#choosing the right marina

[annabelle--cane]

biting this scene. sinking my teeth right in.

[gingerbreadmonsters]

and what if i chose violence

[pinkcasket]

ik bpd akechi is popular but honestly I'm dying on my bipolar + c-ptsd + npd/narcissistic and ocd features for c-ptsd hill

[inkskinned]

yesterday while feverish i wrote about how boats can moor next to each other like pigeons, cooing with the gentle rap of water against their hull. you once said that that the way i see things - birds in the water, feathers in marina paint - was "childish and naive." you said i'd been misdiagnosed - "it can't all be adhd. you might be just kind of stupid and lazy."

i still do certain things like how you taught me - turn the pillow case inside out before putting it on. drive defensively. hate myself entirely.

the prompt for this poem is "mahler's fifth." i wish it wasn't, but mahler's fifth was our song. it ended up in my book. every person that knows your name has promised me they'll give you one swift rabbit punch, right to the face. dean read the book and showed up on my front porch, drenched in sweat from running the 8 miles at 4 in the morning. he was shaking. pacifist and gentle - he works with children - i'd never seen him furious. a punch isn't going to do it, he said, and then said i'm sorry. i had to come to see if you were okay.

mahler's fifth was mine first, like my girlhood. i like the way each movement piles onto the next movement, each instrument bleeding into the next. i like the horn version the best. before i met you, i danced to it on grass still-wet from sprinklers.

later you would tell me that the way you heard it was somehow better. you understood something in it that i couldn't quite wrap my fingers into. once, on our anniversary, you asked the classical music radio station to play it for us. we missed hearing it because we were fighting. one of the things people get wrong about abuse is that sometimes victims are, like, brutally aware of the stupidity of our situation. what do you mean that you thought i wasn't good enough for you? you? you're just... nothing.

sometimes people can pull the poetry out of your life. i watched my words become clothesline, and then thin out into kite twine. i watched you chew through every good syllable of me. so many good songs and places and moments were ruined. i am glad you didn't like most of my music - less to tie back to you.

but still mahler's fifth. the music swells, and i am 21 and throwing up in a bathroom on my birthday. a woman i will later refer to as lesbian jesus runs a cool hand down my back, her perfect pantsuit starch-pressed. she told me to leave you. she said - and this is true, and not an invention of rhyme or fantasy - i'm you from the future.

i am 22, and i got home from an award ceremony, and i remember you telling me - you act so proud of yourself when you're actually so fucking embarrassing. i took you to disney world. you took my virginity. i gave up visiting spain for a week with my family - i instead choose you, to spend the time just-cuddling. you called it "our fuck week." the music swells. it probably should have been a red flag that for about 3 years - i just gave up on crying. my grandfather died and you said nothing. my uncle died and you ghosted me for 3 weeks. you said i need to protect myself from your ongoing tragedy.

every so often i come back to the memory of one of our last afternoons in person. i had just told you that i wasn't going to law school, despite the free ride - i was going to join a creative writing program. master's in fine arts. i was going to finally do it - i was going to follow my dreams. this blog was already internet-famous. however reluctantly, i would occasionally refer to myself as a poet. i got into umass amherst's writing program for fiction authors. it is one of the the top 5 programs in the country.

wait are you seriously considering actually attending that? dumbfounded, you turned completely towards me in your seat. for the 3rd time in our relationship, you almost crashed the car. you actually want to be a writer?

the first time i went viral, it was for a poem i wrote about you:

he wants to say i love you but keeps it to goodnight because love will take some falling and she's afraid of heights.

every time i see that, i want to throw up. you weren't in love with me, you were in love with the control you had over me. a little truth though: i am afraid of heights. you caught a rabbitgirl and skinned her alive.

mahler's fifth still makes me sick.

give me that back. give me back music. give me back everything i had before you. give me back fearlessness. give me back bravery. give me back a scarless body.

give me back what you took from me.

[aeternallis]

Colin's "entrapment" line was hard to listen to, but it was most definitely a sign of how unhinged he really is for Penelope.

Ok but for reals, I'm not sure how everyone else reacted when Colin said his now infamous "entrapment" line, but I just love how if one looks at this line a little more closely, it was definitely some semblance of an underhanded (and also a bit silly, lol) attempt to actually keep Penelope entrapped. Haha, the irony of it all. Idk, at least that was my read on it!

Like, it was definitely said in anger as well; he's hurting, and he’s hurting badly, so of course he wants to hit back in some way, however he can. Luke Newton absolutely meant it when he said that Colin reacts to the reveal in the worst way possible, alas.

My very first reaction to that scene: //pauses the screen to yell at Colin at 4am in the morning, “Entrapment????! If you feel trapped, then why the hell are you still going along with it, ya dumb ass!!!

Because really, think about it: Colin was definitely within his rights to call off the wedding, especially when he'd mentioned that Violet had noticed that he and Penelope had not seen each other for some time. It would have been the perfect time to reveal Penelope's secret to his mother, if indeed he felt entrapped by the LW of it all. Violet is family; if he wanted to still protect Penelope but no longer wanted to marry her, he would have been able to count on Violet's discretion. I'm sure she and Lady Danbury would have come up with some sort of plan to deal with the aftermath regarding the Bridgertons’ reputation, as we'd seen with Anthony and Edwina's botched wedding.

Furthermore, it would have probably been the better option to reveal it to her, since the existence of LW does put his family in danger; Penelope herself knows this. Every decision she makes post-LW reveal to Colin is due to the Bridgertons being in danger. Lady Danbury makes a point of this when she said in the last episode, “There is only one other person who loves the Bridgertons more than I.”

Eloise was able to keep the secret with no real consequences because although Penelope was her ex-bff, El still loves her, and besides that, nothing legal binds them as Colin's marriage to Penelope would.

Even when he was getting ready to talk to Benedict about getting funds to fulfill Cressida’s demands, he insisted on making up a lie to shield Penelope’s identity as LW. He knows more than anything that fulfilling a demand like this, all for the sake of his wife and at the cost of using a substantial amount of Bridgertons’ financial assets, may not put his marriage in the best light within his family. He doesn’t want to be forced to have to choose between his wife and his family, so he’s keen on keeping the lie going.

So for all intents and purposes, he doesn't tell his mother, or any of his other siblings (besides Eloise, who already knew); this in and of itself is hella fucking risky. The fact that Colin is willing to take this risk of withholding Penelope's secret identity from his family, the fact that he doesn't think to jeopardize this potentially risky betrothal—already goes to show the measure in regards to how much he wants Pen for his wife. We the audience know this because he waits until the very last minute to tell Violet, and even then, it's not Colin who chose to reveal it to her, but Penelope herself.

Another point: arguably, we can also say that Colin has a lot more wiggle room with his engagement to Penelope to call off the wedding, much more than he ever did with his engagement to Marina.

"A man of honor"? Exactly what "honor" are we talking about here? Colin claimed that he would have married Marina had she just told him the truth, yet when push came to shove and the truth of her pregnancy was revealed for all the world to know, he still chose to take the out Penelope gave him through LW. It’s easier to make a declaration like that when it’s all said and done. Lol Sure, he regretted it and apologized for his behavior later on, but he had made his choice regardless. Y’all can just feel Marina and Lady Danbury judging this dumb ass (affectionate) for dwelling in the past. Silly young man! XD What's stopping him this time around?

"We had been...intimate." Are you talking about the mirror scene, sir? Because let me assure you, you and Penelope have long been "intimate" way before you decided to buy a love nest and take her V-card the very next day you proposed to her. In fact, this is where the significance of their first kiss in 3.02 rings so, SO importantly and WHY it was vital that it was Penelope who asked and said that it would not have to mean anything. Colin knows Penelope would never use their first time together and/or the heated moment in the carriage as a way to entrap him. That first kiss alone should have already warranted that they get married, but Penelope makes it clear that it’s simply a favor, nothing more.

Oddly enough, I’m surprised Colin doesn’t bring up the idea of a long engagement (yknow, as he initially wanted with Marina, but who’s keeping track at this point), considering that would have potentially benefitted their situation. 🤔 His dumb ass (affectionate) was more than willing to stick to the wedding schedule…huh.

Besides all that, I don’t think it’s the showrunners’ intent to “taint” those special moments between them by changing the context through Colin’s (very biased) POV; to believe that to be the case would be, imo, just a bad faith argument. The genre is romance, y’all; these intimacy scenes are on an entirely different pedestal.

Because remember, that “entrapment” line of Colin’s only came about due to Penelope starting the conversation with, “Are you going to call off the wedding?”

Didn’t it almost seem like an afterthought, that he just came up with it on the spot? Hahaha.

I can bet y’all Cressida’s fake ass €20,000 blackmail money that before they’d met up to discuss wedding breakfast plans with their mamas, it had probably never even occurred to Colin to cancel their wedding. Angry and furious as he was, it was never a question of whether or not he still wanted Penelope for a wife.

The fact that it’s Penelope who begins that conversation and opens that Pandora’s box possibility is so, so damn important. Because not only does it show how much Penelope truly loves him in that she would never trap him, it also shows her maturity, in that she’s willing to face the consequences of her actions. She’s willing to give Colin the choice to back out, heartbreaking as it would be to face it, even if she herself would not be the one to pursue that choice.

She gives him the choice a good number of times: the wedding breakfast plan scene, the wedding day itself when she hesitates on the aisle, and the annulment offer after the butterfly scene.

Penelope defends herself softly, but truthfully: she never meant to entrap him, because she really didn’t. And Colin knows this; he would not still love her and want her if he honestly believed she wanted to entrap him. Hell, even if she did, the audience knows it’s a desire that comes from a good place: she loves him, so of course she doesn’t want to lose him. She wants to marry him, because she loves him. That’s all there is to it.

But despite knowing this (imo, anyway), we can also say that this conversation may have contributed to Colin’s downward spiral during the majority of episode 7 and 8, and why he becomes hella fucking desperate to be “useful” to her.

Because unlike himself, Penelope has now begun to entertain the idea of living a life that doesn’t include him—at least, not as her husband. Penelope is brave and strong enough to let him go due to the pain she caused him for her lies and her actions as LW, and as for Colin…well…

(I love it, it’s the same conundrum that Anthony faced in S2: Kate is strong enough to leave him behind and return to India, but Anthony…well…)

TL;DR, Colin’s entrapment line was literally an excuse he gave himself to keep his betrothal to Penelope intact. It’s a line that works in two ways simultaneously: it’s a painful, childish, underhanded thing to say in order to hurt Penelope’s feelings, to get back at her for the anguish he’s suffered. Yet at the same time, it’s also another excuse he gives himself in order to push through with the marriage, to tie Penelope to himself forever.

Because unlike Penelope, the very idea of living without her as his wife, of not having her in his life, is and always will be an impossible notion for Colin to ever entertain.

[laurenairay]

witness all your joy - A. Svechnikov

Summary: Andrei finds himself in Cabo during bye week, where he’s facing the ex-boyfriend of his friend turning up, while managing his feelings for that friend.

Also known as: friends to lovers while dealing with a bad ex.

This is my entry for @misshoneyimhome's Birthday Festival Challenge! I had a lot of fun with this one, so I really hope you like it! Happy (early) birthday Sophia!

Words: 3.2k

Warnings: mild angst, pining, confrontation with terrible ex-boyfriend, some bad language, self-deprecation, hopeful ending

Title from I lived, by OneRepublic

~

Sun, sea, sand. Exactly what you needed.

When your friends had invited you away with them at the end of January, you hadn’t hesitated to say yes. The NHL bye week may be inconveniently timed, but considering the chaos of the Family Christmas that had just passed, you were more than ready for some actual relaxation.

And Cabo was exactly what you needed.

A private plunge pool in your suite, the hotel’s own private beach, swim-up bars, a full spa with all the massages you could possibly choose from, and incredible food? Not to mention how close it was to the vibrant nightlife but still giving plenty of privacy in the hotel itself.

The best part of it all though? Actually spending time with your friends.

Sure, half of them were in serious relationships, but the group of 15 of you that had gone away together were having a blast. With their busy schedules, alongside your own moderate schedule, having time to just have fun together like this was rare – especially with Andrei. Your tall Russian friends was just as sweet as he was generous, giving out smiles and laughter and hugs as easy as breathing, almost as easy as his blushes from Marty’s teasing.

It wasn’t exactly a secret amongst the women in the group that you had a thing for him, but in all the time you’d known him you’d both never been single at the same time. Until now. Your messy break-up at the end of last year (hence the chaotic Christmas) had been exactly why you needed this break away in the sunshine with your friends, and for the first time, Andrei didn’t have a pretty petite blonde girlfriend attached at the hip.

The girls said it was fate. You knew it was a coincidence.

Either way, you were more than happy just to let yourself look at his bare muscled chest and thick thighs in those short swimshorts without feeling any guilt whatsoever. It was almost enough.

~

Sun, sea, sand. Exactly what he needed.

Andrei knew that moment that Pyotr told him you were joining the group heading to Cabo (along with Freddie, Jarvy, Marty and his wife, Brady and his wife, Neci and his girlfriend, and a few other assorted women), he was going to have a hard time saying no himself.

Despite the fact that seeing you in a bikini was sure to be the end of him.

From the first moment he’d met you all those years ago, he’d been head over heels. You’d always had a boyfriend though – always the same, tall, tanned, gym-rat type with a killer smile – so he’d tried to distract himself with other girls, but none of them had been enough, as nice as most of them were. Most of the guys knew he had a crush on you, with only a few including Pyotr knowing how deep his feelings truly ran. There was just something about you that had hooked him in right from the start, and that heart-racing cheek-heating rush wasn’t going anywhere any time soon.

Especially not now that he knew you were single, just like he was.

Maybe it was fate.

Maybe he needed to take a chance while you were all here in paradise to let you know how he really felt about you, just like Pyotr (and Marty, and Jarvy, and even Freddie) said. But how could he, when all eyes were on you and your eyes were not on him?

~

3 days into your trip (after a morning on the private beach and an afternoon at the spa with the girls), the group ventured down to one of the bars near Cabo San Lucas marina, ready for an evening of dancing and drinking. You had dressed to impress in your favourite slinky little dress, light make-up just highlighting your glowing skin (the heat in Cabo was no joke), and you were ready to dance until your feet hurt.

If you could take your eyes off of Andrei and his half-buttoned baby blue shirt, of course.

A couple of rounds of shots with the group couldn’t hurt to get the night started at least. As soon as the vodka was dealt with, Nykki grabbed your hand to beckon you to the dancefloor, Neci just rolling his eyes fondly at her antics, and soon enough all of the girls were in the middle of the crowd, immersed in the music. You lost track of time as you swayed to the beat, some of the guys joining you all for a few songs before leaving back to the booth that Brady had reserved for you all.

It was exactly what you needed.

Before you knew it, a couple of hours had passed, and you were more than ready for a few drinks. Nykki left the dancefloor with you, heading back to fuss on her boyfriend while you headed to the bar. Or at least you tried to head to the bar, until a large body blocked your path.

No fucking way.

“Looking good, baby.”

“I am not your baby,” you shot back, scowling up at your ex-boyfriend, “what the hell are you doing in Cabo, Mark? In January?”

Of all the places. And all the timings. Why was he here now? It had to be coincidence, right?

“I’m on a stag do for one of the guys from work…”

Of course he was.

“…I’m just as surprised to see you, don’t get me wrong. But when I spotted that sweet little ass swaying on the dancefloor, I had to say hello. Seems like fate brought us back together again, hm?”

The unmitigated gall.

“You lost all rights to stare at my ass when you cheated on me, asshole,” you spat.

It wasn’t just the once, either. Walking in on Mark and another women had been heartbreaking, even more so when you found out it wasn’t even the first time he’d slept with someone else. No, your ex didn’t even bother denying it, even going as far as to brag. Thankfully you weren’t living together, but it still hurt that the man you had been starting to see a future with hadn’t even contemplated a future with you.

The yelling and the crying and the cursing to the heavens had left you running on empty, made even worse by the fact that all of this came to light the week before Christmas – to say your family took the news well was an absolute lie. Hence the chaotic Family Christmas that you’d come all the way to Cabo to get over, and oh look here he was ruining everything again.

The last thing you needed right now was to be around him, not when you finally felt healed.

“You’re still mad about that?” he laughed, rolling his eyes, “come on, let’s just have some fun in the bathroom hey?”

Disgusting. Absolutely disgusting. Your friends were right, what the hell did you ever see in this guy?

“You’re a joke. Leave me alone,” you said sharply.

But as you moved to step around him, Mark grabbed your forearm tightly, stopping you in your place. You tried tugging your arm out of his grip but he just squeezed harder, making you wince.

“Let go of me!”

“I wasn’t done talking. Where do you think you’re going?” he demanded.

“I swear I’ll make a scene, Mark, don’t even try me,” you hissed.

Mark rolled his eyes again. “Always so dramatic. I’m just being friendly.”

The audacity.

But before you could retort, you felt a body move to stand behind you. The familiar cologne immediately set your frayed nerves at ease, as did the warmth of his torso.

Andrei.

“You are not her friend. She clearly doesn’t want you touching her. Let go of her arm, now.”

The growled words emanating from Andrei’s chest made your breath hitch in your throat, surprising your ex enough for him to drop his hold on you. Out of instinct, you leaned fully backwards against Andrei’s chest, letting the heat of his body calm you, but as Andrei moved his hand to your hip to steady you, Mark’s face dropped into a sneer.

“Of course you’re fucking him now. I always knew you had a thing for him,” he scoffed.

What the hell?

“Shut your fucking mouth,” Andrei warned.

“Or what?”

Mark took one step forward, anger in his eyes, before he suddenly froze, eyes going wide as he looked over your other shoulder. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who was standing behind you and Andrei, if you were narrowing down your options.

“Is there a problem here?”

Thank fuck for Freddie.

“No, this scumbag was just leaving,” you said, voice a little shakier than you’d like it to be.

“Good. Why don’t I make sure he knows where the door is,” Freddie said flatly, brooking no argument as he loomed over you all.

You waited until Freddie had herded Mark far enough away from you before turning to face Andrei, weak smile on your face even as you missed the heat of his hand on your hip. The anger on his face surprised you, him still glaring across the room, until you rested a hand on his chest to draw his attention back. Andrei’s face immediately softened.

“Are you okay? Is your arm hurting?”

“I think I’m okay? And no, it’s only a little red, I don’t think it’ll even bruise,” you said, shaking your head, “How did you even know I was upset?”

He looked a little hesitant to answer, before his expression fell a little sheepish.

“I saw you from the booth. Your body language…I could tell you didn’t want to be near him. And the moment that Nykki said who she thought he was? I couldn’t just stay across the room, I’m sorry.”

Andrei could read your body language that easily?

“Hey, no, don’t apologise. I’m glad you came over, really. I’m pretty sure I would’ve had to do something pretty drastic to get him to leave me alone otherwise,” you said, huffing out a bitter laugh.

The soft concern on his face shifted into a hardened expression. “I hate that he’s even here, in Cabo of all places. I hate that he was trying to ruin your night. What did he even want?”

“The same old sleazy bullshit, like he hadn’t even cheated on my multiple times,” you sighed.

With the way pure rage flitted across Andrei’s face, you were glad you hadn’t told most of the group the true details of why your relationship ended.

“You are better off without him,” Andrei said firmly.

“I know,” you mused, “but thank you.”

“What can I do? How can I help?”

His sweet words made your heart ache, the difference between him and your ex-boyfriend irrefutable.

“I don’t know. I-”

Before you could finish your sentence, Freddie appeared back at your side with an unimpressed look on his face.

“That asshole is long gone. He made enough of a fuss at the door that security took notice as well, so he walked off rather than lingering,” Freddie explained, rolling his eyes, “sorry you had to deal with that. Are you okay?”

Almost as sweet as Andrei.

“I’m sorry you had to deal with that,” you grimaced, “I’m mostly okay, but I think I’m done with the night? He’s kinda ruined the vibe for me.”

Freddie nodded his understanding, but Andrei frowned.

“Do you want me to walk you back?” he asked.

You tried to ignore Freddie’s smirk. Now was not the time.

“I don’t want you to cut your night short,” you said, shaking your head.

“I’d rather make sure you get back safe, if that’s okay,” Andrei replied.

Oh wow.

“I’ll let the others know,” Freddie volunteered, innocent smile on his face.

You narrowed your eyes up at him, but he just blinked. You had no doubt exactly what Freddie was going to be telling the group. Andrei blushed slightly, rubbing the back of his neck, before seeming to steel himself.

“If you really want to go, then let’s go, yeah?” Andrei said, smiling softly.

You really were a sucker for that smile.

After a quick goodbye hug with Freddie, Andrei guided you out of the bar with a hand on the small of your back, the cooler night air washing over you like relief as the two of you started walking down the street. You glanced up at Andrei with a small smile on your face, but his gaze was a million miles away, expression so serious that it made the smile fade from your lips. Was he really that annoyed about your ex showing up?

Was he annoyed with you?

The more you thought about it, the more you couldn’t help but spiral, the alcohol of the evening not helping your downward mood despite most of its effect wearing off by the time you reached the hotel. Why wasn’t he talking to you? Why was he so silent?

“This is your room, right?”

Andrei’s low rumbling voice made you flinch, his face immediately forming into a frown.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

What’s wrong?

“Are you mad at me?” you asked softly.

As much as you didn’t really want him to confirm it, you needed to know.

“Mad at you? No of course not!” he said, clearly confused, “I’m not…I just…”

Andrei trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, an interesting blush dusting across his cheeks.

“Maybe we can talk in your room? Rather than out in the corridor?” he suggested.

Without hesitating, you unlocked the door to your room, glad more than ever that you’d chosen to have a single room. The last thing you wanted was anyone else overhearing whatever this was. Andrei shut the door behind himself, body language screaming at you that he’d never been more uncomfortable in his life, but his facial expression was determined.

Whatever he was about to say, it was what he’d been thinking about on your walk back from the bar, clearly.

“I’m not sure I know where to start,” Andrei murmured, “But I know that once I start talking, I don’t think I’m going to be able to stop, so please just let me get it all out in one go?”

Okay, now he was worrying you.

“Yeah, of course, take all the time you need,” you said softly, smiling as reassuringly as you could.

He took a shaky breath before reaching out for your hand, guiding you over to sit on the sofa next to him before your mind could even process the gentleness of his touch.

“Tonight…everything came together for me. Things have been building for a while, and I’ve been trying to come to terms with a lot of it all by myself, but it’s been hard. It’s new to me, feeling like this, but I have to tell you.”

Andrei’s words were so cryptic, confusing you even more than you already were with his strange behaviour, but as soon as he said ‘feeling like this’ your breath hitched in your throat. Was this going where you thought it was?

“You look so beautiful. You always do, but there’s just something about tonight that took my breath away, and I know I wasn’t the only one in that bar who noticed. Your ex turning up though? It made my blood boil. And when I saw him put his hand on you? I wanted to kill him. I wanted to tear him limb from limb for daring to harm you, and that scared me. No-one has ever made me feel the way you do, everything to the extreme, and tonight just topped the cake. I like you, so much, and it’s driving me crazy trying to figure out whether I could ever have a chance with you.”

“Andrei?” you whispered, mind reeling.

“I just want to see you happy, solnyshko,” he said, smiling sadly, “And if I can’t be the one to make you happy like that, please, you have to let me know so I can start getting over you.”

Solnyshko.

Start getting over you.

Oh fuck.

Your heart both soared and shattered at his closing words, and it was all you could do not to let the tears stinging at your eyes fall. He would let you go, just like that? Despite his feelings?

“I don’t want you to get over me,” you choked out.

“No?”

“No way. You are the sweetest guy I have ever met and I…”

Here goes nothing.

“…I never thought I’d have a chance with you. I never thought you’d be interested in me like that,” you admitted.

It felt silly saying it out loud, after his confession pouring out his feelings, but you couldn’t help it. You truly had thought you’d never have him looking at you like that, as anything more than a friend, so to have that possibility now? It was a little mindblowing.

“Never be…never be interested? You’re the one that always had a gymrat boyfriend!”

“And you always had a dainty little blonde on your arm!”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the disgruntled expression on his face, throat still a little choked with emotion, Andrei’s face quickly melting into fondness.

“None of them are you. I want you, in every way,” Andrei murmured.

“In every way?”

You could only hope you understood what he meant.

“Every way. Not just sex. I want to take you on dates, hold your hand, kiss you in public, wake up with you in my arms, dance with you in your kitchen, introduce you to my family…I want everything,” he said softly, and yet firmly enough that you believed every single word.

This felt like a dream. This felt too good to be true. And yet you knew it was real by the earnest emotion on Andrei’s face. He was offering you everything you’d wanted since you’d met him up on a silver platter – how could you not take it with both hands?

“Kiss me,” you said, more than a little breathless.

“Yeah?” he grinned.

“Yeah.”

Andrei wasted no time in cupping your face in his hands and kissing you firmly, over and over again. You couldn’t help but whimper against his lips as his embrace consumed you, Andrei just moaning softly at the sound, everything lost in a feedback loop as his tongue stroked against yours. His kisses were passionate, overwhelming, a little rough, and more than you could ever have imagined in your deepest of daydreams.

He broke away with a jolt, breathing heavily, looking at shaken as you were, eyes a little wild for a moment or two until he came back to himself. Andrei rested his forehead against yours for a breath before pressing a kiss to your forehead, dropping his hands from your face to lean back a little, looking at you properly once more.

“We have a lot to catch up on, hm?” Andrei mused.

That was one way to put it. Decisions, decisions, all of them tempting. You knew what you wanted – but what about him?

“Why don’t we talk about it all a bit more in my private plunge pool?” you suggested, tilting your head slightly as you stood up from the sofa.

“I don’t have my swimsuit with me right now,” Andrei said frowning.

“Who said anything about a swimsuit?” you said innocently. Andrei looked stunned for a moment, until you slid the thin straps of your dress over your shoulders. His eyes filled with a fire that you’d only dreamed of seeing directed your way, and it only took you stepping backwards a few steps for him to stand up from the sofa too and walk towards you with determination, your heart racing. Finally.

[glassesfreekjr]

"We are whoever we choose to be. And I have chosen to be the one who takes things away from you — if only out of obligation. You know how it is."

(Artwork by @fineanddang. Reposted with permission.)

Came up with some twist-villain!Dedf1sh level music. We don't yet know what to make of Acht and Marina's shared history, so I'm envisioning some kind of self-imposed grudge tempered by her own morbid curiosity.

The reason Dedf1sh allowed herself to be ensnared by Tartar was because of Acht's desire to hone her music-making craft, right? If this process took place after Marina heard the Calamari Inkantation, then those two events could be linked.

If music can reformat the minds of a thousand soldiers and compel a dear friend to leave it all behind; to leave me behind... then what else can music do? How can I harness that power to my own ends? What if I could make the Inkantation my bitch?

Acht Mizuta may have perished down there in the Deepsea Metro, but her sense of purpose did not.

(audio source list can be found on my YouTube)

[iraprince]

That chart of your GW2 ocs has compelled me so much. what is gw2. how do you make gay plants in it

guild wars 2 is my favorite mmo of all time! it's free to play, tho if u ever do end up paying for the expacs/living world seasons and stuff they all have flat costs, no monthly subscription ever. (this is what i really like about it, bc games w subs stress me out... if something has a sub and i don't play every day i feel like i'm wasting money or something lol vs gw i can fall off the wagon for weeks/months and no harm done)

ANYWAY our gay plants are one of the playable races -- they're kind of gw2's version of elves, loosely, but they're called sylvari and imo they're much cooler. rather than being "born" they just Wake Up as fully formed adults from the pods of a magical tree and gain mmmmost (but not all) of their consciousness/general understanding of the world from a shared dream that contains the memories and life experience of the sylvari who have come before them, and at the beginning of the plot sylvari as a people have only existed for like. ~20 years, which i think is a really, really compelling hook. also i'm being serious and textual abt the gay thing, arguably the most central sylvari npc is a lesbian and her relationship w her ex is plot important, one of the starter missions u can choose as a sylvari centers around helping a gay couple and the dialogue is Really Insistent abt not letting it be interpreted as "wow they're good friends!!" etc etc

there's also an Evil Faction of sylvari called the nightmare court who feel the dream is overly controlling/sanitized and want to "liberate" sylvari by balancing out the experiences contained in the dream w more negative and painful ones instead -- in-game more often than not they're written pretty flatly as cackling puppy-kicking supervillains but i think they're really interesting lol, a huge chunk of my + marina's ocs are either current or ex nightmare courtiers (including merrit and glyndwr!)

okay wait wait wait im getting distracted and infodumping u can learn all this stuff yourself by getting into the game. gotta rein it in. uhhh let me leave u w screencaps of a bunch of our ocs so u can see some character creation options bc they're so cool

also hey furries: fuicking excellent beast race with close to no sexual dimorphism.

(the one on the left in this pic is an m model and on the right is the f model. the main difference between charr gender models, literally, is how fluffy their tails are. charr fucking rule)

[lvthkllr]

You know what … I am sick of the Colin slander!

Like some of you are out here pretending the other men of Bridgerton are saints.

Simon took advantage of Daphne’s innocence regarding sex and chose to lie about his ability to have children, essentially trapping her in a marriage that took no consideration for her feelings about having children. And while she was wrong to take advantage of him in figuring out his lies, he then emotionally abandoned her to get back at his dead father.

Anthony was a misogynistic asshole towards Daphne for the entire first season—a behavior that almost resulted in a forced marraige to someone who likely would have abused Daphne mind you. He was extremely rude to his mother during the duration of the first and second seasons when she would advise him to consider his feelings when choosing a wife rather than simply choosing someone for practicality. He chose to court Edwina while he had no real feelings for while carrying out an emotional affair WITH HER SISTER, and upon realizing said feelings for Kate he immediately proposed to Edwina.

And all of that is just me covering the male characters that have been shown on-screen so far, I could write a ten page essay on the toxic male behavior in the novels and you would all realize quite quickly that Colin is far from worst.

I understand that nobody liked Colin’s entrapment line, that he was oblivious to Penelope’s feelings for him, and that his obliviousness led to her potential ruin with the men of the ton (the infamous “not in your wildest fantasies” line).

But he’s also the only Bridgerton man so far to confess his feelings almost immediately after realizing them, and he has a right to be mad at his partner because Penelope lied to him. She spent the back half of season one chastising Marina for not telling Colin the truth of her situation and then chose not to tell him about Lady Whistledown—a secret that would have put both of them in danger once they are married.

I love Penelope, I really do, but let’s stop pretending that Colin had no right to be mad at her about Whistledown when the writing for the season acknowledged that Penelope knew keeping this secret from Colin was wrong. He may have said things that he shouldn’t have, but these characters are not meant to be saints.

[iamquiantrelle]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

William: Landed safely? Already miss you x

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

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

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

Still.

Still.

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

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

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

Aurélien: Ma puce, s'il te plaît.

She turns her phone off.

Some decisions need sleep first.

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

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

A text from Jules breaks through her spiral:

You back?

Auré's been impossible

Like, worse than when someone eats his protein bars

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her heart does a complicated flip.

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

But tonight?

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

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

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

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

But she doesn't.

Can't.

Won't.

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

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

"I'm already up, ma puce."

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

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

And then she actually looks at him and – oh.

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

For her.

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

She's supposed to be indifferent.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods, something vulnerable crossing his face.

"Prove it."

"What?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Tell me how."

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

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

"We'll see."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What the hell is going on here?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Uncle–"

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

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

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

"I'm not harassing–"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"By becoming a human koala?"

"By whatever it takes."

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

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

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

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

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

What even is her life anymore?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just another day at the office.

Except nothing about this feels like just anything anymore.

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

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

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

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

"It wasn't just that–"

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

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

"No."

"No?"

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

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

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

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

His silence at the red light speaks volumes.

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

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

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

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

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

"Bet."

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

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

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

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

But she's definitely calling William tonight.

Some conversations need to happen before others can begin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The slight pause on his end speaks volumes.

"About Aurélien?"

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

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

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

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

"Will–"

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

"Not history exactly–"

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

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

"But you might love him?"

The question hangs between them like smoke.

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

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

"I'm sorry–"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like sir, are you having a stroke or…?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lord have mercy.

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

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

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

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

"What?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You notice all that?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Since when do you do subtle?"

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

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

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

"And what if what I need is time?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You did research?"

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

"You did not–"

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

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

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

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

"You like it though?"

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

"Maybe is better than no."

"Don't get cocky."

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

"Oh?"

"Mhm. Backup plans. Several of them."

"Care to share?"

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

"More riddles?"

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

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

"You're trouble," she tells him.

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

She's in trouble.

So much trouble.

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

Maybe some trouble is worth it.

Maybe this trouble specifically.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Thanks."

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

Just postponed.

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

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

"No?"

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

"Who says I'm impressed?"

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

"Maybe I was just being polite."

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

"Excuse me?"

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

"Only one?"

"Want to hear the others?"

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

"I could show you instead."

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

"Aurélien..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No," she breathes against his mouth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Holy shit.

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

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

Lord.

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

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

Aurélien: Already miss your taste

Leila: Go to sleep

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

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

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

"Ma puce."

Sweet baby Jesus.

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

Just another Monday morning.

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

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

You okay? Haven't heard from you since yesterday

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

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

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

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

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

"Aurélien..."

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

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

"I have to answer that."

"Do you though?"

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

William's text can wait.

Her self-control apparently can't.

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

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

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

"Aurélien–"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You didn't have to–"

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

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

"How did you–"

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

Of course she did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I do not–"

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

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

"One more thing."

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

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

Seeing Aurélien Tchouaméni stumble over words is definitely new.

"It's just what?"

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

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

"Help me put it on?"

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

"Aurélien..."

"Mhm?"

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

"Worth it."

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

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

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

"And Carlo will actually kill me this time."

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

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

"Ready?"

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

"Keys?" she manages.

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

"What?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His answering smile could power all of Madrid.

Sunday night….with Wilo…..

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

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

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

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

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

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

But instead, his phone goes silent. No message.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[bittersweet-jack-of-no-trades]

Bill was gone, but he took something with him

It seemed, at first, that Stan was just the same: the same fun grunkle, the same shifty salesman, the same brother. Whatever happened inside his brain, however the memory gun worked, it had spared Stan the worst of it. Ford was suspicious; even as Fiddleford's memories came back, too, and the others stricken by the Society of the Blind Eye began to recall what had been taken from them, Ford observed his brother closely, concerned.

It started with pancakes. Stan made excellent pancakes, and he made a smiley face with marshmallows, chocolate chips, and edible glitter for Mabel just like she liked. Dipper's had an amount of butter and syrup that could not be good for his young arteries, and Ford's were plain, with just a light coating of butter, syrup on the side for dipping--- how they each preferred. Stan's, though, was the same as Ford's. There was nothing wrong with that--- except for the fact that Stan hated plain pancakes. He liked his absolutely drowning in flavored syrup, like Dipper. Ford convinced himself Stan was just trying something new, or maybe was finally growing up and acting like an adult.

But the trend continued- they went clothes shopping, because many of their possessions were destroyed when they turned the Mystery Shack into a Mystery Mech; Stan hovered over the cargo shorts, jeans, and Hawaiian shirts, but turned eventually to a sweater and straight-leg pants, the same kind Ford wore. When they watched a movie together, he always let Ford choose, at first; when Ford insisted Stan make a decision, he chose an old sci-fi movie, or a documentary, instead of the rom-coms, mysteries, and action thrillers Ford knew Stan preferred.

Ford shook the bad feeling off, at first: they'd hadn't seen each other in thirty years, and before that, had been separated for nearly a decade and a half. Surely, Stan's tastes had just changed--- matured, evolved, whatever. But it just didn't seem right; Stan's choices seemed at odds with the personality he still displayed. It made for a disjointed view of his character; he seemed conflicted whenever he had to make a decision, no matter how big or small.

It was a year after Bill's defeat, eight months after construction of the Stan o' War II was completed and they set sail around the world, that everything came to a head. All Ford wanted was for Stan to pick the restaurant after they had docked up in a marina somewhere on the east coast of Florida. And Stan--- well, he was picking restaurants, sure, but they were all ones that Ford would choose. And Ford kept pressing Stan to no, pick one Stan would like, and Stan would pick another that just felt uncharacteristic, and they went in circles about this for a while, until it jumbled into an argument. And just like any pair of siblings, they shouted about a lot of things, shit from last week and last month and fifty years ago, just for the hell of it, and finally Ford had snapped and cried---

"I don't think I even know who you are, anymore!"

And Stan, faced screwed up in anger, had shouted back, "and you think I do?"

And that just shut that argument down, didn't it? Cause Ford felt, in an instant, no anger, just grief.

Because, really, they both realized at that moment, when had Stan been allowed to be, well, Stan? For thirty years, habits of grifting maintained or not, Stanley was dead and it was Stanford doing the grifting. And before that, it was a host of fake identities, each further removed from the truth than the last, as Stan desperately fled across the country, running from himself. And before that, his teenage years were filled with just trying to be half as good as Ford, and so when was there ever time for Stan to be, wholeheartedly and without judgement, himself? What did he like? What did he want? Who was he? And it was just the cherry on top, he had to admit, when not even Bill, evil genius extraordinaire, couldn't tell his beautiful Artist apart from his failure of a twin brother.

His only worth, as far as he was concerned, was defeating Bill. That was done, and then what was supposed to be his ultimate sacrifice, that thing that would set him apart from his brother, ending up being, well, pretty OK in the end, if one didn't count how hard Mabel and Dipper cried.

So with Bill's defeat any idea of his identity also dissolved, that damned triangle cracking open a flood of insecurity. Bill had cackled, those final moments of breaking into a million atoms of forgotten nothingness, and Stan hadn't realized at first why he would be so happy. But while Bill couldn't grasp anything physical in his evil little paws, he was a trickster of the mind until the end.

Bill whispered it, as he died: what do you have left to do? And he was right: Ford was back, the kids were safe, Soos was running the Mystery Shack, and that left Stan to---

Well, he didn't quite know.

[pinkcasket]

ik bpd akechi is popular but honestly I'm dying on my bipolar + c-ptsd + npd/narcissistic and ocd features on the c-ptsd

[somedayillbepeterpan]

i'm back with my obsession with how Luke Newton played Colin Bridgerton.

and i just realised-- the last fictional character i have felt this deep affection for was Peeta Mellark. Another sweet, soft boy. i'm a sucker for self deprecating boys.

i present today, A and B grilling C from S03e05. Colin is an open book from this episode onwards (so much so that we had to choose between understanding his anger at the LW fallout and wanting to thump his head to just talk to Pen).

Also, he's really pretty when he looks so smug and proud for wifing Penelope up.

(i only did Colin gifs but i'm trying something new when creating gifsets. i apologise once more for the rough quality. i'm still learning. practicing with Luke Newton's face is helping me. there is a combination of comments and dialogue below)

Anthony: Devon was very well, but...we have bigger fish to fry. Benedict: Hm.. Colin: Hm...

look at this face. he's so proud!

Anthony: First...(sighs) explain. [Benedict chuckles]

Anthony: Come now, you must admit, it's all rather sudden.

i loved how he recognised that his betrothal to Marina was rushed but that he also passively slagged A and B for what they think of his life decisions

favourite RMB quote

him recognising that his feelings were dormant instead of a thunderbolt speaks volumes to me because he took his time in understanding them. so from the time that he confesses, he was all in because he knows and fully understands Pen was the one for him and no one else.

i'm going to attempt to dissect every Colin speech because i saw his pattern of self deprecation in all of his love confessions. i just love this sweet soft boy!

[Benedict sighs] Colin: Mm... Anthony: Have you said these words to her?

that smug face!

Anthony: Ah, it's swift because you-- Benedict: Are you going to duel with your own brother, or...

Anthony: Well, you are marrying her, and for all the right reasons, it seems. That's all that matters.

Anthony: But tell her.

what a good obedient little brother

Benedict: First...to your wives. Anthony: Congratulations. Colin: Thank you.

people think he smelled his fingers here but i think he was wiping the side of his mouth of the drink he just had

They can never make me hate you, Colin my sweet, soft boy.

[bigblab-talktotalk1]

I feel a lot of people misunderstand Portia in why she ask about Colin's love

One thing I find really disheartening about reactions/opinions on this episode is the conceptual clap backs of "Did Debling love her?!?!"

🙄😮‍💨

Because that response makes me feel someone is missing something in the storytelling. As a response, it has never made sense to me, because.... he never had to!

'Lord Debling was a reasonable match." This guy has acted in every single way The Gentleman. This guy has money, this guy came to Lady Featherington like a respectable adult and asked for Penelope's hand, this guy will be absent, and so THIS guy also Won't Hurt Her! She laid this out in episode 4, To Portia he is an IDEAL catch.

Then comes this news of Bitch-boy Colin (painting from a Portia-esque perspective), that she read IN WHISTLEDOWN!! He does not hold water with her 🚫 This Season, all she has seen of this dude is that he is a flirt. "The most desired man of the season." Regardless of what she thinks Penelope's feelings likely are, she only sees that Colin is NOT serious about her. Freshly back from galavanting across the sea, she does see Colin as serious PERIOD. All the letters Pen wrote, All the teas at Bridgerton house....for years Portia has watched him NEVER WANTING HER! Yet somehow an engagement occurred some time between her daughter leaving a party and family breakfast the next morning... 🤨🧐 Chat shit right?? Her mind must be screaming: HELP ME UNDERSTAND! (In a snarky, passive aggressive way - because she's the one)

---

Portia has a right to feel awful disrespected that Colin "I'm a gentleman" Bridgerton didn't come to her first. Like they don't have beef!! 😳 He's been engaged to someone from the Featherington household before, yet... there was no wedding. But Pen (who she thinks of is having less attractions than Marina) somehow is different?

You know who extended the olive branch to the Featherington name to help saved them from drowning in the social ruin of the reveal of Marina's pregnancy? DAPHNE! He was mad at Marina sure, but you know who he showed he didn't care what happened to while he turned his back? You Penelope!! 🤷🏻‍♂️He could have helped soften the blow like Kate, Edwina, and Anthony tried to do after their failed wedding. But he didn't. And that's who Pen threw away an entire future to gamble on?? 🫨😣

---

And while Portia doesn't know it yet, the fault for them being in that super precarious social is the SAME EXACT fucking person who is standing in front of her like she don't smell her own shit!! (personal mad when sitting in Portia's perspective)

---

THAT 'S the guy Pen wants Portia to celebrate, who Pen believes is a better choice. Portia's looking for the better. "What more can you ask for?" she says an episode 4. The only thing Penelope seemed to believe held her back from commiting to Debling as her husband is this 'Love' nonsense. So if Colin is the Superior choice, he must be giving her what she thought was missing from a marriage, something she thought Debling couldn't provide!

"You have it?" - Portia.

Penelope says she's SURE he CARES about her. But 'care' wasn't the exceptional parameter? To be so certain that you just threw away a good 90% qualification-meeting gentleman, you must have heard this truth that gives you that 10% to match the fantasy were "LOVE"(which Big P don't believe in) is. Right? You thought, you know, but what did he say it??? Has he told you he's giving you what makes choosing him over Debling worth it? Are you getting what you gambled for?!

Portia looks DEFEATED because Pen is betting on fantasies and wishes, without even the vocalized proof of Colin's feelings!!!!!!

"Oh Penelope"= "Girl I feel bad for you", "you sweet summer child." She's repulsed that Pen was SO short-sighted.

I feel like while her reaction is extreme and harsh, it really isn't too difficult to imagine a semi-reasonable parent (with Portia's trauma) may be distraught hearing that their daughter chose to follow a career in ..... like the Arts, that she loves (Colin), when she already had a place at Yale law School (Debby). Without Colin's declaration it's like she mailed in her withdrawal letter and is packing to move into an artist collective commune -- without a lease! Not even guaranteed a spot, setting fire to your previous life plans! It is not right, and it is not okay to treat your children as if they need to live their life as you would. However, for someone who holds security above all Pen has thrown away her last chance at a good life. Pen has shattered a chance at bedrock that Portia knows Pen don't even understand how much she should value! Portia has shielded her from how it feels to watch the ground you've built your life on crumble from underneath her. The fear of having no husband, no son, and no money. Which I think adds to the anger in her tone.

Debling never NEEDED to love Penelope. Why he was a better, more secure match than Colin was everything BESIDES love. What makes Debling a valuable prospect has a very little overlap with what makes Colin Penelope's first choice. Therefore trying to grade them on the same standard..... it doesn't matter if Portia cares about love, it doesn't matter if Debling would EVER say he loves Penelope. So while it matters if Colin has told her that he loves her, he's the only one who has to.

---

I do not think she is right all the time, or even often. But one can likely tell from the above that I'm a Portia Featherington fan. I'm a fan of food in tummies and shoes on feet. Did she decide she needed big bucks to eat and dress the way she wanted.......👀🙄

---

As someone who looks at Colin as an insecure 23-year-old male... He is my baby. I defend all his big emotions. When he's having a temper-tantrum, I let him kick himself tired. I'm never villainizing him for basically anything he says or does because..... I know he's really a soft boy. And I know Pen doesn't mind. But that doesn't mean we can blame Portia (without having the audience view) for seeing him differently.

[greeneyessmize]

So, about Marina.

We need to talk this out. Let's go through her journey step by step.

Upon arrival, Marina thinks she may just be waiting on letters from George so they can run away together but she is losing hope. Then she realizes she is definitely pregnant. Then come the fake letters.

Desperation and survival instinct start to gnaw at her. She is looking out for not only herself. She does try to change that but fails, and accepts that the pregnancy is going forward.

So she decides to make the best of it and find a husband as soon as possible. Preferably a nice, naive, young man with decent enough money.

She has several, and I do mean several suitors, she could choose from. But she settles on Colin Bridgerton and his sweet puppy dog innocence.

She knows Pen is fond of him, but she blocks it out. She doesn't care. She focuses on Colin. The easy low, ripe hanging fruit. Who wouldn't?

Then she realizes Pen actually loves him. This will not stop her. She will stamp out this crush to ash if she has to. She's betting her life on this. Pen means nothing to her here.

She is not in this for love. Love betrayed her and put her in this mess. She wants an easy marriage with no uncomfortable questions. Right and wrong don't matter because she has already had wrong done to her.

Now Colin.

He's a young man. Hopeful, bright eyed, romantic, inexperienced.

He participates in the marriage mart because some of it is fun. There is not too much pressure on him as a 3rd son. He gets to dance and flirt, and chat with Pen. How is that not delightful?

Then along comes Marina. She is a glittery new addition to the ladies he has mostly seen here or there all his life. And everyone is interested in the shiny new toy.

Then she shows interest in him. She flirts with him. When she could seemingly have almost anyone, she lets her eyes brighten for him.

He is easily charmed. Marina, for all he and the other boys of the ton can tell, is an attractive young woman. When she decides to show him singular attention he believes it is love and his easygoing heart wants to return that, being a genuine and open person.

He is easily manipulated into an engagement, thinking that this is natural and right. But his passion never really shows, does it? He pulls back from kissing her when she is scandalously forward with him. He does not seek extra excuses to meet her in the market or at tea or at the garden entrance to the Featherington estate for example.

No. He just insists he is a gentleman.

Then he drops her as soon as her manipulations are revealed. He is angry. He is hurt. But it's like a betrayal of a new friend, not a truly wounded heart. A passionately in love man would try to justify her actions or find a way to get past this. But he just lets it drop and goes traveling to soothe his bruised ego.

Then, there is Penelope.

Sweet, shy Pen.

She is so happy to have a friend in her very own home who is kind to her. It seems like a dream come true at first. She says lovely things about Marina in LW.

Then she realizes Colin is truly interested in Marina. She hates it, but doesn't fight it at first. Penelope has already in many ways given up on Colin ever looking at her the way he looks at Marina. So she bites her tongue. She doesn't discourage the two from becoming closer, but she is not doing much to stop it either.

Then she finds out Marina's secret. She learns about George and cake and that Marina must marry in one way or another. Pen wants to help. She really does.

But she just can't stand that Marina would trick Colin. Her love for Marina is enough to ignore her tricking anyone else. Her love for Colin is so much that she wants him to be happy any way possible.

And she knows figuring out the first child is not his and then duplicity of Marina's affections would not make Colin Bridgerton happy. Unlike most men in the Ton, he knows what love is. His parents were a love match. He would understand eventually that Marina was just placating him whenever he engaged with her emotionally.

So. Having appealed to both Marina, who crushed her heart into bits efficiently, and Colin, who metaphorically ruffled her hair and told her to run along... what options were left to Pen?

Directly tell someone like her mother? She already knew and approved. Violet? Well isn't that terrifying to a shy young woman who still wants Colin's friendship? Eloise? Too mercurial, she might support the match or at least loudmouth that it was Pen who told her. Again potentially ending her friendship with Colin.

Remember, her friendship with Marina was already over, Marina just did not know it yet. You can't brutally crush someone's most treasured, secret desire (realistic or not) and have them continue to love you like nothing happened.

So, Pen uses her last resort when she learns of the pending elopement. The one thing she can do to save Colin from unhappiness and to keep her one small shred of her own happiness: being Colin's friend. She revealed Marina's secrets to the Ton.

Did this maximize damage to Marina? Yes. Did it also damage Colin? Fractionally, both compared to what was dealt to Marina and compared to the damage he would have suffered in a marriage where Marina came to merely tolerate him. (As evidenced by her entire unamusement at his olive oil joke in Season 2.)

Don't forget that Penelope also hurt herself in this. You don't sob in your best friend's arms in celebration. She broke a part of herself to do this to Marina and to Colin. She probably doubted every second of everything and a part of her always will. Her price was not public, it was not outwardly devastating, but she took damage too.

----------

In conclusion, Marina and Penelope were both some level of wrong and Colin was the blind fool in the middle. The flavors of wrong were very different, and so were the levels of damningness.

In their own ways, I can forgive each of them. Admittedly, I forgive Pen more. But that has to do with my life experiences. Former wallflower here, married to a man who is now her best friend. I have never gotten pregnant and been abandoned (though being dead is hardly George's fault here). But I can understand how desperate, how calculating that could have made me, at least in that era. Especially with people like Portia Featherington as your primary caretaker and maternal figure.

I really hope that Pen and Marina both get a chance a chance to gain closure over this peacably before Marina dies. I don't think Pen deserves to feel guilt over Marina's death. Especially as book Marina seemed to have severe depression and well, Marina is likely to have depression too considering her loss of George.

Now, if part 2 of Season 3 could just be here already, that would be absolutely lovely!

[stylespresleyhearted]

what’s the secret project you posted 👀

oh gosh i keep meaning to answer this and then i keep forgetting or pushing it back for reasons unknown to me i think im just unaccustomed to having any asks lol but anyways this is something that actually started because of a certain thing me and marina yell about when it comes to austin and then as our love for callum grew it came to something else grand and beautiful. now it’s only something that has been discussed in the chat, it has no doc or nothing official to it, it may never even come to fruition (marina is already gifting us with so much goodness in the fic worlds she dabbles in)

but i will share some of it and feel free to come further talk about it if it interests you 😘

Warnings: nsfw below the cut, open relationship, threesome, guy x guy, guy x guy x girl

So we’re all aware of how Austin put his blood, sweat, tears, and soul into his Elvis role. This man gave it his all and I’m truly so grateful to him for it because in my opinion (and most importantly in Lisa Marie’s opinion) he did Elvis Presley justice.

• Bree is a famous and highly esteemed guitarist, singer, and lyricist. She’s won multiple Grammies and written for and with Lana Del Rey, Arctic Monkeys, etc., that’s more her vibe. Baz hires her on during the making of Elvis movie so she could help him modernize the soundtrack and help with the choosing of songs. Maybe she’s even there when Austin gathers all the people from the record label and has them ridicule Austin after his first run through.

• But she’s there before filming and she’s there during filming and her and Austin even shack up together for a while during the first COVID lockdown, spending time with him in his apartment and staying up at all hours of the night to help him get certain scenes right. The bed sheets are tangled, kisses are shared, breakfast is eaten in bed not in the kitchen and there are multiple walks on the beach taken together.

• Bree tries her best to be there for him through all of it. She can sense he’s about to sky rocket and rightfully so, she doesn’t think anyone around can currently measure for his talent. She tries to be a soundboard and a friend and a girlfriend of sorts and a co worker and he’s got her playing all these different roles to keep up with him but keep in mind he never asked her to do any of that. She’s doing it because she loves him, maybe she isn’t in love with him or if she is she isn’t aware of it yet but she does love and care for him.

• And he’s going through his shit. He isn’t sure where Austin begins and Elvis ends and he isn’t in the headspace for a relationship, especially with Bree who deserves the world so when he’s sick as a dog and bed ridden before heading to London he makes sure to have the conversation with her. They were never official. Never went public or had rumors swirl. It’s better to end it on a good note and leave it how it is.

• So consider his surprise when a few months into filming MOTA, Bree shows up on Callum’s arm being introduced as his girlfriend. It’s supposed to be a lads night and Barry dragged him out and now someone who he calls one of his closest friends is introducing Bree as his current girlfriend. A close friend who he goes on walks in the parks with, who places kisses on his cheek after a few drinks, who places his hand on the small of Austin’s back when he approaches him, who pinches his cheeks and welcomed him with open arms. Dating someone who was there at his worst and gave him her heart and stayed up entire nights talking him down when his anxiety was too high and made him do self care when he forgot he was supposed to be his own person.

• and see, Callum and Bree are both Brits so they run in semi same circles and they knew of each other and were friends but Callum was with Vanessa Kirby and they were in love and for a while Bree was with Alex Turner and them afterwards there was Austin. So Callum and Bree were already friends and when they run into each other at a record shop and then head to lunch after and maybe Callum gave her a kiss goodbye when they went separate ways - it all just grew from there.

• so maybe Austin feels a green jealous monster growing inside his chest but who he’s jealous of he’s unsure and a larger part of him is actually happy for both of them. They’re good people, they love each other and both deserve each other.

• they’re suddenly everywhere. She accompanies Callum on set and it’s clear to everyone how in love they are and one time when they’re filming the POW scenes and everyone’s on lunch Austin is looking for peace and quiet so he wanders into their “bunks” but there right in front of him - Callum holding Bree up against the wood panel walls, pounding into her as she moans his name so prettily, his sheepskin jacket still on and making him sweaty. Callum’s eyes open and he catches Austin walking, Austin who trips over his own feet to back away but Callum just smiles and winks at him.

• and later Callum approaches Austin with a high five and a cheeky, “see how good I was giving it to her, mate?”

• and fuck, Austin gets hard thinking about it. Gets hard thinking about Bree’s moans and Callum’s grunt and his sweat and her breasts bouncing against his chest.

• then filming wraps and Austin’s free of them. Doesn’t have to be in there presence every day anymore and he meets someone, a nepo baby who’s beautiful and kind and he’s in a place where he feels he can be with someone so he goes for it and he falls in love.

• and MOTA press isn’t until 2024 so it’s two years of only a handful of run ins with them but then press starts and news break: Callum and Bree are engaged. And the entire cast and crew are happy and they all celebrate.

• She didn’t join Elvis press because she was touring.

• so now Austin is around his engaged friends and he has mixed feelings regarding both of them. See he’s happy and he loves his girlfriend and his career is good but if he’s being honest something is missing and when he wants to torture himself he admits he knows exactly what it is. And he’s doing interviews and Bree is backstage and Callum’s always so touchy and so kind in his words in regard to Austin and one day Callum admits Bree told him what went down between Bree and Austin and Callum’s a confident guy, he assures Austin it’s all fine.

• But maybe it’s the first screening of MOTA, and Callum and Bree are tired of Austin’s sad puppy dog eyes every time they catch him watching them so Bree corners Austin backstage. Gets close and starts palming him through his pants, assuring him Callum wouldn’t mind, in fact Callum has been purposely teasing Austin during interviews trying to get him to cave.

• Callum and Bree both decided if they all wanted it how could it be wrong? Why not go for it?

• And Bree’s falling to her knees and taking Austin in her mouth, pretty pouty lips wrapped around him as she takes him all the way in and suddenly Callum is there, watching them, talking her through it.

• “Isn’t she phenomenal, mate? Had to work with her to get rid of that gag reflex and now she can deep throat me.”

• and Callum waits until Austin mewls his name and calls him over, begging him to be a part of this somehow, to please hold him. So Callum is joining them, Bree so pretty on her knees between them and Callum is flicking Austin’s nipple and letting Austin let his moans out in his neck.

That’s all we have more to come soon if ya’ll wish 🌚

• oh yeah there’s a scene where Bree holds Austin’s hand the first time Callum fucks him because she’s aware of the pain of how large Callum is.

@precious-little-scoundrel