and she was a manager at EDF. I imagine Gisèle browsing the little boutique, dropping into the beauty salon, sipping an aperitif outside the bistro. The home they rented for ten years is five minutes away in a quiet cul-de-sac of four houses behind tall cypress trees. It is lemon yellow with blue shutters, a pool, a very prominent alarm system, and new tenants. Given how many men knew her address, Gisèle fled four years ago for her own safety, with just a suitcase and her dog.

Today an immense cloud of migrating starlings swoops over the house like pixels in a photograph. This was where their grandchildren loved to visit in the summer, but also the centre of Dominique Pelicot’s porn operation. For what else was this grotesque man but a pornographic auteur?

We leave our car, just as Pelicot instructed the men, in the sports ground car park, by the bottle bank. I think of them texting their arrival, then creeping down the lane. (One man made his girlfriend wait in the car.) Pelicot would meet them at the door by the light of his phone, tell them to undress in the dark living room and warm their hands on a radiator. (They’d been instructed to be clean, not smell of cigarettes or wear cologne.) Then they were led into a bedroom with a TV, a chest of drawers, a bed with a naked Gisèle motionless on white sheets, and a mounted camera.

Whatever followed next was carefully orchestrated by Pelicot, a director urging on actors in stage whispers, since the objective was to do what they desired without waking Gisèle. Pelicot would tell them how and when to penetrate her, or hold his wife’s gaping mouth to facilitate oral sex. Given four Temesta (lorazepam), a powerful anti-anxiety drug he’d crushed into her wine or ice cream, his wife was like a patient on an operating table. Even so, if her arm gave an involuntary spasm,the men would scuttle from the room. A friend who has sat through many court videos says it was Pelicot ordering the humping men to go doucement — softly — that upset her, since she knew this was not out of tenderness for Gisèle.

All the while the camera rolled. Why did these men agree to have their crimes recorded? They say it was part of the deal, that Pelicot told them Gisèle was shy and liked to watch the sex later. But perhaps also because, in taking part, these men were promoted from porn consumers to creators. Filming was central to their fantasy. When Christian L finally climaxes he turns to give the camera a cheery thumbs-up.

For Pelicot, each film added to his oeuvre. Police discovered a carefully curated archive of 20,000 images and videos on hard drives and memory sticks showing 200 rapes. He gave each film a title like “Squirt on the ass”, “Cock in mouth” or “Jacques fingering”. This man, once caught by his daughter-in-law masturbating at his computer, was now a porn impresario.

The question at the centre of the case

Why did Pelicot do all this to a wife he professed to love, whom he called “a saint”? Was it to punish Gisèle for an affair early in their marriage (although he was serially unfaithful himself)? Or because when he’d asked her to join him in the libertinisme scene she’d refused — so he devised a way to make her. But Gisèle was not his first victim: Pelicot has admitted to the rape of an estate agent, using ether to drug her, in 1999, and will be tried for the rape/murder of another young estate agent, Sophie Narme, in 1991. The French police cold case bureau is investigating his possible links to many other unsolved crimes.

But as the “Without her knowledge” forum suggests, his was not a unique fantasy. The Pelicot case has illuminated the issue of “chemical submission”, not only drinks being spiked by strangers in bars, but drugs used to control partners within relationships. The French health service is noted for being blasé about prescribing heavy-duty medications, which is how Pelicot stockpiled his vast stash of Temesta.

Documentary-maker Linda Bendali has made a film for French TV about chemical submission, featuring seven cases, including a 13-year-old girl drugged by her father with medicine supposedly for her allergies, put in lingerie and raped over two years, and a 60-year-old woman drugged then raped at home by a man she was mentoring at work. “I’ve looked back at 30 years of press reports of rape,” says Bendali, “which includes dozens of women saying they woke up — mainly with men they know— unable to remember what happened.”

The Sleeping Beauty scenario, she says, is not merely a means for a man to get easy sexual access, but a way to enjoy absolute domination. “You are not even giving her the chance to consent,” says Bendali. “You can do anything you want to a drugged woman, for as long as you want. You can dress her how you want. These men want total power.” Pelicot is typical in filming his crimes: “Pictures are trophies. He was driven by a mix of desires for blackmail and voyeurism.”

Gisèle’s daughter, Caroline Darian, who was also drugged and photographed naked by her father, is heading a campaign on chemical submission, demanding police take samples of hair from rape victims, the only way sedation can be proved.

In court, I hear another psychiatrist tasked with assessing whether each of the final seven defendants has the profile of a sexual abuser. One by one, he exonerates the men, saying they are not dangerous or likely to reoffend, to the growing exasperation of Gisèle’s team. Then he reaches Charly A. “He doesn’t search [for victims] systematically,” says the psychiatrist. “He’s not a predator.” Finally, Babonneau explodes: “Six times with a sleeping woman and he’s not a sexual abuser?” The men do not identify as rapists because, like this psychiatrist, they define rape as frenzied sexual violence, not an opportunistic act performed to whispers in a private home. As one defendant put it, “It’s her husband, his house, his room, his bed, his wife.”

Women unite in the town of Mazan

Both in religious and political terms, Mazan is a conservative town: for 500 years it was part of a papal enclave and in the recent French election voted heavily for Marine Le Pen. Villagers regarded the Pelicot case with horror and sympathy which turned quickly to resentment when press named it l’affaire Mazan. Amid longstanding families who’ve known each other for generations, the Pelicots were outsiders who’d brought disgrace into a rural community. Tired of inquiries, the mayor, Louis Bonnet, 74, told the BBC, “It could have been far more serious. There were no kids involved. No women were killed.”

At the Lucky Horse Ranch outside Mazan, women victims of sexual violence receive equine therapy. I’m sceptical at first about how grooming and riding horses could help rape victims, but somehow these large, placid animals are calming and restorative. Here I meet Latika, 33, who at first was too timid to touch a Shetland pony, but now sits high on a saddle for our photograph.

Latika was separating from her husband, the father of her two children, but still sharing a house. He was violent, hitting her daughters, putting her in hospital with cuts and a broken rib. Two years after they’d last had sex, she woke to find him inside her. She believes the sweet tea he often gave her was laced with sedatives, but that night she hadn’t drunk it all. She realised he’d been drugging her for years — her mother recalls finding her deeply unconscious early in her relationship — and, worse, she was pregnant with a third child. She told the police, who addressed the domestic violence but ignored the rape. Her husband fled to Guadeloupe and she was left traumatised, fearful of leaving the house.

“I didn’t feel people really believed what had happened to me until Gisèle Pelicot spoke out,” says Latika, who has since made the police reopen her case. In October, as women across France holding white flowers protested in support of Gisèle, Latika headed the local march into Mazan and the next day Gisèle herself visited the ranch. “She said it is almost unbearable to return to this place where terrible things happened,” says Latika, “but she wanted to thank us. She told me, ‘I didn’t know the meaning of my life before this happened — but I do now.’ ”

Watching Gisèle take such sustenance from her supporters, you wonder how she will cope when the trial finally ends. She is writing a book and could, if she chose, become a global campaigner. “There is something particularly powerful,” says Linda Bendali, “about her being an older woman — she represents all our mothers. All generations identify with her.” But those close to Gisèle say that, at 72, she may just return to a quiet life of friends, grandchildren and her garden, in the secret location where she now lives.

But she is already an icon of courage for the women who come from across France and beyond just to watch the trial on a screen in an overspill room. Some want to witness history, a few enjoy the sensational evidence like tricoteuses at the guillotine, but many have risen at 5am, taking a day off work, to support a woman they deeply admire. Marion Spiteri and Amélie Planche, both 24 and law graduates, feel the case opened their eyes. “How can it be,” Spiteri says, “that so many men did this without her consent?” “It is terrifying,” Planche adds, “that a woman cannot even trust her own husband.” They tell me, astonishingly, that neither they nor their friends ever go to the toilet in a bar or club alone.

But then the nation of libertinisme lags behind in its attitude to violence against women. Until 2021, France did not even have an age of consent, effectively decriminalising even incestuous relations between children and adults, allowing several high-profile child abusers, including firemen who groomed a 13-year-old girl, to evade rape charges. Each time a prominent Frenchman is accused of rape — whether politician Dominique Strauss-Kahn or, currently, actor Gerard Dépardieu — famous French actresses leap to defend him. This is the nation that convicted child rapist Roman Polanski fled to from America, and is still fêted. The #MeToo movement was regarded by many as a wave of Anglosphere prudishness, contrary to the spirit of French seduction. So what can the Pelicot trial achieve?

I meet feminists from Les Amazones d’Avignon, the creators of graffiti across the city supporting Gisèle. (So as not to spoil the city walls, they write slogans on paper that can be removed.) Their latest reads “20 ans pour chacun” — 20 years for each one. I suggest a drink in a café nearby: “Not in there,” says one Amazone, “that’s where all the rapists go.” Blandine Deverlanges, 56, is part of the Coalition Féministe Loi Intégrale putting 130 proposals about sexual violence before the French parliament, including a ban on lawyers harassing victims in court. They are disgusted the defence asked Gisèle why she swam naked in her own swimming pool.

“This is a trial,” says Deverlanges, “of one extraordinary man, the monster Pelicot, and many ordinary men.” And as we talk I see a group of them emerge nervously from their favoured café and head back to the court. A collective noun for rapists? A violation, a banality, a shame.

(archive)

[littlcdarlin]

dbf!Joel headcanons

warnings: big, though unspecified age gap, 18+ (as always)

note: Uni has been kicking my ass, so I’ve only had time for some headcanons lately. This Joel is very sweet, but I’m open to writing sleazy or dark Joel, too! If you have requests for any headcanons, I will be able to write them even during this stressful time. Full fics will take me a while longer. Enjoy reading, my loves <3 and feel free to add stuff!

He doesn’t really know how to cook well and mostly eats his faves every day but when you stay over more and more he makes an effort to learn and actually finds out he really likes it

Whatever pressure your parents put on you, he relieves it by accepting it rather than trying to fix it for you — you can just exist around him without expectation

He worries the age difference means you don’t have much to talk about, so he watches your favourite show that you mentioned and although it certainly wouldn’t have been his first pick, it lets him unwind. He likes watching something he knows you’ve watched and loved when you’re not around, it makes him feel closer to you

When he first starts looking at you differently he blue balls himself so as not to disrespect you — when he has sex with someone to relieve himself, he accidentally says your name to them

He keeps a polaroid of you in his wallet and cashiers wonder why he smiles at his debit card so much

He finds it hard to stay friends with your dad, because it makes him feel weird about this dynamic with you. He distances himself from your parents after they react badly to the news of your relationship, not because of guilt or cowardice, but because he doesn’t tolerate how they treat you

He thought he would hate the gossip after the two of you go public, but when you do, he finds himself imagining knocking you up just so everyone knows what he does to you. He opts for lots of hickeys until kids might be a possibility, but that doesn’t stop him from pretending you don’t have an IUD when he finishes inside of you

He loves when you wear his clothes, but when you forget your scarf at his place he wears it and enjoys that just as much — it smells like you and he likes the idea of people being able to tell it’s somebody else’s

When he figures out how much you like him talking to you during sex, he starts using the same voice/phrases in public to get you flustered & wet for him

He keeps everything that reminds him of you, like parking tickets etc. He doesn’t do anything with those things, doesn’t put them in a box, so they linger around his house, reminding him of you the way photographs would, except more privately

He starts “putting in an effort” for you when you start dating: styling his hair & wearing clothes he thinks you would prefer, until you tell him you like nothing more than his flannels and band tees and jeans, and although he doesn’t tell you, he’s beyond relieved. He realises you like him for him

When you tell your parents, Joel asks your father to hit him because “he knows he deserves it”. With time he learns he also deserves your kisses and smiles. Those things coexist within him, he thinks both are true

Despite completely supporting you in your pursuit of a degree & career, he likes when you’re on holiday, waiting around for him in his house wearing nothing but a pair of panties he bought for you & one of his hoodies. During those lazy weeks, he fucks you morning, afternoon, and night: before he leaves, when he gets home, and right before you go to sleep

He buys you a ring during the first week of dating because you mentioned how much you like it. He doesn’t give it to you until he knows you feel certain about him — he doesn’t want to freak you out. Still, even before that, he sometimes looks at it in its little black box and envisions it on your finger

During your first couple of “public dates” (neighbourhood barbecue where your parents are present etc.) he refrains from touching you much, although everyone knows about your relationship. You have to take his hand and initiate small touches for him to feel more comfortable

It takes him a short while, but then he loves being able to touch you in front of people: a hand on your lower back, an arm across your shoulder, his fingers lacing through yours, him pulling your back against his front and wrapping his arms around you. People stare sometimes (your Dad breaks one or two wine glasses in his hand), but Joel stops caring when he sees how happy it makes you

He tells you that you can change things about his home, that it should feel like your place, too and asks if you want to go shopping for “candles and stuff”, but you love being in a space that feels completely like him. It’s not how your apartment looks, but it makes you feel at ease, like you’re somehow living inside of him

Before he tells you he loves you, he whispers it in your ear when you’re sleeping, hoping your subconscious will somehow pick up on it. When he does tell you while you’re awake for the first time, it’s during breakfast. You stub your toe, and let out a string of curses you must have picked up on from him, and while he presses ice against your foot, kneeling in front of you, he smiles up and tells you: I love you.

The first time you sleep over at his house after he spent the night in your apartment, two brand new bottles of the shampoo and conditioner you use are in his shower. You thank him and jokingly ask why he didn’t buy your shower gel, too. He kisses you and tells you he likes when you smell like him.

He likes making you come more times than you thought you could — something about moving in and out of you while you tell him you can’t do it again, that you’re done, and then watching you fall apart on his cock anyway, thrills him to the bone. It makes him feel powerful, but part of it is knowing you let him fuck you without expecting an orgasm, that him being inside of you is enough for you to feel good

He doesn’t tell you, but he adds your name to his car insurance, so that you can drive it whenever you want

When you figure it out you give him road head every time the two of you drive somewhere — until he almost crashes the car and he forbids you to tempt him while he’s behind the wheel

He’s so nervous he asks Tommy for help when picking out a birthday gift for you — Tommy goes overboard and the gift turns out to be something completely ridiculous like a pair of huge earrings you would never wear. You tell Joel you don’t need a big fuss to feel loved by him. At night, he gives you a present he’s been wanting to give you for a while: he plays you a song he wrote for you on his guitar. It’s quiet and simple and so perfect you cry for half an hour

He doesn’t sleep well when you’re not around, and loves being close to you at night. If he could, he’d sleep nestled inside of you after a round of lazy midnight sex every night

As much as Tommy annoys him, it makes him happy to see how well you two get along. When you become actual friends with Tommy and hang out with him on your own, he’s more than pleased: the two people he loves the most in the world have become close

He would never ask it of you, but when you tell him you have stopped masturbating because he fucks you so often, it pleases him deeply. He likes being the only source of your pleasure. When you are apart for a while because of work/collage etc., he buys you a toy he can control from his phone

He tells Tommy he thinks he’s going to marry you during the first month of dating, which you find out about only on your wedding day during Tommy’s speech

[drvscarlett]

Let him cook

Charles Leclerc x Masterchef contestant!reader

Series Part: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

A/N: Got this idea because the masterchef trophy is similar to the Australian GP trophy. This is going to be a series

Charles_Leclerc posted a new photo

liked by CarlosSainz55, PierreGasly, and 365,000 others.

Charles_Leclerc Add professional chef to the list

User1 aint no way you cooked this

User2 nice try Charles but we all saw that pasta video

CarlosSainz55 mate drop the # of the private chef you hired, these look delicious

Charles_Leclerc I told you that I made this myself CarlosSainz55 Lies!!!!

PierreGasly since when did you learn how to make coq au vin???

Charles_Leclerc not you too PierreGasly you should invite me sometimes so I can judge your cooking

Y/NCooks posted a photo

YNCooks last date night before i enter masterchef australia. credits to the boyfriend for the lovely photos

Friend1 Y/N i know this is your dream for a while now. I hope you win. We will cheer for you our next masterchef australia!

YNCooks awww stop! ur making me cry

User1 OMG she is finally competing, goodluck Y/N!

User2 Y/N always talk about how its her dream to enter masterchef, I'm gonna watch it everyday and hope she wins it!

User3 Goodluck Y/N! I hope you become the next masterchef australia!!!

Mystery Box challenge episode

There was a building reputation in the kitchen that you are one of the strong homecooks of the season. After winning the past 2 mystery challenges, you were extremely determined to do well and seek for a third streak. The mystery box today was all about italian cooking, a cuisine that you have been comfortable due to the close ties of your boyfriend being signed to an Italian team.

"And what do we have here with you today Miss Y/N" Matt Preston asked as he approached the work table together with George Colambris "You seem rather comfortable and in your own zone. Its like an ordinary Tuesday date night"

You gave a small chuckle with that mention "That's actually pretty on point of you to say as Tuesday is my date night with the boyfriend"

"Ah so maybe that's why you are so inspired because you are in love"George teased.

"Well I have to admit that there is a little pressure to do well in this challenge or my boyfriend's family will get mad at me"you quipped back a reply.

The judges suddenly leaned a little interested to learn more about your personal life, "So your boyfriend is italian?"

"He is not but he might as well be. He spends a lot of time there"

"It must be hard to not see him a lot since you are here competing" Matt says

"It's a price we are willing to pay. He has been supportive of my dream as I am with him" you gave an encouraging smile as you continue to chop the sweet potatoes.

"We hope to meet that boyfriend of yours because he is one lucky man because that dish looks delicious!" George says before they left the station.

Somewhere in Bahrain, Charles Leclerc is grinning upon watching the replay of the episode. He was beyond proud of what you have achieved as a contestant in MasterChef. He wished that he could do more to express his support towards you but you have an agreement with him to keep things lowkey for the meantime. It was a reasonable decision as he didn't want to overshadow your career but it was nice to know that you two are a private thing but never a secret.

He was so engrossed to repeating the boyfriend clip that he didn't notice that Carlos snuck up beside him.

"What are you watching there?" Carlos asked his teammate

"Oh its nothing" Charles says as he immediately exited the Youtube app "I didn't notice you there, you scared me"

"If you weren't too into your phone then you would have noticed me calling you" Carlos explained "What are you watching on your phone that got you smiling like that?"

"Nothing, I just saw an ad"

"Hmm sure an ad" Carlos was pretty sure that Charles was watching MasterChef but he couldn't care anymore to ask which country because there was too many so he decided to just let it go "Cmon Fred is asking for us, were late for a meeting"

"Carlos! Why didn't you start with that?"

Cake challenge

You were exhausted because you spent the early hours of the morning watching the Jeddah GP. It was a thrilling race to see Charles bag his first podium of the season so you can say that its worth it. Besides, you were able to talk to him after the race so it sweetens the deal even more.

Filming begun for MasterChef and the judges brought out balloons for the mystery box challenge.

"Your challenge today is to make the most imaginative and creative birthday cake that you ever had" Gary explained "The pantry is filled with all the cake flavors you can ever imagine so be creative and show us what you've got"

Baking has never been your strongest suit. It was all about precision and measurements as small increments can make a huge difference. Today, you were determined to do well and you wanted to use the podium finish of Charles for the cake.

It was a struggle to bake the cake, cool it, and pipe it in under 60 minutes. You felt the pressure getting under your nerves as your hands started shaking when you were piping the cake details with 10 minutes left. There was a sigh of relief when you finished just 5 seconds away from the judges calling the time.

There were plenty of beautiful cakes in the room so it was a shocker for you that the judges called you in front to present your cake.

"Judges what I have for you today is a three layer cake with the raspberry,almond, and pistachio with chocolate to seperate the layers and a lemon buttercream frosting."

"You told us you can't bake, that seems like a lie" George says as he cuts through the cake "Look at that layers"

"The layers are actually inspired by the italian flag, its an homage to the boyfriend. Its actually a cake that I made thinking about him" you explained.

"That is simply gorgeous. The cake is very moist and the balance with the flavors is that its not too sweet or nothing overpowering. Your boyfriend is a lucky lucky lucky man to be baked a cake like this" George complimented.

"Does your boyfriend cook?"Matt asked as he took a bite

"Oh God no. I have to cook or else the kitchen will be on fire"you laughed "But I can't drive so maybe that's his payback"

"You seem to show the beautiful dynamics of your relationship when you cook something inspired by him. I wish you two the best" Matt's genuine comment was a heartwarming moment.

Its unfortunate that you didn't win this challenge but you were able to showcase your support for your boyfriend.

Melbourne GP meets MasterChef

This was another challenge as you were elected as a team captain for the second team challenge. You were extremely nervous when you were transported with your team mates from the blue kitchen to an unknown location. It was even more nerve-wracking after you've realized where you are.

"Welcome to the Albert Park where the Australian Grand Prix is underway for this weekend" Matt introduced "Your challenge is to prepare two dishes: a pasta and a fish dish to be served to the talented drivers in Formula 2"

There was a little sigh of relief as you were dealing with the Formula 2 drivers. It was a lot of weight on the shoulder if you will be serving food to your boyfriend.

"The practice sessions will be starting in a few minutes. You have 90 minutes to prepare your dish and an hour to serve them"

All you know was that you started organizing the team to put them in charge of the dishes that you will be making today. You cross your fingers that the color red brings luck to your team today.

Meanwhile, the paddock was buzzing with cameras and Charles immediately noticed that there were some new film crews around the Formula 2 drivers. His eyes did a double take after he recognized the face of three familiar judges he often sees on MasterChef Australia.

"What's going on? Isn't that MasterChef Australia judges?" Charles quizzed

"That's MasterChef Australia, they have this team challenges and they will be feeding the Formula 2 drivers" Silvia answered as she was informed earlier that morning about the extra exposure in the paddock today.

"Why Formula 2? Why not us?" Charles whined

"If you want then you could go ask Ollie for food" Silvia suggested

That sets a lightbulb moment for Charles as he excused himself to talk to the young driver. He will not miss the opportunity to taste the cooking of his secret girlfriend and support her in doing her craft.

It puzzled Ollie Bearman to see that Charles has been looking for him once the practice session was over. He was even more confused by his request.

"So you want me to get you food?" Ollie asked "Doesn't Ferrari have a catering?"

"Its not just food, its the MasterChef Australia food" Charles explained without giving out too much information "I just love the show okay?"

"You can come along, I'm sure they don't mind" Even better.

So here is why you were genuinely surprised to see that Charles Leclerc is walking inside the MasterChef tent with a red and blue plate in his hand. He was grinning wildly as if he was a kid on a sugar rush.

"Ohmygod we are serving food to Charles Leclerc!" one of your teammates whispered.

"Hi goodafternoon! What's the dish for today?" he asked politely.

"Well we have a pan fried cod with a pea puree and then some green grapes some fennel over there and then for the pasta lemon ricotta and beet tortellini" you answered as the team captain "We hope that its up your liking"

Charles gave you that smile that seems to light up the whole room, "I look forward to it, thanks!"

Its moments like this that you wish that you could reach out for him but you understand that its not yet the time. Its nice to see the support that you have for each other even though its all in private and away from the eyes of the media.

"Goodluck on your race Charles!"

There was a smile on both of your faces as you both continued to go chase your dreams.

[crowsofdarkness]

Soulmates: One Shot

-gif not mine. credit to owner-

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Trope : Soulmates

Word Count: 6,945

Content Warnings: language, angst, mentions of death/murder, mention of drinking.

Summary: Growing up, reader had been told stories about how you would dream your soulmates memories, something you never believed in. That was until someone new moves in next door and nightmares plague you every night.

A soft sigh left my lips as I finally stepped foot into my apartment. After the long day of law school and a double bartender shift, I was beyond exhausted. I tossed my bags and keys on the kitchen table and fell onto the sofa with a loud groan. 

“Ugh, I wish someone was here to massage my feet,” I groaned to myself. 

With a quiet meow, my black cat named Salem, jumped up on my stomach and purred his demands for ear scratches. 

“As much as I love you Salem, I don’t think your paws are big enough to massage out the knots in my feet from today.” I smiled. 

After a meow of disappointment, he jumped off my lap and retreated to his chair in the corner of the living room. I let out a disgusting loud yawn as I made my way towards my kitchen, hoping I could find some form of leftovers that I could call dinner. 

“Nothing like cold pizza for the third night in a row,” I said while taking a large bite. 

The silence throughout my apartment was deafening. It was only Salem and I for the past six years and I wouldn’t change it for anything. 

A relationship wouldn’t actually be the worst thing in the world but between law school five days a week and shifts at the bar four days a week, I barely had enough time to go grocery shopping or clean my apartment. On my off days, I spent it either showering or sleeping for half of the day. 

My mother used to tell me of an old folk lore that her family used to believe while she was growing up. ‘Soulmate dreamers.’ She claimed that two people who are destined to be together dream of each other's memories; soulmates. My parents were soulmates but I still couldn’t believe the folk tale. Every single night I wouldn’t dream, just a blackness. It had been like that every night since I turned eighteen and as the years passed, I started to give up hope. 

“Buck, be careful with that. GOD DAMNIT!” 

Squinting my eyes at the sudden crash coming from the hallway, I ran over to my door and slowly opened it. Two men stood outside my door, both bent at the knees picking up a pile of books that seemed to have fallen out of a box. With the sound of my locks coming undone, the two men looked up and with a sheepish smile, the blonde nodded towards me. 

“I’m so sorry if we woke you.” His lips turned down in a small frown underneath his beard. 

I shook my head. “No, you didn’t. I just heard a crash and some yelling.” 

“Yeah butterfingers over here let the box slip,” the blonde nodded towards the other man. 

He had longer hair than the blonde and his beard was shorter than the blondes but something about his eyes froze me in place. Under his long sleeves, I could see his muscles tensed as he lifted up a large pile of books. 

“Uh-moving out?” I questioned after forcing myself to look away from the muscles. 

“In,” the blonde set down another box before extending his hand. “Steve.” 

My hand was small in his and the roughness of it scratched my palm. 

“Y/N.” 

I looked over to the other man but noticed that his back was towards me. He walked down the hall a few steps before stepping through an open door into the apartment right next to my own. 

“Buck’s not that great with new people,” Steve defended. 

My brows quirked up. “Buck?”

“Bucky or James. But I call him Buck,” Steve informed.

“Well, Steve, what brings you and Bucky here to Brooklyn?” I questioned while leaning against my open door frame. 

“Retirement.” 

“Aren't you guys a little young to retire?” I joked. 

He shrugged with a laugh. “We started our careers really young. Now we’re looking for something quiet.” 

“Well you guys are in luck because nothing happens here. It’s a pretty boring part of town.” I said. 

“Eh, doesn’t seem that bad. The neighbors are pretty cute,” Steve smirked. 

My cheeks blushed warm and after a quick nod, I pointed over my shoulder. “Goodnight Steve.”

Steve returned my smile. “Goodnight, Y/N.” 

My body felt trapped as if someone was sitting on my chest while my arms and legs thrashed around my bed. I tried to speak, to yell, but my voice was in a vice grip as the nightmare forced me to listen to the screams and cries of strangers. Flash images of a sniper and a man dressed in black faded in and out before completely fading to black. 

I awoke in bed with a scream and looked around my room. The fear that I felt from those strangers in my dream ate away at me, something I couldn't shake; no matter how hard I tried. My heart hammered against its cage in my chest as I took deep breaths to calm myself down.  

“What a freak nightmare,” I groaned while rubbing the sleep from my eyes. 

Falling back to sleep was a distant memory and I had to force myself out of bed as another fun day of school all day with a closing bar shift right after standing in front of me. 

“Salem, do you want breakfast?” I questioned my feline companion as I came out of the bathroom, dressed for the long day ahead of me. 

After a quick scratch to Salem's head, I grabbed my bags and was out the door, large coffee in hand. 

“Morning, Y/N.”

“FUCK!” I cursed, almost dropping the large cup and placing a hand over my chest. 

Steve stood in front of me, hands up in defense. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

I let out a small breath of relief. “Oh, Steve. It’s okay, it's not your fault. I didn’t sleep much last night so I’m a little jumpy.” 

“That would explain the extra large coffee,” Steve smiled. 

“I wouldn’t survive law school without it,” I admitted. 

Steve’s eyes raised. “Law school, huh?” 

“Yeah, I’m in my final year. I’ve got exams today and Monday so I need all the coffee I can consume.” I smiled proudly. 

“Well, I’ll let you get going. Have a good day, Y/N.” Steve gave me a small smile. 

“You too, Steve.”

“You’re late.” 

Giving a sheepish grin to my manager, I said a quick apology while throwing my bags underneath the bar. “My exam ran long. But I can stay late if you need me.” 

A laugh erupted from my manager, Kim. “Nice try, Y/N. You’re already closing.” 

“Well it's the thought that counts,” I joked. 

It was well past six in the evening and the bar was jam packed, wall to wall with bodies getting ready to watch the football game. Friday nights were my favorite nights to work; a lot of people getting drunk and literally throwing their money towards me. 

Yet I also hated working Friday nights; the countless men throwing vulgar sayings towards me and trying their hardest to get my number. 

The next couple hours blurred together as I made drinks and small talk with many of my regulars. I had my back turned to the only two empty seats alongside the bar as I had an all too familiar conversation with one of my regulars, Becky. 

“Y/N, you’ve got to get out there and meet someone!” She slurred while raising her beer. “How long has it been since you’ve gone on a date?”

“The only dates I get are the ones with you and my homework,” I smiled at her. 

“Here’s your chance! Look at the two new guys at the other end of the bar. I haven’t seen them here before,” she hiccuped. 

Looking over my shoulder, I found myself smiling at the familiar blonde and brunette who had their eyes glued to the drink menu. 

Excusing myself from Kim’s rant about how she would like to “take them to bed”, I stopped in front of Steve and Bucky with a large smile on my face. 

“Well look who we have here,” I sang while placing my forearms on the bar and leaning over towards them. 

It was hard to hear in the packed bar. 

“I didn’t know you worked here,” Steve smiled. 

Bucky remained quiet, eyes still glued towards the drink menu so I kept my attention on Steve. 

“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me, Steve.” I reminded him. “So what are we drinking?”

Steve and Bucky had a quick and quiet conversation before Bucky nodded behind me. 

“Whatever you have on tap is fine.” 

I couldn’t help but freeze and blink at the sound of his voice. Something about it rang a large bell in my brain but I couldn't put a finger on what. 

“Uh, yeah sure. Of course.” I nodded. 

My hands shook as I poured their drinks, trying to calm my shaking hands. I let out a few breaths before returning back to them, a smile playing at my lips. 

“Here ya go. Did you want to keep your tab open?” I asked. 

Steve nodded. “Yeah we’re not in a rush.” 

I nodded back and as I placed their drinks in front of them, I noticed Bucky went to grab it with his left hand that was covered with a leather glove. Not wanting to stare and be weird, I coughed while throwing a thumb over my shoulder. 

“I’ve got to make my rounds. Let me know if you guys need something.” 

A quick ten minutes passed by as I refilled many drinks and small talked before I decided to check on Bucky and Steve. I noticed, however, that Steve’s stool was empty and Bucky was staring at the TV behind the bar. 

The same weird feeling filled my veins and I took a deep breath hoping that whatever this feeling was that it would disappear soon. 

“Need a refill?” I motioned towards his almost empty glass. 

“Sure, thank you,” He nodded. 

“Would Steve like one?” I asked. 

“Yeah, he only stepped out for a call.” 

After filling up their glasses, I placed it back on the bar. “Let me know if you need anything else.” 

I could tell by the way his shoulders tensed and the way he kept his hands grasped together on the bar that he did not want to have a conversation, he wanted to be left alone. 

As the night went on, I couldn’t help but think of why Bucky wore the glove on his left hand. Maybe he was missing fingers? Or maybe his left hand gets colder than his right? 

“Christ Y/N, you don’t even know him and you can't stop thinking about him,” I muttered to myself as I wiped down the counter.

“Thinking about who?” Kim asked as she came up from behind me. 

“Can you not give your best bartender a heart attack, please?” I exasperated while clutching my chest. 

“Could you be thinking about the two men sitting at the end of the bar?” Kim raised her eyebrows in a suggestive way. 

Giving a quick glance over her shoulder, I noticed that Steve and Bucky were still in their same spots, slowly nursing their third beer. They both looked like they were not in a rush to leave. 

Not that I was complaining. 

“They’re my new neighbors,” I admitted. “I can’t help but wonder about them.” 

“That’s a threesome I would love to be a part of.” Kim giggled. 

Shaking my head with a laugh, I motioned towards the stack of clean cups that were just placed on the bar. “I have work to do, Kim.” 

As I stacked the cups on the bar, I sensed someone sitting in the seat in front of me. I didn’t have to look up to see who it was, I could feel the creepiness ooze out of him. 

“What do you want, Mike?” I asked, not stopping what I was doing. 

“Go out with me,” Mike slurred while finishing off his beer. 

I shook my head. “You ask me out every Friday night and I always say no. When are you going to get it?” 

“C’mon. You’re saying no because you don’t know what you’re missing. Just one date.” 

“The reason why I always say no is because of your pregnant wife that waits for you to come home every night,” I informed while finally meeting his gaze. 

“She doesn’t have to know,” Mike grabbed my hand, a little too rough for my liking. 

“I’m only going to say this once, let go.” I stated, voice firm and not faltering. 

“Just one kiss?” His lips puckered as he started to lean over the bar. 

“She already said no. If you need help understanding, I’d be happy to help.” 

My eyes landed on Bucky who was now standing next to Mike and the way his shoulders tensed under his leather jacket made my stomach tingle. Mike dropped my hand before sauteing away, embarrassed he was turned down yet again. 

“Thank you,” I said to Bucky. “He comes in every Friday and still won’t take the hint I’m not interested.”

Bucky nodded with a small smile. “Anytime.” 

We fell in silence as our eyes locked and the blue color of his eyes rang that bell in my brain again. Something about those eyes were so familiar but I couldn’t tell how. 

“Um, did you and Steve need anything?” I asked, hoping to ease the sudden tension between us. 

“We’re ready to close the tab,” he stuttered for a moment, obviously feeling the sudden weird feeling that wrapped around us. 

A quick second later, I handed him the receipt with a quick thank you. “I’ll see you guys around?” 

Bucky nodded and handed back the receipt signed before walking out of the bar with Steve, who gave me a quick wave goodnight. 

I paid no attention to the name on the receipt, the $100 tip clipped to it immediately taking my attention. 

“Mom, I still have one more semester before I graduate. We shouldn’t be planning a party yet. Yes, I passed all of my exams. I have a two week break before classes start up again. No, I think I’m going to stay home and enjoy some me time. Oh god, no mother I will not go ask my neighbors to hang with me! I really wish I never told you about them. Alright, I’m hanging up now, love you.” 

With a loud sigh, I ended the call and tossed my phone onto the couch with my body following. I had finished my last exams the other day and after passing them all, I decided to celebrate with a two week vacation from work. Just Salem and I in our apartment watching crappy movies and eating crappy food. 

I didn’t want to tell my mom that another reason why I wanted to stay home and recoup is because of the nightmares I was having. Every night for the last two weeks, I dream of people screaming and dying. The terrors kept me up and I was amazed that I was able to finish this semester without failing. 

“Where is that cat anyway?” I questioned while standing up from the couch. “Salem, baby, where are you?”

After looking in all of his favorite hiding spots twice, it was when I walked back into the living room that I finally noticed the front door was open just a tad; enough for him to walk through. 

I was on the phone with my mom when I returned back from my morning shift at work and must have forgotten to shut the door behind me. 

“Fuck,” I cursed while running out into the hall. “Salem?!” 

A door clicked open and Steve was in the hall, a worried look on his face. “Hey, everything alright?” 

Letting out a shaky breath, I shook my head. “My cat got out and I can’t find him anywhere.”

“Is he black?” Steve questioned while leaning against his doorframe. 

“Yeah, have you seen him?” I asked, hopeful. 

Steve only nodded and motioned for me to follow him. 

Once in his apartment, I found myself breathing a large sigh of relief at the sight in front of me. Salem was lounging on their couch cuddling with a beautiful white, long haired cat. 

“It seems like Salem found himself a girlfriend,” Steve laughed. 

“I didn’t know you guys had a cat,” I said while picking up Salem and giving him love. 

Steve motioned me to sit on the couch, which I happily obliged. “Alpine is Bucky’s.”

“Well, she’s adorable. If Salem goes missing again, I’ll know where to look.” I giggled as Salem jumped from my lap and laid next to Alpine again. “Thank you for finding him.”

“Would you like anything to drink?” Steve questioned. 

Immediately I shook my head. “No, I should probably go. We’ve imposed enough.” 

I said the last part towards Salem mostly and went to leave but Steve shook his head. 

“You’re not. Salem is welcome here anytime. You too.” 

Steve’s small smile warmed my heart and I found myself lounging into the couch. “Thank you.”

We made small talk for a while, him asking how my semester finished at school, and I swore I never told him about finishing but waved it off. I’ve been so tired lately that I could have easily forgotten to tell him. 

“So how are you and Bucky liking Brooklyn?” I asked. 

Steve leaned back into the couch and rested his arm across the back of it. “We both actually grew up here. We left for work and decided to spend the rest of our days here.” 

Something about the way that Steve said put a little fear and hesitation in me. Even with his long hair slicked back and his full beard covering his face, something about him rang some sort of familiarity in me. 

“So,” I started, deciding to change the subject hoping the fear would disappear, “Where is Bucky?”

Steve’s brows perked at my interest in his roommate's whereabouts. “What, I’m not good enough for the company?” 

A loud giggle left my lips. “Eh, you’re alright.” 

We both shared a loud laugh and suddenly, the front door opened and a very sweaty Bucky entered the apartment. My eyes locked in on his broad chest that the muscles were defined in his extra tight Henley. The long sleeves encased his large arms and when I noticed the leather glove on his left hand again, I quickly averted my gaze back to his face. To my surprise, he was doing the same to me. 

His eyes took in my tired appearance and when they rested on Salem next to me, a small smile came to his lips. “You just can't stay away from Alpine, can ya buddy?” 

My eyes doubled in size. “He’s been here before?!” 

Bucky walked into the kitchen and took a long swig of water before nodding. “A few times now. I found out he walks through the fire escape and comes in through the open window in my bedroom.” 

I looked at Salem, appalled that he was having these little rendezvous. 

“So that’s what you’ve been doing while I’ve been gone?” I asked him. 

His face said everything he would if he could talk. 

Absolutely zero fucks given. 

“I’m so sorry that he keeps on bothering you guys.” I apologized to them. 

“It’s alright, we don’t mind him.” Steve informed as Salem jumped into his lap. 

The clock on the wall let me know that I was here for over an hour. “Well, I’ll let you guys get back to your night.”

Salem followed suit as Steve walked us to the door, showing us out. Bucky remained in his place in the kitchen and I felt his gaze on me as I walked out.

“No, please!” 

My body was locked into place on my bed, the nightmare pressing down on me. 

“I’ll do whatever you want. Just don’t kill me!”

Soft whimpers escaped my closed lips as hands wrapped around a throat, cutting off their airway. 

The scene changed to a large room with a chair in the middle. Screams were heard bouncing off the walls, screams of pain and despair. A man dressed in an old army uniform stood in front of me, a language I had not known coming from his lips. He only spoke ten words. 

Longing. 

Rusted. 

Seventeen. 

Daybreak.

Furnace. 

Nine. 

Benign. 

Homecoming. 

One.

Freight car. 

Even though it was in a language I hadn’t heard before, I understood every single word. 

“Soldat?” 

“Ready to comply.” 

The voice came from my own throat and I awoke in a quick start, a loud scream ringing throughout my apartment. I shook with fear, that voice sounded so familiar and it shook me to the core knowing that a different voice came through me. 

A loud knock sounding at my front door caused me to jump from my bed, my body falling onto the floor with a hard thud. I backed myself into the corner of my room as the knocking continued, afraid that whatever nightmare I was having was coming true. 

“Y/N?” 

Bucky’s soft voice sounded outside my front door and with a quick jump, I was at my door, opening it slightly. 

I was met with his very tired eyes and suddenly felt guilty for waking him up from my nightmares. 

“Hey, I heard you screaming. Is everything alright?” He questioned while peaking over my head into my apartment. 

“I’m sorry for waking you. I just had a bad dream, that’s all.” 

My voice came out hoarse and quiet. 

Bucky nodded. “Okay. Well, let me know if you need anything, alright?” 

Giving him a small smile of thanks, I shut the door and quickly locked it. Not before noticing that he only kept his left hand in his pocket the entire time. 

I sat up in bed, arms wrapped around my knees that were pulled up against my chest, afraid that if I fell asleep again that I would have another nightmare. The sun was casting a golden glow in my room and the warmth felt nothing against my cold skin. 

After Bucky left, I couldn’t find it in myself to fall back asleep so I tried everything I could to stay awake; multiple cups of coffee, listening to music, and watching countless movies. I was starting to lose the fight, feeling exhausted and before I could stop myself my body fell onto the mattress, sleep winning. 

Two men dressed in suits walked up stairs to an apartment. The warm summer breeze blowing through their hair. My hand extended towards the other man, the face being so familiar but yet unknown to me, and he took the key with gratitude. 

“Thank you but I can get by on my own.” The smaller man said. 

“The thing is, you don’t have too.” 

Words escaped through my lips again, in a different voice. 

This dream was different from all the others. I didn't feel death or scared; I felt warmth and love. 

My hand was placed on the smaller man's shoulders. “I’m with you till the end of the line, punk.” 

“I know, jerk.”

My dream shifted to another memory and I found myself being surrounded with trees and a large group of people around me. I was invisible to them, no one noticed I was there. There were cheers and applause, something worth celebrating for. 

“Hey! Let’s hear it for Captain America!” 

I awoke and found myself back into my own apartment, Salem laying softly next to me with a quiet purr coming from him. 

Breathing a sigh of relief, I rolled out of bed and walked into the open main living space of my apartment and was getting ready to find something for breakfast but my feet froze when I noticed what time it exactly was. 

“Six o'clock?! What the hell, did I sleep the whole day away?” I groaned. 

Debating on what I would do with the rest of my night, I decided that I would try and relax by taking a hot bubble bath. After that much needed bath, I walked back into the living room in my usual pjs that consisted of an oversized t-shirt and an old pair of an ex's boxers, and noticed that Salem was not alone on the couch; Alpine had decided to join us tonight. 

“Well hello, does your dad know you’re over here?” 

As soon as the words left my lips, there was a knock at my door. 

Blue eyes pierced my own as the door opened and I was overtaken with an urge to jump into Bucky’s arms; I didn’t. 

It was already awkward enough that I was standing in front of him looking like a hot mess. 

“I’m guessing Alpine is over here?” He asked while leaning against the door frame. 

I nodded with a smile. “Yeah. I can send her back home if you’d like but I do have to say, they look pretty comfortable.” 

Moving to the side, I let Bucky peek into my apartment at the couch where our two cats laid cuddled together. 

“You can send her home later,” Bucky laughed. “I’ll let you get back to your night.” 

Before I could stop myself, I gently grabbed his right arm to stop him. “Actually, if you want to stay you can. I was going to order some food and watch a movie.” 

Bucky stuffed his hands in his sweater pocket and hesitated. “I don’t want to impose.” 

“Not at all,” I spoke with a smile and opened the door more to let him inside. 

“Uh, Steve was actually picking up some Chinese for us. I could tell him to pick something up for you too,” Bucky suggested. 

“That would be great, thank you. I’m fine with whatever you guys are having.” 

While Bucky was on the phone with Steve, I quickly excused myself to change. I suddenly found myself wanting to impress Bucky. After deciding on a pair of skin tight leggings and an oversized white knit sweater, I tossed my hair a bit, giving it some type of wave, before walking out into the main living area. 

“Steve is going to be awhile. The Chinese place is busy,” Bucky informed me. 

I waved him off, saying it was alright. “Can I offer you anything to drink?”

“Beer is fine, thank you.” 

After giving him one, I sat on the opposite side of the couch while pulling my feet under me. 

“How long have you and Steve known each other?” I asked. 

“Uh, since we were kids. We basically grew up on the playground together.” 

Something about him and my nightmares had this weird connection that I wasn’t able to put my finger on. If my mother had a say in it she would tell me that it was the whole ‘soulmate dreamers’ but I never believed in that stuff. It was an old wise tale that  her great-great-great grandparents told her.

“Well what do you want to know about me? Ask me anything,” I offered. 

Bucky placed his empty bottle on the table in front of him before leaning back into the couch. His arm rested on the back, fingers close to my knees. 

“Steve said that you’re in law school?” He asked. 

“Yup, I’ve got one semester left before I graduate.” I spoke proudly. “My parents have six kids, me being the oldest, so being the first one to graduate is big. My mom wants to start planning a party.”

“She seems very proud,” Bucky noted. 

I nodded. “She is. I don’t see my family very much, they live in Greece. I moved here at eighteen for school.” 

“That sounds tough.” 

“It can be at times.” I admitted. 

A silence fell between us and I looked over to his arm that rested on the back of the couch, noticing he was wearing the glove again. I then remembered that he only ever wore long sleeves when I was around. I knew it was none of my business but I couldn’t help but wonder what was underneath his shirt and glove. 

Suddenly I found myself wondering what was underneath his black sweatpants and heat spread through my body. Flash images of two people in bed together played in my mind. Sweaty, hot bodies pressed against each other and their moans were in sync. 

“Y/N?” 

Looking towards Bucky, the images disappeared from my mind, and I bit my lip. “I’m sorry, did you say something?” 

He nodded towards the door. “Steve’s here.” 

“Oh, sorry.”

I let Steve in with a smile, saying thank you for picking up some food. 

“Was I interrupting something?” He questioned while nodding towards Bucky's beer bottle and my empty wine glass. 

“Not at all, we were just talking.” I said. “Make yourself comfortable.” 

As I set out the food on the table, Steve punched Bucky in the shoulder. 

“Next time you’re picking up the food, punk.” 

Bucky laughed. “Sure thing, jerk.” 

My body froze when I heard those familiar words. 

Punk. 

Jerk.

“Y/N, are you alright?” Steve asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” 

“Uh, actually I’m not feeling well. I’m sorry guys but I’m going to have to cut the night short.” I lied. 

Bucky went to speak but I stopped him by nodding towards the door. “Can you lock up for me?” 

Not bothering to hear their response, I ran into my room and locked the door behind me. 

Weeks had passed by, me busying myself with school and work, as I tried to avoid Steve and Bucky. Ever since that night we all hung out, I tried to make sense of this whole situation. I didn’t know much about them and was afraid of what I would find out. 

The nightmares had ended after that night and I could sleep easier knowing that the screams of death would no longer haunt me. 

I still felt guilty, however, ignoring Steve and Bucky. They both had been nothing but nice and sweet to me and I cut them out of my life with no explanation. 

Letting out a soft sigh, I let my door close behind me as I made my way towards the laundry room on my floor. My laundry had started to pile up and I knew I couldn't keep hiding out in my apartment. I was running out of clean clothes. 

A soft tune from the 1940’s played through my phone, me finding this music relaxing, as I was shut out of the outside world. My hips swayed to the music and I was oblivious to the man who entered the room.

“You’ll never know how many dreams. I’ve dreamed about you or just how empty they all seemed without you. So kiss me once, then kiss me twice then kiss me once again. It’s been a long, long time,” I softly sang the words. 

“This has to be one of my favorite songs.” 

Dropping my basket of clothes on the ground, I turned on my heels and was face to face with one of the men I was avoiding. 

“How long have you been standing there?” I questioned. 

Bucky set his basket of clothes down on the table. “Since the start of the song.” 

“Well, I’m just about finished.” I rushed while picking up the clothes that fell out of my basket.

“Y/N, did we do something?” Bucky asked. 

I shook my head. “I’ve been busy with school and work. Speaking of which, I’ve got a paper due in an hour so I should get started.”

As I tried to walk out, Bucky stepped in front of me to stop me. “If I did anything to make you feel uncomfortable, I’m sorry.” 

“Bucky, you didn’t do anything. I’ve just been really busy.” I admitted with a sigh. 

Finally looking up at him, I noticed how close we were and I sucked in a breath. His lips were plump and punk from underneath his beard and I fought the urge to see how they tasted. 

He gently raised a hand to move a strand of hair from my face. “You’re a terrible liar.” 

His voice was soft and quiet.  

“I really should get started on that paper,” I whispered.

Gloved fingers grazed my chin and forced me to look into his eyes. I couldn't ignore the coldness that seeped through the leather.  

“Before you go,” Bucky’s breath fanned over my lips and his other hand reached around my hip, “You don’t want to forget this.” 

My eyes looked away from him and my cheeks burned with fire when I noticed that he was holding up one of my red lace bra and panty sets. I hastily grabbed them and tossed them into my basket. 

“I bet red looks really good on you,” He murmured into my neck.

Heat filled my veins at the gruffness of his voice and I shifted on my feet trying to hide my arousal. 

“I’ll-uh-see you around, Bucky.” I muttered while quickly running out of the room back to my apartment to take a long, cold shower. 

Tightness engulfed my throat as the air was being sucked out of me. I tried to yell, scream, but nothing would come out. The hand around my throat tightened with every fight and my vision became hazy. Life was being squeezed out of me and there was nothing I could do to stop it. 

My eyes, before fading to black, looked from the dark eyes peeking through the long strands of hair and down towards the arm that was wrapped around my neck. Except it wasn't a normal arm, it was cold and hard. 

It was metal. 

A loud knock woke me from my nap on the couch and I let out a big sigh of relief that I was able to breathe again. This was the first nightmare I had in weeks and this one felt so real; I truly thought I was going to die. 

Another knock sounded on the door. 

“Coming!” I yelled while getting up from the couch. 

“Let’s go.” 

Steve grabbed my hand and pulled me out of my apartment, locking the door behind me. 

“What’s going on?” I asked, trying to plant my feet in place. 

“You’ve been ignoring us for weeks, Y/N. You’re hanging out with us tonight.” 

“But-,” I started. 

We stopped in front of Steve’s door and he shook his head. “Bucky said you’ve been busy with school and work so you’re relaxing with beers and crappy movies, okay?”

Realizing that this was a fight I wasn’t going to win, I sighed. “Fine but you’re paying for the beers. And I want an extra large cheese pizza.” 

“Deal,” Steve smiled. 

“Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be back soon.” Steve let me into his apartment and with a quick wave, he was down the stairs. 

I could hear water running behind a door and I figured that Bucky was in the shower. Biting my lip, I tried to picture what he looked like with the water cascading down his broad chest to his hips and even lower.

“Get a hold of yourself, Y/N.” I muttered while sitting on the couch. 

I spent the next few minutes cuddling with Alpine, waiting for Steve to return, and when the bathroom door clicked open my previous thoughts had come true. 

Bucky stood in front of me with a black towel wrapped loosely around his waist, obviously not expecting me to be sitting in front of him. Water dripped from his hair and I followed it down his naked torso. My mouth ran dry when I noticed the glistening shine coming from his arm. 

His metal arm. 

“What’re you doing here?” He asked, not bothering to tighten the towel around him. 

I could tell that he was nervous when he saw that I couldn’t take my eyes off his left arm. 

“Uh-Steve, he uh, went to get something to eat,” I stammered over my words. 

The man that I had been dreaming about, having nightmares about, was standing in front of me and I realized that the folklore my mom used to tell me growing up was in fact true. 

Bucky was my soulmate. 

“Your arm,” I pointed towards it. “Oh my god, you killed people.” 

Bucky shifted, his body tensed. “I can explain.” 

I stood on my feet and made a run for the door. Bucky stepped in front of me to stop me. His bare chest was in front of me and I refused to look into his eyes. 

“Please let me explain, Y/N,” He pleaded. 

I shook my head, voice almost gone. “I really should go.” 

“I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.” His hands cupped my face and forced me to look at him. “I’m not that person anymore. That was years ago.” 

When I didn’t fight him, he sighed before continuing. “Just give me five minutes and I can tell you wherever you want to know.”

“I already know what I need to know. I dreamed of your memories for months, their screams and cries kept me up every single night,” I stated. 

Before I could register what was going on, Bucky had me over his shoulder and was walking towards his room. My butt fell onto his bed with a soft thud and he kicked the door shut. I backed up as far as I could, my back hitting his headboard. 

“Y/N, please,” Bucky begged. “If I wanted to hurt you, don’t you think I would have done so already?” 

When I was silent, he knew that I couldn’t argue with that question. 

“Why’d you do it?” I questioned, voice shaky with sobs. 

“I’ll explain everything as long as you’ll let me but can I get dressed first?” He motioned towards the towel.

Giving a small nod, I turned my back to him, allowing him to get dressed. When the bed dipped down next to me, I looked over to him and noticed he opted out of putting on a shirt. His metal arm out on full display. 

“I never thought it was true; soulmate dreamers. My mom would tell me these stories growing up but that's all I thought they were. Stories,” I said. 

“That’s why you dreamed of my memories?” Bucky asked. 

I nodded. “They weren’t all bad. I dreamt of times with both you and Steve. You two were in a war and you called him Captain America?” 

That was when Bucky explained everything. How after his time in the war, he was kidnapped by this highly known terrorist group called Hydra and they used him and his arm as a weapon of destruction. They would freeze him then unfreeze him when they needed him to kill someone. When he was done, they would wipe his memory and freeze him again. Which would explain why he looked so young; he was born in 1917. 

“I don’t understand. I’ve been living in New York for years and I can’t believe I’ve never heard of you guys before,” I said astonished. “And Steve was frozen in ice for over 70 years?”

“After everything we’ve been through, we decided to come back home and try to live normally,” Bucky said. 

I sat up on my knees. “Did you ever have dreams of me?” 

A warm smile played on Bucky's lips. “Every night.” 

“Of what?” 

“When you were five years old and your parents surprised you with the puppy you’d been wanting for so long. Or the time that after your 16th birthday, you snuck out of your house to see a boy but after you climbed down the tree, your dad was outside waiting for you.” 

A giggle left my lips. “I got in so much trouble.” 

“My favorite is when you were singing in the laundry room to my favorite song. That was when I knew I was in love with you,” Bucky admitted. 

“That happened earlier today,” I reminded him. 

Bucky nodded. “I knew it from the moment I saw you when I moved in that you were my soulmate. I dreamt of you for months before meeting you.” 

“What does this mean now?” I wondered while reaching for his metal hand. “We both know that we’re meant to be together but what do we do?”

His flesh fingers brought my face closer to his and without saying a word, our lips collided together. The kiss was fast, needy, but slow at the same time. His lips tasted exactly how I thought they would; minty. I climbed into his lap while running my hands through his hair, deepening the kiss. 

“Bucky,” I mumbled into his lips.

“Hm?” 

“I. really. Don't. want. To,” I spoke in between kisses. “I don’t want to ruin the moment but we’ve got four eyes staring at us.” 

Bucky pulled away and we both looked over to the window where both Alpine and Salem stood, watching us. 

“It seems like we’re not the only soulmates,” I giggled, feeling Bucky’s lips brush against the sensitive skin of my neck. 

“You know what I’m wondering?” He pondered. 

“What's that?” I breathed while brushing the hair out of his face. 

“If you’re wearing that red number underneath these clothes,” Bucky groaned. 

I raised my eyebrows in seduction. “Why don’t you find out?” 

Our laughs and moans were heard throughout his apartment. That night I slept with a warm body next to mine and the nightmares had stopped; for good. 

[bettsfic]

Betts. how do I stop feeling jealous of everyone and everything and just focus on myself? I'm tired of being comprised of nothing but envy.

story time:

so i was recently at Millay, which is one of the top artist residencies in the country. they have an acceptance rate of something like 3%. when i was shown my room, there was a packet of all the residents' artist bios. i sat down and read through all of them. most of them were like half a page in length, single-spaced, listing out accomplishments i could never dream of. one artist had won a guggenheim. one author had published 12 books. another author published her first book at 19 years old. these were people who were extremely well accomplished and respected in their fields.

and we all became very good friends!

and then there was me. my bio was 3 sentences listing out a couple short publications and awards and other residencies i'd done. and my honest to god first thought was, "wow, the jurors must have really liked my writing to have accepted me among all these great artists."

and my second thought was, "that's the healthiest thing i have ever thought."

i had no jealousy of their accomplishments. even though my career hadn't even begun compared to theirs, i didn't attend dinner that night with any impostor syndrome. and that confirmed for me that i had grown out of whatever place i used to be in as a person, where i was basically a raw wound wrapped in barbed wire. everything hurt me and i hurt everything in return.

jealous feelings come from an intense need of external approval, but as i've mentioned in other asks, approval and validation is a well that gets filled over time. at our introductory dinner that night, i didn't talk about my work in the hope of convincing everyone i deserved to be there, which was what i would've done a few years before. instead we all ended up talking about a TV show. the most highbrow place i've ever been in my life, and we're getting wine drunk and discussing at length a cheesy discovery channel reality series. the guggenheim winner: loves box turtles. the guy who's published 12 books: his favorite movie is Spirited Away. the girl who published a book at 19: reads One Direction fanfic. the well-lauded poet: old school tumblrina.

actually, 4 out of 7 of us read fanfic and we had some great conversations about it. sometime i'll tell you about introducing the co-director of the residency to AO3.

when you think of the most accomplished and successful writer you've ever read, remember that they are, at the very core of their being, a nerd. and if you were to eat dinner with them, you would, with enough polite inquisitiveness, be able to unlock the goofy side of them that binges Property Brothers.

so that was the big change for me, i think. i started asking a lot of questions. i stopped talking and i started listening. it seems counterintuitive that admitting to not knowing stuff shows confidence, but it does. pretending you know stuff is what looks insecure. i think for me, i put so much of myself in my work, i wanted my work to be lauded so i could feel accomplished, and feeling accomplishment would let me believe i deserved to exist. but over time, i've reframed that mentality. my work is a thing that exists beyond me and is private to those who read it. it comes from me, but it is not me. what i am is just the person i am, and my life is a series of moments i choose for myself, and i am allowed to exist.

even sending this ask shows that you've begun filling your well. it takes someone who's already come a long way to realize jealousy isn't the status quo and is a feeling to be overcome. and you can overcome it. you can reach a place where you have enough success that other people's success has nothing to do with you, and you're free to just be happy for them. and when you read work that's better than yours you feel joy at learning something new.

so put your work into the world and let it be rejected. you'll rack up a couple wins or close calls, and those will give you energy to be rejected some more. and eventually you'll be rejected so much that rejection doesn't feel like anything, and you will have won enough to realize your work has a place in the world, and that place is no bigger or smaller than anyone else's. your work is allowed to exist simply as it is, and you are allowed to exist simply as you are.

[gingerteawrites]

Beyond the limelight - Gojo Satoru

A/N: Wow thank you all so much for enjoying Limelight. As promised, here is a short epilogue to conclude the story. If you haven't already, read the main story here.

I will write more actor!Gojo x reader headcannons if requested, so do let me know!

Content: actor!Gojo x female reader, fluff.

Divider by @v6que

Glamor and glitz were the words of the night. Cameras flashing with blinding lights, and the carpet bearing witness to opulence that tethered the line of gaudiness.

Here it was, the culmintation of years of hard work. Of taking on seemingly insignificant roles and incessant practice. Years and years until Gojo finally made it into brightest spot of the limelight. The summum of any actor’s career. The academy awards.

After a rather exciting time on the red carpet, the ‘Romeo and Juliet’ cast and crew members took their place at their assigned table in the decorated theater. Distinct emotions tinged their light chatter; excitement, hope, and palpable nerves. The movie had done phenomenally in theatres, breaking box office records and earning nominations in multiple categories.

And with that came the hope of recognition. Awards were not everything, but they certainly were not nothing. You held the same hope in your heart, nestled between the cushions of your green couch and pillows, eyes fixed on the broadcast.

A series of fanciful montages and an eternity of product placements later, the hosts of the night finally climb the stage to announce the winner of the “best actor” category.

“And finally, the award for best actor goes to…” the lady’s voice draws out the suspense, directing an enigmatic smile at the camera. Your heart was thrumming in your chest, Gojo could hear his heartbeat vibrating in his ears.

A second passed, and you waited with bated breath. Separated by physical distance, but united in sentiments.

“Gojo Satoru! As Romeo,” the host all but shouted into the microphone, and the entire audience erupted in cheers.

You screamed in joy behind your TV, and being nudged out of a daze by the director, Gojo makes his way to the stage on unsteady feet. His hands are still trembling slightly when he is handed the award, but finally standing in front of the microphone, he steadies himself.

“Wow, is this what it feels like to be speechless?” The audience laughs faintly while he takes another moment to gather his thoughts. He breathes out, and leans in closer to the mic.

“I want to thank all of the production team for their efforts in this, everyone worked so, so hard,” he grinned towards his table, “thank you to all my fans who always support my projects, it really means the world,” a dazzling smile is directed into the camera.

He then looks down, his smile morphing into a more subdued one, a more earnest one. “But above all, thank you, my one and only love, watching at home,” he looks into the camera, and even though you are miles apart, you feel his gaze on you. Tears pool in your eyes. “For being my anchor when I felt like I was drifting away. For allowing me the room to grow and flourish. For letting me talk your ears off. I love you forever.”

And with that he stepped off the stage, waving at the assembly that presented a standing ovation.

It is needless to say that social media went into absolute madness after that speech. That bold declaration of love.

[OMG so he’s not dating Yuki?]

[It has to be a non-celeb then]

[So lucky bro]

[This was one hell of a hard launch]

Though you remained anonymous, Gojo honoring his commitment to you, he had still declared his love for you. Even in the brightest spot of the limelight, he belonged with you. And though you stood out of its blinding intensity, you too, belonged with him.

------------------------------------★★--------------------------------------

[Hi love, just a heads up. I won’t be home when you get there, got that one work presentation I told you about] you typed quickly, phone in one hand and sandwich in another. After this lunch break, you were scheduled to present data on a project you were recently put in charge of, and your nerves were running high.

You knew a promotion hung on the line, a long anticipated one.

But Satoru had been there to encourage you all the way, listening to your rants about uncooperative co-workers and offering to help you practice. A smile graced your lips at the thought.

He was as busy as ever, now sought out by most of the major production companies. Gojo Satoru was beyond popular. He was a household name. But beyond the exhausting days and filled out schedules, time made for each other was all the more intentional. Honest conversations and comforting touches. You grew and you loved.

[Gotcha! And remember what I said, don’t stress bby. I know you’re going to kick it out of the park (๑•̀ㅂ•́)و✧] The reply elicited a chuckle from you.

[I’ll remember that. I love you]

[love you too bebe]

You cleaned your hands and returned to your desk, grabbed all the needed documents. You took in a deep breath and relaxed your shoulders. You got this.

------------------------------------★★--------------------------------------

Click clack

You took your keys out of the hole and stepped in, door closing quietly behind you.

Your nose immediately caught whiff of the pleasant aroma that permeated your living room. You heard Satoru’s voice, belting along with Rihanna to umbrella, causing you to smile.

He pauses as soon as he catches a glimpse of you. ”Hey sweetheart!” He beams at you, turning the volume down.

“Hi Satoru,” you’re hanging your jacket, “What are you making?”

“Well, your favorite, of course!” He comes into full view, and you laugh at the sight of his flower-embroidered apron. “Now, cut the suspense. How did the meeting go?”

You look to the ground, sighing dejectedly as you finally manage to slip out of your shoes. Immediately the mood shifts, and Gojo steps closer, arms open.

“Oh I’m so sorry,” he is right about to engulf you in the most comforting hug ever when you look up with a bright smile.

“Sorry for what? I got the promotion!” You jump with joy, and he picks you up, twirling you around the small living room. Gleeful laughs fill the space as you secure your arms around his neck.

He finally sets you down, but still holds your waist, pulling you close for a kiss. Then another. “I’m so proud of you, Y/N. You’ve worked so hard for this,” The earnest words make a pout appear on your lips and tears threaten to fall from your eyes. He promptly kisses them away, dragging you into the kitchen. “And now time for the celebratory meal!”

You’re helping set the table when you notice something.

“Satoru why are there 2 cakes?” he dashes over to you as you open the box with a cake that reads ‘they suck anyway’

“Wrong one,” he swiftly pulls that one away, and opens the one that said ‘I always knew you could do it!’

You burst into laughter, taking in the view of your lover. You fight for each other in big and small ways. The man with whom you grow and learn. Your heart feels more full than your stomach after that dinner. Laid down on your couch, in each others’ embrace.

Reblogs and comments are much appreciated(❁´◡`❁)

[occamstfs]

Higher Education

Bit of a belated 4/20 TF! Reliving the heady days of his weed-filled youth may not help a professor's tenure track. Enjoy! -Occam

It had been quite a while since Richard had cut himself some slack. He was on track to be tenured and the obligations and rigor involved gave him little time to himself. His department has really become more of a family to him than his estranged once loved ones. He spends more waking hours in this office than any room of his spacious home. Today he’s burning the midnight oil yet again as he mars a doctoral candidate’s thesis draft in red ink.

Seeing just how much of a scarlet mess he has left for this poor student he pauses to make himself a cup of tea. He certainly doesn’t want to be seen as too critical or crotchety, though he feels assured that his students know this. Upon returning to his desk he finds a small wrapped gift box resting squarely on the marked up essay. He knows precisely who it is from and chuckles as he looks at the kitschy weed-themed wrapping paper. 

Picking it up he hears something small and light shake around in the box. The tag reads: “Happy 4-20 Old Man, why not live a little- your favorite Candidate, Mac.” Slowly unwrapping it Richard smiles wistfully as he recalls way way back to when he was in undergrad. Walking down smoke filled dorm hallways bleary-eyed as he contributes to it. Just smoking grass on the main lawn welcoming anyone to open their minds at these little sessions. An alarm goes off on his computer shaking him from his reverie as he sets the gift down to respond to the pile of emails that have accrued today.

Richard begins his cookie-cutter responses to colleagues, scratching backs and brown nosing as need be to advance his own career. Not too long into this dull work however does he begin to smell that unmistakable skunky scent coming from Mac’s half opened gift. He scoffs and rolls his eyes, shocked that his subordinate would fully shepherd drugs into his office before pausing to remember that weed is legal here, in this state at least. He tosses the box in the bag making sure the scent can’t escape as he returns his attention to the ocean of busywork.

He cannot find purchase however as he finds himself impossibly distracted, the tea he made tastes bitter in his mouth and every so often he smells a whiff of the joint hiding in his bag. Richard rushes through a couple of responses before checking the clock and realizing Mac was right, partly that is. He can afford to head out a little early. It is a holiday of his youth after all, he thinks to himself smiling mischievously as he grabs his coat and heads to his home. 

Tenured he may not be but he makes enough to live incredibly close to campus. It’s about five so theoretically the work day is over anyway, but he lives close enough that should there be need he could easily return. He would be happy to even, he puts his hand in the bag and fingers the ripped paper of the gift box. Patting it as if to say maybe another time, though resolving to chew out Mac for such an inappropriate gift. 

Tossing his bag on a chair and entering his quiet home he pours himself a drink and heads to watch the daily news. As soon as it touches his lips though he spits it out all over himself. It was beyond revolting, for the life in him he can’t figure out why though? It’s what he always has as a treat isn’t it? He wipes up his mess and grills himself as to what on Earth caused him to do that. Going down the list of possibilities he finds himself distracted as wafting from his open bag is the impossibly alluring scent of Mac’s joint. 

For a time he just sits and stares at his bag, mulling over any real consequences there could be to just letting himself smoke just this once. He’s sure his colleague Dr. Bennet can barely go a school week without smoking away at least a day. Flicking the metaphorical angel off his shoulder he decides to go for it. It’s just one joint, what could possibly go awry.

The doctor takes one massive hit and remembers that whatever the kids are smoking today is leagues more intense than the kush he had back when. He coughs heartily and stumbles into his kitchen to get some water, smiling as he remembers the old adage that coughing actually gets you higher. He pours a cup for himself, spilling a tad over the counter and neglecting to clean it up.

Richard decides to throw on a record before returning to his joint once more. God he remembers loving nothing more than just sitting and watching his wax spin on his player as smoke danced in the air. He reclines back and immediately feels more at home. He’s lived here for almost a decade now and never has he felt more comfortable than this moment. He laughs at himself wondering why he’s waited so long to smoke again. Maybe he should text Mac and thank him?

At this his phone rings and he sobers up almost immediately, his first couple hits washed away as he sees a text from his department head. He holds the joint with his lips as he uses both hands to unlock his phone, smoke sailing wistfully past his eyes as he starts to read it. Sitting there looking at the bright screen of his phone alongside the ever increasing smoke though his eyes quickly dry and he sets it down. How important could it be anyway? The workday is over; he is under no obligation to respond, he reasons. Surely it’s nothing. He sets his phone down and goes to lie back on the couch and listen to his old music, taking another massive hit.

He struggles to kick his shoes off as they suddenly grow uncomfortable on his feet, almost as if they were a couple sizes too small, that can’t be right though as if his feet were growing in his old age. He laughs at the idea, picturing clown feet at the bottom of his thin legs, not seeing in reality that his feet are starting to strain his socks. Nor could he possibly notice as their odor begins to mingle with the overpowering smell of weed filling his den.

His phone vibrates again and he furrows his brow before his eyes glaze over as intended. His clothes all over begin to feel a little uncomfortable on his body. He grimaces wondering what exactly the move is before duh, this is his house! He hits himself on his head as he decides to just strip, he was always half naked smoking outdoors back then he may as well do so in his own house. Taking off his clothes he doesn’t notice as there is a skip in the record as it changes, the grooves warp, harden, and shrink as his pristine record collection diminishes into a massive, slightly disheveled CD collection. Richard certainly doesn't notice as he scratches at his chest, the only thought in his head as he rips his joint once more is “Man, I love this song.”

He giggles once more as he hears his stomach rumble and he recalls what a persistent issue the munchies have always been for him. In fact it was one of the reasons he quit back in his grad school, he simply couldn’t afford all the weed along with the food budget that satisfying his cravings demanded. Shouldn’t be a problem now though, he thinks, he is an, uh? Pausing as the haziness sets in his eyes burning pink as the thoughts in his head slow. He’s a professor right? Though his mind slows he continues his steady crawl to raid whatever snacks lie in his cabinet.

There he, surprisingly, finds a stoner’s paradise. The shelves are lined with chips and cheap pastries beyond imagination. He once more holds the joint in his mouth as he reaches deep to double fist some bags of chips, tacitly continuing to smoke as his stomach rumbles in jubilation. In his gluttony he drops bags to the floor and laughs letting the joint fall to the floor wondering if the five second rule applies to weed, guffawing some more. He hears his own voice in his head telling him to keep it down but as if he’s going to listen to that square.

He turns up his CD player’s stereo in protest as his inner monologue grows more agitated. Dude you’ve gotta turn it down, you share a wall with the neighbors. He stuffs his hand in the potato chips and starts devouring them as he reflects on this. Shares a wall? But that would be he lives in a duplex, or wait? He looks around his place and sees it smaller than he remembers it, right? Continuing to scarf chips getting grease all over his hands and face as, so far beyond his notice, it begins to produce more oil itself than it has in decades. 

Continuing to snack he hears his phone ring as his boss is fully calling him now. Stumbling up and over to his phone Richard doesn’t notice as his thighs begin to fill his underwear. He had lost a lot of weight from his long years of working and now that he is finally indulging once more it seems a healthy weight is returning. Rubbing together as he makes his way to the couch, the friction draws his attention to just how pleasurable physicality is when he’s high. Gosh he needed this. 

He grows distracted as he arrives at the couch, his phone stops ringing before starting up again as his Department head calls once more. Seeing her contact picture appear he says aloud, “whatever bitch” laughing like an ass as he hangs up on her and sets his phone to do-not-disturb. Once more there is a buzz in the air as the music set up changes once more. Phone now in hand he starts to play music the only way he has ever known, wrinkles and the few gray hairs that remained totally disappearing from his face as he presses skip on his phone and is awash in adoration as his all time favorite album starts playing. 

He sits there and just takes in the music as he rubs his slightly distended stomach. Grimacing as he thinks he should start hitting the gym. He hears Mac all the time talking about how much he loves hitting the gym high. His heart suddenly flutters as he thinks about Mac and grows giggly again. He feels a pang in his head that such behavior is inappropriate. He is a prof- He’s a? His mind strains to recall what exactly he is. His eyes search the room looking for any hints before landing on the TV seeing the Daily News that has been playing through it all suddenly turn to static before coalescing into the video game Mac was always talking his ear off about in office hours. In the once professors mind though the only thought present is, Fuck! I love this game!

Energy surges through his body as he searches for a playstation remote. His pulse races as his excitement grows and he feels a desperate urge to stretch. He feels as his tendons extend. Rubbing his arms across his torso he feels his increased weight begin to coalesce into firm yet weighty muscle. His hands twitch and scratch against his increasing strength as he controls on the couch, moaning and laughing at just how lascivious this pleasure is, his voice vibrating deeper as the pitch of the song and video game blast louder in his head. Haha wait a second, he thinks, I’m so fuckin’ sore I must already be going to the gym faded with Mac right?

He blushes and stretches some more, feeling his back arch and his tight torso stretches to its limit before surging beyond it. His arms raised behind his head they grasp at air and feel the sought after remote and a hat which he instinctively throws on. Ah this hat is Mac’s isn’t it! He is briefly confused once more as he tries to remember what exactly his relationship is with Mac. It’s? He’s, are they roommates? Rich looks around the room, eyes shifting to where there once was a record collection, no a CD stand? Why would he need either of those though haha, as if Mac’s apartment has space for that!

Mac’s apartment. The thought repeats many times over in his mind and his eye twitches as he feels a pain that the high cannot make pleasurable. Grimacing, he decides to try and focus on the game. Black ink slowly staining his body as he clicks buttons. After little time at all though he realizes, fuck, it’s been so long since he’d hit that joint hasn’t it?

Pausing his game he uses his bleary eyes to scan his apartment floor for the roach. He didn’t drop it in the chip bag did he? He checks far too quickly to possibly see it before giving up. There’s gotta be an easier way to smoke some more right? Out of the corner of his eye he sees the rocks glass he was using as a stupid smile inches across his face. Through the haze in the room the only thing Rich can see when looking at such a cylinder is a bong. Rich reaches for it, the glass growing taller and embellishing as he does. In a fluid motion he snatches it and starts to stumble around and look for a lighter. 

Lucky for him in Mac’s apartment they seem to be scattered around as if they were decoration. Thinking of Mac his mind is a sea of conflict again and there is a sudden urge, a craving, a need to smoke right now. He lights the bowl and before he even inhales from the beyond filthy bong he is at ease once more. Smoke rocketing into his lungs he holds back a coughing fit before a giggle breaks the line and he loses control. 

Between each cough he feels himself lose something. He sees Mac and laughs at the idea that he could ever be in charge. Mac’s older than him, right? He sees an unfamiliar house that he could never afford as it turns to static and shrinks into a small one bedroom apartment that doesn’t even have his name on the lease. He sees a degree he sees multiple degrees and not only can he not imagine himself having the willpower to get them, he laughs at the idea that he would even want to sit through a single college course. Smoke fills the air as if he were hotboxing the apartment and he rubs his body as hair pushes its way out of his skin. He needs to shave, Mac like him smooth. 

Feeling his body once more, flexing his bare body against the couch and rubbing his hands across his itchy stomach smiling without a care in the world or a thought in his head he hears a key turn in the front door. His eyes stay closed as his smile grows wider and the only man, the only thing, that matters to him in the world approaches. Mac stands over him, dressed in a suit as he clearly came from the campus and says, “Miss me, Dick?”

Dick’s eyes burst open more bloodshot than could possibly be healthy and he stares wordlessly, longingly, into the eyes of the man domineering over him. He’s a little confused at what the smirk on his face could mean, but Dick is confused most of the time, so he’ll just wait for Mac to explain! 

He doesn’t. Mac leans in close to Dick’s ear and just whispers, “Happy 4-20 Doc. Thanks for giving in.” Then puts his mouth over Dick’s before his mind could even recognize the words being said. He loses control instantly without a hand touches his cock as it expands heartily, no underwear to hold it or his cum back as he forevermore loses control over his mind, of his life. Not that he minds, how bad could life be with someone as nice and great as Mac watching over him! The two continue to make out on Mac’s couch, not caring for the cleanliness of the suit as the bong is knocked onto the table. From now on there is little at all that Dick would care about at all besides his master, his Mac.

[nickeverdeen]

Dating yandere TUA characters

Luther Hargreeves

Luther insists on training you to be strong and capable, just like him

He believes that the only way you can be safe is if you can defend yourself

He constantly pushes you beyond your limits, often to the point of exhaustion, but he sees it as necessary to protect you

Luther frequently brings up shared memories, emphasizing how much you mean to him and how special your bond is

He uses these memories to create a sense of dependency, making it seem like no one else understands or cares for you as deeply as he does

As the de facto leader of the Hargreeves siblings, Luther naturally takes charge

He extends this authority into your relationship, making decisions on your behalf and expecting you to comply without question

He believes he knows what’s best for you and often dismisses your opinions

Luther talks about your future together as if it’s already decided, with plans for marriage, children, and a shared life

He doesn’t seek your input on these plans, instead presenting them as inevitable and perfect, making it hard for you to voice any doubts or objections

Luther loves taking you on spontaneous trips to remote and isolated places where you can be alone together

These adventures are meant to be romantic, but they also serve to keep you away from others and make you more reliant on him

He collects and cherishes items that remind him of you, like a lock of your hair, a piece of your clothing, or a note you wrote

He keeps these mementos in a secret box, often looking at them to feel closer to you

Luther overanalyzes your interactions with others, always on the lookout for potential threats

He questions you about your relationships and can become paranoid, interpreting innocent actions as signs of betrayal or disinterest

Luther needs constant reassurance of your love and commitment

He frequently asks if you love him and requires you to demonstrate your affection through words and actions, making it difficult for you to express any dissatisfaction or desire for space

Luther often physically places himself between you and perceived dangers, whether it’s a person or a situation

His protective nature can be comforting, but it also isolates you and limits your freedom

Luther exaggerates situations to make himself your hero

He might create problems just so he can solve them and reinforce the idea that you need him to protect and save you

Luther intervenes in your life decisions, believing he knows what’s best for you

This includes your career, friends, and hobbies

He frames his control as care and concern, making it hard for you to see his actions as manipulative

Luther buys you clothes and insists you wear them, often choosing items that reflect his taste and preferences

He wants to shape your appearance to fit his ideal image of you

Luther keeps a secret box filled with mementos from your relationship, like movie tickets, dried flowers, and photos

He looks at these items to feel closer to you and to remind himself of your bond

Without your knowledge, Luther sets up cameras in your home to monitor you and “ensure your safety”

He justifies this invasion of privacy as a necessary precaution to protect you

Luther establishes strict traditions in your relationship, like weekly date nights or annual trips, which you must follow

These traditions create a sense of routine and stability but also limit your autonomy

Luther pushes you to integrate deeply with his family, encouraging you to spend more time with his siblings and less with your own family and friends

This isolates you from your support network and makes you more dependent on him

Luther is obsessed with monitoring your health, from your diet to your exercise routine

He insists on accompanying you to doctor’s appointments and making decisions about your healthcare

When you’re apart, Luther floods you with messages and calls, demanding constant updates on your whereabouts and activities

This makes it difficult for you to have any personal space or privacy

Luther uses his own emotions to guilt you into compliance

If you try to assert your independence or express dissatisfaction, he reacts with hurt and disappointment, making you feel responsible for his feelings

Luther demands your loyalty and commitment without providing the same in return

He expects you to prioritize him above all else, even if it means sacrificing your own needs and desires

Luther manages your social media presence, deciding what you can and cannot post

He wants to control how you present yourself to the world and ensure that your online interactions align with his expectations

Diego Hargreeves

Diego is always armed and ready to ‘protect’ you from any slight inconvenience or perceived threat

He believes that being physically prepared is the best way to keep you safe, and his protective instincts can be overwhelming

He regularly tests your self-defense skills under the guise of safety

Diego insists on teaching you how to fight and defend yourself, often putting you through rigorous and sometimes dangerous training sessions

Diego secretly patrols around your neighborhood at night, watching over your home to ensure you’re safe

He often goes to great lengths to remain unseen, creating a sense of security but also a feeling of being constantly watched

Diego follows you silently to ensure your safety

He believes that by shadowing you, he can prevent any potential harm

This behavior can be unsettling, making you feel like you can never truly be alone

He conducts surprise safety drills to prepare you for ‘emergencies’

Diego might suddenly stage a mock attack or evacuation, expecting you to react quickly and correctly

Diego turns dates into elaborate missions, incorporating elements of danger and excitement

While he sees this as a way to bond, it often puts you in stressful and uncomfortable situations

He insists on checking the perimeter of any place you go together, whether it’s a restaurant, park, or even your own home

Diego’s need to secure every environment can be exhausting and intrusive

Diego challenges those who he thinks are getting too close to you

He becomes aggressive and confrontational, often picking fights with anyone he perceives as a threat to your relationship

Diego attempts to control the paths you take in life, from your career choices to your social interactions

He believes that he knows what’s best for you and tries to steer you accordingly

He gifts you weapons disguised as thoughtful presents, like a stylish knife or a discreet taser

Diego sees these gifts as practical and necessary, though they might make you uncomfortable

Diego enlists friends to watch over you without your knowledge

He creates a network of people who report back to him about your activities and interactions, making it hard for you to have any privacy

Diego obsessively checks the safety of your environment, from inspecting your home for vulnerabilities to researching crime rates in areas you visit

His constant vigilance can make you feel suffocated

He keeps a detailed journal of your daily activities, noting where you go and who you meet

Diego’s meticulous tracking is framed as a way to ensure your safety, but it feels more like surveillance

Diego enforces strict boundaries on who can interact with you, often forbidding you from seeing certain friends or family members

He believes that by controlling your social circle, he can better protect you

Diego gets you a dog to ‘protect’ you, training it to be fiercely loyal and vigilant

While the dog provides companionship, it also serves as another means of control and surveillance

He sabotages your tech so you can only rely on him

Diego might interfere with your phone, computer, or internet connection, making it difficult for you to communicate or seek help

Diego insists on accompanying you everywhere as a bodyguard, even to mundane places like the grocery store

His constant presence is meant to ensure your safety but also limits your freedom

He follows you in disguise to avoid detection

Diego goes to great lengths to remain hidden while keeping an eye on you, often lurking in the background of your daily life

Diego dictates where and when you can go out, planning all your outings to fit his schedule and ensure your safety

This limits your spontaneity and ability to make independent decisions

He forms alliances with those he deems safe for you, encouraging you to spend time with them while isolating you from others

Diego’s strategic friendships are meant to create a controlled social environment

Diego lies to protect you from ‘dangerous’ truths, often hiding information or manipulating facts

He believes that by controlling what you know, he can keep you safe and reliant on him

Allison Hargreeves

Allison uses her power to ‘rumor’ you into believing you’re deeply in love with her and need her constant presence

She manipulates your thoughts and feelings to ensure you stay loyal and dependent on her

She meticulously curates your public image, deciding what you wear, how you present yourself, and even what you say

Allison wants to create a perfect picture of your relationship for others to admire

Allison manipulates your social interactions, ensuring you’re surrounded only by people she approves of

She subtly influences your friendships and relationships to maintain control over your social life

She uses her connections and influence to shape your career path

Allison might secure opportunities for you or sabotage potential threats, making you feel indebted to her for your success

Allison often brings up emotional moments from your past to keep you anchored to her

She reminds you of how she supported you through tough times, making it hard for you to imagine life without her

She involves you in her personal projects and passions, making sure your lives are deeply intertwined

Allison wants to ensure you spend most of your time and energy on things that matter to her

She subtly rumors you into developing interests and hobbies that align with hers

Allison shapes your preferences and desires to ensure you’re always on the same page

She uses her power to create misunderstandings and conflicts between you and others, isolating you from potential threats

Allison believes that by keeping you isolated, she can ensure your loyalty

Allison frequently engages in public displays of affection and declarations of love

She wants everyone to see how perfect your relationship is, creating pressure for you to maintain that image

She uses her powers to manipulate your emotions during arguments, ensuring you always come back to her

Allison can make you feel guilty, sad, or euphoric with just a few words

Allison insists on constant communication, flooding you with texts and calls throughout the day

She wants to know every detail of your life and ensure you’re always thinking about her

She shares personal secrets and expects you to do the same, creating a sense of intimacy and trust

Allison uses these secrets to bond you closer to her and to manipulate your emotions

She establishes strict routines and rituals in your relationship, from daily phone calls to weekly date nights

Allison believes that by creating a predictable pattern, she can maintain control

She offers support in ways that subtly sabotage your independence

Allison might take care of things for you, making you reliant on her help and diminishing your ability to function without her

She rumors you to have dreams and aspirations that align with hers

Allison shapes your goals and ambitions, ensuring you’re always working towards a future that includes her

Allison invests heavily in your emotional well-being, offering constant support and encouragement

She makes herself indispensable, so you feel you can’t succeed without her

She creates and reinforces positive memories of your relationship, often planning elaborate events and surprises

Allison wants you to look back on your time together with fondness and gratitude

She rumors others to be jealous of your relationship, making you feel special and valued

Allison uses this tactic to create a sense of exclusivity and pride in your bond

She tells protective lies to keep you from potential harm or distress

Allison believes that by controlling what you know, she can shield you from anything that might threaten your happiness or their relationship

She frames her controlling behavior as compassion and care

Allison insists she’s doing everything for your benefit, making it hard for you to see her actions as manipulative

She pressures you to be perfect in every aspect of your life, reflecting her own need for control and image maintenance

Allison’s high expectations make it difficult for you to relax or be yourself

Klaus Hargreeves

Klaus creates a sense of emotional dependency by being your primary source of comfort and joy

He makes you feel that only he can understand and alleviate your emotional pain

Klaus’s behavior is erratic and unpredictable, making you constantly guess what will make him happy

This keeps you on edge and focused on pleasing him

He introduces you to his vices, such as drinking or partying, creating a bond over shared indulgences

Klaus uses these activities to keep you close and reliant on him for fun and excitement

Klaus emphasizes a deep, spiritual connection between you, claiming that your souls are meant to be together

He often talks about past lives and fate to reinforce this idea

He uses his own emotional ups and downs to manipulate your feelings

Klaus’s mood swings keep you constantly attentive and eager to make him happy

Klaus isolates you from others by monopolizing your time and attention

He makes you feel guilty for spending time with anyone else, insisting that you only need him

Klaus creates art, music, or poetry for you, making you feel special and unique

He uses these creative expressions to keep you emotionally invested in the relationship

He insists on being with you constantly, whether in person or through frequent texts and calls

Klaus makes it difficult for you to have any personal space or time alone

He gives you eccentric and meaningful gifts that only he could think of, reinforcing the idea that your relationship is unique and special

Klaus convinces you that your love is different from everyone else’s, using this belief to justify his unconventional and often controlling behavior

He creates or exaggerates emotional crises to keep you focused on him

Klaus frequently needs your support and reassurance, making you feel indispensable

Klaus makes you feel spiritually dependent on him, claiming that he can connect with the afterlife and provide insights that no one else can

He insists on late-night conversations that leave you emotionally drained but deeply connected

Klaus uses these talks to explore your deepest fears and desires

Klaus creates a chaotic environment that keeps you off balance and reliant on him for stability

He thrives in disorder and ensures you’re always part of it

He deflects blame for his erratic behavior onto external forces or other people, making you feel protective and understanding towards him

Klaus involves you in spiritual rituals or ceremonies, creating a sense of shared purpose and exclusivity

These rituals reinforce your bond and dependence on him

He needs constant reassurance of your love and loyalty, making you feel responsible for his emotional well-being

Klaus engages in dramatic displays of affection and devotion, making you feel like the center of his universe

He becomes your secret keeper, encouraging you to share your innermost thoughts and fears with him

Klaus uses this information to deepen your emotional bond

He takes you on spontaneous and eccentric adventures, making your life feel exciting but also unpredictable and dependent on his whims

Five Hargreeves

Five views you as his timeless possession, someone who belongs to him across all timelines

He often speaks about your destiny together and how he’s seen every possible future where you end up together

He strategically isolates you from others, using his intelligence to create situations where you’re dependent on him

Five ensures that you rely on him for problem-solving and guidance

Five dominates conversations with his intelligence, making you feel inferior and dependent on his knowledge and decisions

He manipulates time to keep you close, altering events to ensure you always end up together

Five uses his powers to control your environment and interactions

Five constantly talks about the future he envisions for you both, making plans that leave no room for your own desires or independence

He calculates every possible threat to your safety and takes preemptive actions, often without your knowledge

Five’s protective nature borders on paranoia

Five uses his time travel abilities to observe you without being seen, ensuring you’re safe and loyal

His unseen presence makes you feel watched even when you’re alone

He strategically creates jealousy by mentioning other versions of you he’s encountered in different timelines, making you feel special but also insecure

Five engages you in intellectual games and puzzles, reinforcing your dependency on his intelligence and making you feel bonded through shared activities

He gives you gifts from different timelines, unique items that make you feel cherished but also remind you of his power and control

Five involves you in calculated risks and adventures, making you feel alive and dependent on his skills for survival

He plays mind games to keep you emotionally and mentally engaged, ensuring you’re always thinking about him and your relationship

Five keeps secrets under the guise of protecting you, creating a sense of mystery and dependency on his knowledge

He tells stories of alternate timelines where things went wrong, using these narratives to justify his controlling behavior

Five influences your decisions and actions without you realizing it, subtly steering your life in the direction he wants

He uses his abilities to constantly surveil you, ensuring you’re always safe but also under his control

Five creates an intellectual bond by sharing his knowledge and experiences, making you feel connected on a deeper level

He manipulates time to create perfect moments and memories, making it hard for you to imagine life without him

Five’s protection is calculated and strategic, ensuring you’re always in situations where you need him

He controls your emotions by altering events and interactions, ensuring you always feel dependent on his presence and support

Five’s commitment is timeless, making you feel like your relationship transcends all boundaries and time itself

Ben Hargreeves

Ben uses his sensitivity to create a deep emotional bond, making you feel like he’s the only one who truly understands you

Even in death, Ben’s presence is felt, making you feel watched and protected

He often communicates through signs and messages, ensuring you never forget him

Ben shares his grief and struggles with you, creating a bond over mutual pain and understanding

He emphasizes a spiritual connection, claiming that your souls are linked and that you’re meant to be together even beyond death

Ben uses his emotions to manipulate yours, making you feel guilty or responsible for his happiness

He’s always there to comfort you, creating a dependency on his presence and support

He uses emotional anchors, such as shared memories or significant events, to keep you connected to him

Ben’s protective nature is overwhelming, ensuring you’re always safe but also limiting your freedom

Even when not physically present, Ben’s influence is felt, making you feel like he’s always watching over you

He emphasizes shared goals and dreams, making you feel like your futures are intertwined

Ben offers spiritual guidance, making you feel like you need his wisdom and insight to navigate life

He creates a sense of emotional dependency, making you feel like you can’t be happy or complete without him

Ben needs constant reassurance of your love and loyalty, making you feel responsible for his emotional well-being

He keeps and cherishes shared memories, often bringing them up to reinforce your bond

Ben is always there to provide emotional support, making you reliant on his presence and guidance

He creates an invisible bond, ensuring you always feel connected to him even when apart

Ben shares his pain and struggles, creating a sense of mutual understanding and dependency

He tells protective lies to keep you safe, making you feel like he’s always looking out for you

Ben often sacrifices his own happiness for yours, making you feel indebted and responsible for his well-being

He makes you feel spiritually dependent on him, creating a sense of belonging and purpose in your relationship

Viktor Hargreeves

Viktor creates an emotional symbiosis, making you feel like your happiness and well-being are intertwined

He constantly seeks reassurance and validation from you, making you feel responsible for his emotional state

Viktor is fiercely protective, often to the point of overbearing

He insists on knowing your whereabouts and who you’re with at all times, justifying his behavior as concern for your safety

He shares his deepest fears and insecurities with you, creating a bond over mutual vulnerability

Viktor uses this emotional intimacy to keep you close and dependent on his presence

Viktor becomes your main source of support, both emotionally and practically

He’s always there to help you with your problems, making you feel like you can’t manage without him

He often revisits significant memories from your relationship, emphasizing how much you mean to him

Viktor uses these memories to remind you of your bond and to guilt you into staying with him

Viktor encourages you to share in his musical talents, making you feel special and unique

He uses this shared activity to create a deeper connection and to keep you engaged in his world

He becomes your emotional anchor, the person you turn to in times of distress

Viktor’s constant presence and support make you feel like you can’t face challenges without him

Viktor subtly isolates you from others, encouraging you to spend more time with him and less with friends and family

He creates a world where it feels like it’s just the two of you against everyone else

He needs constant reassurance of your love and commitment, often questioning your loyalty

Viktor’s insecurity makes you feel like you must constantly prove your affection

Viktor sacrifices his own needs and desires for yours, making you feel indebted to him

His selflessness creates a sense of obligation and loyalty on your part

He shares his past traumas and expects you to do the same, creating a bond over shared pain and healing

Viktor’s openness makes you feel like you’re the only one who truly understands him

Viktor tells small lies to protect you from harsh truths, believing it’s for your own good

His protective nature can feel suffocating as he tries to shield you from anything that might cause you distress

He manipulates your emotions to keep you close, using guilt, fear, and love to control your actions

Viktor’s emotional intelligence allows him to subtly influence your feelings and decisions

Viktor provides stability in your life, making you feel like you can’t function without his presence

His calming influence becomes a crutch that you rely on heavily

He establishes routines and traditions that you both follow, creating a sense of normalcy and predictability

Viktor’s routines make it difficult for you to imagine life without him

Viktor insists on constant tracking where you are and contact, whether through texts, calls, or in person

He makes you feel like you need to be in touch with him at all times to maintain the relationship

He bonds with you over deep, emotional conversations, making you feel like he’s the only one who truly understands you

Viktor’s empathy and understanding create a strong emotional connection

Viktor takes protective measures to ensure your safety, such as checking in on you frequently and advising you on who to trust

His protective behavior can make you feel like you’re always under his watchful eye

He creates a sense of emotional dependency, making you feel like you can’t be happy without him

Viktor’s constant presence and support make it difficult for you to imagine life on your own

Viktor shares intimate secrets and expects you to do the same, creating a bond of trust and vulnerability

His openness makes you feel like you’re the only one who truly knows him

He uses emotional blackmail to keep you close, threatening to harm or kill himself or leave if you try to distance yourself

Viktor’s manipulation creates a sense of fear and obligation, making it hard for you to break free

Lila Pitts

Lila creates an emotional whirlwind around you, making every day unpredictable

Her volatile emotions keep you constantly engaged and focused on her

Lila’s behavior is highly unpredictable, keeping you on edge and dependent on her for stability

She swings between affection and anger, making you feel like you need to constantly please her

She uses affection as a tool to manipulate you, showering you with love when you comply with her wishes and withdrawing it when you don’t

Lila takes you on emotional highs and lows, creating a sense of dependency on her for your emotional well-being

She involves you in her adventures and schemes, making you feel like an essential part of her world

Lila’s thrill-seeking behavior keeps you constantly engaged

Lila creates constant drama in your relationship, making you feel like you need to be there to support and calm her

She demands unwavering loyalty from you, often testing your commitment through manipulative means

Lila plays emotional games to keep you on your toes, using jealousy, guilt, and affection to control your behavior

She isolates you from others by creating conflicts with your friends and family, ensuring you rely solely on her

Lila creates intense bonding experiences, making you feel like you share a unique and unbreakable connection

She makes you emotionally dependent on her, ensuring you can’t imagine life without her presence and support

Lila shares and demands intimate secrets, creating a bond of trust and manipulation

She manipulates your emotions to keep you close, using affection, guilt, and fear to control your actions

Lila insists on constant contact, ensuring you’re always thinking about her and your relationship

She controls your emotions by creating situations that elicit specific reactions, making you feel like she’s the only one who truly understands you

Lila’s love is unpredictable, swinging between intense affection and cold detachment, making you constantly strive for her approval

She shares intimate secrets and expects you to do the same, creating a bond of trust and dependency

She tells protective lies to keep you safe, making you feel like she’s always looking out for you

Lila emphasizes shared goals and dreams, making you feel like your futures are intertwined

She provides emotional support, making you feel like you can’t face challenges without her presence and guidance

[ecoterrorist-katara]

meta list + blog nav

turns out most of my metas are just me being salty about the way Bryan and Mike wrote Katara...more news at 11...

Katara’s parentification

the tragedy of Katara’s parentification & (context: parentified children as maladjusted children)

Katara’s crush on Jet

Toph brings out Katara’s inner child & Toph and Suki as people Katara didn't have to take care of

Katara’s post-ATLA arc

Katara didn’t want a quiet life after the war

Katara was a role model and her post-ATLA arc is a failure in representation

Katara being the Chief of the SWT wouldn't conflict with LOK's plot or her relationship

Katara would’ve been an amazing diplomat

Why Katara’s specific healer career didn’t fit her character

bloodbending & why Katara banning it could be in character in a sad way

Zutara & Zutara discourse

Zutara, romance novels, & the female gaze

“Zutara is a self-insert ship” is not a burn, it’s just misogyny

Is Zutara colonizer x colonized: my serious take, my less serious take

the crystal catacombs & how Katara sees Zuko’s pain

Zutara's two distinct ship dynamics

Why I think the way Ka/taang is written is male gaze-y

(KA is just one of those "bitch eating crackers" ships for me...block the #anti kataang tag if you don't want to see it)

Ka/taang: friends-to-lovers or the friend zone?

How Ka/taang is written to be one-sided

Aang’s not a “feminist icon” because the only stereotypically masculine part of his arc is his romance

Misc. character stuff (not just ATLA)

Aang's nuances beyond "sunshine boy"

Rethinking Hama's storyline + some thoughts on the symbolism of bloodbending

Some thoughts on Hermione being autistic coded & her flaws

Blog housekeeping/tags navigation under the cut

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[blossom-hwa]

melody of the heart [2] | k.th

pairing: Taehyun x fem!reader genre:  fluff, a pinch of angst, regency era!au, nobility!au warnings: period typical misogyny word count: 14.4k notes:  — this is for all the bridgerton girlies who have been going insane just like me <3 highly inspired by francesca/john's burgeoning romance from the first half, so hope you all enjoy! — some of the dialogue has been lifted from the show—I do not claim any credit for it. — this takes place in the same universe as my duke!yeonjun story, if you'll have me :) feel free to check that out as well! When your father calls you home from the continent to join the London season, for the first time in your life, you nearly throw a fit. You are not just the daughter of a viscount—you’ve made a name for yourself in England and abroad with your prodigious talent at the piano, having since childhood performed for royal courts far and wide. You have traveled far and beyond most other ladies of your rank, and to have your career halted all for the sake of marriage to a man who will likely force you to quit your craft is unthinkable. But all your life you have lived without raising a hand to your father, and so when the letter comes, you return home for the season, hoping and praying to make it through without stirring the waters.  Enter Taehyun Kang, Earl of Addiston—recently titled, in search of a wife, and as tired of the season already as you are. During a chance meeting at the season’s third ball you grow to know each other, and as time passes you grow to like each other, a mutual respect forming when you learn the depths of one another’s passions in the arts. In Taehyun you find a respite from the men who would clip your wings for the sake of finding a perfect wife. In you Taehyun finds a kindred spirit who would respect him for himself, and not the lands in his name. Together you navigate the grueling social activities of the London matchmaking project as acquaintances, then as friends, and maybe, just maybe— As lovers, too.  Part 1 >> Part 2

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When morning comes and you open your eyes, everything looks so normal that you decide last night wasn’t real. The sun is shining through the windows. The sky outside is blue. The queen did not happen upon you playing the piano last night, and she did not name you her diamond. 

Upon entering the drawing room, however, you begin to realize that the nightmare is in fact reality. 

Your aunt presides over a small army of servants arranging enormous bouquets of flowers, blooms of every color arraying the room. Your cousins hover over several piles of boxes, each tied with bright ribbon. Your father stands in the middle of it all, looking strangely pleased, and when he turns to you, one of his rare smiles is set against his face. 

You swallow. “What is going on?”

“You have done well for our family, my daughter,” he says, coming closer. For all the warmth in his voice you still almost shrink away—you’re not used to his kindness, and from the stilted edge to his words, he isn’t either. “The queen named you her diamond, and these are the gifts bestowed upon you for it.”

Against your will, last night comes rushing back. The Harlowe’s ball. All the noise, all the chatter. Lady Park striking up a conversation with you just when your head had started to hurt, and winking when she mentioned the Harlowe’s music room. Dark corridors and blessed silence and Mozart sonatas dancing beneath your fingers—

Then the queen herself appearing in the room, and with a smile on her face that only struck dread in your chest, naming you her diamond. 

She had accompanied you out of the room with her entourage following, Lady Park at her side. You couldn’t think of an excuse to get away. And so, when you entered the ballroom once more, you had no defense when the queen looked at you with a broad smile, and kissed your forehead in full view of everyone there. 

The diamond, you could practically hear everyone whisper. She’s been named the diamond. 

Head spinning, you swallow. “The queen does not give gifts to her diamonds,” you say dumbly. 

“These are not from the queen, silly girl,” your aunt says. “These are from your suitors, who hope to court your hand.” She smiles, oblivious to the dread pooling through your chest. “Come, my girl. See what gifts they have brought you.”

You let yourself be dragged to the center of the room where most of the gifts lie. Your cousins are definitely more eager to see them than you, so you let them open the boxes of jewelry and wow over the flowers, nodding and smiling perfunctorily as needed. You don’t really notice much of it, though, because you’re still trying to believe this isn’t happening. 

It is, though. And even though calling hour isn’t for a while yet, you have a sinking feeling that it’s going to be more crowded than it ever has been. If last night was anything to go by…

After the queen had kissed your forehead in full view of the room, there was a sort of pause. The orchestra kept playing, but even those on the dance floor stopped moving for a moment. Hundreds of eyes were fixed on you and you couldn’t even move, you were so frozen in place. Even when the room started shifting again, you couldn’t seem to unstick your feet from the floor until an outstretched hand had made its way into your line of vision, and you had to finally look up to see who it was. 

It was Lord Kang. And the relief you felt was—overwhelming. So overwhelming you almost started crying. In that moment, however cliché it sounds, you thought you could understand those scenes in fairy tales when the princess was saved by her prince, and while you may resent yourself for the fact that you needed saving, you’re endlessly thankful that he was there for it. 

“My lady,” he’d said like nothing just happened, kissing your hand. “I haven’t seen you all night. Congratulations on your new title.”

“Thank you, my lord.” If he noticed your voice shaking a little, he said nothing of it. “I apologize. I hid myself away for a while, for…some quiet.”

His eyes crinkled into one of his gentle smiles. “I heard,” he’d said, skillfully guiding you around the room. “The Mozart was wonderful. I would have said something earlier, but I didn’t want to interrupt you and then the queen arrived. I did not think either of us would want to be compromised, or stir rumors.”

“I should think not,” you had said, smiling a little. “I appreciate it.”

“Is your next dance taken?” he had asked, an abrupt change of subject. The music was dying away, the couples on the dance floor saying their goodbyes. You shook your head, and his eyes sparkled. “If not, would you mind if I stole it, then?”

This time, a real smile—your last of the evening—spread over your lips. “I wouldn’t mind at all.”

Lord Kang was a very good dancer—light on his feet with a good sense of rhythm, and a strong frame that guided you into each next step without you having to improperly initiate it yourself. A lovely respite from several of your earlier partners who seemed to have two left feet. In Lord Kang’s arms, you almost forgot the events of just some minutes ago, losing yourself in the easiness of his footsteps and conversation. Beyond his initial congratulations, he didn’t mention the queen’s designation once. Until the end of time you’ll be grateful for it.

But then the music ended, and reality came rushing back. 

Almost immediately after you’d made your curtsies and Lord Kang had taken his bow, you noticed several figures walking up to you. By the time you fully turned around, a small group had crowded in front of the dance floor, right where you would have stepped off. Men, all of them—all looking at you with varying degrees of interest, interest they never would have had if the queen had not made her declaration. 

For the second time that night, you froze. People were talking but you couldn’t hear what they were saying, the noise of the room a roaring buzz in your ears. Half of you had a mind to run out the nearest exit but your legs just wouldn’t move. 

You don’t know how long you stood there before Lord Kang’s voice finally cut through the din. “It seems your newfound title has caused some stir, my lady,” he had said quietly. You looked at him and he looked at you and there was a little smile on his face that helped ease your heart rate just slightly. Then his expression turned serious. “You need not do anything you do not like,” he said lowly. “If you would prefer, I can help you make some excuse.”

You would have taken him up on it. You’re not sure what he had in mind—fake a dizzy spell or headache, or just a need for some fresh air—but you would have done it. But then your aunt appeared in all her ill-timed glory and started filling the rest of your dance card with terrible efficiency, and all you could do was give Taehyun a small, sad little smile and whisper a thanks before some new gentleman ushered you onto the dance floor. 

Last night turned your mind into mush. Too many people, too many questions, too much dancing for your introverted self to handle. Gazing at the flowers and presents littered about the room now, you have the sinking feeling that calling hour is about to be even worse. 

Which it is. There are apparently men queueing in a line down the hall, waiting for a chance to speak with you. More flowers fill the drawing room, and your smile becomes increasingly fixed to your face with each new gentleman who enters the room. Most of them are pleasant enough and able to keep the conversation going even as your head begins to hurt more and more, but some of them are truly unpleasant people, and even your aunt’s face looks more pinched than usual when she ushers Mr. Yang-Tran out of the room. 

You don’t even get a respite at dinner. It’s all anyone can seem to talk about, and even your taciturn father puts forth several opinions on those who managed to call today. Those who didn’t make it during the designated hour left a plethora of flowers and gifts, and there’s a small mountain of calling cards sitting on one of the drawing room tables that you can’t really bring yourself to look through. Only one of them matters, anyway, and you stole that one away.

When the meal is over, you all return to the drawing room to continue the dinner chatter. They all seem to be so full of laughter and cheer that it makes you feel somewhat alien for not feeling the same, but it gives you more opportunity to sink into the corner of a couch fade into the background. With everyone’s attention diverted, you pull out Lord Kang’s card. It’s lovely, very elegant, but you don’t really care about how it looks. You flip the card around to see the words written on the back. 

My lady—

I hope you will not find it too forward of me to write, but I wanted to express my congratulations again on your well-earned title last night. I hope you will find some pleasure in it for I can think of no one more deserving of it this season than you. I apologize that I could not see you before calling hour ended, but I pray I will have better luck next time. 

You certainly hope so too. 

Swallowing hard, you look at the table, where an array of the most pleasing flowers and gifts have been laid out. Jewelry glitters in the candlelight, making the flowers almost seem to glow. But you only have eyes for the few books that lie beside them, their nondescript leather covers dark in the night. 

No one really notices when you stand. They don’t notice you picking up the books, then heading out of the room. No one follows you into the music room, where you shut the door firmly after lighting several candles to give the space a little light. 

For several hours you alternate between practicing and reading. The crease of paper beneath your fingers comforts you as you immerse yourself in sheet music and music history, and when a servant eventually comes to call you to bed, you feel well enough to go without complaint. 

On your nightstand rests a small bouquet of fresh flowers. Lord Kang left them with his card, and when you learned this you asked a servant to bring them to your room. You place the calling card next to the vase before blowing out the candle, crawling into bed, and falling into a dreamless sleep. 

. . . . .

The title of diamond is a coveted one, Taehyun knows, and it is an honor to receive it from the queen. So many debutantes each season have been vying for the designation and he can hardly fault them for it, not when it brings so much prestige. 

You are not undeserving of the name. Far from it. With your fame, quiet grace, and incomparable talent at the piano, Taehyun wonders why the queen didn’t choose you earlier. All of this talk about Her Majesty being bored, surrounded by ladies tripping over themselves to impress her in ways she’s already seen before, doesn’t quite make sense to him. Your honesty and genuine nature were obvious to him from the start. How could it not be to the queen?

Yet, for all Taehyun knows it is an honor, he still somewhat wishes the queen had given the title to someone else. 

For—well, selfish reasons. Taehyun privately resents the fact that all the men of the ton are now queueing at your door to shower you in empty compliments and vague flowers. He treasured the time the you spent together, the precious minutes he spent in your drawing room speaking with you or listening to you play the piano, and now all that time has been snatched away by the callers crowding your doorstep. Even at balls, between your aunt and the queen herself, he can only manage to catch you for moments at a time. A single dance. A snippet of conversation. Then your aunt has moved you on to someone else, or the queen would like to introduce you to another titled gentleman, and he has to bid you good night before they haplessly rush you off. 

Again, all very selfish reasons. Taehyun feels guilty every time he even thinks them. But in his defense—and Taehyun doesn’t like to presume—you don’t seem to be enjoying yourself nearly as much as someone named the incomparable of the season should. You haven’t said it to him directly, but Taehyun feels that you also would have preferred someone else to be the season’s incomparable instead of you. 

It doesn’t matter, though, because one does not refute the queen. She leads society and the season, and in this court of gossip and schemes, she reigns supreme. Which is the only reason why Taehyun hasn’t pretended not to notice her more than could be presumed polite, each time she comes around with a new marquess to introduce to you. He is not wealthy or important enough to save himself from her possible wrath. 

(The queen may be a kind woman, but the entire ton knows that she is a force to be reckoned with.)

With all this, the thought occurs to him to just propose sooner rather than later. It is becoming increasingly obvious that no other woman has and will capture his attentions quite the way you have, and you’re the only one to whom Taehyun would feel comfortable giving a betrothal ring. He doesn’t think you would say no. But at the same time, you’re a shy creature, and even he would prefer a little more time to court you. Couples have gotten married in far less time than the two of you have known each other, of course, but you deserve a proper courtship. And he would like for you to know one another better before he decides on a ring. 

All of which would be much more easily done if he could speak to you for more than a few short minutes at a time. 

And, perhaps, lady luck has decided to shine on him the night of the queen’s ball, only the most important event of the season. Taehyun counts himself lucky to have received an invitation, but more importantly, as the season’s diamond, he knows that you must be there too. He hops out of his carriage in front of the palace just in time to see you stepping out of yours a short distance away, moonlight glittering on your figure. 

For a moment, Taehyun forgets how to breathe. 

You look…beautiful. Not that you hadn’t been beautiful before, of course—you’ve been lovely since the moment Taehyun saw you that first night at the Tillings’ ball. But as Taehyun watches you settle on the ground, starlight sparkling over your dress, your headpiece, the elegant jewels around your neck and hands, he can see the delicate care you and your lady’s maids have certainly put into your appearance for tonight. 

And it was well worth it. 

Before he can stop himself, he’s walking in your direction. You don’t notice him immediately but when you meet his eyes, a smile seems to brighten your eyes as he bows. “My lady,” he greets, kissing your hand. “You look especially beautiful tonight.”

You duck your head shyly, but when you finally tip up your chin again, the smile has only grown. “Thank you, Lord Kang. I suppose the hours spent on my appearance were worth the time.”

“They certainly were.” He extends his arm. “May I walk you into the ballroom? I should appreciate this opportunity, having arrived so soon after one another, to speak with you. It seems we are always being interrupted, or that there simply isn’t enough time.”

“I would love that,” you reply sincerely. Inwardly, Taehyun preens a little when you don’t even look at your aunt before taking his arm. 

“I must apologize for all the interruptions,” you say as the two of you begin walking up to the palace. Your smile seems to drop a bit. “I…do not believe I was properly prepared to understand all that goes into being a diamond. I do not mean that I am not honored by the queen’s attentions,” you add quickly. “But I suppose I had not expected that so many would now ask for a piece of my time.”

“Your time was valuable even before you were made the diamond,” Taehyun replies. “I’m only honored that you shared it with me. But do know that you are deserving of this title.” He smiles, a little teasingly. “Though I must admit, it is nice to be able to see you now without the other gentlemen vying for your affections as well.”

You pause for a moment, as though picking your next words carefully. “If you must know, my lord,” you finally say, “they never posed much competition to you.”

Taehyun looks at you quickly. You look back at him, holding his gaze for a moment before you turn away, shoulders lifting shyly as though to shield you from…something. Anything. 

He lifts a hand to your chin and turns you gently his way again. “Thank you, my lady,” he says softly when you meet his eyes again. “Your words do me the greatest honor.”

“I only speak the truth,” you reply steadily, though Taehyun hears the tremor carefully hidden behind your words. It only endears you to him more. 

The two of you enter the ballroom together. Lights burst in Taehyun’s vision, crystal and glass glittering everywhere. Next to him, your breath seems to catch, and he feels much the same as he steps into the large, sparkling room. The fanciest place he’s ever been was the duke and duchess’s own ballroom. It was lovely, but this is something else altogether. 

Immediately upon your entrance, Taehyun already sees heads turning your way. Jealousy flares in his chest, but pride stamps it out—he’s the one who walked you into the room, after all, and you’re the one who said no one else was much competition compared to him. 

That doesn’t mean he’s going to let down his guard, though. 

He turns to you and your glittering ensemble, candlelight almost glowing around your figure. “Before we are surely interrupted again,” he says, smiling wryly, “may I have your first dance, my lady?”

You place your hand in his with a grin. “Of course, my lord.”

Taehyun loves dancing with you. You’re easily one of the best dancers in the ton, not even just among the season’s debutantes. For obvious reasons, you have a wonderful sense of rhythm and melody, and you clearly lean into that sort of sixth sense as you play with the timing of the choreographed steps and the unique twists of the music. You twirl under his hand, returning to his arms with a bright smile, and Taehyun is suddenly reminded of a flower opening its petals under the sun. 

Too soon, the music ends, and with it ends the magic of the dance you shared. Glancing at those who have gathered at the edge of the ballroom, Taehyun feels the jealousy flare again. How free he would feel if he could dance with you all night without worry of what the ton would think! But Taehyun has had the rules of society drummed into his head since he was old enough to comprehend language, and he knows he cannot share more than one dance with you in a row without stirring rumors of impropriety. So when you curtsy, he only bows, kissing your hand once more. 

“You are a wonderful dancer, my lady,” he compliments. The orchestra is in a lull now, waiting for dancers to find new partners, and everything he says will be clear to those who stand around him, so he chooses his next words carefully. Dancing with the same person twice means announcing a serious intention to court them to the entire ton, carrying more weight than even repeated weekly calls, but… “If you would be so inclined, I would be deeply honored if I could take one of your dances later this evening, as well.”

Your mouth parts. A strange, but not unwelcome expression passes over your face. He’d given his request quietly in case you refused, but a smile grows on your lips as you nod once, slowly, then again with more conviction. “I should like that very much,” you say, extending your dance card to him. 

Taehyun smiles broadly as he takes the small card. “Would it be all right if we danced the quadrille?” he asks. 

Your eyes sparkle. “Did someone tell you that was my favorite dance?”

He shakes his head in surprise. “A lucky guess.”

“Truly.” You smile, though it drops a little when you glance behind him at the crowd that has surely only grown larger since the last dance ended. “I will wait patiently for our quadrille, then, my lord.”

Taehyun gives you what he hopes is a comforting smile. “I will be counting the dances until then.”

. . . 

Unfortunately, Taehyun somewhat loses track of the dances somewhere along the way, mostly because he is also dealing with a consistently large group of people who insist on corralling him every time he so much as steps away from the dance floor. 

By a group of people, he really just means a group of debutantes and their mothers. They just…follow him. It’s a bit creepy. And when one disappears, another appears to take her place, so the group just never seems to fade away. Yeonjun was here earlier to help divert some of the attention but at some point he left to spend some time with his wife, which Taehyun can hardly fault him for. 

Taehyun is at his wit’s end by the time he finds himself near the table of drinks. He adopts a very concentrated look on his face—far more than is necessary when examining an array of lemonade and alcohol—but it seems to discourage some of the shyer girls, who start to hang back a little. 

He feels a little bad. It’s not like this is their fault, and if he wasn’t so damn tired, he wouldn’t mind engaging them in conversation either. But Taehyun has been dancing half the night and talking for the other half, and about topics he genuinely does not care about, so he takes his time selecting a whiskey before turning around, internally bracing himself for the onslaught. 

The onslaught comes in the form of a Mrs. Lim, here to present her first daughter, and a Mrs. Jung, with her second daughter. Taehyun smiles as best he can through brittle teeth and tries not to be too curt with his replies, but then other women start showing up to introduce and re-introduce their daughters and even when Taehyun says that he has already promised most of his dances away, they still won’t leave. He’s at his wits’ end, the glass in his hand now empty, when the group before him parts for a familiar face that fills him with relief. 

“Excuse me,” you murmur, edging politely past Mrs. Jung to stand in front of him. Instantly Taehyun feels himself begin to relax—he hadn’t realized he was so tense until you showed up. “My lord, the quadrille is next.” You look at him steadily even as the group breaks into whispers—Did he not take her first dance? Will they dance twice? What does this mean?“I believe I promised this dance to you, if you would still like to take it.”

Taehyun nearly sags with relief. “I should like nothing more,” he says, extending a hand. “Apologies, ladies, I must go.” He bows slightly, then heads off to the dance floor without a second glance back. 

“I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything important,” you say lowly, turning to face him. 

“Not at all,” Taehyun replies, leading you into frame. “In fact, your interruption was…most welcome.”

A wry twinkle appears in your eye. “It seemed so, though I didn’t want to presume.”

Taehyun laughs. “I thank you, then, for your opportune timing.”

“There is no need for thanks.” You smile. “You saved me at the Bridgertons’ ball after the queen crowned me her diamond.” Your smile grows smaller, though no less sincere. “I didn’t have the chance to thank you for that.”

The orchestra picks up, signaling the end of the dance’s introduction, but Taehyun only looks at you carefully. “Forgive me for assuming,” he says quietly, “but my lady, you don’t seem to want the title much at all.”

You bite your lip even as you begin to move, instinctively stepping to the music. “It is an honor,” you reply lowly. “I will never be ungrateful for the queen’s approval. But I must confess…I wish she had chosen someone else instead.” You try to smile, but even Taehyun can see that it’s forced. “I am a quiet person, my lord. I never really wanted the attention that would come with being the season’s diamond. I believe others are far more suited to the role than I.”

Sympathy wells in Taehyun’s heart. No matter how tense he felt around the mamas and their daughters, he can’t imagine how this has all been for you. Granted, you have your aunt to field some of the gentlemen who come to you, but she seems more preoccupied with attracting more of them than shielding you from the onslaught. “I’m sorry,” he says simply, because he doesn’t know quite what else to say other than I understand, which would probably seem disingenuous. 

You seem to hear the words left unsaid, though, because you give him a little smile when you find your way back into his arms. “It is what it is,” you state bravely. “And, at the very least, I can look forward to dancing with you.”

Taehyun’s heart stutters a beat, though you don’t seem to notice it. “Believe me, Miss L/N, I look forward to it at least as much as you,” he says when he finds his voice again. 

In the last measures of the quadrille, you smile at each other softly. You curtsy, and Taehyun bows, and in a last stroke of desperation to keep you with him a little longer, he extends his arm again. “Would you like some refreshment?” he offers. “You have been dancing all night. Surely you must be parched.”

You open your mouth, about to respond. But then your eye catches on something behind him and your face grows still, a smile curving your lips that doesn’t reach your eyes. Taehyun turns to see the queen approaching the two of you, an elegantly dressed gentleman following closely behind her. 

“Your Majesty,” the two of you murmur at the same time. The queen gives Taehyun a perfunctory little smile before directing her attention to you. “Miss L/N,” she says warmly, gesturing for the other man to come forward. “My diamond. Allow me to introduce to you Marquess Yang. Marquess Yang, meet my incomparable of the season.”

Objectively, there’s nothing wrong with the marquess. He’s handsome and seems pleasant enough as he introduces himself and kisses your hand. Still, Taehyun’s heart flares with jealous dislike for the man, but there’s nothing he can do about it. At least, nothing that wouldn’t be improper. 

“Pleased to meet you,” you say, giving the marquess a quick curtsy. You turn to Taehyun, then, and there’s only resignation in your unsmiling eyes. “Forgive me, my lord.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” he replies quickly, returning a short bow. “Perhaps we will catch each other later tonight, my lady.” He kisses your hand, holding your fingers for a touch longer than is strictly necessary. “Have a good evening.” 

With a bow to the queen and a parting smile to the marquess that he doesn’t mean at all, Taehyun heads back into the crowd, knowing that despite his words, he probably won’t get another moment with you all night.

. . . . .

When calling hour ends, you turn to your governess and say in a very quiet voice, “I will be ill tomorrow.”

She blinks once. Twice. “But, my lady—”

“I don’t care what my aunt says,” you state very, very calmly. “Or what my father says. I will be ill. Too ill to get out of bed.”

She glances at your aunt at the other side of the room, ordering rearrangements of some certain bouquets of flowers on the mantel. Then she nods. “As you wish, my lady.”

You breathe a long sigh of relief and stand up. “Thank you.”

No one says anything or tries to stop you when you leave the drawing room and make your way to your bedroom. You sit heavily on your bed and fall onto your back, staring at the ceiling but not really seeing anything. Your head hurts from calling hour and you can’t really process anything between the pounding of your temples. 

Another steady stream of callers came today, all with their colorful flowers and pretty words. Lord Kang wasn’t among them, not even those who were unable to see you before they had to leave and left their cards for you to peruse instead. You can’t blame him—no one calls every day, and you would never expect him to even if you perceive there is interest on his end—but the irrational part of you mumbles that you still would have liked to see him anyway. The flowers he left last week have dried so the servants removed them from your bedside, but you’ve kept his card hidden in one of the drawers of your nightstand. It might sound pathetic, but you’ve taken to tracing his careful handwriting on the creamy paper. It soothes you. Somewhat. 

You’re just so—tired. Of everything. Of the charade of being a debutante, of the title of diamond, of having to sit and be pretty and nod along to all of the men who suddenly see worth in you not for yourself but for the queen’s belated approval. They talk about their plans for the future like you are a guarantee in their lives, a guaranteed little mannequin who will stand there and agree with every decision they make, and worst of all, they’re not even good conversationalists. You’re the first to admit that you aren’t very good at conversing with near strangers, but one of them asked you what makes you tick today. 

What does that even mean?

The Marquess of Schannon, whom the queen introduced to you at the last ball, paid you a call today too. He is not a bad person. In fact, of all those you spoke to, he was the most pleasant. If you hadn’t met Lord Kang, you might have been interested in him—he was very polite, respectful, and seemed genuinely interested in your passion for music. Your conversation with him was pleasant and he didn’t further your headache, and the flowers he brought were very pretty.

But all the while you were speaking with him, you couldn’t help but compare him to Lord Kang. 

Which isn’t fair. You know you should shape your opinion on the marquess independently from anyone else. It’s just—every good thing you thought about the marquess, Lord Kang was either equal, or did it better. 

Speaking with Marquess Yang was pleasant. Speaking with Lord Kang brings you excitement. 

Marquess Yang respects your devotion to the piano. Lord Kang respects your devotion, and engages you in conversation about the topic. 

The marquess is a fine dancer. The quadrille you danced with Lord Kang was the best one you have ever danced yet. 

You breathe out a sigh. The queen means to matchmake you with the marquess, you’re sure. Lady Arina Park said about as much when she caught you at the queen’s ball, though she also cast a very knowing glance at Lord Kang, who was dancing with Mrs. Jung’s daughter. At the end of the conversation, as she turned away, you could have sworn she muttered something along the lines of not meddling in affairs of the heart, but over the low din of the party, you couldn’t be sure. 

On paper, the marquess might be a better match than Lord Kang. A higher title. More land. More riches. But even knowing this, even knowing that the queen approves, you can’t quite bring yourself to see him the way you see Lord Kang.

Affairs of the heart, indeed. You stare at a knot of wood in the ceiling without really seeing it. You’re not sure you love Lord Kang. You’re not sure he loves you either. But you certainly like him, and you don’t think you’re wallowing in delusion when you fancy he likes you as well. You’ve only known each other for a couple of months—you don’t think anyone could truly fall in love so soon, no matter what people say about love matches. But with Lord Kang, at least you can envision the love further along in the future. 

There isn’t even a chance of that with some of your other suitors. 

You squeeze your eyes shut. For all you love piano, you wish you hadn’t been playing the night the queen walked in on your performance. You would still have to sit through calling hour, would still have to make small talk in the ballroom, but it wouldn’t be nearly as much as it is now. Your aunt and father’s approval doesn’t make up for how much your head hurts after you return from social engagements every night. 

And you’d probably get to see Lord Kang more. 

You remember the queen’s ball, when Lord Kang asked if you’d like to get refreshment with him just before the queen introduced you to the marquess. If he’d asked a moment earlier, you wonder if you’d have managed to escape the queen’s notice and been able to spend just a few minutes more with him. Probably not—the queen has eyes like a hawk and would have caught you anyway. Still, though, you wonder. And a treacherous part of you likes to imagine what would have happened if the queen wasn’t there. If you and Lord Kang could have found yourselves by the tables of refreshments, laughing and talking with no one to take either of you away. 

Unlikely. But you wish for it all the same. 

A knock sounds at your door. You bolt upright and wince when your temples twinge in protest. It’s only one of the servants, though. 

“My lady.” She curtsies slightly. “Your aunt bids that the two of you leave soon for your appointment at the modiste.”

Ugh. You’d almost forgotten about that. You give her a tired nod. “Tell her I will be ready shortly.”

. . .

Dresses are nice. Clothes are nice. You don’t mind the modiste, not with its arrays of silks and satins and ribbons that dazzle the eye, not with how nice and how accommodating Madame Delacroix is to everyone in her shop. But today you’re tired and just want to be lying down at home, and you could very much do without your aunt hovering around your fittings and inserting her opinion every time Madame Delacroix so much as moves a pin. 

There are a number of other ladies and their mothers in the shop so you let your mind fade into their buzz of chatter and laughter. A few of the voices you recognize—Mrs. Jung and her shy second daughter looking for new ribbons, the soon-to-be Lady Julia Kingsley shopping for the fabric for her wedding gown—but even though the girls are nice you hope they don’t notice you’re there as you slip out of your nearly-finished gowns as quietly as you can. On any other day you would be happy to chat with them. Right now you just want to go home. 

But someone calls your name as you’re exiting the modiste. You have just enough sense not to curse out loud because your aunt is right next to you and you’re in public, but you’re not sure you manage to wipe the entire grimace off your face before you turn around. You pray that surprise replaced your previous expression before your caller saw it, and it seems it did, because the Duchess of Hastings only gives you a bright smile before walking quickly over to catch up with you. 

“Miss L/N!” she exclaims once she’s close enough. “Lady Taylor,” she then greets your aunt, with much more solemnity. “It is lovely to see the two of you in town today.”

“And you too,” you reply, and you’re only half lying. You’ve seen the duchess a few times since that first gathering, and each time you speak you leave the conversation smiling. If you were to have to speak to anyone at the tail end of this very exhausting day, you’re glad it was her. “Did you have business here? We just left the modiste.”

“Oh, His Grace and I came into town to meet with his solicitor for a few things,” she says. “I didn’t feel I was needed for the last few meetings, so I thought I would walk the streets for some time before meeting him at home.” You reach Gunter’s dessert shop and the duchess stops. “Shall we stop for some ices? They can be most refreshing after a long day.”

As the duchess leads you into the shop, you think wryly that you probably weren’t hiding your exhaustion as well as you thought. 

She’s right. Sitting in the shop with a small cup of dessert, flavored ice cooling your tongue, you feel a bit of the pressure easing away from your temples. If the duchess notices you relaxing, she doesn’t say anything of it—at least until she asks about your season, and if anyone has caught your eye just yet. She has a strange, somewhat knowing expression on her face, but you try to pay it no mind as you answer. 

“The dancing is nice,” you say truthfully, but meaningfully. 

The duchess snickers in a way that is distinctly unladylike but even though you can see your aunt’s face scrunching up in the corner, that snicker allows you to smile. “Is anything else about it nice?” she asks.

You pause before answering with a question. “You were the diamond of your season, were you not?” She nods. “How did you find it, may I ask?”

“I enjoyed it,” she replies, and your heart sinks. “I quite like meeting new people, and it is a great honor to be chosen by the queen. Though it perhaps made a difference that there wasn’t anybody…meddling, I suppose, in my options for marriage.” 

You blink. “The queen did not seek to introduce you to anybody?”

She shakes her head. “I was already being courted by one of the most eligible bachelors of the ton, not even the season. I don’t suppose Her Majesty found it her prerogative to try and find me someone else.”

Annoyance and anger, not at the duchess, but at the queen herself, rises in your throat so quickly it surprises you. Where did this come from? You stare into the melting remains of your ice, its syrup suddenly cloyingly sweet on your tongue. The duchess said the queen didn’t find it her prerogative to interfere in her courtship. So why does she find it necessary for you?

Because she doesn’t think Lord Kang is good enough. 

Ah. There it is. The anger—the annoyance that the queen would deem Lord Kang, one of the best men you’ve met this entire season, unworthy of you. That she would not trust you to make the decision on your own, and must prod you in different directions like a doll in her playhouse. Quite like your father and aunt. Quite like the other men who have been calling on you these past few weeks. 

You’re so damn tired of people thinking they know best for you. 

“I don’t think I should have been the diamond,” you say quietly, so that only the duchess hears you. “Not for my talent or hard work. The thing is, I’m a quiet person, Your Grace. I am not really a sociable person. I am not very good at conversing. I just don’t…enjoy the social season the way other people do.” You look up from your ice to see the duchess gazing back at you thoughtfully. “Many of the other ladies of the season are as talented and hardworking as I, only in other spheres, and would likely be far more receptive than I to the…maneuverings, if you will, of our queen.”

The duchess remains silent. 

You start to panic. “I do not mean that I am ungrateful for Her Majesty’s approval. It is an honor. I only—”

“Miss L/N. Y/N.” The duchess takes your hands across the table. “May I call you that?”

Dumbly, you nod. 

“Excellent. You must call me by my name, then.” She smiles and your heart, which had been beating a little too fast, starts to slow down. “As friends.”

Slowly you nod again. 

“The season is not enjoyable for everyone,” she states. “You are none the worse for feeling that way. I had moments in my season that I did not like. And I can fully understand how, for someone of a more introverted nature, it might be more of a chore than is usually expected.” She leans a little over the table, still holding your hands. “But I will say this to you. You are the diamond, Y/N. And while this means people are watching you, it also means that you have some measure of freedom to act as you like. Refuse dances from those with whom you don’t wish to dance. Only accept as many dances as you need. And if you can, try to ignore those who would meddle in your affairs for their own gain. You are the diamond. You can afford to do these things more than others can.” The duchess squeezes your hands. “You know yourself better than anyone, your wants and desires. You should be in control of those. No one else.”

Stupidly, you feel tears welling up in your eyes. You blink them away as much as you can. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

“Oh, come now.” The duchess laughs. “Call me by my name. We are friends, are we not?”

You give her a watery smile in return. “Yes, we are.” Taking a shaky breath, you brush away a tear as discreetly as you can. “Thank you. I’m not the most upfront person, even with myself. I…I needed that.”

“You’re most welcome,” she replies warmly. “If I may I ask…”

You blink. “Yes?”

“You have someone in mind, don’t you?”

Your cheeks suddenly feel hot. “…Yes.”

“Is it Lord Kang?”

Now you think you understand the knowing look the duchess had in her eye earlier. “How long have you known?”

“Known? Only since now.” Her eyes crinkle with teasing mischief. “But I suspected as much at my gathering. You two were so engrossed in conversation, I couldn’t help but notice.” Oblivious to your embarrassment, she continues. “And if I remember correctly, he danced with you twice at the queen’s ball, no?”

“He did.” And a wonderful two dances those were.

The duchess eyes you like she can hear your thoughts. Honestly, she very well might—she’s incredibly perceptive. “He’s a good man, Y/N. A very good one.” She pauses a moment, as though weighing her next words. “I was not the most receptive to him, not at first.” Her smile turns a little painful as she looks into cup. “My father died very suddenly and without an heir. When I found out the estate was to pass to Lord Kang—someone I had never known, inheriting the only home I had ever known—to be frank, I was very angry.” She shakes her head. “My whole life was in that estate. My best memories were there, in my father’s library.” 

You listen, rapt. 

“But Lord Kang is a kind man. He was a kind man even when I was angry with him, unjustifiably. After all, he was as confused and bewildered by the entire situation as I was. But when he learned of my love for literature, and my sorrow at having lost my father’s library to the estate he now owns, he offered me free use of the library. We send books back and forth now, and he takes my recommendations just as I take his.” The duchess raises her head, and the smile on her lips seems to bring joy to the entire shop. “He is a very good friend, and I think he would be very good with you.”

Your throat feels too tight to speak. “Thank you,” is all you manage to say in reply. 

“Of course.” She motions to your empty cups. “Shall we have these taken away?”

A worker whisks away your empty cups, and after you pay for your treats, the duchess walks you outside. Once on the street, she takes your hands again and smiles. “Be brave, Y/N,” she says, looking at you with such sincerity you almost want to cry again. “You deserve good things. But you must come to take them for yourself.”

. . . . .

Yeonjun has just poured everyone a drink when the duchess comes sweeping in with the wind, full of apologies for being late. “I deeply apologize,” she says again, kissing Yeonjun lightly on the cheek before sitting next to him. “I hope Yeonjun hasn’t already bored you all to death.”

Everyone except Yeonjun laughs, Beomgyu’s cackle the loudest of all. Taehyun smiles over his drink as the duke pouts deeply, regaining his smile only when his wife whispers something in his ear. “Is everything all right?” he asks as the laughter subsides. “You didn’t have any trouble in town, did you?”

“Oh, no.” She shakes her head. “I just ran into someone and we spent a little too long catching up, I suppose.” The duchess looks at Taehyun meaningfully, and he only has a second to wonder why before she continues. “Miss L/N was just leaving the modiste, and we went to Gunter’s for ices after. I lost track of time.”

Miss L/N?

“You look remarkably unruffled for one who is so late,” Beomgyu points out, and Taehyun forces all thoughts of you out of his brain to focus on the conversation. 

“Perhaps because I knew you would be here,” she shoots back, which sends everyone into laughter again. “Anyhow, I’m sure you all are curious as to why Yeonjun and I invited you here today.”

“You’re making me nervous,” Kai mutters.

Yeonjun laughs, though there’s a strange edge to it. Taehyun can’t quite tell if it’s a good thing or a bad thing. “Well…” he starts, then turns to his wife. “Do you want to say it?” he murmurs. 

“I can.” She takes a deep breath before a glowing smile spreads across her lips. “I am with child.”

For a moment, the room remains dead silent. Taehyun himself can hardly believe his ears. Then he’s grinning, and so is everyone else, and the silence explodes into cheers and cries of congratulations and he’s hugging first the duke, then the duchess, and in this moment, the whole world feels perfect. Nothing could be better right now—nothing could beat the happiness he feels right now for his two good friends. 

“Congratulations,” Taehyun says again when the celebration has died down. His voice feels thick—he can hardly speak through the emotion filling his throat. “How long have you two known?”

“The doctor confirmed last week,” Yeonjun says, smiling down at his wife with so much love in his eyes it almost hurts. “We told our mothers the day after.”

“Well, now I know why you only invited us tonight,” Lady Choi says, her eyes sparkling. Next to her, her husband, Soobin, can’t seem to keep his own grin off his face. “You don’t want the entire ton knowing too soon, do you?”

“Not just yet.” The duchess shakes her head. “We plan to keep it out of Whistledown for some time.”

Several more rounds of congratulations follow, and by then they’ve all finished their drinks and are heading into the dining room. It’s a small group—just him, Yeonjun, Beomgyu, Kai, Soobin, and their wives—so they don’t observe the usual formalities, just sit down around the table laughing and chatting as one. The meal is filled with so much gaiety that he nearly forgets the duchess’s strange look earlier just before she mentioned your name. But as the dinner winds to a close, he remembers, and he can’t help but wonder what you and the duchess talked about. He won’t ask, of course, and he doesn’t even know if you talked about him, but the irrational part of him wants to know anyway.

Finally, after the meal, they all retire to the drawing room, where Lady Choi starts telling a story about Soobin that has his face turning red and the rest of them laughing. Partway through, Taehyun goes to pour himself a drink, only to look up and see the duchess standing next to him. 

He motions to the bottle. “Would you like a drink?” Then he remembers. “Oh, I don’t suppose you would.”

She smiles. “Not alcohol, though I would not say no to the lemonade. Thank you.” While a chorus of laughter sounds in the background, she and Taehyun raise their glasses with a smile. She takes a sip, then looks at him directly. “I saw Miss L/N earlier, you know.”

His heart, cliché as it sounds, skips a beat. “You mentioned, yes.”

For a moment, the duchess remains silent, her lips pursed as though contemplating her next words carefully. “Can we be honest, Taehyun?” she finally asks. 

He blinks. “Of course.”

“Is there a reason you haven’t proposed to her yet?”

Taehyun almost chokes on his drink. “What—” 

“I’m not trying to interrogate you,” the duchess says wryly. “Don’t look so frightened.”

“I’m not frightened.” Taehyun clears his throat, praying he doesn’t look too embarrassed. “But…why do you ask?”

“The season is almost halfway over,” she states matter-of-factly. “She is the diamond, and she clearly likes you. You danced with her twice at the queen’s ball, which is tantamount to declaring your intentions to the entire ton. What, now, is stopping you from asking for her hand?”

He opens his mouth. Closes it. He can already feel an excuse on the tip of his tongue—it has still only been three months, I’m not sure how she feels, I don’t know if she even wants me—but those would all be lies. Distractions, at least, from the full truth. The duchess bade him to be honest, and he won’t disrespect her by acting otherwise. 

“She is a quiet woman,” he says slowly. “And I do not want to come onto her too strongly. I know that people have married in less time than we’ve known each other, but while we get along very well, I suppose I wanted to…make certain that she would do well with me, and that I would do well with her, should we be married.”

The duchess nods slowly. “I understand this,” she says, “but you are a man who knows what he wants, and when you want something, you seek it out.” She pauses. “Why do you wait so long to seek her?”

His first response is I do. But even though that is true, over the past weeks… “The queen does not approve of me.” He says this with certainty, a bitter taste filling his mouth. “You must know this. She believes her diamond to be fit for a marquess, not an earl like I. And, truth be told…” Taehyun sighs. “I would like to at least allow her to make the decision. The Marquess of Schannon has a higher title, owns more land and has much greater wealth than I. He could provide for her much better than I.”

“But you are not the one who should make that decision for her.”

Taehyun gapes at the duchess’s sharp tone. Her eyes soften, but her voice remains as steady as before. “My marriage to Yeonjun did not thrive only because he could provide for me,” she says quietly. “It became what it is now because we got along, because we could laugh with and at one another, because we can be free with each other. I do not think that Miss L/N is the type of woman to value wealth and security over her own freedom, and I implore you not to dishonor her by thinking otherwise.”

“Of course not!” Taehyun snaps. “I just…” He swallows, and his entire throat tastes bitter. “I want to be enough for her.”

“I understand.” The duchess smiles. “You want to be the best man to her that you can be. But trust me when I say that your worth in her life—or in anyone’s life—is not defined by the gold you bring to the table. You and your character are what she will fall in love with. Not your money.”

Taehyun’s cheeks burn.

From the twinkle in the duchess’s eye, she definitely notices, but thankfully she says nothing of it. “Talk to her, Taehyun,” she says softly. “I think you will find she likes you far more than even you expect.”

. . . . .

When you wake up the next morning, you don’t bother to stifle a groan when you remember you’re to be entertaining callers again today. Then you remember that your governess is supposed to tell your aunt that you are horrifically ill, and your earlier dread quickly turns into relief as you pull your covers over your head again, rumpling your sheets and pillows. Your aunt will probably poke into your room to check if you’re actually ill, and you need to look the part. 

The servants come to dress you for the day. When they can’t get you to roll out of bed, they send for your governess, who gives you a rather anxious look before calling for your aunt, as you expected. You hear them coming back to your room together, just as you expected, but perhaps the prospect of speaking to near-strangers for an entire afternoon has you looking grimmer than you thought because she backs out of the room rather quickly without much need for explanation. 

Under your covers, you breathe a sigh of relief. Yesterday, the duchess said to be brave, and not force yourself to endure or take anything you don’t want. You plan to take her up on her advice, but not now. Being brave can wait another day. 

You spend the morning in a blissful haze, drifting in and out of sleep without anyone coming to bother you. Your governess comes in for a moment to tell you all your engagements for the day have been cancelled, which puts you in an even better mood. The day is marred somewhat by the arrival of a truly vile-looking tonic from the cook along with your lunch that she swears will have you feeling better in no time, but you manage to dump it out of your window before the servants return to take your tray away. You settle back into bed with one of the books Taehyun lent you and happily resign yourself to a quiet, uninterrupted afternoon. 

A few hours later, rapid footsteps sound in the hall just outside your room and you quickly put the book away, sliding under your covers and shutting your eyes. Several frantic knocks sound at your door. You wait a moment before groaning, “Come in.”

Maybe you should’ve taken up a career in acting instead of music. 

To your relief, it’s only your governess, who looks oddly excited. You push yourself up in bed with a questioning frown. “What is it?” Then you see she’s holding something, too. “What is that?”

She hands you a card, then places a lovely bouquet of flowers on your nightstand. “Read it,” she says, but your eyes have already latched onto the name etched elegantly into the center of the calling card, and the familiar handwriting on the back. 

Miss L/N—

I apologize for having to write this simple card instead of calling on you in person—I have had sudden business to take care of that kept me busy all of calling hour, or I would have come earlier. In the absence of being able to speak today, I wonder if you would promenade with me in Hyde Park tomorrow? I should like to see you again, and I have some things I would like to ask you, if I may. 

And then, an addendum in a script considerably messier than the rest, indicating some haste with which it was written—

Your governess has just informed me that you are ill. If you are still feeling ill tomorrow, please do not feel obligated to join me—we will simply find another time and place, should you be willing. Do feel better soon, my lady. I pray for your rapid recovery.

You look at your governess. “I will be recovered tomorrow,” you say, trying and failing to hide your growing smile. “In the morning, please send a note to Lord Kang informing him of my intention to join him at the park.”

Your governess smiles back, just as brightly. “As you wish, my lady.”

. . . . .

The afternoon is lovely, the sun golden and warm and only a few clouds drifting lazily across the sky, but everything seems to become a little brighter when Taehyun catches your eye across the park. He speeds up his steps, trying to rein in his own smile as he walks up to you over the green. “Miss L/N,” he greets, holding out his arm. “How are you? I hope you are not still feeling ill.”

“Not at all, thankfully.” You smile with all the warmth of the sun. “I can’t imagine what overtook me yesterday, but I am feeling much better today. In any case, it is good to see you too.” 

The two of you make small chatter as you start on the winding path around the park. Many people are out today, and between you, the sunlight, and their infectious cheer, Taehyun stops trying to rein in his smile and just lets it spread wide across his lips. When you reach a small grove of trees, though, you turn to him with a somewhat more serious expression upon your face. “In your note, you mentioned you had some things about which you wanted to discuss with me, my lord,” you say. “Might I ask what you wanted to say?”

“And if I just wanted to speak to you again after not having seen you for a good number of days?” he teases, heart melting with fondness when you turn away, clearly shy. “I jest, though it is true that I very much wanted to see you,” he continues more seriously. “I suppose I wanted to...” He swallows, then just decides to say it before he gets too scared to. “What are your thoughts on marriage?”

For a long moment, you don’t reply. For all Taehyun tries not to show his anxiety he’s not too certain he’s succeeding, especially when you look back at him. “To anyone?” you finally ask. 

The forthrightness of your question stuns him for a moment. In the time he’s known you, you’ve always been quiet, somewhat shy—he would not have expected such a question from you. But then he remembers you are also honest and very much in control of your own mind, and suddenly the question is not so surprising. 

You are honest with him. Taehyun will not disrespect you with a dishonest response. “To anyone,” he says truthfully, heart pounding. “But I would not mind a response specific to me.”

Your little laugh settles some of the anxiety threatening to burst from his chest. “To you, I would view marriage quite favorably.” You smile, and between your words and the light dappling through the trees onto your face and figure, Taehyun has to catch his breath. “Though to anyone else, the answer would be the opposite.”

Relief threatens to choke up his throat before he can reply. He truly hadn’t realized he was so nervous until you answered him favorably. “Might I ask why?” he asks quietly. 

You look up at the trees, at the sunlight peeking through the leaves. “When I returned to London, I didn’t know if I wanted to marry. I spent so long abroad, alone with only the piano as any real constant in my life, and the way everyone spoke of marriage, it seemed like it was a given that I should give up my passion for music in exchange for the hand of someone I didn’t even know yet.” Your lips turn up in a wry little smile. “I considered just trying to reach the age of a spinster, you know. In that case my father might send me back to the continent, and without the pressure of being a young lady of marriageable age, I might earn some money performing again, and at least I might see my dowry then.”

Taehyun frowns. “Your dowry?”

Your expression twists somewhat bitterly. “My father took my performance earnings for my dowry.”

“That…” Taehyun shakes his head, at a loss for words. “You earned that income yourself, so it should be yours, no?”

“That is what I thought as well,” you reply, your dry tone hardly managing to disguise the annoyance of your words. “So you see, then, why I did not quite view marriage through a favorable lens at first.”

Taehyun swallows. “What made you change your mind?”

You take a deep breath. “Not much, at first,” you say lowly. “I wanted respect in marriage. It does not seem like it should be such a difficult thing for which to ask. But as I went through the season, I realized…apparently it is quite a task.” You shake your head. “There were so many with whom I spoke—so many who had already planned a future out for them and their unknown wives. It was so strange. They would just talk at me, saying all these things, and never even asked what I wanted.” 

Inwardly, Taehyun feels a little sick. He knows many of the young men in the ton, and likely some of them are included in those who spoke to you this way. The season is difficult for debutantes—that’s no secret—but even though he knows that…he didn’t really. Not until you just said it out loud. To be dehumanized in this way, and spoken to like an object. “I’m sorry,” he says lamely. 

“Don’t apologize.” You wave his words away. “You are one of the few who never condescended to me in such a fashion, you have nothing to apologize for.” You look up at him with a small smile. It eases some of his guilt. “I also do not doubt I wasn’t a stunning conversationalist, given that I do not quite enjoy speaking with strangers, though I will not take all the blame for that. I mean, I was once asked what makes me tick.” You laugh helplessly. “I don’t even know what that means.” 

Taehyun makes a face. Tick? “I don’t either.” 

“The season is what it is.” You’ve reached the edge of the trees, stepping back into the full sunshine. “I gather that all the men and women are used to this sort of thing. And, well—perhaps if I had been raised to believe I would one day command an entire estate and everyone in it, I might think the same way as many of those who wished to ask for my suit. Most of them weren’t unkind, after all.” You cast your eyes downward, fidgeting with your dress. “Just…”

“You give them too much credit,” Taehyun says quietly. “None of the things you’ve mentioned would give anyone the privilege not to extend respect to others.”

You nod slightly, still looking down. “I think,” you finally say, “from the beginning, I decided that if I was to marry anyone, I would need my own freedom to play the piano, and in general to have my own passions. I will not give up music for anything, my lord. It has kept me sane all these years. My cousins will tease that I am married to the piano and while it is an overwrought joke, there is some truth to it.” You look up again, meeting his eyes directly. “Very few people have truly respected my passions for what they are to me. In marriage, I will not bring yet another person into my life to clip my wings.”

Taehyun considers his next words carefully. “If you were guaranteed your freedom, then, would you still marry someone?”

“Yes,” you reply immediately. “Because if that person would guarantee my freedom, I would know that they cared for me enough that they wouldn’t clip my wings in a way that would hurt me.”

For a few moments the two of you walk in silence. You’ve been at the park for some time, now—the sun is beginning to sink a little lower, the edges of the sky fading from blue to a pale pink. Taehyun looks at you and, against his will, doubt wells in his chest. He respects you, respects you so much—as a musician, as a woman, as a person who has come into his life and for whom he’s grown to care very much. But will that be enough? You deserve only the best of the things in the world. While well-off, Taehyun isn’t the wealthiest in town. Others, materially, could provide for you better. Could give you all the lovely things you deserve. 

But you are not the one who should make that decision for her.

The voice of the duchess rings through Taehyun’s mind and he swallows hard. Right. He will not cut his own suit short for fear that he may not be enough. If you have seen something in him to love, all he can do is strive every day to provide you with happiness. 

It is the least you deserve.

“I plan to call on your father in the next few days,” he says quietly. “To ask for his permission to propose to you.” Out of the corner of his eye you turn to look at him, and even though his heart is beating faster than it ever has before, he forces himself to meet your gaze. “Would you be amenable—”

“Yes!” The word bursts from your lips, cutting off his question. You look supremely embarrassed for a moment and Taehyun can’t hide his own smile at your adorable expression, but you don’t back down. “Yes, Lord Kang,” you repeat, considerably more calmly. “I would be.”

Taehyun takes a deep breath and tries not to show all the butterflies fluttering about in his own stomach. “Thank goodness,” he says, praying his voice isn’t trembling. He laughs a little. “You don’t know how nervous I was to ask that.”

Your eyes crinkle into a smile brighter than the setting sun. “You did a wonderful job of hiding it.”

Taehyun doesn’t really know how he gets through the rest of your walk. He says many things and so do you, but by the time the sun has finally sunk too low to ignore and you’ve circled the park at least three times, his mind is still just a blur of she said yes she said yes she said yes. “I will leave you here tonight, my lady,” he says when it comes time to part ways. “I do hope I will see you soon.”

“You will,” you reply. And as Taehyun is parsing your bold response, in full view of the ton, you take a deep breath of your own, looking him straight in the eye with a little smile. “After all, my lord, you must still call on me so that I might return your books, no?”

Half of the ton looks at you. Half of the ton looks at him. Taehyun himself has to take a moment to grapple with the implications of your deceptively innocent question—the public declaration that you have seen each other often enough to speak like this, that you have exchanged gifts beyond the typical flowers and jewels, that you are close enough to demand that he come to see you and not the other way around. 

That he has not just chosen to court him, but that you have chosen him as your suitor, as well.

All of this has his head spinning though not necessarily in a bad way, and throughout all this your eyes have remained steadily on his, twinkling in the remnants of sunlight. Taehyun’s cheeks are warm with the attention but, he decides, two can play this game. “Taehyun,” he says, smiling when you cock your head in confusion. “If I am to see you again, you must call me by my name. Not ‘my lord.’ Not ‘Lord Kang.’” He takes your hand. “Taehyun.”

You look down at your joined hands, then up at him. And in that moment, with the pink light of sunset glowing around your figure and the shy smile curving your lips as comprehension dawns on your face, Taehyun really wants to kiss you. He abstains because kissing in full view of the ton when you’re not even married is probably a step too far for both of you, but nonetheless, he still wishes. “Taehyun,” he murmurs. “None of the ‘my lord’ nonsense.”

Your laugh carries on the wind, a warm, sweet melody to his ears. “If you are Taehyun, then I am Y/N.” Your eyes sparkle, either oblivious or far too discerning as to how much he enjoyed hearing his name from your lips. “A fair trade, no?”

“Very fair, Miss—” He catches himself, smiling. “Y/N.” Lifting your hand to his lips, he kisses it softly, just as he always has before. “Take care, Y/N. I will see you soon.”

. . . . .

The next morning, you’re at your piano, squinting at a new piece of music when a knock sounds at the door. “Come in,” you say absently, still eyeing the difficult passage your fingers just can’t seem to get right.

“Miss L/N.” One of the servants steps in. “Your father would like to see you.”

Your hand freezes in the air. “My father?”

The servant leads you down the halls in silence, leaving your mind to wonder about all manner of things that your father could have called you for. He rarely summons you for—well, anything. Most of the time you barely catch a glimpse of him before the day is over. The only thing you can think of is Lord Kang—Taehyun— coming to propose his suit, and he said that he would come in the next few days, not—

You come to a stop in front of your father’s office, eyes wide. Would he truly have come so soon?

The servant knocks for you. When your father’s voice bids you come in, you’re still rattled enough by the thought that it takes you a moment to step through the door. 

You curtsy, if a little lamely. “Father.”

“Y/N.” He gestures to the seat in front of his desk. “Sit down.”

You sit. 

The time you sit in silence cannot have been more than a few seconds. Half a minute, at most. But with every tick of the clock you find it harder and harder not to fidget in this seat until your finger catches on a loose string of your dress and you give in to the urge to fiddle with it. Anything to keep you occupied as the silence stretches longer and longer. 

Finally, your father opens his mouth to speak. “Lord Kang came by just now. The Earl of Addiston.”

Your heart skips at least three beats and you feel a warmth emanating from your chest, spreading slowly through the rest of your body. “I see.”

“He asked for my permission to propose to you.”

Giddy excitement threatens to show itself on your face. You force your expression to remain still. “Did you consent?”

Your father looks at you long and hard. “Do you wish to marry him?”

Frustration and annoyance threaten to color your features, but you’ve remained quiet and placid for so many years that you manage to stop it from showing. What exactly does he want from you? Did he say yes, or did he say no? Why does he want to know if you would accept Taehyun’s suit? What does it matter to him? Then a terrible thought occurs to you. 

What if he already said no? 

Breathe. You force yourself to inhale. Exhale. You let go of the stray thread on your dress. “Did you consent?”

Your father’s eyes grow hard. “I asked you a question.”

“As did I.” You swallow hard. “And might I remind you, I asked it first.”

Your father is looking at you like he doesn’t quite know you. Which, you suppose, is true. He never really did. Never really cared to in the first place. But to be fair, you’ve never acted this way to him—or to anyone in the household, really—until today. 

Unfortunately, you are still a quiet person, cowed in your father’s presence, so after too many seconds of silence pass you finally reply. “But if you must know, yes. If he proposed, I would marry him.” 

Tension slowly fills the air the longer you look at your father. He must have realized what you said—or what you didn’tsay, really. If he proposed, I would marry him. Not if you consented, I would marry him. 

Subtle differences. But while you don’t necessarily enjoy the social season, you’ve been around enough to pick up on just how much subtlety can convey. 

“I asked if you wanted to marry him,” your father finally says. “Not if you would.”

You grit your teeth. What exactly is he playing at? “The answer to that is yes as well.”

He folds his hands. Leans back in his chair. Looks at you unflinchingly. You try to do the same even though it’s getting harder to control your expression. “I gave my consent,” he finally says, apparently oblivious to you doing your absolute best not to slump over in relief. “But he is an earl, daughter. Your Aunt Taylor tells me you have other suitors. Would you not want a marquess?”

It takes everything in you not to laugh. To not even scoff. “Father,” you say slowly, “trust me when I say I will not be receiving a proposal from a marquess this season.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Not the Marquess of Schannon?”

“Marquess Yang is a good man,” you say. “But I do not believe I am what he is looking for in a wife.”

“You are the diamond,” your father presses. “What else could he want in a wife?”

Good lord. How did your mother marry this man? “A connection, perhaps.” You try not to sound too sarcastic. “Someone he could care about and be a good partner to.”

He shakes his head. “You do not want a marquess?”

You sigh. “Father, if Lord Kang was a marquess, I would want a marquess. If he was a viscount, I would want a viscount.” Finally, you let some of your annoyance bleed through your tone. “I would marry Lord Kang, whatever title he had. I like him, Father, and if he wishes to have me, I will have him.”

Your father sighs. “Well, his estate is certainly large, and he is of good lineage.” As if those were the reasons you want to marry him. “I will approve this match, daughter, if it makes you happy.”

If it makes you happy. You almost snort, but instead you school features into neutrality. “Thank you, Father.” And as soon as you can after that, you leave the room. 

You run into your governess just down the corridor. But while you have to skid to a stop to avoid her, it looks like she’s been expecting you. “My lady,” she says breathlessly. “Lord Kang is in the drawing room, waiting for you.”

Your mind goes blank. Your governess takes the opportunity to start pushing you toward the stairs. 

Just outside the drawing room, you have to stop in order to take a few breaths. For some reason, even though you know what’s going to happen, your heart is beating like no tomorrow. Steadying yourself, you look up to the ceiling and say a quick prayer before stepping into the room. 

Lord Kang—Taehyun—turns around the moment you walk in and immediately his smile spreads wide across his face, more welcome and beautiful than anything you’ve ever seen. “My lady,” he says, bowing to your curtsy. There is a bouquet of flowers in his hand. “How are you this morning?”

“I thought I told you to call me by my name,” you say, not bothering to hide your own smile. “Oh, thank you.” You take the flowers he’s extending to you, suddenly feeling very shy. 

“Forgive me. Y/N.” His eyes grow softer, a sweet laugh escaping his lips. “I spoke to your father earlier.”

“I know.” You sit on the couch and he follows suit. Your governess makes to take the flowers, probably to put them in a vase somewhere, but you wave her off. You need something to hold or you’ll get too nervous and start fidgeting, and besides, they’re pretty. “He spoke to me just now. Though I must confess, I did not expect you to come so soon.” 

“Why wait?” Taehyun’s quips back, the corners of his lips quirking up. “I suppose, then, that you know what I came here to do.” He takes a deep breath, and out of the corner of your eye, you see your governess slipping out of the room. 

“You said you would need respect in marriage,” Taehyun says quietly. “Freedom, to pursue your own passions. I know you already said that you would view marriage favorably with me, but I wanted to make it known that I have always had, and always will have, an incredible amount of respect for you and your work, and that I would never deliberately endeavor to wrench you from it.” He tilts his head slightly. “And if I ever do so unintentionally, I beg that you tell me immediately so that I might rectify my mistake.”

You nod slowly, your heart full to bursting already. 

“In return, I only ask that you allow me the same respect. Not that you have ever given me a reason to assume you would otherwise.” His eyes crinkle with his smile. “And, if I may, Y/N…I do not know much of the love that which poets speak of, but even if I do not love you know given it has only been a few months since our meeting, I do believe that love will come very easily with you.”

Throat full of emotion, all you can do is nod. “And I, you,” you whisper, hardly able to breathe.

Taehyun pulls a small box out of his pocket. Eyes never leaving yours, he opens it, revealing a lovely ring inside. 

The breaths you couldn’t take lodges in your throat. You almost choke. Despite your ungainly behavior, the ring sparkles cheerfully in the morning sunshine, a simple band of gold set with a pearl, surrounded by tiny diamonds that throw light onto your face. “It’s beautiful,” you get out when you finally regain your voice. 

“There are several betrothal rings in my family’s collection, but I thought this one would suit you best,” Taehyun says. He looks at you so very softly, so very gently. “It’s yours if you would like to have it.”

There might be tears in your eyes, but you force them back as you nod once, twice. “I would,” you barely manage to whisper. 

You aren’t wearing gloves, so when Taehyun takes your hand this time, you almost jolt with the sensation of his warm skin against yours. He slides the ring onto your finger but doesn’t let go of your hand, even as the two of you admire it in the sunlight. “It’s lovely,” you breathe. 

Taehyun smiles. “I would say the hand,” he replies gently. 

You have the sudden realization that if you are to live the rest of your life with quiet compliments such as this, you might not survive more than few more years before you melt into a puddle on the ground. 

“I will call the banns for us,” Taehyun continues, as if he hadn’t just floored you with five simple words. “We can be married as soon as is comfortable. And as for your dowry, it’s yours to spend as you wish.” He laughs at your dumbfounded state. “I won’t touch a penny—” 

Before even you know what you’re doing, you’ve cut Taehyun off by wrapping your arms around him, pulling him to you in a warm embrace. The tears you tried to hold back have begun to fall and you’re well aware of how improper this is, but you couldn’t help it. “Thank you,” you whisper. “Thank you, Taehyun.”

His own arms settle around you, warmly, gently. “Of course, Y/N,” he murmurs, his words ghosting softly past your ear. “For you, always.”

. . . . .

epilogue.

Since you were young, you’ve grown used to rising early. Reading or practicing as the sun peeks over the horizon is incredibly calming, and it always sets the tone well for what you must do the rest of the day. 

The first few days after your wedding, though, every morning you remain in bed long after your usual waking time. Not least because the night’s exertions exhaust you, but it’s so wonderful to wake up in your husband’s arms, soft rays of sunlight peeking through the curtains and falling onto his face. Taehyun has always been handsome, but you think that he looks best in the morning light, his eyes softly closed, all the worries drained away from his face in slumber. 

After a week, though, you find yourself awake at your typical time, mind itching to return to your routine. You lie in bed for a few minutes longer with your eyes closed, but when sleep doesn’t overtake you again, you give in to the restless urge and slip out of the sheets as quietly as you can. Taehyun shifts a little in his sleep and you waver in your decision, but he eventually stills, breaths evening again. After kissing his forehead softly, you pad out of the room.

In the music room, you pull out a quiet sonata with which to accompany the rising sun. And as your fingers slowly dance over the keys, grey light turning pink through the window, your mind settles and so does your heart, an unconscious smile drifting over your lips. 

The door opens after some time. You look up at the creaking sound, letting the music fade away. In the doorway stands your husband dressed somewhat haphazardly, his hair still half a mess, sleep still evident in his eyes. He looks rather adorable. 

“Good morning,” you say, not even trying to hide your smile. “Is something wrong?”

“I woke up,” he mumbles back. “You weren’t there.” His eyes open a little more, a small, wry smile playing on his lips. “You’re an early riser.”

“I have been since I was young.” You make to rise but Taehyun waves you back down, instead coming to sit next to you on the piano bench. “I tried not to wake you. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” He lets his head fall onto your shoulder and his nose pokes right into the crook of your neck, right where you remember seeing a small red bruise from last night. You make a small noise but instead of moving away he just turns his head and kisses it. 

Heat floods your body. “Taehyun,” you hiss. 

“Y/N,” he says back, and even though you can’t really see his face you know he must be smiling. “Come back to bed. We’re still on our honeymoon.”

You laugh softly. “I won’t be able to sleep.”

“We don’t have to sleep,” he murmurs in reply, nipping lightly at the bruise. You hiss and swat at him but he easily dodges with a laugh. “Please, Y/N. Just a few hours more.”

You have known this man for just five months, been married to him barely a week, but already you’re completely weak to him and his large eyes. Though you try to suppress it, your smile grows wider as you finally acquiesce. “Let me finish playing through this,” you compromise, gesturing to the piano, “and then we can go.”

“Perfect.” Taehyun kisses you softly. “I love you.”

Your breath catches, just as it has every time he’s said those three words since the first night of your marriage. And as pink sunlight settles in the room, lighting on his face and yours, you give in to the melody singing in your heart and kiss him back. “I love you too.”

Reblogs and comments are deeply appreciated! Hope you enjoyed this, and have a lovely day :)

[livin4woso]

Chapter 1- breaking the media

You knew that clubs would be interested in you but definitely not this one. You were 16 and playing for arsenal after transferring there when you were 13. You started your career off at sunderland your home club with the aspirations to be like the many legends from sunderland including beth mead, lucy bronze, Jordan nobbs there were plenty to idolise so when arsenal had offered you a place on the u16s at 13 you couldn't resist. Your parents had very little care for the fact such a large club was interested with you and had no intention to move from the north east to london so therefore sent you to a foster home for your time at arsenal. The people who you had lived with were amazing and at some points you believed they were better than your own biological parents who gave no interest in your career and no care for you in general.

Your time at arsenal was amazing you were flying through the age groups and here you landed on the first team of arsenal. Now maybe this was due to the plenty of injuries of the backline and of laura the right back which just so happened to be where you played on the pitch that lead you to your debut but you were estatic to say the least. You only played half the game but didn't mean that you couldn't leave your mark on the pitch you had executed the perfect slide tackle on lauren hemp swiftly removing the ball from her feet as she edged nearer to the box.

That tackle had left jonas an impression and many other teams beyond the wsl. You began to make more frequent appearances on the team but only as a sub but still each time you stepped on the pitch the media was all over you the next star girl who was gonna be the big thing. All the titles and names should have put pressure on you to do better yet it never did infact it was motivation to carry on. Summer had arrived the end of the season meant big transfers arsenal had missed out on winning the title race yet you were the most popular conversation topic of where will you move next or if you would stay at arsenal. Now the conversation was relentless everysingle club had wanted a piece of you and for good money from what you had heard but it was ultimately your decision and a little bit of arsenals choice after they had turned down bids from Manchester city and Chelsea early in the transfer window.

Of course you wanted to stay at arsenal, you thrived there your idols were there you grew up admiring leah williamson, beth mead and vivianne miedema, you had a few offers on the table that your agent had given to you yet none of them beat arsenal or had come close to the same pay check but that wasn't the reason you were staying it was more of the bragging rights to say you were friends them even though you were like the adopted child of arsenal many complained that your presence was aging them but it was only for jokes they loved you really. Then the call came at 11.40pm just as you were about to crawl in bed after a long day of pre season grind as unlike the other girls you couldn't go on holiday and get drunk on a beach you were 16 you couldn't even legally drink but that didnt stop you. You were exhausted as sleep weighed on your eyelids then the phone rang.

"Barcelona are interested in you" your agent said to you. "WHAT, YOU'RE JOKING" you shouted almost waking up everyone in your house. "Yes but if you want to go you need to have an answer by tomorrow, the contract is a multi year so it will be constantly updated each year..." your agent began to ramble on about the terms of the contract "yes" you splutter out interrupting his long speech "yes what?" He asked back almost fed up of your frantic behaviour "yes, i want to go its the only club i would leave arsenal for and im not gonna get another chance like this" you said firmly there was no hesitation behind your words "right then we will final up the deal with arsenal and Barcelona and we will figure out an appropriate wage" he said almost scoffing at that last comment and going back to his professional terms (ramble) which meant nothing to you.

Once he hung up the phone you lay in bed in the darkness when reality hit you "omg im going to play at Barcelona" you said to yourself "OMG IM GOING TO PLAY AT BARCELONA" you repeated to yourself this time shouting almost squealing in fact. You couldn't believe it was happening, and you drifted off waiting for the deal to finalise it. It was going to be a long process of negotiation, but it was on you were willing to wait out for .Soon the red and white iconic kit would change to a blue and purple equally as iconic kit and you had a chance to write a legacy one which you knew would catch the medias attention, maybe even break it.

[juvinadelgreko]

a short list of things that happen to gallavich post-canon because i said so:

ian & mickey ditch the yuppy westside after a year and get a small duplex on the south side that's far enough away from either of their childhood homes to not have too many ghosts, but close enough to family and the places they know. it's 3 beds and 2.5 baths, which is the perfect size for them and any guests they may have. franny and freddie love to sleep over, and fiona enjoys staying with them when she decides she's ready to come visit.

the security business grows to the point that they file Real Business Paperwork™️ and start hiring new people. Their services eventually expand beyond just weed. Their clientele mostly consists of small family restaurants and shops that want to cater and deliver but don't have the budget to buy their own vehicles/hire their own drivers. ian and mickey's favorite client is a family run greek restaurant that sends them home with leftovers every time they do a run for them (i'm greek, chicago has a huge greek community, and it makes me happy to think of ian and mickey stuffing their faces with homemade gyros and baklava after a long day).

mickey thrives as CEO of GM Secure Transport. we know he's a math whiz, and his accounting methods, though unconventional, are pristine. he knows the city so well, has a knack for mapping the most efficient routes that keep them on time and cost effective. they set up a website and social media pages that quickly become plastered in rave reviews. he actually comes to enjoy meeting the different people that hire them, getting to know their businesses, getting free samples and leftovers. he establishes a rapport with the business on his route, and would even go so far as to consider himself friends with some of the owners.

things go so well that ian begins to consider stepping back. on the downlow, he starts doing research on a possible path back to working in healthcare. after losing his army dreams, it was the only career he ever felt passionate about. he loves helping mickey, but he misses it so much. he finds a few different legal processes by which he could return to it, and decides he's going to try. he refuses to live the rest of his life regretting not trying. he's nervous to tell mickey about stepping back from their business, but of course mickey is 100% behind ian doing what makes him happy. mickey rallies the entire family behind ian to help with the paperwork and supporting documentation. it takes months, but ian eventually receives permission from the state of illinois to go to paramedic school. he'd loved being an EMT and had always wanted to learn more. mickey draws flashcards for him and helps him study for all of his exams. ian, of course, passes everything with flying colors and graduates at the top of his class. mickey insists on throwing him a big gallagher blowout party after the ceremony. when his shifts start, mickey packs him lunch with goofy (sometimes dirty) notes in the box. (I'll forever be so angry at the writers for taking ian's EMT career from him and i refuse to believe that in shameless's wishy-washy version of the legal system he couldn't find a path back to it).

aside from their business, mickey has a small side gig as an artist. ian always knew mickey was brilliant and creative, and never passes on an opportunity to tell him so. when he went over to the milkovich house as a kid, he'd always pocket mickey's little doodles he left laying around (ian was not as slick about this as he thought, mickey 100% saw him doing it but was way too nervous to bring it up until they wound up in prison together years later). now that he has the money for it, mickey invests in some entry level art supplies, takes some classes, and really falls in love with it. he posts some of it to social media and gets way more love for it than he was expecting. people eventually ask about buying his work or commissioning pieces, leading mickey milkovich, at one time the meanest thug on the south side, to set up an etsy shop.

but what really surprises everyone is when mickey picks up knitting (thank you, @infjgemini for being the originator of this headcanon) he's always liked working with his hands, working with numbers and patterns, and the women in his art classes are always talking about their knitting. when one of them catches him looking at the patterns sticking out of their purse, she offers to share an extra set of needles and some yarn with mickey so he can learn how to do it. ian's a little intrigued when he comes from his shift and sees mickey knitting, but he just encourages mickey to keep doing it if he's enjoying it. eventually, ian stops buying sweaters, hats, mittens, etc. at the store and exclusively wears mickey couture. he can't go five seconds without telling people that his husband made one of the things he's wearing. 'oh you like this hat? my husband made it. he has an etsy store.' and 'this is my favorite sweater. my husband made it just for me, you can't have it.' franny and freddie love their custom uncle mickey sweaters. a year after he starts, mickey's christmas gift to ian is an absolutely massive knitted throw blanket that will actually cover all 6ft of ian plus mickey when they snuggle, unlike the ones at the store. it becomes ian's most prized possession, and they almost always spend their evenings and weekends curled up under that blanket watching movies on their very comfy couch. mickey's knitting of course sells gangbusters on etsy, and he wishes he could go back in time just to tell his 17 year old self that people are paying actual money for his artwork. he continues meeting with his art class friends, with the women who taught him to knit, and finds he really enjoys the low stakes gossip and chatter of their group. ian gets so hooked on all the tea he brings home, eagerly waits up for mickey to relay him the knitting circle drama for the week. he's not the only guy in the group, and there's a good enough age range that he doesn't feel like an oddball. ian enjoys meeting them, is glad that mickey has friends he feels comfortable with. some of them are elderly, and he and ian frequently go to their houses to help with chores and heavy lifting. they accidentally end up with a small cohort of surrogate grandparents, which they both really enjoy after growing up with almost no sane adult presence in their lives.

ian finds his way back to running. it's one of the many things he adds back into his routine as part of his and mickey's agreement to start taking better care of themselves. it had taken a few really loud arguments, but once the dust settled on their first year of marriage, ian insists they're going to start eating better and living healthier now that they can afford it. it takes a lot of convincing, but he manages to get mickey to quit smoking with him, to cut back on drinking, and work some more exercise into his life. mickey hates running but loves lifting (man after my own heart) so they spend a lot of time doing that together. but ian's runs are his quiet solo meditation time. he really missed it. he finds a local queer and trans run club, and once he's sure it doesn't involve caleb or any of the gay jesus kids, he joins up. he ends up getting along really well with the group, and even convinces mickey to go out for drinks with some of them. ian trains a healthy amount, doesn't push himself too hard or obsess over how fast or far he's going or how much weight he is or isn't losing--he just enjoys it. he enters in a neighborhood holiday race with the run club just for shits and giggles, and actually really enjoys the fun competitiveness and goofy holiday outfits. he keeps doing fun little races, enters a local half marathon, and then a full one. mickey always parks himself somewhere along the route with the partners of the other people in the run club and cheers like a rabid soccer mom when ian passes by. he does not care who stares. that's his fucking husband! after a few years, fiona comes home and they run the chicago marathon together. the whole entire family shows up to cheer for them, and the picture of him and fiona in their race bibs and participation medals, surrounded by the entire family at the finish line, is framed on ian's nightstand.

speaking of eating better, ian finds he really loves gardening and cooking. he starts with tomatoes, and when those go well, slowly expands. he finds that mickey's much more amenable to trying new foods if he knows ian grew the ingredients in their yard. ian loves to dig online for recipes, loves to experiment with new ingredients. one of the older ladies from mickey's knitting circle comes over sometimes to help him with new dishes. liam, franny, and freddie come to their house for dinner at least once a week just because ian's cooking is that good. liam especially takes an interest in it, and starts coming over a bunch just to cook with ian. he gets really good at meal prepping for the days he works 12 hour shifts and doesn't have the energy to cook anything when he gets home. he puts everything together beforehand and leaves mickey directions for serving it. mickey always has it ready for him when he gets home. they cook together on ian's days off. in the summer, ian will make spreads of berry pies and have the entire family over for dinner. he always hides one away for just him and mickey. for holidays, everyone pitches in to cook, but ian is the chief executive of it all, with liam as his right hand man. mickey is chief taste tester.

also--they get a dog. a few years on, mickey finds a worse-for-wear boxer-mixed-with-something wandering around one of his delivery routes, and like. he can't just leave it. he takes it to a shelter, but it sticks in his mind for weeks, until he can't resist anymore and has to ask ian about maybe, just maybe getting a dog. ian agrees, because they both really wanted a pet growing up and now they can have one because they're grownups with the space and money for one. after doing some research, they decide to go adopt from the same shelter mickey took the stray to. he's still there, and mickey never believed in fate before, but he thinks maybe he does now. they bring him home and name him Sox, both after the white sox and because his brindle coat is interrupted by four white socks. he is the most spoiled dog in the city of chicago. the 'no dog on the couch or bed' rule lasted about five seconds. he sleeps on the end of their bed every night and flops on their laps during movie time. mickey insists that dog food is dog food and people food is people food, but ian is a softie who sneaks him pieces of meat from dinner almost every night. mickey will sometimes take him on delivery runs because the customers love him and Sox loves to stick his head out the window. whenever his station does a cookout, ian brings Sox and everyone takes turns playing fetch with him. in the summer, he loves to swim with them and the kids in the above ground pool in the yard, and sit in the garden while ian works.

this is so soft, guys, but it makes me so happy to think about these two having a good life.

[fushiglow]

Introducing: Ask Satoru 🎤

Got a burning question you'd like to ask idol Satoru from Over the Threshold? Now's your chance!

To coincide with the release of chapter 12, I'm pleased to announce that Satoru is now taking questions via my ask box! Query to your heart's content, but bear in mind that Satoru's team won't take any questions that are likely to outright threaten his career — so word them carefully!

Thank you to @hugbin for the idea and to @bearhaviour for the adorable chibi Satoru! Cutest thing I've ever seen and far beyond my expectations when I asked about a chibi idol Gojō — bear spoils me to death ♥️

P.S. Please make it clear that your question is for Satoru so I can distinguish it from regular asks. Thank you!

[prettyoatmeal]

Thinking about Simon part 10 million and 2, this time with a reader that loves Valentine's Day.

Simon who originally disliked Valentine’s Day coming to love it and him going above and beyond to make that day special for you.

All Simon had associated the colour red was with blood, gore, horrors no sweet thing like you should ever witness. Valentine’s Day was a constant reminder of his toxic career life.. or at least it was until you came into his life.

He knew February 14th was about love and expressing one’s feelings for their significant other. With all the hearts, stores decorated with red and pinks, all the cheap tasting chocolates in heart shaped boxes and the pink teddies, it really wasn’t something he delved in. He didn’t seek out a Valentine, and no one asked him either.

But you loved it. You loved pinks and reds and all the colours around that spectrum. You loved the hearts and all the shiny jewellery. It was the day which quite literally everything catered to your exact taste.

He noticed this, of course he did. You were the most important being in his life despite being so different than him. You were dealing with him on not just acquaintance level, but managing to drill into his cold heart and make him swoon. He knew he had to make that day special for you.

So getting is wallet out, he took note of everything which had caught your eye even the slightest.

Those ‘I’m his, she’s mine’ hoodies you two laughed at because they were just the tackiest things you’ve ever seen? Already in the bag and you’ll bet he’s wearing it with you.

That lingerie set you were looking at a little too long? It’s already beautifully wrapped up and waiting to be given to you. Of course he’ll most likely be ripping it off you the moment you show him, but he can always get a new one.

That pink sapphire ring that was too expensive even for you to look at? You don’t need to because you’ll bet he wouldn’t think twice.

And of course the usual, a candy pink teddy, a heart shaped box of chocolates and a bouquet of pink tulips.

Waking up on the morning of Valentine’s Day, you’re immediately bombarded with the most beautiful flowers, the prettiest new lingerie set, yummiest chocolates, and the hoodies you two happily wear on your days off.

Exchanging gifts, you share the chocolates in bed while watching a nice movie, lazing around for the morning and cuddling up with the small bear between you two.

Oh, and the ring?

Don’t worry about it. He’s saving it for when the timing is just right.

[gremlinandacrow]

Mouthwashing Headcanons

I may be cringe...But I am free! This is my first time actively sharing my headcanons. Sorry if this sounds incoherent, these were partially done on impulse because I wanna share my love for this game!!!

(Note: There's no mentions of Post-crash here!) (Note #2: Yeah Anya has the most, she's a queen and deserves it!)

Anya 🌕

Early to mid-30s

Tall! I imagine she's at least 5'8 (and her sandals provide an extra inch of height as well)

Russian (credits to @lesbiananya for this hc actually! Her fics are awesome!)

She moved to America in her mid-20s

Lesbian

Growing up, her family placed many expectations on her. Academically, she went beyond most of her class, but as she got older, she struggled immensely with various insecurities over being "good enough".

It developed into her feeling very hyper-independent. She only considers it her final option.

It's...Partially the reason why she's so estranged from her family now.

Undiagnosed autistic (currently going through burnout)

Major reason why she kept failing medical school: She kept running out of money she earned from working hauls with Pony Express. Is in debt.

On the ship, she...Doesn't do much. With such a small crew, there's very little chance of anyone getting seriously hurt. And the food...Well, it's terrible, but not enough to make anyone sick.

She spends a lot of time (during the "workday") in her office. She likes playing the music while she studies in there. It's mostly ambient music.

Bands/Artists I'd think she'd like though: The Crane Wives, Mitski, boa (Maybe Big Thief as well?)

When the crew is playing a board game and it's getting intense, she'll go eerily quiet and have this intense glare!

Smokes often, usually when she's stressed. Unfortunately on this haul, she only packed one box, so she making them last as much as she can...

Also has a journal. She mainly uses it to vent her frustrations out. It's the only thing that will "listen" to her.

She's cold to the touch

After her first haul, she packed extra blankets. You can't tell me the Tulpar isn't cold 24/7!

Near-sighted! She wears contacts (I know this isn't the most original headcanon, but I wanted to mention this one!)

Curly 🚀

Mid-30s

6'1

Born in Australia, raised in America after his family moved when he was young

Bisexual, but he didn't know for a long time (At least until his late 20s)

Parents had him when they were older. Both passed by the time he was 30.

Has been Jimmy's friend since middle school.

Kept finding himself surrounded by bad influences. Sometimes he'd get out of those situations...And other times he'd stick by Jimmy.

Doesn't have that much of a social life outside of Pony Express. As a pilot, it's a super demanding job.

Daisuke 🌺

21

5'7 (Shortest of the Crew)

Japanese/Filipino (Born to immigrant parents)

Aroace, but hasn't realized yet (struggling with comphet)

Trans! At first, only Anya knew (due to medical reports). He's pretty open about it!

Loves art, but his parents didn't understand how it could've been a stable career/passion for him.

Not a morning person at all. For a while, the hardest part of being on the ship was waking up before noon.

Used to Naruto run (honestly he still does it sometimes for fun)

Not a fan of coffee unless if it's 90% creamer + sugar.

Also doesn't like alcohol (even the sweeter drinks such like Pina Coladas, Cosmopolitans, etc.), prefers soda!

Reminds Curly of when he himself was younger (right when he started working for Pony Express)

Swansea 🦢

Early 50s

5'10

American (Southeast)

Also has Welsh ancestry!

Married, has three daughters. He's estranged from his family due to work.

Doesn't wear his wedding ring while working. Safety hazard.

Like Curly, he goes by his last name rather than his first.

Sees Daisuke like the son he never had!

Didn't really understand what Daisuke was talking about when he came out to him. Mostly because the intern was talking really fast and used a lot of lingo Swansea couldn't begin to wrap his head around.

But he eventually got it. He's still a bit confused, but willing to learn. Just not while he's busy working.

Jimmy 🐴

(Content Warning: Implied childhood abuse and neglect.) (Additional Note: I did not make these headcanons to excuse, downplay his actions, or make him sympathetic.)

Mid-30s (A little bit older than Curly)

5'11

American (Midwest)

Rough childhood. Curly was the only one who knew the full extent of what his homelife was like. However, when Curly wanted to tell people, Jimmy pressured him not to.

He fully believed that his life would get worse if anyone got involved.

As an adult, he believes he'll never be like his father.

Barely graduated high school

HATES being called "James"

His feelings towards Curly are complicated, to say the least. They have a codependent relationship.

Listens to crunkcore and country exclusively.