#it meant letting go of the one person he ever loved

[iamquiantrelle]

SO INTO YOU (part 2) ───── iamquaintrelle

# pairings: aurelien tchouameni x black reader (✨💕)

# tags: @sucredreamer @snowseasonmademe @jessnotwiththemess @rougereds @judectrl @mufasathatniggatho @irishmanwhore @lettersofgold @ayeshami @greyishbach @haartemis @goldenngt @solidbriii @sailurmewn @bbgkoo @mauvecherie-writes @leighjadeclimbedmtkilimanjaro

# summary: you’re a multiple grammy winning artist with a record breaking single based on an embarrassing crush on a footballer & when that single demands visuals who else do you ask to be your video vixen besides said footballer crush? but is he also willing to blow your back out too? ♡ masterlist

The next few days passed in a blur — Madrid, the match, the rush of it all. Of course, someone caught you at the match — there was no way that wasn’t happening. You were you, after all, a Grammy-winning artist sitting in VIP seats at the Bernabéu, very much in the camera’s line of sight. The picture had already made its rounds on social media: you, leaning forward with your elbows on your knees, watching the game with full concentration. Another showed you mid-cheer after Aurélien’s assist, your excitement unmistakable.

The comments on The Shade Room were a mess.

"Why is [Your Name] at the Bernabéu??" "She watching soccer now? 👀" "Ain’t no way she just ‘watching’ — look at that smile." "She’s a Madridista now? Elite taste." "I know she was there for Tchouaméni. Be serious."

You scrolled through the discourse with a grin, but the real entertainment was happening on Tumblr. Unlike the rest of the internet, your little tchouamenithoughts page was an anonymous safe haven, a place where you could be as shamelessly down bad as you wanted. And the girlies were going through it.

moot1: she’s cute. good for him i guess moot2: the way he’s been playing lately... yeah he’s in love moot3: it’s giving soft launch. moot4: imagine being the muse for that one song she wrote... bc I KNOW it’s about him.

You had to stifle a laugh reading that one. It was already too weird, and you knew — God forbid — if Aurélien ever found out about this little corner of the internet, you’d have to disappear into the abyss.

You then reblogged a gifset of Aurélien’s highlights from the match, tagged "captain of my heart" before clicking into the inbox.

Anonymous asked: "Bro tell me you saw [Your Name] at the match? She was going feral for our man Tchouaméni just like us. Respect."

You snorted and reblogged it with a simple: "As she should."

Your phone buzzed in your hand, pulling you away from the mess you’d been consuming like your own personal reality show.

Auré: Did you make it home safe?

You smiled, a warmth blooming in your chest.

You: I did. Tired though.

Auré: You should rest. You’ll need your energy for when I see you again.

You bit your lip, shaking your head at the audacity.

You: Oh? And when’s that?

Auré: Soon. I told you, I’m doing the chasing now.

Your stomach flipped. God help you.

You locked your phone and sighed, leaning back against your pillows, your laptop still open to the mess of your moots spiraling in real-time. Yeah, this Tumblr was going to have to go soon.

But for now? You had a little more time to kiki.

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

Aurélien meant it when he said he wanted to do the rest and chase you.

The next morning, a delivery arrived at your apartment in LA. A massive bouquet — white and blush pink roses, accented with baby’s breath. It smelled incredible, and the little card tucked inside made your stomach flip.

"Since I didn’t get to be the first one in your DMs, let me be the first to send you flowers. –AT"

You bit your lip, rereading the message at least three times before setting the card down. The man was serious.

And the thing was — he wasn’t doing too much. You’d been courted before, had men try to win you over with grand gestures that felt more about them than you. But this? This was just Aurélien being him. Smooth, intentional. Never overstepping, just reminding you that he was right there.

His texts came consistently, never letting a day pass without checking in. Some were sweet. Some were very much not sweet.

Auré: Did you sleep well?

You: Mhm. You?

Auré: Not really. Kept thinking about how you looked in my bed.

Whew.

Other times, he was just ridiculous.

Auré: Hypothetically, if someone wanted to know your coffee order…

You: Hypothetically, they should just ask.

Auré: I am asking. But I wanted to see if you'd be difficult first.

You: Vanilla oat milk latte, extra shot. Now tell me why you’re asking like you’re sending a gift card.

Auré: I might be.

You: Aurélien.

And sure enough, an hour later, an email from Starbucks: [Your Name], you’ve received a gift from Aurélien Tchouaméni.

You couldn’t even be mad.

Then came the FaceTimes. Usually at night, when he knew you were home. It started casual — just him, shirtless (because of course), leaning back against his headboard while you sat on your couch, notebook open, laptop playing beats softly in the background.

"What are you working on?" he asked one night, eyes flicking to your scribbled lyrics.

"Music."

"No shit," he teased, smirking. "But what kind?"

You tapped your pen against your notebook. "Just some ideas."

His brows lifted. "For me?"

You snorted. "No. Not everything is about you."

"Shame." He stretched, flexing way too much for someone who was supposedly relaxing. "But you’ll write another one about me eventually."

"You think?"

"I know."

You rolled your eyes but smiled anyway, focusing back on your lyrics. Until—

"You work too much," he murmured.

You glanced up. "And you run too much. What’s your point?"

His smirk deepened. "That I’m gonna fix that. When are you coming back to Madrid?"

You blinked. “Oh, you’re just assuming I’m coming?”

"Yeah." He looked so sure, so smug, you wanted to reach through the screen and wipe that smirk off his face.

"I have work."

"I have work too,” he countered easily. "But I make time for what I want."

That shut you up for a second. You clicked your tongue. "That’s a cute line."

He grinned. "It’s not a line, bébé. It’s a fact."

And then, as if that wasn’t enough, the next morning, another email delivery. This time? A plane ticket. First class, LAX to Madrid, one week from now.

No note. Just that.

And the man had the audacity to text: See you soon.

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

You told yourself you weren’t really considering it.

You weren’t impulsive like this. You had rules. Checklists. Boundaries.

But when Carmen barely batted an eye after you double-checked your schedule and when your best friend damn near screamed in your ear after you mentioned Madrid again?

"Are you insane? You just got back!"

You winced, pulling the phone away from your ear. "First of all, lower your voice—"

"No! Because this man has already had you in a chokehold, and now you’re just willingly running back?"

You sighed, switching the phone to your other ear. "It’s not like that.”

"What’s it like then?"

Silence.

Exactly.

Because what were you really gonna say? That you were working backwards? That the whole 'I have standards thing' was already a joke because you’d skipped about fifteen steps when you slept with him and now you were just here like some lovestruck fool?

Because you were.

"Yeah," your best friend scoffed when you stayed quiet. "That’s what I thought."

Still, none of that stopped you from breezing through TSA a few days later, sunglasses on, hoodie pulled low, boarding a first-class flight back to Madrid. Because somehow, in less than two weeks, you had gone from watching him on your screen to meeting him in person for your video shoot, and now you were sipping champagne, heading straight back to him.

You were supposed to be working — laptop open, beats playing, lyrics scattered across your notebook — but all you could do was stare at your phone, rereading his last message.

Auré: See you soon, bébé.

A slow exhale left your lips.

You weren’t even there yet, and he already had you spiraling.

The moment you exited arrivals, he was waiting.

Leaning up against his car, hands in his pockets, looking stupidly good in a fitted tee, Rhude shorts that made everything look right, snapback cap, and another Cuban link around his neck. His eyes locked on you like he’d been counting the seconds.

Your stomach flipped.

This man…

"You’re early," you said, trying to keep your voice even.

He smirked. "So are you."

Fair.

"C’mere."

You barely had time to react before his arms were around you, pulling you into him. His scent wrapped around you — warm, familiar, distracting — and suddenly, everything about this felt like a terrible idea.

If he was this good just holding you, how the hell were you supposed to handle anything else? Especially at the rate he was going?

"You miss me?" he murmured, lips at your ear.

You pulled back, schooling your face. "Did you?"

No hesitation. "Yeah."

Your heart betrayed you, but you kept your expression neutral.

"Hmm," you teased. "Was it the inside jokes? The deep conversations?"

He chuckled, dark and knowing. "The way you sound when I—"

"Aurélien."

His grin widened as he stepped back, opening the passenger door. "Get in, bébé."

And just like that, you were gone all over again.

The drive to his place was quiet.

Not the awkward kind — never that with him.

It was the kind of silence that buzzed, thick with anticipation. The kind where every glance, every shift in your seat, said more than words could. Aurélien drove one-handed, his other hand resting on your thigh like it belonged there, fingers tracing slow, lazy circles against your skin.

Like he was reminding you exactly why you were here.

The low hum of Afrobeats filled the car, blending with the occasional ping of a text on his phone. You ignored it, focusing instead on the way his fingers tightened slightly when you moved, the barely-there smirk on his lips.

"You good?" His voice was smooth, teasing.

You exhaled. "Fine."

A low chuckle. "Lying already?"

You shot him a look, but it was useless. He knew. He always knew.

By the time you reached his house, you were already on edge.

And then there was Ocho.

The massive Belgian Malinois greeted you at the door with an excited bark, nearly knocking you over in his eagerness.

"Damn, you remember me?" You laughed, scratching behind his ears as he licked at your wrist.

Aurélien chuckled behind you, setting your bag down near the stairs. "He doesn’t forget people he likes."

You glanced up, finding him watching you with something unreadable in his gaze.

The air between you shifted.

You swallowed, turning away to take in the space — the same high ceilings and floor-to-ceiling windows, the same sleek yet lived-in warmth from the last time you were here. But this time, there was something different.

This time, you knew what it felt like to be pressed against that couch, to have his mouth on your skin, to hear your own voice echoing against these walls.

And, of course, there were the flowers.

You huffed a laugh, finally spotting the massive bouquet of white lilies and soft pink roses in a crystal vase on the marble countertop.

"You really do this, huh?" you murmured, fingers ghosting over the petals of the bouquet before turning to face him.

Aurélien leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching you with that slow, knowing smirk that made your stomach tighten. "Do what?"

"This whole…" You gestured vaguely at the flowers, the way he had you standing in his kitchen, feeling like you’d stepped into something inevitable. "Seduction thing."

"I told you," he said, pushing off the counter to come to you, voice low as his fingers found your waist. "I wanted the chase."

Your breath caught as his chain moved gently against his collarbone.

"And now that I have you here?" His lips hovered over yours, his hands already moving, already claiming. "I’m not letting up."

Your breath hitched as his hand splayed against your lower back, pulling you flush against him. You were already in too deep, already fighting a losing battle against the warmth curling in your stomach, against the way he smelled — clean, like cedarwood and something distinctly him.

"Aurélien—"

He kissed you before you could finish, tilting your chin up, his lips moved against yours like he had all the time in the world, like he was savoring you, mapping you out. The hand at your waist gripped tighter, and he made a sound in the back of his throat when your fingers found the nape of his neck, threading into the soft curls there.

You felt him smile against your mouth.

"What?" you breathed.

He pulled back just enough to search your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek. "You taste smug," he muttered.

You arched a brow. "And what does smug taste like?"

His lips twitched. "Like someone who knew she was coming back to me."

Your stomach flipped.

You weren’t going to entertain that — not right now, not when his voice was doing that and his hands were still tracing over your body like he was committing every inch of you to memory.

So you deflected. "Ocho knew too, apparently."

Aurélien huffed a quiet laugh. "Ocho is a good judge of character."

You snorted, shaking your head, but the moment you tried to step back, his grip on your waist tightened.

"You’re not going anywhere, bébé," he murmured.

You swallowed hard.

Because he wasn’t just talking about right now.

And he knew you knew it.

The moment stretched between you, heavy with promise. His thumb was still tracing patterns on your skin, each touch deliberate, like he was writing his intentions into your flesh. The kitchen's warm lighting caught the angles of his face just right, making his dark skin glow golden, and that fade you'd written countless posts about was perfect for running your fingers through.

"You're thinking too loud," he murmured, ducking his head to press his lips to your neck. His chain brushed cold against you, making you shiver.

"Hard not to," you managed, trying to keep your voice steady as his teeth grazed that spot below your ear. "When you're being all…" you gestured vaguely at him, at this whole situation.

He huffed a laugh against your skin. "All what?"

"You know what."

"Mm," his hands slid lower, grip tightening just enough to make your breath catch. "Tell me anyway."

The command in his voice - that same tone he used directing the midfield - had your knees weak. But two could play this game.

You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, watching them darken as your fingers traced the chain around his neck. "All confident," you said softly.

His responding smile was dangerous. "Didn't you write a whole song about it?"

"That's not—"

"About how I control the game?" His lips brushed your ear, voice dropping lower. "About how I read the field?"

Your heart was absolutely betraying you, hammering against your ribs like it was trying to escape.

"You really memorized those lyrics, huh?" you tried to tease, but your voice came out breathier than intended.

He pulled back to look at you properly, and the intensity in his gaze had you forgetting how to breathe. The same focus you'd watched him apply to matches, to training, to everything he did - all of it was directed at you now.

"I memorized everything about you," he said simply, like he wasn't completely ruining your ability to think straight. "The way you bite your lip when you're nervous. How your eyes follow me during matches."

Ocho's tags jingled as he trotted past, heading for his bed in the corner, completely unbothered by the way his owner was systematically dismantling your composure.

"You're impossible," you muttered, even as your hands traveled up his arms, feeling the muscles shift under your touch.

"You like impossible," he countered, and before you could argue, his mouth was on yours again, more urgent this time. Less controlled. Like maybe you weren't the only one affected here.

Your back hit the counter, and his hands gripped your hips to lift you onto it. The marble was cold through your clothes but he was burning hot, all solid muscle and sure touches as he stepped between your legs.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured against your lips, but his hands were already sliding under your shirt, already knew your answer.

You tangled your fingers in his chain instead, using it to pull him closer. "No."

His answering laugh was all satisfaction, all victory. "Good girl."

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

You woke up to Madrid sunlight filtering through his expensive blackout curtains that clearly weren't doing their job. His bed was still unfairly comfortable, sheets soft against your skin, and the gentle rise and fall of his chest under your cheek was threatening to lull you back to sleep.

Jetlag had hit you hard after... activities, leading to what was supposed to be a quick power nap but wasn’t. That kitchen counter definitely needed disinfecting though.

Multiple times.

Now the afternoon light was painting patterns on his dark skin, and you were finding it hard to care about time zones at all. When he woke up to slip away to the bathroom, you grabbed your phone, checking the damage.

Surprisingly, your Tumblr mutuals hadn't caught wind of your return to Madrid yet. But you knew better - it would only take one fan with a good camera angle to set everything off again. You heard the sink running, and then Aurélien padded back to bed, all sleep-warm skin and low-slung sweats. He lay beside you for a moment before that hand found your waist, tugging you closer.

"C'mere," he murmured, voice still rough with sleep. You went willingly, settling against his chest, ear pressed to his heartbeat. That same dopey ass smile from last time spread across your face as his fingers traced lazy patterns on your back. "How long are you staying?" he asked, playing with your hair.

You tilted your head up to look at him. "How long do you want me?"

His answering smirk was knowing as he bit his lip, considering. "A long time."

"Can't do that," you laughed softly. "But... two weeks?"

"Two weeks is good," he hummed, fingers still moving against your skin. "We can have fun, go on proper dates... maybe take a trip somewhere."

You propped yourself up on his chest. "Trips? Already planning baecations?"

"Mm," his hand slid lower on your back. "Gotta pull out all the stops. Could do Mallorca, Ibiza..." his smile turned dangerous. "Or maybe Paris?"

"Paris?" You tried to keep your voice steady, but the way his fingers were still tracing patterns on your skin was distracting. "That's a lot for someone who just wanted to be in my music video a few weeks ago."

His laugh rumbled through his chest. "Is it? When I've been catching you like those highlights at 3 AM?"

You pushed up to look at him properly. "Still can't believe that you noticed that. "

"Bébé," his hand came up to cup your face, thumb brushing your cheek, "You should know that I notice everything. Why did you think I said yes to the video?"

Your heart did that stupid flutter thing again. "Because I'm a three-time Grammy winner and it'd be good PR?"

The look he gave you was almost pitying. "You really think that's why? Still?"

Before you could answer, he moved - that athletic grace you'd watched on the field now used to flip you onto your back, hovering over you with that dangerous smile.

"I said yes," he murmured, chain dangling between you, "because I wanted to see if you were as beautiful up close as you were in those award show pictures I kept saving."

Your breath caught. "You what?"

"Mm." His lips found your neck. "Want to see my camera roll? All those screenshots of you performing? The ones where you're wearing that dress at the VMAs?"

"Aurélien—"

"The way you move on stage," he continued, voice dropping lower, "the way you command attention…"

You couldn't process this - him admitting to essentially doing the same thing you'd been doing, collecting pieces of each other from afar.

"So this," he said, pulling back to look at you with those eyes that saw too much, "is just the beginning. I told you - I'm the lion." His hand slid down your side, grip possessive. "And I chase what I want."

"And what do you want?" Your voice came out embarrassingly breathy.

That smile should be illegal. "Right now?" His lips brushed yours. "For you to stop thinking so much and let me show you exactly why I memorized every word of that song you wrote about me."

You barely had time to catch your breath before he was kissing you again, all intensity and purpose, and yeah - two weeks definitely wasn't going to be enough.

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

The Madrid morning light painted his bedroom in honey-gold streaks, warming the spaces he'd left cold when he left for training. His kiss goodbye still lingered on your forehead, along with his casual "take the other car if you want to go out" - like lending you a hundred-thousand euro vehicle was as simple as sharing coffee.

But after last night (and the night before that, and the increasingly blurred hours in between), you were content to exist in the aftermath of him. Every room held echoes - the way he'd pressed you against that wall, how his chain had caught the light as he'd lifted you onto that counter, the sound of his laugh when you'd almost knocked over that probably-expensive vase.

He'd been attentive in a way that made your chest ache, all careful questions and watching eyes. The same precision you'd analyzed in countless match footage translated to how he touched you - deliberate, focused, like every response was data to be cataloged. His perfectionist tendencies apparently extended far beyond the pitch, and you had the marks to prove it.

Speaking of Tumblr... you scrolled through your dash one last time. The theories were still flying, the thirst posts still abundant, but it felt really wrong now. Here was Aurélien making actual time for you, being intentional about pursuing you, and you had a whole account dedicated to thirsting over him? The cognitive dissonance was too much.

You wrote a quick post about "digital wellness" and noted taking a break then deleted the app. You'd properly nuke the account later - right now, you had a house to explore.

Ocho followed you through the house, his tags jingling as he padded along faithfully. The home gym where he'd filmed all those workout videos that had sent your mutuals into chaos was impressive, but seeing that motivational quote wall in the flesh? You clutched your imaginary pearls. And the mural of what looked like the 1960s Real Madrid team in the hallway? Yeah, if this was heading where you thought it was heading, you were definitely calling an interior decorator.

The media room spoke more to his age - all premium gaming setups and theater-quality everything. But the real winner was the backyard. The pool area was something out of a luxury resort catalog, and the Madrid sun hit just right on the loungers.

You settled into one, Ocho flopping at your feet, and tried to process everything. Two boyfriends in your entire life, and now here was Aurélien Tchouaméni - six feet two inches of pure "god took his time" - sliding into position to be number three? The universe was really out here making dreams come true.

Your phone lit up:

Auré: Missing you already. Dinner tonight? Unless you're too tired…

Your cheeks heated, remembering exactly why you might be tired. The way he'd switched between languages when he was too far gone to think straight, how that chain had felt cold against your heated skin, the sound he'd made when—

Another message:

Auré: I can feel you thinking about last night from here 😏

The smile that spread across your face was embarrassing. Those Tumblr manifestations had worked almost too well - your mutual followers had no idea they were manifesting their own thirsting out of existence.

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

"Aurélien," you warned, trying to keep your hand steady as you applied eyeliner, "I swear to god—"

"Mm?" His voice was all fake innocence, but his hands on your hips were anything but, squeezing your ass appreciatively as he pressed against your back. "I'm not doing anything."

The bathroom counter was cool under your palms as you leaned forward, attempting to focus on your reflection instead of how his chain was brushing against your shoulder, how his fingers were tracing the curve of your—

"I'm trying to get ready," you protested, but it came out embarrassingly breathy. "We have dinner reservations."

"We do," he agreed, pressing a kiss to your neck that definitely threatened your carefully applied foundation. "In an hour."

"Which means I need to finish my face and—" you inhaled sharply as his hands slid lower, gripping more firmly. "Aurélien."

You caught his reflection in the mirror - that dangerous smile playing at his lips as he watched you try to maintain composure. The fresh fade and fitted shirt were doing criminal things for his already unfair looks.

"You look perfect already," he murmured, and the sincerity in his voice almost distracted you from how his thumbs were now tracing maddening circles.

"You're impossible," you managed, but you were already leaning back against him, makeup brush forgotten.

His laugh rumbled through his chest. "You like impossible."

"Get out," you laughed, pushing at his chest. "Let me finish getting ready in peace."

His pout was criminally effective, but he retreated to the bedroom. Through the mirror, you watched him settle on the edge of the bed, scrolling through TikTok with casual grace. The moment you spritzed your setting spray though, he stood up like it was Pavlov's bell.

Interesting.

You filed that reaction away for later research.

It was becoming clear that Aurélien had downloaded the Complete Boyfriend Experience somewhere between your time apart. His manners were even more impeccable, his timing perfect, his attention to detail almost suspicious.

He took your hand as you descended the stairs together - another discovery about the man your mutuals had analyzed endlessly. Physical touch was definitely high on his love language list, contrary to Maha's whole dissertation about him being an acts of service guy. (The smugness of proving a mutual wrong? Unmatched.)

The stilettos made you grateful for his steady presence, his hand warm and secure in yours. At the door, he turned to Ocho, voice dropping into that French that still did things to you both in and out of the bedroom.

"Sois sage, protège la maison," he murmured, scratching behind the dog's ears. The simple command shouldn't sound that good, but here you were swooning.

He led you to the car, opening the passenger door with that fluid grace that made everything look choreographed. But there, sitting in your seat, was a red gift bag.

"Aurélien…" you breathed, picking it up before sliding in.

That smile played on his lips as he made his way to the driver's side, starting the car with practiced ease. The dopey ass grin was back on your face before you could stop it as he pulled out of the driveway.

"Are you going to open it?" he asked, one hand on the wheel while the other found its usual spot on your thigh. The Cartier and Van Cleef & Arpels bracelets on his wrist caught the streetlights, and you couldn't help staring at how right his large hand looked there, fingers splayed possessively across your skin.

The gift bag sat in your lap, full of promise. Whatever was inside - expensive or not - didn't really matter. The fact that he'd thought to get you anything at all had your heart doing that stupid flutter thing again.

You pulled out the tissue paper slowly, dragging out the moment. Aurélien's thumb traced circles on your thigh as he navigated through Madrid's evening traffic, but you could feel his attention split between the road and your reaction.

Inside was a small velvet box that made your heart stop for a second before common sense kicked in. Too soon for that kind of box. Still, your fingers trembled slightly as you opened it.

"I saw you looking at it the other day," he said softly, as you lifted out the delicate Van Cleef & Arpels bracelet - a match to one of his. "Thought we could coordinate."

The way he said it so casually, like matching thousand euro jewelry was just something you did now. Like this wasn't him essentially marking his territory in the most expensive way possible.

"You're ridiculous," you managed, but you were already holding out your wrist for him to fasten it at the next red light.

His fingers lingered on your pulse point. "You like ridiculous."

"Maybe," you admitted, watching the bracelet catch the streetlights. It looked right next to his hand on your thigh, like it belonged there. Like you belonged there.

His answering smile was knowing. "Only maybe?"

You were saved from responding by his phone lighting up with a call from Jude. He answered through the car's Bluetooth, and you settled back to listen to him switch effortlessly between English and French, discussing tactics for their next match. The way authority wrapped around his words, how naturally he took command of the conversation - yeah, you were definitely going to need to write another song.

His hand never left your thigh during the entire call, thumb still tracing those maddening patterns that made focusing on anything else impossible. The bracelet glinted with each movement, a constant reminder of how quickly this was all moving.

Two weeks suddenly felt like both forever and not nearly enough time at all.

The restaurant was exactly the kind of place you'd expect Aurélien to know about — tucked away in a historic part of Madrid, all warm lighting and exposed brick walls. Private enough that phones stayed in pockets, exclusive enough that no one batted an eye when he led you to a corner table with his hand on your lower back.

"You're staring," he murmured as you settled into your seat, that knowing smirk playing at his lips.

"You clean up nice," you shrugged, trying for casual like you hadn't been watching him all evening. The black button-down was doing criminal things for his shoulders, and the way he'd rolled up the sleeves to show off those bracelets felt deliberately calculated to drive you crazy.

"Just nice?" His eyes glinted as he reached for his water glass, chain catching the light with the movement.

"Your ego doesn't need any more feeding."

His laugh was low, private. "No? After the way you were liking my training videos? Or maybe my posts?"

The waiter's arrival saved you from having to form a coherent response to that. Aurélien ordered for both of you in perfect Spanish - another language that had no business sounding that good rolling off his tongue. You were starting to think he could read a grocery list and make it sound sexy.

"So," he said once the waiter left, his fingers finding yours across the table, "about Paris..."

Your heart did that stupid flutter thing again. "What about it?"

"I was thinking," his thumb traced your new bracelet, "maybe we start there. Then Côte d'Azur, maybe Monaco..."

"That's a lot of planning for someone who just wanted to be in my music video a few weeks ago," you echoed your words from the other day, but this time they carried a different weight.

His eyes met yours, all intensity and promise. "I told you - I'm chasing. Properly."

The way he said it, like it was just that simple. Like planning European getaways and matching jewelry and looking at you like that was the most natural progression in the world.

"You're good," you said softly, watching his bracelets catch the light as he played with your fingers.

"At what?"

"This whole..." you gestured vaguely between you. "Boyfriend thing."

His smile turned dangerous. "Is that what this is?"

You tried to pull your hand back but he held firm, that grin widening. "I mean- I didn't mean to assume-"

"No?" He brought your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "After I've been marking my territory so obviously?"

Your breath caught. "The bracelet–"

"The bracelet," he agreed, then his eyes got that glint that usually meant trouble. "Maybe next time we'll talk about a key. Make it easier than me having to come home from training to let you in."

His phone lit up with another call - Camavinga this time - but he declined it, attention still focused entirely on you.

"You can take it," you offered, but he was already shaking his head.

"They can wait." His thumb traced your pulse point again, right below the new bracelet. "I'm busy chasing."

The waiter came back with a bottle wine and poured some in both of your glasses. You took a sip quickly, trying to calm your nerves.

"You know," he said after taking his own sip of wine, eyes never leaving yours, "I'm going to ask you properly. To be my girlfriend."

Your heart did a backflip. "Oh yeah?"

"Mm." That dangerous smile was back. "Not yet though. Want to do it right."

You couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up. "You're really out here making men look bad, you know that?"

"How so?"

"All this," you gestured between you, at the bracelet, at everything. "The chasing, the dating, the whole... intentional thing. In 2024? In this economy?"

His thumb was still tracing patterns on your wrist, just below where the Van Cleef caught the light. "You think I'd do any less? After watching you for months?"

He made it seem like putting in effort was the most natural thing in the world (and it was). Like taking time to court properly, to build something real, wasn't a dying art. Here you were, living through dating horror stories from friends about situationships and breadcrumbing and 50/50 and men who couldn't even send proper texts, and Aurélien Tchouaméni was out here planning European trips and buying matching jewelry and talking about asking you to be his girlfriend "properly."

"You're kind of unreal, you know that?"

That smile should really be illegal. "Good unreal?"

"Don't fish for compliments," you said, but you were grinning. "Your ego is big enough."

"My ego?" He leaned forward slightly, chain catching the light. "Says the one who wrote a whole song about me?"

Your cheeks heated. "That's different."

"Is it?" His voice dropped lower, more private. "Because I have some thoughts about those lyrics..."

The look in his eyes promised you'd be hearing those thoughts in detail later.

The meal passed in a haze of excellent food and better company, but dessert? That was when Aurélien decided to be truly unfair.

He moved your chair closer to his, the scraping noise against the floor making you wince - but he didn't seem to care, too focused on closing the distance between you. The chocolate something-or-other looked incredible, but the way he picked up the spoon, eyes locked on yours? That was what had your pulse jumping.

Every movement was deliberate as he gathered a perfect bite, holding it up with the kind of precision he usually reserved for perfectly weighted passes. His eyes never left yours as you leaned forward, and the intensity in his gaze as he watched you take the bite had heat crawling up your neck.

You dabbed at your mouth with your napkin, hyper-aware of how he tracked the movement.

"Is it good?" His voice had dropped to that register that did dangerous things to your composure.

"Very–" was all you managed before his mouth was on yours, tongue sweeping in to taste the chocolate himself. His hand came up to cradle your jaw, and maybe you should've been embarrassed about kissing like this in public, but with Aurélien? All bets were off.

Those full lips of his really were criminal, and the way his stupidly handsome face looked when he finally pulled back, pupils blown and that satisfied smirk playing at his mouth? Yeah, public decency was overrated.

"Let's go back to my place," he murmured against your lips, and something in his tone had your stomach doing somersaults.

The waiter appeared almost instantly at his gesture, and you watched Aurélien handle everything with that easy command he carried on the field — getting the dessert boxed, settling the bill, all while keeping one hand on the small of your back like he couldn't bear to break contact.

The night air hit cool against your heated skin as he guided you out, his touch steady and possessive. The valet had his car waiting in minutes, perks of being Madrid royalty, you supposed. He opened your door first, naturally, and the way his eyes tracked down your body as you slid in had you feeling like prey in the best way.

The moment he settled into the driver's seat, Brent Faiyaz's voice filled the car — something about one night, about pleasure, about giving in. The universe really was testing you tonight.

You pressed your thighs together, trying to ebb off your arousal, but then his hand found your leg again. Those fingers splayed possessively across your skin, squeezing just enough to let you know he noticed your movement. Every few seconds his eyes would flick over to you, dark with promise, and the way he bit his lip when you shifted under his touch had you counting the minutes until you reached his place.

"You good?" he asked, voice rough, and the smirk playing at his lips said he knew exactly what he was doing.

"Yeah."

The fact that he could still drive this well while systematically dismantling your self-control was honestly impressive.

The drive felt endless but somehow too quick at the same time. Aurélien's hand never left your thigh, and by the time he pulled into his driveway, the tension in the car was thick enough to cut.

He moved with that controlled grace of his as he came around to open your door, but there was something darker in his eyes now, something that had your pulse racing. His chain caught the security lights as he helped you out, and the way he pulled you close — enough to feel how his chest rose and fell a bit faster than normal — had you forgetting basic motor functions.

You barely registered Ocho's excited greeting at the door, too focused on how Aurélien's hand had slid from your back to your waist, how he was looking at you like he was planning exactly how to ruin your carefully applied makeup.

"Va te coucher, Ocho," he commanded softly to the dog, and honestly? French really should not sound that good. The way the words rolled off his tongue, all authority and promise...

The door clicked shut behind you.

His hands found your hips, turning you to face him. The "AT" pendant glinted in the dim light as he leaned down, stopping just shy of your lips.

"Now," he murmured, "where were we?"

Your breath caught, heart hammering as Aurélien’s fingers dug just a little deeper into your waist. His touch was steady, deliberate — like he was taking his time, savoring the way you melted into him.

"Right about here," you murmured, tilting your chin up, letting your lips brush his just slightly. Just enough to tease.

A muscle in his jaw ticked.

His grip tightened, yanking you that last inch forward until there was nothing between you but heat. His mouth found yours in a kiss that was all possession — slow, deep, unapologetically hungry.

Ocho let out a soft chuff before trotting off, uninterested in whatever was unfolding. You, however? You were done for.

How you made it up the stairs, you didn’t know. You were only aware of the way he guided you with ease, like he owned every move you made together. By the time you reached his bedroom, your back met the closed door the moment the door clicked shut behind you. His breath warm against your skin, his hands dragging up your sides, over the fabric of your dress.

"You knew how tonight was ending," he murmured, lips grazing your jaw, fingers already working the zipper down.

You swallowed hard, exhaling shakily as the dress slipped from your shoulders, pooling at your feet. "Maybe," you admitted, voice breathy.

He smirked, the expression dark and knowing.

Then he stepped back just enough to unbutton his shirt, revealing the broad stretch of his shoulders, the sharp cut of his abs — skin warm, golden, flawless. Your breath hitched at the sight, because God, you’d seen him like this before, but it never stopped stealing the air from your lungs.

You never got tired of seeing him naked.

He was too beautiful.

Aurélien knew it too, the way he watched you watching him, his smirk deepening as he worked the belt from his pants.

Your own breathing was uneven by the time you were both bare, and then he was leading you to the bed, his hands firm on your hips, guiding you onto the mattress with a touch that felt reverent despite the heat simmering beneath it.

He leaned back against the headboard, toned thighs spread slightly as he reached over to the bedside table, retrieving a condom with an ease that sent a shiver down your spine.

You swallowed as he tore it open, sliding it on with practiced efficiency.

Then he looked at you.

His gaze was heavy, filled with promise.

"Come here," he murmured.

You crawled over to him, straddling his lap as his hands found your waist, steadying you as you settled over him. His skin was warm beneath your touch, muscles tense under your fingertips as you traced up his chest.

Aurélien pulled you closer, lips capturing yours in a kiss that was deep and unhurried, his tongue teasing against yours as his hands roamed your back. You could feel him hard against you, the sensation making your breath hitch.

His mouth moved from your lips to your jaw, then lower, trailing heat down your neck until he reached your chest. He took his time, lips and tongue tracing over the swell of your breasts before wrapping around a nipple. The sensation sent a shudder through you, a soft moan slipping past your lips as he sucked, his other hand palming your other breast, thumb circling the hardened peak.

"Aurélien," you breathed, threading your fingers through his curls.

He hummed against your skin, the vibration sending another wave of heat pooling low in your stomach. He switched to the other nipple, flicking his tongue before sucking again, his hands gripping your hips as he ground you down against him.

You whimpered at the friction, the growing ache between your thighs making you restless.

He looked up at you then, dark eyes heavy with want, lips glistening as he murmured, "Ride me."

A shiver ran down your spine at his words, at the low rasp of his voice.

You reached between you, aligning him with your entrance before sinking down slowly, gasping at the stretch, at how perfectly he filled you. Aurélien groaned, hands tightening on your waist as you took him inch by inch.

"Fucking hell," he muttered, head tilting back slightly, his grip firm as he helped guide you down. "Always so tight, bébé."

You moaned at the praise, at the delicious burn of him inside you.

He gave you a moment, fingers kneading your hips before urging you to move. You rolled your hips experimentally, exhaling sharply at the friction, at the way he stretched you just right.

"That’s it," he murmured, watching you through hooded eyes. "Take me just like that."

You set a rhythm, lifting and sinking down onto him, each roll of your hips making you both unravel a little more. His hands roamed your body, one gripping your waist, the other sliding up to cup your breast, thumb flicking over your nipple as he thrust up to meet your movements.

The sound of skin meeting skin filled the room, mingling with breathy moans and curses in both English and French.

Aurélien’s eyes stayed on you, dark and hungry as he murmured, "Look at you… made for me, yeah?"

You whimpered, leaning forward to kiss him, the movement messy and desperate, all tongue. It reminded you of the first night you were together, when you had barely been able to keep your hands off each other, drowning in the sheer intensity of it all.

He groaned into your mouth, hands gripping your ass as he helped you move faster, deeper.

"Fuck, bébé," he rasped, voice wrecked. "You feel so good."

Your nails dug into his shoulders, chasing that high, loving how perfectly your bodies fit together — his deep brown skin against yours, slightly darker but complementing you like a missing puzzle piece.

You moaned his name, head tilting back as the pleasure built, and Aurélien took the opportunity to kiss your throat, teeth grazing your pulse.

His grip on your hips tightened before he lifted you effortlessly, his strength making your breath hitch. He shifted positions, pressing you into the mattress as he settled between your thighs, the heat of his body making you shiver in anticipation.

Aurélien’s hands slid down your legs, spreading them wider, and you hissed at the stretch. He paused, eyes flickering up to yours.

"I got you," he murmured, his lips brushing against your knee before he lifted one of your legs to rest over his shoulder. "Relax for me, bébé."

You exhaled, forcing yourself to melt into the mattress just as he rolled his hips forward, burying himself deep in one smooth thrust.

Your gasp was swallowed by his groan, the new angle sending pleasure spiking through your veins like electricity.

"Aurélien—"

He set a brutal pace, his hips snapping against yours with a force that had you clutching at the sheets, at his arms, at anything that could anchor you. The bedframe creaked beneath you, the headboard tapping lightly against the wall with each deep stroke.

"You take me so well," he gritted out, watching where your bodies met, mesmerized by the way you stretched around him. His free hand slid down to press against your lower stomach, applying just enough pressure to make you keen. "Feel that? How deep I am?"

You could only nod, your voice caught in your throat as pleasure wracked through you.

"That’s my girl," he praised, leaning forward just enough to kiss your ankle before snapping his hips even harder, making you cry out.

The sensations were overwhelming, your body trembling beneath him as that familiar ache coiled tight in your core. Your nails raked down his back, desperate for something to hold onto as you teetered on the edge.

Aurélien’s breathing was ragged, his hands gripping your thighs as he pounded into you mercilessly. "Come for me," he urged, voice rough and commanding. "Let me feel you."

His words pushed you over the edge, pleasure crashing over you in waves as your body clenched around him, your cry of release muffled by his mouth as he kissed you through it.

"Fuck," he groaned, his rhythm stuttering as he followed right after, burying himself deep one last time before stilling, his body shuddering above you.

For a long moment, the only sounds in the room were your heavy breaths, your bodies still tangled together as you both came down from the high.

Aurélien kissed you once, slow and languid, before pulling out carefully. He slid off the bed, disposing of the condom before returning, the mattress dipping under his weight as he pulled you into his chest.

You let him, curling against his warmth as his fingers traced lazy circles on your back.

And in that moment, as his lips pressed against your forehead and his arm tightened around your waist, you realized something.

Whatever this man wanted, whatever he needed —you were going to give it to him.

No questions asked.

……………tbd

[spencewalterreid]

If "I Love You" Was A Promise

Summary: Your mind has been unkind to you as of late, and Spencer picks up on it. He comes over to try to get you to open up.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x GN reader

Category: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: very self-deprecating, physical abuse if you squint (reader shoves Spencer), mean!reader but they don't mean it, mental breakdown (like... total meltdown), yelling, no use of y/n, Spencer being a sweetie, I think that's it.

Word count: 3k

Author's Note: I truly do love me some angsty angst. I've been going through a gloomy patch recently and wanted to just write a super self-indulgent comfort fic. enjoy enjoy enjoy

You met Spencer a few months ago at a bookstore and you were quick friends. He’s brilliant, great to talk with, and you like a lot of the same media. However, he also happens to be an FBI profiler, which means he thinks he knows everything about everyone all of the time. You’re getting pretty fucking sick of it. He noticed oh-so-astutely that you were going through some shit, and asked under the cover of a movie night to accompany you to your house. Blindingly naive, you agreed. That’s how you ended up in front of him in a heated argument about your current state of mind.

"I don't know what you want from me, Reid! This isn't any of your goddamn business. Just because I've been distracted doesn't mean you need to give me a fucking house call!" you shout, your hands pulling at your hair to ground yourself. "This has nothing to do with you."

Spencer held up his hands in a placating gesture, his voice calm and measured as he responded. "Okay, let's take a deep breath. I'm not trying to overstep any boundaries here."

He studied your body language intently - the way your hands gripped your hair, the tension in your shoulders. The distraction, the frustration, it was all rooted in something deeper, something that had nothing to do with their current argument.

"Tell me this," Spencer said, his tone gentle yet firm, "is there a pattern to these distractions? Have they been getting worse over time?" He leaned in slightly, his gaze locked onto yours. "Sometimes, it helps to talk things out with someone else. And right now, I'm here to listen."

Spencer was acutely aware of the small, cluttered apartment around him – the scattered books and papers on the coffee table, the faint smell of coffee that lingered in the air. He used the familiarity of the space to center himself, to keep his focus on understanding the root of your distress.

"I'm not here to judge or criticize," he assured you, his voice low and soothing. "I just want to make sure you're okay."

In that moment, Spencer's mind raced with possibilities, trying to piece together what the hell your problem was. Was this distraction tied to a past trauma, a family issue, or something else entirely? As an FBI profiler, he knew that the key to understanding a person's behavior lay in their history, their experiences, their upbringing.

"Talk to me," Spencer encouraged gently, his tone warm yet authoritative. "I'm here to listen. Please?" He held out his hand, a silent offer, and waited for you to open up to him. Yeah, right.

"God, stop being so fucking you for a minute!" you stomp up to him, about 2 feet away, and shove at his chest. "Act like a goddamn human, for once in your life! Would it kill you? Huh?"

Spencer stumbled back from the sudden shove, caught off guard by the contact. His heart raced as he felt the warmth of your hands against his chest, the bloom of dull pain. He was shocked. No one had ever laid hands on him like that before, no one he cared about at least, and especially not you.

He took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to process the surge of emotions that flooded through him. If the breath was meant to keep tears at bay too, then maybe you didn’t need to know that.

"I... I know I'm not always easy to understand," Spencer said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I know your mind works differently than most people's. But I'm trying... I'm trying to be here for you, in whatever way I can."

"Stop it!" you shout. "Stop trying to be unaffected. Stop trying to act like my fucking therapist, because you aren't! You... Don't... Know.. Me." you pause between each word, your finger in his face. "Stop trying to fucking profile me. Act like you have any sort of goddamn emotion, for once in your life!"

Spencer flinched as if struck, your finger hovering inches from his face. The harsh words hung heavy in the air between you, a bitter sting he couldn't shrug off like he might an insult from a suspect.

For just a moment, he faltered. He knows he's insecure, it's one of his biggest flaws, but he thinks maybe right now he should be. Maybe he's stepped too far. Maybe this isn't his place.

He shrugs that off just as soon as it comes. This is more important than being polite.

He swallowed hard, feeling the weight of your frustration, your anger, your desperation. It was raw, visceral, a maelstrom of emotion he struggled to comprehend. Slowly, deliberately, he reached up and wrapped his hand around your wrist, gently lowering your finger from his face.

"You're right," he said, his voice low. "I'm not your therapist. I'm not perfect.”

He paused, words careful with his gaze locked onto yours. "But know this... I care about you. More than I can express. And I'm trying.”

Spencer's other hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing gently over the heated skin. "I may not always show it in ways you expect... but I do have feelings. This isn’t fair, you have to know that.” His eyes brim with unshed tears, as if pleading with you to apologize. He sincerely doubted he'd get that, at least right now.

His voice dropped to a whisper. "Tell me what you need. Tell me how to do this, because I’m at a loss.”

"Stop it! Stop, stop, stop!" you scream, pounding at his chest once more before turning to dig your fingernails into your scalp. "God, you're such a fucking asshole! You don't have a goddamn clue what you're talking about. You've only known me for a couple of months! You couldn't possibly-" your voice catches in your throat, but you choke down a sob. You couldn't possibly love me. You firmly remind yourself he did not say that. Why would he?

Spencer stumbled back, his stomach and a twist and head spinning as he absorbed the brutal impact of your fists against his chest. He tries to keep in mind that you aren’t trying to hurt him, you’re just overwhelmed. He’s having a hard time believing it.

He reached out, trying to grab your wrists to still your frantic movements. But you wrenched away, pacing the small room like a caged animal. Spencer stood frozen, watching the scene in front of him, cinematic in its drama.

"Just because I haven't known you long doesn't mean I don't care about you," he interjects, voice tensely controlled. "You don't get to tell me what I feel or don't feel."

He took a step closer, then another, until he stood behind you. Gently, carefully, he placed his hands on your shoulders, warmth seeping into your tight muscles.

"I can't pretend to know everything you've been through. I can't claim to understand what you're going through, especially 'cuz you won't tell me anything," he sighs. "But I see you, or I'm at least trying to. I see the strength in you, the resilience, the courage.” His fingers tighten minimally in support, pausing a moment. "I'm not going anywhere. I'll be damned if I let you face this alone."

That did it.

One sentence, and the dam is breaking. Months of grief, loneliness, and a lifetime of being a last priority come crashing into you all at once. Your knees buckle at the weight of it as sobs wrench your body. "Get out," you demand, but your hands wrap firmly around his arms. "Get out. Please." You shake your head. "Please, Spencer, go home." You press back into him, curling into his warmth. "You're such a fucking dick."

Spencer held on tighter, holding you up with a grip around your waist.

"Okay," he murmured. "Okay, I'll go. If that's what you need."

But he didn't let go. He couldn't. Not yet. Not until he knew you were steady. Not until he knew, without a doubt, that you meant it.

"Tell me this first," he pleaded softly, his cheek pressed against the top of your head. "Tell me you know you're not alone. That you have someone in your corner, no matter what."

His arms tightened, a silent vow. "I know we're not close, I know I'm not always the easiest person to deal with. But I'm trying. I'm trying to be what you need me to be."

He stood there, holding you through your sobs. It impressed you, the resolve of him. It impressed you that he didn’t get pissed, as much as you wanted him to. You aren’t used to gentleness. You’d rather fight than stand in front of someone who’ll just let you cry.

The wails leaving your throat embarrass the living shit out of you, and you know tomorrow you'll hate yourself for it, but right now you’re grateful. "I'm sorry," you cry. "I'm so sorry. So sorry, Spencer." You empty your lungs completely with your sobs, then refill them just to empty them again. "I hate you. I hate you," you repeat, holding his arms with a bruising grip as he gently lowers you onto the floor despite his unrelenting germaphobia. He winces. "I hate you."

The mindfulness applied was the kind he usually reserved for crime scenes. He sat behind you, cradling your trembling body against his chest, one hand rubbing soothing circles on your back as the other held your hand.

"Shh, it's okay," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. "You don't need to apologize. You don't need to hate anything right now except maybe the hand dealt to you."

He rocked you gently, matching the rhythm of your ragged breaths. "I know you're hurting. I know it’s confusing. But please, don't hate yourself for feeling. Don't hate yourself for needing someone to be here for you."

Spencer's hand slid up to cup your cheek, tilting your face towards his. He thumbed away the tears that fell in steady streams, his own eyes a pool of their own. "Hate me if you need to. I can take it. I can take anything, as long as you're not hating yourself. None of this is your fault."

He leaned in closer, his forehead resting against yours. "You're allowed to feel. You're allowed to break. You're allowed to scream and cry and rage until you have nothing left. And I'll be right here, picking up the pieces, gluing you back together.” He pulled back just enough to watch you for a moment, your cheeks burning ever hotter. “I love you. You know that, don’t you?”

Your breath catches on a hiccup. "Don't say that," you beg. "Please," you sob. "Don't you say that to me. You don't know me, Reid." your voice is totally wrecked, you sound like a toddler throwing a tantrum. "You don't know what you're saying, you-" your breath catches, then another, then another, and then before you know it you’re hyperventilating.

What you didn’t say was, when you say it out loud, it becomes a promise. What you didn’t say was, I trust you. To say that is to make a promise you will not keep. To say that is to promise to break my trust. What you didn’t say was, To say that is to lie.

Spencer felt a surge of panic as your breathing grew rapid and shallow, your body shaking violently in his arms. He tightened his grip, a fierce, protective hold, as if he could physically keep you anchored. A folly effort, but you appreciated it nonetheless.

"Hey, hey, slow down," he urged, his voice calm and steady despite the fear gripping his heart. "You're okay, you're safe. I've got you."

He slid his hand from your cheek to the back of your neck, tilting your head down towards your knees. "That's it, just like that. Breathe with me. In and out. Slow and steady."

"Don't- don't- don't- d-" You tremble like a fucking leaf. Pathetic. You try to calm down enough to say this because you know it needs to be said: "Don't make- make- don't make pr- promi- promises you ca- can't- can't keep."

Spencer’s heart drops. What did he do wrong?

He didn’t quite know what to say, but he made an effort anyway. "You need to breathe, sweetheart. You need to breathe through this, one breath at a time.”

You lean down to softly press your lips against his hand, still shivering. Shaking. "I'm so sorry," you whisper. "I'm sorry. This is so pathetic."

"Hey, hey, none of that," Spencer soothed, turning your face towards his. He brushed away a lingering tear with his thumb, his gaze locked onto your red-rimmed eyes. "Being human isn't pathetic. Feeling, caring, needing... that's what makes you beautifully, perfectly human."

The smile on his face is sad, but genuine. He lays his hand on the side of your head, dragging a thumb across your temple. “I'm here because I want to be. Because I choose to be. Your strength and your vulnerability, they're a part of what draws me to you. Never apologize for being who you are."

"Can you stay?" you whisper feebly. "I mean, you don't-" you hiccup. "Don't feel pressured, of course. You know what?" You force a smile, which appears hopelessly pathetic considering the salt stains marring your cheeks. "I'm actually okay. I'm so okay. You can go home, Spencer. Go get some rest. Sorry." You move to get up, but his hold tightens. He mets your gaze, his voice low and firm. "No. I'm not going anywhere. I told you... I'm staying right here, with you."

He adjusted your position, lying down and gathering you fully into his arms, holding you close against his chest. "Rest now," he murmured, stroking your hair. "I'll be here when you wake up." Spencer pressed a soft kiss to your hair.

You chuckle without any meaning. "Spencer, no. Not on the hardwood floor," you say apologetically, sitting up. "You can take the bed. I'll sleep on the couch. C'mon, get up."

Spencer reinforced his embrace, not letting you pull away as he sat up slowly. He cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the last of their tears. "I'm not leaving you alone. End of discussion."

He stood, pulling you up with him, then guided you down the hallway, to your bedroom, then to sit on the edge of the bed beside him. Spencer's arm remained wrapped around your shoulders, a constant, comforting presence.

"I'll sleep here, with you. I won't leave your side." His voice softened, a gentle caress. "Please don't ask me to go, not now. I need to be here for you.”

"Spence-"

"No," he interjects. "No. Lay down. I'm gonna get you some water, I'll be right back."

He pats the bed behind you. Sluggish, you settle back into the plush mattress, encircling yourself in the comforter, dragging it right up to the bottom of your chin. You huff.

Spencer returned a moment later, a glass of water in hand. He set it on the bedside table and looked down at you, sympathy written all over him as he observed your closed eyes and the way you had curled in on yourself, still sniffling in the aftershocks.

Gently, he sat on the edge of the bed, his weight causing it to dip slightly. He reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his fingertips grazing your cheek. You felt warm, almost feverish.

"Hey, sweetheart..." Spencer's voice was soft, almost a whisper. He leaned in closer, his breath ruffling the hair he had just smoothed. "I know you're not asleep."

His hand slid down to your shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze. "Talk to me. What's going on in that beautiful mind of yours?" Spencer's words were gentle, a nudging request. Not a demand. Never a demand. He wanted to know you were okay, but he wouldn't force it out of you. If you were going somewhere dark, he wanted to follow you with a flashlight in hand, but only if you'd let him.

"Go to bed, Spencer."

Spencer's brow furrowed, stubbornness hard-set on his face. He didn't move from his perch on the edge of the bed, his hand still resting firmly on your shoulder.

"No. You can’t go to bed feeling like this. It could cause nightmares, increased cortisol levels, and I know you’ll have a headache in the morning if you don’t drink water." He took a deep breath, his thumb rubbing slow circles on your shoulder. "Please, talk to me. Let me help carry this burden with you. I'm stronger than I look, I promise."

You smile, your eyes still closed. "You look plenty strong," you reply. "Please, go to sleep. I'm tired."

Spencer's eyes narrowed, not convinced. “Look at me. Please." When you didn't immediately comply, he gently squeezed your shoulder. “I know you're hurting, and I know you’re tired, but you can’t end the night like this.”

He paused, his posture wilting in his frustration.

You open your eyes and roll onto your back. "Drop it, Reid. It's late, I just cried my fucking eyes out, I want to go to bed. Now, either lay your pretty ass down, or go sleep on the couch."

Spencer studied your face, trying to settle the odds with himself. Accepting defeat, he finally relented with a soft sigh. "Fine.”

He slipped off his shoes and climbed into bed beside you, being mindful not to jostle you. Settling onto his back, he turned to face you, a gentle hand coming to rest on your waist. "Goodnight," he murmured, eyes already heavy with fatigue. "Sleep well."

"Can I-" You turn toward him, but shut your mouth before you ask. "Nevermind. Goodnight."

Spencer felt you shift, turning to face him. “No, what were you going to say?”

You hum, trying to decide how to phrase it. “It was nothing.”

“Here,” he offers, lifting the arm nearest you, inviting you to curl into him. He’s always so observant. Despite your thus-short friendship, he knew exactly what you wanted. You complied.

"Sleep well, sweetheart," he repeated, his hand on your waist giving a gentle, comforting squeeze. "I'll be right here when you wake."

[yes-these-obsessions-are-healthy]

“DATV is about hope and is escapist” then why is the story retroactively trying to paint Solas, the only person of the Evanuris who used his power and privilege to help end slavery and liberate the elves, painted as a prideful arrogant self-centered bastard who secretly loved being worshipped as a god when every single thing he has ever said and done contradicts those assumptions made by the Veilguard companions.

Oh I’m sorry, do you think slave rebellions can be accomplished through peaceful means? Through purely decentralized anarchist uprisings? Are we trying to argue that Solas didn’t rebel the “correct way”? Are we trying to argue that Solas actually wanted to be worshipped as a god by those he freed. Solas, a man who wanted nothing more than to be a spirit of Wisdom and act as nothing more than an entity that would help people act and think mindfully?

The game’s dialogue for the companions tries to make it out like Solas enjoyed being a rebellion leader, rather than it being one of the most frustrating and agonizing and embittering experiences of his existence. The game is so clumsy that is seems to imply that Solas trying to do right by the elves with the rebellion was another mistake on his part, as if someone trying to fight for the rights of an oppressed people is something that is ever a mistake one could make.

Real liberal (derogatory) hours here. Even at your most uncharitable—Solas helped give the elves bodies and helped the Evanuris secure their power—he was trying to correct that mistake and was the only one of the Evanuris that was actively doing so. Mythal was dragging her ass the entire fucking time trying to be a fence-sitting centrist that thought you could actually parley and negotiate with slave owners. Oh but wait, Veilguard conveniently proves you can! Just look at Dorian! Apparently all you needed to dismantle centuries upon centuries of brutal inhumane slavery was a dandy saying “please let the slaves go” and everything is all but resolved in ten fucking years. Solas, why didn’t you try taaaalking to the blood magic warmongering slave sacrificing Evanuris? Maybe things would’ve gone better if you’d just asked nicely 🥺

Veilguard tries to go the “Solas is corrupting into Pride” and they botched it so terribly. Solas is prideful, but the writers made him out like his problem was a secret vanity or desire for power. No, his problem was that he thought he was correct. That is a 100000% entirely different issue and it shows that the writers have no concept of nuance for psychology or even what Wisdom and even Pride are. And for people to swallow “Wow Solas was just a power-hungry arrogant bastard all along” is like reading Go Set a Watchman by Harper Lee —the abandoned prototype of To Kill a Mockingbird that was meant to remain an unused manuscript—and thinking that is the real story and everything established in TKaM about Atticus Finch was just smoke and mirrors. Like come the fuck on.

Solas’s issue is that as a mortal he is inundated with mortal feelings that interfere with the purity of Wisdom. All mortals have levels of dignity and pride that are inextricably linked and mutually dependent to their recognition of their own personhood. Self-esteem, if you will. Wisdom is the act of deliberating and determining and enacting the best—most morally correct, most benign, most benign, most “good”—course of action in a scenario based on an aggregation of information and experiences. Solas’s “Pride” and biggest flaw is that he believes his judgments are the most objectively correct or best because this guy has spent tens of thousands of years watching and observing and experiencing people make the same mistakes over and over, behave in similar cyclical predictable ways in matters of love, power, violence, hatred, greed, tyranny, cruelty, ignorance, oppression, pride, grief, etc. Because Wisdom is derived from being able to apply knowledge and history and experience to solve a present problem, Solas naturally thinks he’s no spring chicken to all this and that he’s got a better grasp than most. Where Wisdom turns into Pride is the nature of the mortal mind, which for many likes to rely on rules of thumb and shortcuts and patterns to solve issues. While this is present in the dissemination of Wisdom, the flipside is that it can leave one vulnerable to stubbornness and partiality to one’s viewpoint regardless of new developments. Again, the mortal mind likes shortcuts because it saves time. Puzzling out whether this person or that scenario is truly uniquely unique every single time, wastes time. This is how presumptions and stereotypes arise. That Solas could only observe modern Thedas through what was reflected in the Fade gave him a half-understanding of people. That he chose to develop a resentment toward the Dalish after one bad encounter and remain detached from other races before joining the Inquisition meant he had fallen prey to these intellectual pitfalls, which is the result of his mortal nature interfering with his Wisdom nature.

Solas has never wanted to rule over people. He has never once wanted to be worshipped even at his most manipulative and Machiavellian. He wants to sit under a tree in the summer and discuss idly whether fire could be considered alive and if good requires evil to exist and the pros and cons of allowing collective memory to remain unchallenged.

Like of all things, the butchering of Solas’s character pisses me off to no end. Dislike him if you want, hate him if you want, but don’t for a second try to misconstrue that his problem is that he has secret aspirations for godhood. Does he think ancient elves are a superior race? There are definitely indications. But he doesn’t think of himself as someone to be worshipped by anyone, least of all other elves. Very huge distinction.

[hojichiuu]

𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝, 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭.

featuring: Boynextdoor's Knight!Taesan x femprincess!reader

setting: slight angst, mostly hurt/comfort, secret relationship, medieval times au

summary: daughter of one of the most renowned kingdoms to exist, you were obligated to carry the weight of the kingdom on your shoulders as the next heir. one after the other, the expectations and burdens have been thrown at you for as long as you could fathom. naturally finding your safe haven in taesan; a knight chosen to serve the king, basking in his comfort when things became too much to handle. yet nothing could prepare the two of you for the news that would be announced by your parents on the night of the annual banquet hall.

warnings: for writing purposes i've written taesan which is his official title name but reader personally calls him by his real name han dongmin, mentions of parental abuse, secret relationship with taesan, arranged marriage, reader has a panic attack, talks of self doubt and burdening expectations, pet names (kinda?), so so much comfort, let me know if i've missed any!

word count: 3.8k (this was meant to be a short i blacked out)

author's note: the idea sparked from jaehyun's speech during HOW? comeback era where he says "you know what kind of person Taesan is, how warm and kind he is." :( this is just something small i've written, idk if i'll add a prologue or epilogue yet as i'm still continuing the gryffindor!jaehyun fic which i'm not entirely sure when it'll be out but i'll try my best! REBLOGS AND COMMENTS ARE ALWAYSSS APPRECIATED <3333

It must be both a blessing and a curse to be able to feel things so deeply. 

Dusk seeps in as the air temperature begins to drop, daggers of ice contaminated your lungs with every breath you seemed to take. Grabbing as much of your gown as you possibly could whilst mindlessly trudging through the unkempt grass that laid behind the palace. 

You didn’t know where you were going, you had no clear destination. All you knew was that if you stayed any second longer at the ceremonial banquet you would’ve either thrown up on everybody or passed out. 

When did all of this this start?

Was it months prior when your parents sat you down by the dining table, discussing with you that you've reached the age to be betrothed? Was it when they scolded you to start thinking about the future, the reputation of you and your people? Was it when weeks turned to days to hours of men continuously knocking at the door asking for your hand in marriage in order for them to rule? Or when your father tried smacking some sense into you once he found out you had been sabotaging each proposal that was made for you. Berating you at the fact that many other kingdoms have decided to cut ties and supplies due to your immature behaviour.

Despite the continuous declarations of love by the front gate from men decades older than you, despite the physical discipline your parents instilled into you, despite the pressure of ruling the future kingdom daunting down on your shoulders.

Your eyes, head and heart only fell on one thing. One person. 

You never once spared a glance at those who publicly set their eyes on you. The thought of ever marrying one of these men had only ever left you with a deep unbridled disgust that harboured within your gut.

On the day of the ceremony in which you were told was a celebration of a new peace treaty. Which although not entirely false, was used to cover up big news that everyone else seemed to know but you. 

You knew something was wrong.

Feeling the back of your neck begin to heat up from the warm lights that illuminated the halls, the sweat that built up on your hands as you nervously fidgeted with your fingers, the continuous tapping of your foot. A sinking feeling in your chest you couldn’t quite seem to shake off.

Yet nothing could ever compare to the pang in your chest the moment your parents publicly announced your engagement to the prince of Ansan, an engagement you’ve never even heard about.

Crowds hooted and hollered over the fantastic news that united both kingdoms, all eager to celebrate through drinks and danced for the rest of the night.

You didn’t move, didn’t speak. Terrified that if you made a single movement, everything you had so carefully built up within yourself would break.

Instead, you kept your eyes bored into the back of your parents, silently cursing them as they never once decided to look back to you. Carelessly chatting away with the current rulers of Ansan over a glass of freshly produced wine.

You knew that they planned this engagement as part of the peace treaty, that they would offer up their daughter to their son for the future of both kingdoms.

You knew they purposely didn’t tell you the news because they knew how you would respond.

You knew all this and yet, you had never felt so small. 

Suddenly aware of the thousands of mindless conversations that filled the room, the occasional sounds of glasses clinking and chairs creaking along the polished floors began to cloud your mind and ring your ears.

Since when did the room becoming so small? Why were the lights shining brighter than usual? Thoughts clouded your mind one by one, little by little, until the only conscious thought left was hearing the sound of your rushed heartbeat as it bursted through your eardrums, the feeling of your corset suddenly became increasingly tighter by the minute, your palms felt sticky. And for something so natural you did since birth, you wondered…

Since when did it get so hard to breathe.

Getting out of there was the only reoccurring thought you had. Not caring about the consequences that lied beyond as you messily stumbled your way out of the ballroom, ignoring the countless stares you earned as you pushed through the crowd in panicked daze, avoiding those who expressed concern about the sudden paleness of your face or the fact you tripped over your gown multiple times.

You couldn’t think straight. You couldn’t seem to care anymore, because the moment that engagement was announced, all you could possibly think about was that you couldn’t see Taesan anymore.

-

Nights where you would sneak out of the north wing as you cautiously made your way to The Keep; a chamber where all the knights resided.

Times where Taesan would help you quietly to his room, hushed giggles and reckless stumbling as you both climbed into bed, letting out a sigh of content once you fell into each other’s embrace.

The countless nights that were filled with quiet love confessions and soft kisses, nights where the world finally fell quiet.

Where despite seeing him on duty around the corridors of the palace, you two were only ever able to exchange small looks of longing to one another.

In times where Taesan would silently clench his jaw as he spots another group of men by the gate waiting to whisk you away.

Where in those specific nights, Taesan let himself love you just a bit more, let his hands linger intertwined with yours for just a bit longer. Praying his burning touch could translate into the words you both never dared to say. 

Because in truth, deep down, you both knew that this would never work out. That a knight such as he could never be granted permission to ask for your hand. You both knew that in no world such as this, would the two of you ever be accepted.

Yet as night falls, without a second thought, Taesan slowly kisses away the thoughts that plague your mind, murmuring soft words of comfort into your skin.

You don’t miss the way he embraces you every night as if it were his last. 

As the sun sets, through tangled sheets and soft sighs, for just a moment; you both let yourselves forget about the fate you were bound to.

-

You knew Taesan heard the news.

Everyone that resided in the palace was instructed to stand by the door in order to hear the anticipated speech of the night.

You don’t know what expression paints his face, if he allowed his mask to drop for even a second when the news announced, how many thoughts were racing through his head.

For a moment you wonder if he felt his heart sink such as you did.

So despite the calls of concern from passerbys, you stumbled your way out of the banquet hall. Letting your feet take you as far away from the palace as you could, until you were sure couldn’t see the lights from the windows that ignited the night. You don’t know how long you’ve been running, the meadow was vast after all, and your feet were beginning to sting from the stiffness of your heels. The sound of your heavy breathing begun to fill your ears as you try to catch your breath. Taking in the scenery that filled all your senses, the crispiness of the air, the buzzing from the cicadas of the night, the wind that occasionally brushed against your skin that filled with goosebumps as a response. 

Craning your neck as you begin to count each star that illuminated the night, allowing your breath to steady with each count.

Breathing in as you close your eyes, reminiscing back to the moments before where you sat at the banquet table, surrounded by hundreds of strangers with their piercing gazes that never failed to send shivers down your spine. To the times where you had mockingly cursed those who hovered by your door of the castle, asking for your hand.

Blurred memories of faceless figures begun to cloud your mind, seeping their way into your soul to break it piece by piece for their pure satisfaction. You think about the lonely days at the palace; days filled with silence and discipline, you think about the drunken men whose arms lingered far longer than usual on your waist as you greeted them, the way their wedded wives looked at you in the face of disgust whilst whispering vulgar insults to wouldn’t dare wish on anyone. Only to plaster a mocking smile in your direction once caught.

Yet you will never forget the stares of your parents that stabbed their way into the darkest depths of your soul, where no words were ever needed to show the disappointment they carried for their only child. 

You let the anger hold itself as the lump in your throat you tried to so desperately swallow, you let it gather unspent in the corners of your eyes as it threatens to spill out, you allow it to boil as your blood that flowed through every nook of your bones.

Years worth of unexplained grief had begun to claw its way out of your skin. Making its way to your fingertips as the grip you had on your gown subconsciously began to loosen, silently allowing the soiled mud seep into the soft fabric. To your knees that slowly gave out as they began to buckle beneath you. Letting yourself drop as if the weight of your burdens suddenly became too heavy to hold, to your lips as you choked out a whimper in the silence of the night. Covering your mouth as your quiet whimpers morphed into choked sobs.

For once, you allow the unbridled grief within you to trickle out the corner of your eyes and onto the grass beneath you.

For once, you allow yourself to feel.

Trying to curl yourself into your soiled knees, praying no one could hear the strangled cries you held within. As one arm hug your sides whilst the other clasped around your jaw, covering your mouth in hopes of easing the noise. All useless attempts to keep you from slipping any further.

You wanted to scream, to wail, to love, to smile purely, to punch someone. Yet despite the sting in your lungs from the cold air, the roughness of the soiled grass that lay beneath you, the futile attempts in drowning out your cries – you prayed someone, somewhere, anywhere might’ve understood the turmoil that boiled deep inside you.

-

You don’t know how long it’s been since you ran out the hall. You don’t know if your prayers were heard by some great deity, but you didn’t miss the reverberating noise of chain mail clanking continuously onto the armor that belonged to whoever began quickly pacing towards you. 

But before you were able to react towards the noise, a large pair of arms silently wrapped itself around you, one arm circling your waist as the other gently rubbed your nape to help ease your sobs. Pressing your cheek against the cold armour that embraced you, taking in its smooth texture before hearing the hush murmurs of comfort that tickled your skin.

Hush murmurs of comfort that were no stranger to you in the night.

You tense under his hold, not daring to look up because you knew that if you did, you would break completely.

But Taesan knew you, your little ticks, subtle movements, he knew how to read it all. He knew what the silence meant.

“I’m here, shh please don’t cry anymore. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. So sorry my love I’m here now.” his soft whispers of reassurance attempts to drown out your whimpers. You feel his hurried breath fan your skin as he nuzzles closer, burying his face in the dip of your neck. Chest heaving almost as if he had been searching the whole castle inside out to look for you.

“D…Dongmi..n..” you managed to choke out broken phrases. Grabbing the hand that rested on your nape, feeling the familiar rough texture that had held you for countless nights,your eyes squinting to make out his figure in the night. 

As your eyes begin to adjust properly to the dark, you let yourself admire his moonlit kissed features. The way his brows furrowed, lips tight in a thin line, eyes filled with a void of tenderness and worry that made you want to cry.

Yet despite everything, all you could think about was how beautiful he looked. 

The ruffle of his hair that laid unkept from roughly taking off his armour, his honey brown eyes swirling with millions of unsaid thoughts and emotions that shone under the night sky, his lips raw from his continuous biting habits, his flushed cheeks; pink from hysterically searching for you. You try to take him in further, eyes gazing along his long slender fingers that brushed against your skin through countless nights.

He was undeniably the most beautiful this kingdom ever had to offer.

“Dongmin I…I didn’t know,” you hiccuped, swallowing your spit as you shake your head. “I swear, I promise. I’m sorry please believe me, I didn’t know about the engagement. I can’t… I don’t want…” stumbling over your words in a panic as you try so desperately to convince him that you played no part in your own betrothal. 

You couldn’t help but notice his eyes widening at your unnatural outburst.

From the moment Taesan spotted you curled up within yourself on your knees in the middle of the pasture, taking in your small shrinking figure in contrast to the vast fields of grass, something in him had started to break. That he was so sure his heart couldn’t possibly sink any further after hearing the news of your engagement. That there was nothing else left that could shatter his heart further.

And yet the moment he gently cupped your fragile face in the palm of his hands, feeling your soft hands grip tightly around his wrists ro anchor yourself, noticing the way your knuckles begun to turn white from how much you were squeezing him. As if you were holding onto him with all your strength, as if he was all you had left to keep yourself from slipping into the abyss.

Taesan felt his soul break into pieces. 

As he lets his eyes rake over your grief stricken face, the glow of the moonlight highlighting your tear stained face as the sound of your choked sobs filled his ears. He holds you, engulfing your fragile body with his. Pouring all his unspoken words into his embrace, praying you heard. Silently wishing he could shield you from all the bad in the world, all the ugly and hollow. All the things that weren’t you.

“I know.” he whispers, eyes softening. “I know my love…no I know, of course you couldn’t have known. I believe you, I promise. So please…” he slowly takes in a deep shaky breath, praying the tears that threatened to fall would stay put. That he can drown in his emotions once he was alone, but right now he needs to be here for you, with you. 

“Don’t worry…I…we’ll work something out, I promise. We’ll be okay, so don’t cry anymore…okay? Please my love, please don’t cry anymore.” his voice betrays him as it breaks, kissing your hair as he lets your scent invade his lungs, letting his arms wrap around you even tighter. 

“I see you,” he consoles you through quiet whispers against your ear, words only for you to hear.

“I see the way you carry yourself, despite the words that come your way, I see the situations you’re forced into by your parents, how lonely you get by the dinner table yet mustering the courage to compliment the chef, the pressure of everything bestowed onto you… I see the way you hold yourself with such strength that only I could ever dream of.” 

Feeling your soft cries slowly drown out into small sniffs and hiccups, looking up to see his eyes crinkle into small crescents as lips curl up into a small smile. The rarity of a smile you could admire for the rest of your life, the smile that he talks about with such insecurity when in actuality, you couldn’t begin to express how often you wish to carve it into the mass of your bones. 

He tenderly rests your head on his shoulder as he rubs your back to ease the discomfort, continuing to whisper soft praises to you. 

“My kind, beautiful girl…” he begins to pepper soft kisses across your face with each word, lips kissing your cheeks, the crown of your head, the side of your face, your eyelids, everything he could reach. “The embodiment of strength…the purest of hearts...my precious love… my most cherished.” each peck reigniting a fire in your heart that had been burnt out long ago.

Letting out a breathy laugh as you scrunch your nose in anticipation for the next kiss, only to open your eyes to see him staring at you with such adoration.

His gentle gaze. Seeing you, for all you were, all you are, all you will be.

Suddenly feeling insecure under his gaze, you shake your head, eyes faltering as you whisper.

“I am not what you say I am, I am not even close to it.” your voice shakes, continuing before he could protest.

“I am…tired of it.” you attempt to piece your thoughts together amidst the chaos that plagued your mind. Refusing to look him in the eye as you resort to focusing on the curve of his armour. “These people make me feel as though I have a hole in the middle of my soul. I don’t think I’m fit to rule them and..and yet… and I don’t mean to be cruel I…” 

Despite feeling self conscious of your continuous stumble over words, Taesan brushes the hair out of your face, silently urging you to continue as he wipes your tears with such gentleness you feel the tears build up once again. 

“I swear that I am kind… that…that I have love in my heart, inside of me…I can’t prove it but…my mind feels all messed up. I don’t understand my own thoughts and yet, I fear that the bad thoughts that I carry within me are all that I am.” mind flashing to unpleasant memories of your fathers aggression and mothers disappointment, feeling a small tremor in your breath as you purse your lips together, Letting out an amused laugh in futile attempts to ease the tension in the air.

You hear a beat of silence, followed by another. And for a second, you wonder if opening up was a bad idea after all.

“I think you have the most beautiful mind.” 

He whispers it with such warmth and truth, as if these words came so naturally to him that he never once thought twice about it. Blurry eyes that once stayed focused on Taesan’s armour blinked up towards his face, only to see him look at you as if you had hung up the stars in the sky one by one. You let out a breath you didn’t realise you were ever holding.

“You are not hard to love,” he carefully wipes away your dried tears, “not at all…not in the slightest.”

He lived and breathed you, always and only you. Taesan knew that.

You feel his eyes linger on you, his fingers mindlessly playing with the loose strands that fell out of your bun.

“You know when we first met,” he starts. “I put some sort of…mental barrier between us.” 

Sensing your confusion to his sudden storytime, he lets out a light chuckle as his other arm squeezes your waist “I already had rumours spread around about me, that I was mean, coldhearted. That I was basically a robot wired to only serve the king.” 

You don’t miss the slight quiver in his lips as his head tilts to the side, he knows you don't miss it either. Giving you a soft smile to somehow lighten the mood, a smile filled with thousands of silent confessions.

“The rumours spread throughout the entire castle…I obviously wasn’t surprised, gossip was made to be spread after all.” he shrugs

“Yet even though you heard the rumours…you still went to see me. To talk to me.” 

“And it wasn’t just that, it was the fact that you spoke to me so naturally that it threw me in for some sort of loop.” he chuckled, you feel the rumble through his chest as your cheek presses against it. 

“After having everyone speak to me with such…I don’t know…tension? Discomfort? You coming up to me so naturally made me subconsciously break down the barriers I had so carefully built up.” 

He pulls you slightly away to take in your features, tucking back in the loose strands of your hair as he rests his forehead against yours, eyes interlocking.

“I love you with such a strange tenderness that it honestly scares me. Because all this time, I would never allow myself to be so soft for anyone, anything.” despite your noses touching, you don’t miss the way his eyes linger on your lips for a second longer.

“Do you understand me? You are not hard to love. I loved you so hard that I began to soften.” he gently engulfs your hands over his, kissing the pads of each finger.

“If you were able to get through a hard headed guy like me, then you are more than capable of capturing the hearts of the civilians. Give yourself more credit, my love.” 

Rolling your eyes over his hard headed comment, you slap his shoulder pad, eliciting a laugh out of him. Eyes unable to pull away from how his smile morphs across his face, silently painting it into memory. Not noticing the way your eyes begin to sting with the way Taesan so naturally held the broken pieces of your soul to slowly mend it one by one. 

Before you could even open your mouth to add onto his joke, his hand moved to cradle the back of your head as he leaned in. His lips moulded with yours with such strange gentleness, as if you were some fragile being he dared to touch.

“Shit, sorry I…” he murmurs out of breath, “I couldn’t help myself, you looked so pretty and I just lost control for a moment I didn't mean to cut you o-” 

For once, not caring for what he has to say, you snake your arms around his neck to return the gesture. Both of you sighing as your lips seemed to fit like a puzzle, moving in sync. The mix of yearning and love carried behind each kiss as his grip squeezed around your waist, letting his arm wander across your back, feeling you.

Lips moving in tandem, messy and clashing yet full of passion that mirror the nights you two spend alone. You latch onto the plushness of his lips, addicted to the feeling of it against your own. Suddenly feeling lightheaded as he continues nipping at your bottom lip, his long eyelashes flutter against your cheek, groaning as you tug at his hair.

After pulling away for what felt like a lifetime, you try to catch your breath despite the close proximity you two were currently in. Taesan prays you don’t notice the erratic pacing of his heartbeat along with the heat rushing along his ears.

“I am irrefutably in love with you Han Dongmin,” your use of his full name rather than the one given to him by the kingdom stirred a deep adoration that melted Taesan’s heart. “And I’ll be damned before I'm forced to be betrothed to another.”

He lets out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head as he lets out a boyish grin, arms circling around you pulling you closer, “As if I would ever let that happen.”

Your eyes soften as you rake over his features, he lets out a sigh of content as he closes his eyes, letting you feel across his face. Fingers dragging over the thick hairs of his eyebrows, to his eyelids, to the concave slope of his nose, his plush cheeks, feeling the plumpness of his lips. 

“I don’t believe I am fit enough to rule the hearts of the civilians... after all I only ever wanted to be with you.” you murmur quietly underneath your breath. The pads of your fingers feeling the way his lips curved into a huge grin. His hand captured your wrist, cheekily biting your finger as you let out a tiny yelp before placing the palm of your hand to his chest, his heart.

“Your royal highness you really do have a way with words, speak to the crowd in this manner and you shall capture all the hearts in no time!” he jokes, mocking the tone your parents tend to use during speeches.

Laughing as you hold his face in the palm of your hands, bringing it up closer to you before pressing multiple pecks against his giggling lips. The crowded thoughts in your mind gently dissipating, the once ringing in your ears had vanished and was replaced by his soft laughter. 

“Besides…” he murmurs against your lips, “I’ll be with you the whole time, I won’t let anything else happen to you.” 

Your presence was the sun, and those who caught a glimpse of your light were never able to look away. Taesan could only pray that one day, you were able to see yourself the way he saw you. Strong-willed, beautiful, gentle, and so, so incredibly loved. 

So for when the day eventually comes, Taesan promises to spend every waking moment of the rest of his life reminding you of your worth, of his adoration and dedication for you, helping you slowly heal the wounded scars you held deep beneath your soul, showering you with nothing but love and admiration, all knowing you would do the same for him.  

[nameless-jamie]

PR Disaster

Masterlist

Jamie Tartt x fem! PA reader

TW: cursing, suggestive scenes

Jamie Tartt was a nightmare to work for on an average day. But on a day when he was desperate? He was unbearable.

Y/N had spent the last twenty minutes trying to get through her emails while Jamie sat across from her desk, relentlessly attempting to convince her to do something insane.

“Come on, love,” Jamie pleaded, drumming his fingers on her desk. “It’s just one night. Just a little thing. Barely even a date.”

She shot him an incredulous look. “You want me to pretend to be your girlfriend at a charity gala.”

“Yeah.”

“No.”

Jamie groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Y/N, you have to.”

“Oh, I have to?” She crossed her arms, leaning back in her chair. "M'not getting paid for this so I don't have to do shit, Jamie."

"Don't be difficult, babe. I beg you!"

“Let me get this straight. You, a fully grown man, need a date to some fancy event, and instead of—I don’t know—asking out one of the many women who throw themselves at you, you come to me, your freaking assistant?”

He sighed dramatically. “I can’t take some random girl. That’d make it worse.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Worse than what?”

Jamie slouched lower in his chair and sighed. “Some wanker journalist wrote a whole article about how I’ve ‘lost my edge’ since I’ve been single. Said my game’s sufferin’ ‘cause I’m too ‘unfocused.’” He made air quotes, looking deeply offended. “He said I'm too horny for the pitch or some shit. Like, I can’t be single and good at football at the same time. It’s bullshit.”

“That does sound like bullshit.”

“Right?"

"Too horny for the pitch, is my favorite thing anyone has ever said about you, though." Y/N laughed, wiping a small tear out of the corner of her eye.

"Y/N be fucking for real right now. The plan is, if I show up with a girlfriend, it shuts everyone up. And if I take you, it don’t get messy. No expectations. No awkward post-date texts. Just you lookin’ dead fit in a fancy dress and me lookin’ like a man not in the middle of a public downward spiral.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “Why do I feel like you’ve thought way too much about this?”

Jamie grinned. “Because I have.”

She exhaled slowly, staring at him for a long moment. “This is a terrible idea.”

“Best ones usually are.”

She sighed. “Fine.”

"And if the press wants us to kiss it wouldn't be awkward because we already did that once!"

"Jamie, that is still a fucking accident. We don't talk about that!"

"I mean I want to talk about it—" Jamie couldn't finish that sentence before a pen was thrown his way.

"Pick me up at 7. Go away now!"

The night started when he picked her up for the gala, in a freaking stretch limousine.

Y/N opened her door.

Jamie’s brain short-circuited.

She stood there in a dress that was so—fuck. It was tight in all the right places, dipping low at the neckline, hugging her waist like it was personally designed to ruin his life. Her legs? Glorious. The slit in her dress? Criminal. Her makeup? Perfect.

He actually forgot how to breathe.

Y/N tilted her head. “Jamie?”

He blinked rapidly, forcing himself to speak. “Huh?”

Her lips twitched. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he said, voice cracking like a fucking teenager. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, uh, you look—” He gestured vaguely at her, struggling to find a word that wasn’t fuckable. “Good. Nice. Decent.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Decent?”

Jamie winced. Fuckin’ idiot. “Nah, not decent. I meant, like, proper good. Like, unfairly good. Like—fuck, what’s the word—illegal?”

She laughed, and Jamie swore it was the best sound he’d ever heard.

“Well, that’s good to know,” she teased. “Considering I’m supposed to be your date.”

Right. The fake date. The one that wasn’t real. The one where he definitely wasn’t supposed to be thinking about how he wanted to keep her locked in his car all night so no one else could look at her.

Jamie exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. Get it together, Tartt.

Y/N gave him a knowing smile. “You ready to go?”

Jamie didn’t trust himself to speak. Instead, he just opened the car door for her, staring straight ahead as she got in—because if he looked for even a second longer, there was a very real chance he’d be showing up to the gala with a boner.

And that was definitely not part of the plan.

Y/N soon realized that the problem wasn’t the gala.

The problem was Jamie.

Because he was apparently way too good at fake dating.

For someone who was supposedly just trying to fix his reputation, he seemed very committed to the role.

He kept his hand on the small of her back all night, his thumb moving in slow circles against the fabric of her dress like it was second nature. He leaned in close every time he spoke to her, his breath warm against her ear. And worst of all, he kept looking at her like that. Like she was the only person in the room.

He also seemed to be having the time of his life making up a fake relationship history.

“Oh, yeah,” he told an interviewer from The Athletic. “She played hard to get at first, but I wore her down.”

“She pretends to be annoyed by me,” he added later, “but really? She’s obsessed.”

Y/N had to bite her tongue multiple times to avoid strangling him.

But then came the real kicker.

“She makes me a better man. I mean fuck— have you looked at her. She is not going to her own flat tonight, am I right love?”

Y/N nearly choked on her champagne.

What the fuck was he playing at?

She was fully prepared to murder him the second they got into the car.

But before she could, the event photographer asked them to pose for a picture, and—

Jamie pulled her in, his hand sliding around her waist, fingers brushing the bare skin at her side.

Her breath hitched.

And then—

Jamie fucking winked.

The camera flashed.

And just when she thought it couldn’t get any worse, a journalist called out:

“Jamie! One more shot—how about a kiss for the cameras?”

She froze.

Jamie, however, seemed thrilled by the idea.

“Oh, yeah?” He turned to her, smirking. “What d’you reckon, love? Give the people what they want?”

She stared at him, genuinely considering murder.

But the cameras were waiting. The journalists were watching. And it's not like it would be their first one...

Jamie—the absolute menace—was already leaning in, his lips curling into something dangerously close to a real smile.

She had two options: make it awkward as hell by shutting it down, or commit to the bit.

FUCK, she was his freaking assistant. And she's totally into him. But that wasn't important right now. If she did not kiss him the press would know that Jamie Tartt brought a fake date or worse they would think that his own girlfriend hates him. If she kisses him though, the PR disaster after that would fucking suck.

Fuck it. With a deep breath, she reached up, placed her hand on his chest, and let Jamie close the distance between them.

It was barely a kiss—a soft press of lips, just enough to make it convincing. But Jamie’s hand tightened on her waist, just for a second, and her fingers curled against the fabric of his suit before she forced herself to pull away.

The cameras loved it.

Jamie did too, judging by the way he looked at her afterward.

“Not bad, love,” he murmured, his lips still inches from hers. “Please tell me that one was an accident too. Or else I might have to take you home with me tonight.”

She just rolled her eyes and shoved him. Idiot.

The next morning, Y/N woke up to absolute chaos.

Her phone had exploded.

Twitter was going insane.

She clicked on the first headline that popped up.

"Jamie Tartt Goes Public With Stunning Mystery Girlfriend at Charity Gala—And We Have ALL the Details"

She scrolled down, her horror growing with every paragraph.

"From the way he looked at her to the way he kept a protective hand on her waist all night, Jamie Tartt was absolutely smitten. Sources tell us that he was completely devoted to her the entire evening, barely paying attention to anyone else. And let's not forget the viral moment when he told reporters, 'She makes me a better man.' Our hearts? Melted."

“Oh, for fuck sake. I knew it.”

She stormed into Nelson Road, phone in hand. “Jamie fucking Tartt!”

Jamie, who had been laughing with Dani, turned at the sound of her voice. “Mornin’, love.”

She marched up to him and shoved her phone in his face. “Do you know how many people think we’re actually together?”

He barely glanced at the screen before shrugging. “Yeah. Bit mad, innit?”

“Mad? Mad?” She scrolled further. “People are already speculating about a wedding! I just got an email from Vogue asking if we’d do a couples photoshoot and a fucking interview!”

Jamie grinned. “Vogue, yeah? That’s kinda sick. Let’s do it. I can tell ‘em about how you snore when you fall asleep on the couch.”

“I do not snore.” She gaped at him. “Jamie. This is not funny.”

“Babe, you do,” he said, voice dripping with amusement, "And it’s a little funny.”

She groaned. “I hate you.”

“Nah,” he said, slinging an arm around her shoulder. “You love me, remember? You make me a better man.”

“You fucking prick. You even liked a post that said, ‘Jamie Tartt and his girlfriend are the it couple of the season’!”

Jamie shoved his hands in his pockets. “Well, yeah. ‘Cause we are.”

Her jaw dropped. “We are not.”

Jamie tilted his head, a playful glint in his eye. “You sure about that, love?”

She refused to answer.

Jamie must’ve noticed her hesitation because he leaned in, dropping his voice. “Just say the word, and I’ll post a proper ‘soft launch’ photo of us on Instagram.”

She shoved him away.

But later, when she caught him scrolling through a fan edit of them kissing with that smug little smile, she had the sinking suspicion that Jamie had no intention of letting this fake relationship die anytime soon.

And worse?

She wasn’t sure she wanted him to. She had to clear the air, though...And the PR of all of it was going to be a fucking disaster.

[anotherthoughtthatwillhauntme]

☆ Kayden X Gareth—

The classroom was draped in gold, the late afternoon sun spilling through the tall windows, gilding the wooden desks and the faint dust in the air. The sound of scribbling pens and the occasional rustle of pages was the only thing filling the silence—except for the weight of Kayden’s gaze.

His students were working. He was meant to be grading papers, returning them, carrying out his duties with the practiced ease of an instructor who demanded excellence.

But his eyes were elsewhere.

Gareth.

Seated by the window, bathed in light, hair golden and unruly, the tips catching the sun’s fire. His green eyes flickered over the pages of a book, a worn copy of Kahlil Gibran’s collected poems, thumb absently stroking the paper’s edge. His brows were drawn together in thought, and his lips—parted slightly, lost in quiet contemplation—seemed to murmur the words before they settled in his mind.

Kayden knew those annotations well. He had traced them before, let his fingers skim over Gareth’s thoughts as if they were scripture.

"For love is sufficient unto love."

Gareth’s familiar script lined the margin beside it, half neat, half hurried:

Then why does it ache?

"And ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation."

A faint mark beside this one—one Kayden had seen before but never addressed. Gareth’s pen had pressed harder here, as if etching meaning into the page.

Next to it, smaller writing:

So what happens when love is known too soon?

His notes lined the margins—some written in hurried strokes, others delicate and careful, like they held pieces of him within them.

Gareth was oblivious to the world around him, lost in ink and poetry, unbothered by the silent war waging across the room.

But Kayden noticed the shift immediately.

A presence.

A gaze that did not belong.

His expression did not change, but his spine straightened. He turned his attention slightly, following the pull of his instincts, and found the culprit.

Elliot Wade.

The boy was staring.

Not glancing. Not observing.

Watching.

Kayden’s grip on the stack of papers tightened—just slightly, just enough to crinkle the edges. His fingers pressed against the pages, anchoring them in place.

Elliot’s gaze dragged over Gareth’s form—lingering like a thief’s hand over locked treasure, greedy and far too bold.

Kayden smiled.

It was slow, patient, and meant nothing good.

Gareth remained unaware. Still annotating. Still utterly lost in his own world.

But Kayden moved.

When Elliot finally stood, walking toward the front of the class to retrieve his graded paper, Kayden was already there, waiting behind his desk like a predator waiting for its prey to make a mistake.

Elliot reached out.

Kayden’s fingers remained firm, unmoving.

The air between them shifted, silent and heavy.

Elliot hesitated, eyes flicking up in confusion—only to meet Kayden’s gaze.

The moment their eyes locked, something cold, absolute, and terrifying settled into the silence.

Kayden smiled again—smaller this time, sharper.

And then, in a voice too soft to be overheard, he murmured,

"Eyes. Fucking. Off of Carson."

Elliot froze.

A beat of silence.

"You think I wouldn’t notice?" Kayden murmured, voice smooth—almost amused, almost deadly. "Do you think I don’t know every single time someone so much as breathes in his direction?"

Elliot swallowed.

"You are mistaken, Wade." Kayden’s voice dipped into something lower, something dangerous. "If I ever catch your gaze where it does not belong again, I will personally ensure you never have the ability to look at anyone properly again."

A heartbeat.

Another.

Kayden let go of the paper.

Elliot snatched it up with shaking hands, stepping back, his face pale, his pulse visible in his throat. He gave a sharp, jerking nod before turning too quickly, nearly stumbling in his rush to return to his seat.

Kayden exhaled, rolling his shoulders once, letting the tension bleed out of him.

And then—

Green eyes.

He turned his head just in time to meet Gareth’s gaze.

Gareth was looking at him now, head tilted slightly, brows raised in curiosity.

Unlike Elliot, he wasn’t afraid.

No, Gareth was intrigued.

The silence stretched between them, a private conversation spoken through the weight of a stare. Kayden could see the unspoken words flickering behind those green eyes, the slow realization that whatever just happened was because of him.

But Gareth, clever, intuitive Gareth, said nothing.

Instead, his lips curved—just slightly, just enough that his dimples made the faintest of appearances before he returned to his book.

Kayden chuckled under his breath.

Little Monster .

He should leave it at that. Should let Gareth focus, should continue the lesson, should pretend as though his world didn’t orbit one person in this entire room.

But instead, he reached for a blank paper.

Wrote something.

Folded it.

And walked straight to Gareth’s desk.

He set the paper down over Kahlil Gibran’s pages, tapping it once with his index finger.

Gareth blinked, a flicker of amusement in those green eyes now.

"Professor?" he murmured, voice light with mischief.

Kayden smirked. "Read it later."

And then he was gone, returning to his desk as though nothing had happened.

Gareth waited a full ten seconds before unfolding the note.

Kayden’s handwriting, elegant and deliberate, stared back at him.

"If love finds you lost in ink and poetry, let it know that I am jealous of every word that graces your fingertips.

For I would rather be the pages you mark, the verses you underline, the book you hold against your chest in sleep."

Gareth’s breath caught. His fingers curled around the edges of the note, his pulse suddenly so loud in his ears.

Slowly—carefully—he lifted his gaze again.

And from across the room, Kayden was already watching—waiting, knowing, owning that moment before Gareth could even process it.

♡♡♡

I’ve been working on this for days—sweating, crying, and probably losing brain cells in the process. But you know what? Worth it. Because I live for soft, fluffy moments, and if you don’t—congratulations, you have no heart.

And as for Kayden and Gareth? Oh, please. They’re my entire personality, my lifeline, my reason for breathing. If they don’t make it, I don’t make it. Simple math.

So, until March 20th, I’m going full unhinged mode with more batshit crazy posts. Buckle up, besties—it’s about to get wild. (Pray for my sanity. Or don’t. Too late anyway.)

[bronx-bomber87]

Good Evening amazing fandom :) This was very light Chenford wise. And I'm ok with that when the main SL is really solid like last week was. Now Nyla's stuff was good. That new serial killer made my skin crawl. Could go without FBI guys being involved but get why they are. Mainly a Bailey/Balian heavy ep. Which I knew we'd have at some point given the finale.

I mean that with zero offense to anyone who loves her character or this ship. You should have eps around your favs. It's an ensemble cast after all. How it should be. They are just not my cup of tea is all. So this impressions will be shorter than usual due to that. Looks like next week will more than make up for that. Let us dive into what we did get shall we?

7x05 Till Death

This was a really smart move on Lucy's part. Going to his high school counselor. No better place to get the truth on this kid than her. She’ll have good insight. Like Tim said last week, Lucy isn't satisfied with the answer she got. This is proof of that heh I love her for it. We all know our girl isn't one to quit. Tim's answer last week did little to assuage her worry. So here we are at Ridley's H.S.

This scene explains that outfit now too. I remember people thought her being a detective was the reason. When her tik-tok came out with it the buzz about that was unreal haha But sadly tis not the case. Not disappointed with her being a T.O. at all though. Just remember the excited theorizing about it. We had nothing to go off of. So we dined on the crumbs we got for months LOL

Lucy making Seth cough up all his BS is fantastic. That’s my girl. I absolutely loved that she didn’t let him get away with it, not even for a second. She not only forced him to admit he lied, but also made him reveal the real truth behind it. I wanted to sucker punch him as he spoke. So many lies. Holy shit. They just compound when you do that my man. His reasoning is crap like I expected it to be.

That he uses half truths to get out of trouble. That's not great reasoning to explain what you've done.... It's pretty awful reasoning tbh. Also the thing is he’s lied so much now I can’t even trust that's even true. Idk how Lucy can. It's written all over her face how over his bullshit she is. Said this before she's a ten but real bad at hiding her feelings.

She is wearing them all over her sleeve this entire scene. No way he didn't sense her annoyance. Or how very done she is with him and his excuses. I mean I don't blame her. How can she train this kid without ever trusting what comes out of his mouth? Literally could lie at any given moment. Really dug himself a hole. Lucy looks so frustrated and upset. I hate this. Doesn’t even know what she wants to do with him....

Oh my Timothy, that’s quite the description of what a relationship is my love. It's almost like he has first hand experience what a healthy relationship looks like... We all know that's what he had with Lucy till he destroyed it. *sigh* He’s just a grumpasaurus cause he’s post-Lucy. He lost his constant sunshine person that made him softer.

It was self inflicted as we all know. That doesn't meant it isn't still having lasting ramifications for him due to it. Also he had a bad experience with that whole thing. So the rant makes sense and is warranted. Luna even explains why Tim is that way. I do adore her. Always sunshine and light with her kindness towards Miles. Twas nice to see.

Lucy coming to find her person always makes me happy. Suspicions confirmed. So naturally she must go find hubby. I love his ‘Uh oh.’ When she closes the door. Lucy spewing all she has on Seth to him. Expecting him to to be just as outraged as she is. Disappointed when he isn’t more upset along with her. His logic is sound though. Even if they wanted to boot him it wouldn't be a easy sell with Grey.

A man who is SO stressed about the budget and their perception to the public atm. So I get what Tim is aiming at. Doesn't make it less crappy to deal with though. I have been there in my last job. Where morally I didn’t want to keep someone. But we were so understaffed they let them stay for just that reason. Even when I objected. I hated it sfm. Every fiber of my being loathed mentoring someone who didn't deserve to be there. So I empathize with Lucy so very much with this.

Tim ‘I bounce boots for breakfast.’ Bradford Lmao I’m dying. I mean no one calls out Tim like our girl. Hot damn. I do love her for it. But of course he’s turning this into a learning moment for her. Because it's Tim. Saying it’s on her to correct it. I mean he’s not wrong… But it’s agitating nonetheless. Since he hasn't lied officially it's a moral issue and not a legal one since its not work related.

Which beyond sucks. No two ways about it. Especially since Lucy has been a good teacher to him. He's taking advantage of that wholeheartedly. He wouldn't have made it past day one with Tim. But he sees Lucy's empathy and is exploiting it. *grumble* Her smile at the end with Tim isn't without a little flirty energy I will say. I will take my crumbs in a lighter episode for them.

Then immediately after Tim leaves the problem walks himself right in. I said this last ep, every time he opens his mouth I dislike him just a little bit more. He opens his mouth and I lose patience for him. I can't imagine being in Lucy's position with Seth. If the writers intention was to have me dislike this kid they're doing a masterful job. All I see is a little weasel not worthy of Lucy's time now.

I’m 100% with Lucy not trusting him. He’s gonna have to earn back her trust ten fold. If that's even possible. I would say he gets ten percent of it back and he has to earn the other ninety. That he's lucky he even gets ten. She crushes him when he uses the excuse it's stressful. Straight up OWNS his ass. We can see him panicking to get her back on his side. But that ship has sailed good sir. Not only has it but he is very aware of it.

Man when you have Lucy Chen giving up on you. It's bad my friend. Really all Lucy can do at this point is be a good leader to him. Only way to save herself when he flames out. It’s on Seth to ‘fly right’ as he put. Been there it sucks. Nothing worse than having your trust broken by someone you’re training. Because now everything is colored by that distrust. That empathy you once had has wained quite a bit if you have any left at all. Lucy did not get an easy first rookie. phew lord.

We come to the end of the episode and it's clear Lucy has sat on this the entire day. It is our girl after all. I do love that she keeps gravitating back to Tim. Makes my heart happy. Even though she is one to make the call she still needs him by her side. Friggin adore he doesn’t hesitate to go with her to Grey. I love it sfm. Goes from grumpy to supportive in a second when he realizes she needs him.

That she has a plan in action. That really she's come to him for support not advice this time. He doesn't blink before he's at her side. Not only that but not taking at shots at her decision. Wanting to give her all the confidence by backing it. (How very far we've come with that) Lucy is looking elated he’s coming with and supporting her.

I was thinking time to boot that little schmuck. I said couple eps ago I was kind of hoping he'd wash out. Then this happened. His "cancer" is back……He literally tipped his hand twice with her in this episode. Saying when he thinks he is in trouble he does half truths. That when he is panicked and stressed that's his go to. Then all of a sudden his cancer is back that same day. How very convenient of those lab results to show up right now.

Tim's face is everything LOL He is now over this dude himself. The look they share is top notch though. Silent communication at it's finest. How can she say no when he says his “cancer “ is back? And in front of Grey who has zero idea about her suspicions. This feels like a ploy to keep himself safe. He could feel Lucy turning on him.

Could sense the tide was turning against him in the worst way so he did this. I could be wrong but this feels pretty right. Lucy holds his fate in her hand. So what better way to stay afloat than to use cancer. She can't possibly fire him now can she? Ugh. This little shit being far more of a problem than ever expected. Holy cow. I honestly expected Miles to be more of the problem but here we are....Shall be interesting to see how the pans out.

Now let's talk about the most exciting that happened which was the promo after this ep LOL Other than the little Chenford we got this ep didn't do much for me. Other than anger me against Seth lol This was a just a fillery place holder to get to this one IMO. The description alone has me amped. "The Gala" It’s Valentine’s Day, and Lieutenant Grey gives Tim and Lucy an unromantic assignment, while John and Celina track down a missing girl. Later, the team sharpens up for a charity gala where multiple relationships come to a head." Hard to believe been a year since she got her necklace. I'm not crying you are.....

Now this promo had me wishing it was next week. The promo had me all jazzed this morning. Oh my lord. Genny is back! Also Tim looks soft as butter for her in that promo. Man is transparent af. Saying how good she looks in front of people? I did say continue being this way and he is following those instructions ha To say I am excited for next week is an understatement.

Thank you to all you glorious readers. You make all the effort I put into these worth it on the days where I'm tired af and assembling these. The likes, lovely comments and reblogs make my heart happy. So never can thank you all enough for the love. Shall see you next week in 7x06 :)

~~~

Side notes-Non Chenford

Bailey sending notes to the hitman in secret. Yeah that’s not good for your marriage.....

Nice Texas has an a lovely lady at his side. Not so great she just showed up ha

PTSD for Nyla poor woman. Possible bad needle? Yikes…The stress that would give me my god.

Bailey got Jason killed holy hell....She pretty much just committed murder. She is an accessory to murder now. So that's fun for her. lol Also little anti climatic he just got offed after hunting her for months. I was more shocked he killed the girl than Jason tbh. But oh well. Least it's over early in the season.

[swtt4hk]

Come back to me || Sang-woo X fem!Reader (Oneshot)

author’s note: if you feel uncomfortable with sexual content please don’t read it because this one’s a little smutty…enjoy!

You are sitting on a chair , in the balcony of your apartment. You are thinking about how far you’ve come ever since you moved here , two years ago. So many things have changed. When you came here , you were in a long-term relationship with the love of your life , Cho Sang-woo. You unfortunately had to break up because you were constantly fighting…you didn’t even know what you were fighting about , you were just fighting and fighting and fighting…The break up really affected your life , it made you depressed and even drove you to the point of thinking about killing yourself. Losing the person you thought you’d spent your life with was the worst thing to ever happen to you. But of course , you had to move on. You tried your best to make new friends and meet new people until you met him.

Kai. Kai was a guy your age , who you met via your friend group. He is a really nice guy and showed interest in you from the first time you met. You found him adorable and some weeks after getting to know each other , you got into a relationship with him.

Being in a relationship with Kai was definitely a big step for you. It meant you had to get over your past lovers and focus on Kai…which meant you had to stop thinking about Sang-woo. Which was extremely difficult for you. Sometimes you unconsciously thought about him or even talked about him like he was still in your life…for you , he was still a big part of your life. You always wondered if he feels the same. If he constantly thinks about you and wonders what you’re doing. If you’re still a big part of Sang-woo’s life. You both definitely weren’t happy about breaking up but that’s what had to happen.

Your relationship with Kai was totally different. New feelings , new experiences, everything is new to you. But it still doesn’t feel like when you were with Sang-woo. You can’t lie to yourself, you surely aren’t as much in love as Kai is with you but you’re trying you’re best to treat him right and not do anything that will hurt his feelings. And talking about feelings…Kai is sensitive. You are the type of person to say everything to people’s faces and when you do that to Kai he cries , which was not something Sang-woo would do. Sang-woo actually loved when you did that. He said that it’s better than lie to his face. Sang-woo was also a gentleman. You don’t know if it was because of the age gap or if he was just like this but he was such a gentleman to you…it pisses you off when Kai opens the door and enters first and sometimes even close the door in your face. There are a lot of things pissing you off about Kai but you’re still trying to love him. You can’t be stuck loving a person who isn’t in your life anymore.

All those thoughts fill your head as the sun sets which means it’s almost time to go to bed. You aren’t exactly a night owl , you like sleeping early so it’s easier for you to get up for work. You get up from your chair , all the thoughts leaving your head , and you head to the kitchen to eat some dinner before you head to bed.

TIME SKIP

today is Saturday which means that you don’t have to go to work. You wake up early and get ready to enjoy your Saturday. You usually wake up pretty early because you like watching the sun rise while drinking you morning coffee. It brings you some kind of comforting feeling inside you. You make your regular morning coffee and you sit on the balcony to watch the sun rise. Your phone rings.

“Kai💕”

You let out a long sigh. It pisses you off that he ruined your peace but he’s still your boyfriend and you have to pick up the phone.

“Hello , love? How’s your morning going?”

He says in a cheerful demeanour

“Good morning Kai , it’s going pretty good actually , thank you”

“How about I make it even more better?”

You unconsciously smile to yourself, wondering what he’s about to say

“I’m all ears…”

“Come on , open the door”

You freeze

“The door? My door?”

You can hear his chuckle through the phone

“Yes Y/N your door. Come on , I can’t keep waiting out here for too long! I’m tired of standing up!”

You hang up and rush to the door to open it. There he is. He’s standing in front of you with a bag of your favourite snacks on one hand and a bouquet of flowers on the other. Even though he’s not much of a gentleman he loves giving you gifts. Even if they’re cheap and simple ones.

“Oh my God , Kai , you didn’t have to!”

You take the things on your hands and let him come in

“Oh shush it was my pleasure to get you those gifts…what are you waiting for , open the snacks!”

You chuckle at his impatience and open one of the snacks and start eating them.

You spend the whole day together and then you decide to bake something together but you’re unfortunately missing some of the ingredients so you go to the convenience store near by…whose owner happens to be Sang-woo’s dad…of course you haven’t mentioned that to Kai ,because of how jealous he gets when you mention your ex especially Sang-woo , but you still go there often and you still talk to his dad since you’ve built a nice friendship with him over the years.

You both enter the store and you freeze. It’s him. Behind the register is the man of your dreams. Cho Sang-woo.

“Y/N! Is that the baking powder you asked for?”

You hear the faint voice of Kai’s in the backround. You don’t respond. Words can’t come out of your mouth. You are just staring at each other , all the memories coming back.

Kai approaches you

“Babe , can you please help me? I don’t know which brand is better…”

Sang-woo looks at you with a look of question , still frozen in place with all that’s happened in a matter of seconds. You turn to Kai with a smile and respond.

“Of course , my Kai , let’s go”

You usually don’t call Kai yours or any other nicknames but you responded this way to make Sang-woo jealous. You didn’t know why you wanted to make him jealous , since you’re supposed to have moved on , but you still did it.

Sang-woo was quietly watching you two chatting and laughing while shopping. He could see how in love Kai looked with you and how you smiled at him and hugged him…oh…he realised how much he has missed that smile and the warmth of your embrace…it’s like he can still feel it after two years of being broken up…he misses you so much…he has regretted all the pain he has caused to you and wishes you would come back to him but you seem like you have moved on. It makes his blood boil seeing you being happy with another guy. It was supposed to be him , not Kai.

“Hello sir , we would like those please”

Kai says and places the things on the register. You stand beside him , looking down nervously, avoiding eye contact with Sang-woo. The last thing you need in your life right now is drama which involves Sang-woo in it.

“22,6 ₩”

Sang-woo says coldly. He couldn’t hide with jealousy and frustration and you knew how jealous he is feeling right now. And you know how he acts when he’s jealous. He might seem calm but inside him , he’s screaming.

When you get cashed out , you quickly drag Kai out of the store and go back home to cook to distract yourself from everything that just happened.

Time Skip

days pass and your mind keeps going back to your interaction with Sang-woo. The whole situation makes you nervous. Your ex seeing you with your new boyfriend. It sounds like a soap opera.

Today you have a day off work but ,unfortunately , Kai is working so you have more time to yourself so you decide to go on a relaxing walk to the park. The park wasn’t a random destination you chose to go to for a walk. You used to go there with Sang-woo and just talk about life. It relaxed you both. You knew that Sang-woo still goes there since he used to go there even before you guys got together.

Walking with your headphones on makes you feel relaxed. It’s like an escape from this cruel world we’re living in to you. You keep walking and there he is. He’s sitting on a bench , watching the view of kids running around and playing. You used to do that together. You used to look at the little kids and talking about the family you’d build together after you got married. The feeling of seeing him doing this alone makes you feel sick to the stomach but that’s what fate wanted. Maybe it didn’t want you to be together.

You take a deep breath and keep walking like nothing happened. You’re not supposed to be feeling like this while you’re in a relationship. But you’ve missed Sang-woo so much…the way he touched you , the way he would comfort you , the way he would whisper sweet things to your ear while stretching your pussy. All those things are nothing but a memory now.

“For how long are you gonna be ignoring me?”

You hear a familiar voice behind you…Cho Sang-woo.

You can’t do anything else but turn around. Your eyes go immediately to his. His eyes are sparkling , like he’s holding back tears but is trying to play rough and his hands are in fists , his knuckles white.

“Cho Sang-woo…”

You whisper. You don’t know why but you felt like you had to say his name. You hadn’t said it in so long.

“Y/N L/N…” {L/N = last name!!}

You just look at each other , all the memories coming back once again. You can feel some kind of connection between you , like there’s something unfinished that has to be finished. That’s when you realised. You need Sang-woo in your life. He’s the person you want to spend the rest of your life with. No matter how many pointless arguments you’ve had , most of your memories were happy. But…what about Kai?

Sang-woo could feel it too. He felt the tension in the air and the connection between you. He had never gotten over you and never tried you. He’s been waiting for you. For some reason , he had a feeling that you’d come back in some way. And you did…and now that you’re back , he’s not going to let you go. Ever.

“Sang-woo I—“

Sang-woo cuts you off

“I don’t need to hear any excuses…”

Silence.

“Y/N…”

Sang-woo takes a step closer to you

“I’ve been waiting for you…”

He says softly and places his hand on your cheek , caressing it. And there it is…the butterflies in your stomach…you haven’t felt like this in so long. His touch is so familiar and you immediately melt into his touch , without realising it. A tear rolls down your cheek.

Words are not enough to explain how you both feel to finally be able to touch , feel and see each other again. It all felt familiar yet so new…new feelings that you haven’t felt before…in that moment , you made your decision. You had to break up with Kai , even if it was gonna be a hard process to tell him without making him feel hurt. You slowly pull back from his touch.

“U-um…I have to go somewhere”

You say and quickly leave without saying another word. Sang-woo neither reacted not responded. He knew you were gonna come back.

You go back home as quickly as possible. As soon as you arrive, you can’t help but break into tears. You found Sang-woo again and it made you so happy…he made you so happy. But you had to hurt someone to get back with Sang-woo. Kai. You knew that gonna get hurt but it’s the right decision.

Nearly an hour later , you hear a knock on your door. It’s time. You welcome Kai with a kind and soft smile and you both sit on the couch.

“So what did you wanna talk about?”

Kai asks , clueless about what’s about to come. You take a deep breath before responding.

“I’m breaking up with you”

For some reason , Kai doesn’t react but instead he nods like he knew that this was coming.

“It’s him , isn’t it?”

You freeze

“W-what?”

“You know who I’m talking about…”

you know who he’s talking about. Tears roll down your face and take Kai’s hands into yours.

“I’m so sorry Kai…”

Kai smiles softly

“It’s okay Y/N…I’ll be okay , don’t worry…”

“I-I’m really sorry Kai…I-I didn’t mean to waste your time and—“

“Shhh…it’s all okay…I know…you tried your best…and thank you for spending all this time with me , trying to love me…but you have to go back to him…I know how happy he makes you.”

“H-How did you know…?”

Kai chuckles

“I’ve seen the way your eyes sparkle whenever you mention him and…the way you looked at each other at the store was obvious how in love you are with each other…the fact that I’m ignoring it doesn’t mean I don’t notice it…”

You look down in embarrassment. Of course it’s obvious. It has been obvious all this time that you never got over Sang-woo.

“I’m sorry…”

Kai looks at you with a soft smile on his face even though he’s fighting back tears.

“Go…”

You wipe your tears and you both get up , get out of your house and say one last goodbye to each other.

“Thank you Kai…”

“Thank you Y/N.”

You watch him disappear into the light of the evening sun which is almost set. You calm yourself down and take the courage to finally go to Sang-woo’s house. A new chapter of your life was about to start.

You softly knock at his door and it slowly opens , revealing the familiar figure of Sang-woo. With no hesitation, Sang-woo pull you into the house , shuts the door and kisses you. You both melt into the kiss and you can feel the love and desire in your bodies. Before you know it , clothes are on the floor , your bodies are sweaty while he’s pounding into you like a greedy old man who hasn’t had sex in years.

“You’re taking me so well darling , I bet he didn’t make you feel as good as I do , hm?”

No words can come out of your mouth and you just moan at the pleasure he’s giving you right now. You haven’t felt so good ever since you two broke up.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

He says and his pace gets faster and faster , making you come close and closer to cumming.

“Fuck , you’re so tight…”

He groans and then you both moan in sync as you both finally release. After coming down from your high , he lays down next to you , wrapping his hands around your waist and burying his face into your neck.

“I missed you so much…”

He says softly and places a kiss on your neck , making you smile.

“I missed you too my love…sooo muchh…”

You respond and caress his hair softly as you both slowly drift into sleep.

———————————————————————

THE ENDDD! I’m sorry that it took so long for me to write it but I got kinda lazy halfway 😓 anyway , I apologise if it’s poorly written , ENGLISH IS NOT MY NATIVE LANGUAGE and I’m sorry if the smut part was kind of cringe but I’ve never written a smut before lmao😭 WHATEVER , new fics coming soon!

[justaweirdonothingtoseehere]

No plan, need to ramble about Hannibal

okay hi as the title says I have literally no plan. This is stream of consciousness.

one. Why Will fell for Hannibal. Yes, he’s pretty, yes, he’s charming, yes, Will’s darkness didn’t scare him. BUT. That’s not all. Hannibal is one of the only people Will knows who doesn’t hide who he is. He’s honestly pretty damn open about his darkness and the fact that he’s not a good person. Once you figure out ‘oh hey he’s a cannibalistic serial killer,’ yeah. He is. He acknowledges that. The only reason he isn’t upfront about that in the first place (though tbh if we look at his dialogue especially during dinner he’s pretty damn forthright) is that it’s probably not a great idea to let people know you’re a murderer off the bat. Jack pretends he has Will’s best interest at heart. Alana’s first ever scene is straight up going ‘oh yeah I don’t actually consider Will a friend he just interests me professionally.’ Hannibal is the only one who presents himself as he is. Yeah, he’s a god awful person, but the entire point of the show is that nobody is a good person.

oh! New ramble. I LOVE THE STORYTELLING. You’re not meant to like people because they’re good people. You’re not supposed to go ‘I like Will because he’s good.’ You like characters because the show makes you like them DESPITE the fact that they suck.

idk I might do another ramble this is fun

[queen-of-the-avengers]

An Enigma

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.4k

Warnings: angst, blood, threat of violence, unwanted touching, harassment

Summary: You and Bucky are in an arranged marriage set up by both your parents. It’s a way to keep the peace between your two families. You thought Bucky didn’t care for you, but when someone from your past comes back into your life, Bucky makes it known that all he ever thinks about is you.

Square Filled: au: no powers (2024) for @buckybarnesbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

You step into the kitchen but keep to the wall in intimidation. Your husband is standing there with his back to you. He’s shirtless with only a pair of slacks on. You’re not sure what is more hot. Him being shirtless or dressed in a three-piece suit. He has his phone to his ear so you don’t dare interrupt him, scared of what he might do or say to you. It’s not that you’re scared he’ll beat you, it’s just that he’s always so stoic and rarely shows his emotions.

There’s something you want to ask him but you’re scared of what he’ll do when you ask it. He’s your husband for god sake. Just go up to him and ask him! Your inner personality isn’t as scared of him as you are. You wouldn’t be this way if you had married him out of love. No, this marriage was arranged by yours and his parents. You were forced to be his wife, so you’re not even sure he loves you much less likes you.

Still, your marriage meant a truce between your family and his, but that doesn’t mean he stopped hating your family.

“Are you just going to stand there or are you going to come in and say something?”

You snap out of your own thoughts and look at Bucky who is now facing you. His shirtless back is almost as delicious as his shirtless front, but you’re too nervous to appreciate the sight in front of you.

“I just wanted to ask you something.”

Bucky looks you up and down, studying your behavior and body language. You’re jumpy, your hands are sweaty and shaky, and you can barely meet his eyes for more than five seconds.

“Why do you look so scared?” He smirks. “I won’t bite.”

“My dad called.” His smirk is lost. “He’s having a family dinner next week. He wants both of us there.”

“I see.”

“I’d be really happy if you came. He won’t try anything, I promise. They’ll be on their best behavior.”

“Okay,” Bucky says after a moment.

“Wait, really?”

“You’re my wife. If my father-in-law is asking for dinner, then so be it.”

“Oh, okay. Thank you. It’s next Friday.” You take out your phone. “I’ll let him know you’re coming.”

You turn to leave but Bucky’s voice stops you. “One move.”

“What?”

“If he tries one move, my knife will be lodged in his throat.”

Your eyes widen but you hear the threat loud and clear. You nod and scurry off before he can make any more conditions. Your father is part of one of the biggest crime families New York has ever seen. He has power in every single corner of his jurisdiction. No one can do anything without him knowing about it. Bucky’s family is the other family that has ties to mafia dealings, making them just as powerful as your family.

Both families split New York in half, but they’re constantly fighting over drugs, property, clubs, money, etc. If it can be used to manipulate and exert power over people, both your families are greedy for the taking, especially if those businesses live on the border of both jurisdictions.

One day, your father met with Bucky’s father about a truce, something they both will want to agree to. This was when your mother was pregnant with you, but he loves to tell the story so you feel like you were practically there. If you were to marry Bucky, then both families would be able to come to agreement on those petty fights.

A truce would be made. The cost? Your freedom. Any children that you may will bear will be part of the biggest crime family this country has ever seen.

When you were old enough, you met Bucky through a family dinner. He came off as stoic, cold, and calculating. He didn’t let anything get under his skin. Then, his nieces and nephews joined the party and he became a different person. His hard resolve started melting, giving you a show of who the real Bucky was. It’s different when he’s in front of business partners and your family, but you have a good idea of who the real Bucky is.

He’s a mystery, something you’re desperate to solve.

To prepare for the dinner, you decide to go to the gym and hopefully shed a few pounds. You’ve always loved doing cardio, so the treadmill became your best friend. You go so often that the front desk lady knows you by name.

“Welcome, Y/N. Have a good workout.”

“Thank you, Betty. I will.”

You walk over to the treadmill and start with a walk to get your blood pumping. You put your headphones in and listen to your favorite podcast. You listen to all sorts of things when you work out but lately, it’s been about the podcasts. You’re an hour into your workout when someone touches your shoulder. You take out your headphones and look back to see someone you never thought you’d see again.

“Vince. What are you doing here?”

“It’s a gym. I’m working out.”

You look him over and notice he’s not sweaty or red. If he’s been here as long as you have, he hasn’t been working out.

“Right. I’ll let you get back to it.”

You’re about to put your headphones back in when he steps onto the treadmill next to yours. He leans over and rests his elbows on your handlebars, and you immediately stop your machine. It’s a good time to call it a day.

“I came over here to say hi.”

“I should get going.”

You step off the treadmill and walk over to the cleaning station to grab some paper towels when you feel him standing behind you. You used to feel so safe with him but that all changed when your father discovered a hole in your wall that came from his room which was right next door. He was your bodyguard, supposed to protect you from creeps, and ended up being one. He was truly a pervert.

The only reason why your father didn’t kill him was because you didn’t want to deal with it. You convinced him to just fire him, so he did. Now he’s back but you’re not sure why. Your father made it very clear that if he tried to come near you again, he would do more than fire him. You turn and find him standing closer than he should be.

“What do you want, Vince?”

“Just to talk. I’ve become better. I’ve worked on myself. I’m ready to go back to work.”

“Excuse me?”

“I want to be your bodyguard again.”

“Like hell, that’s going to happen. You shouldn’t even be here. This isn’t even your gym. Just go home.” You step around him to clean your machine but he grabs your upper hard harder than normal. “Ow, you’re hurting me.”

“Oh, sweetie, you have no idea what pain is. I’ll do more than hurt you if you don’t give me my job back. I’m a good bodyguard. I kept all the creeps away from you.”

“Yeah, except for you. Let me go.”

He does but he doesn’t move away from you. You have sensitive skin so you know you’ll have bruises on your arm from his grip.

“Don’t be so shocked if one day you find me inside your house. I know you don’t have a bodyguard now.”

You don’t need one. You have Bucky. He’s very possessive and protective over you. You’re not sure what he’s going to do when he finds out about this, but you can imagine it’s not going to be kind. Crew cleaning your machine. You drop your supplies and rush out of the gym in a panic. During the ride home, you think of ways to lie to Bucky. He’s going to take one look at your face and know something is wrong.

You’re a terrible liar, but you can’t think of anything because you’re too scared. Scared to the point of tears. Maybe if you sneak inside and run to your room, you’ll be able to calm yourself down enough to come up with a convincing lie.

You park in the garage and rush inside knowing Bucky has cameras and sensors for when someone enters the garage. You’re about to book it up the stairs when you run smack into Bucky’s chest.

“Where’s the fire?” He sees the panicked look in your eyes and immediately becomes on alert. “What happened?”

“Nothing. Just an intense workout. I’m going to take a shower.”

You go to leave but Bucky grabs your arm in the same place as Vince did. You wince and he lets you go immediately thinking he hurt you. His eyes narrow on the bruises Vince let, and the fire in his eyes tells you he’s not going to believe anything but the truth.

“What. Happened.”

You have no choice but to tell him the truth before you get in trouble for lying.

“Before you, I had a bodyguard. He was caught spying on me through a hole he created in my bedroom. He was fired and my father made it clear never to bother me again. Well, he was at the gym. He… threatened me… saying I shouldn’t be surprised if I find him in this house because I don’t have a bodyguard now. He… wants his job back.”

“Okay.”

Bucky moves around you to go to the garage but you jump in front of him and put your hands on his chest. He looks calm but you know he is fucking pissed. It’s taking all of your strength to keep him from entering the garage.

“Bucky, stop.”

“If you think I won’t pick you up and move you out of the way, you’ve got another thing coming.”

“Bucky, please. I will bring this up to my father tomorrow at dinner. Please let my family handle this. He worked for my dad. He should deal with it.”

Bucky looks down and he sees the desperation in your eyes. It doesn't do shit to calm him down but he backs away knowing this is what you want.

“Fine.”

Bucky retreats to his office for the rest of the day. Before you know it, Friday has come and you’re walking up the steps to your father’s mansion. You’ve been dreading this moment since the gym but you know you have to tell your father about this. Bucky was supposed to ride with you but you hadn’t seen him all day.

“Oh, sweetheart! I’m glad you’re here!” your mother says when you walk into the house.

“Hi, mom.” She pulls you in for a crushing hug. “You just saw me last week.”

“I know, but it feels like a lifetime. Where is Bucky?”

“I don’t know. I’m sure he’ll be here. He said he would.” Your father walks in and you smile when you see him. “Daddy!”

“Princess,” he smiles.

You bounce over to him and hug him tightly. He’s a very tall and muscular man but he has always been gentle with you. You’re his princess. You’re his only daughter, so he takes your health and well-being very seriously. You have six brothers but he’s not the same with them as he’s with you. They’re just as scary as your father. You’re not sure why you ever needed a bodyguard when you had six living at home with you.

You join your family in the dining room and greet your brothers. The family butler brings out the food until there is a plate in front of everyone. You look beside you at the empty chair and wonder where Bucky is. He’s supposed to be here. He said he would. If he had to work, he would have told you.

“So, Y/N, when am I getting grandbabies?”

“Mom!”

“I’m not getting any younger over here.”

“You have grandbabies. Tony and Luke both have children. Gio has one on the way.”

“None from you, though.”

“Okay, well, when I get pregnant, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Where is Bucky?” Stefan asks, shoveling food into his mouth as he speaks.

“Stefan!” your mother scolds. “Don’t eat like an animal.”

“Sorry, mom,” he says with his mouth full.

“I don’t know. He said he’d be here. He’s probably caught up with work.”

Once your brothers are finished with their meals, they eagerly go for seconds. The dining room is filled with chatter about people’s plans, kids, and trips they have coming up. You never talk about work while you’re eating. That’s reserved for after dinner and always over a glass of top-shelf whiskey.

Suddenly, all chatter ceases when someone walks into the dining room. Bucky. Only he’s covered in blood. Blood stains his nice suit and spatters his smooth skin, but he acts as if he has nothing on him. His hands are clean though. He sits next to you and accepts the food the butler brings. He takes a bite of the meat and moans at how good it is.

“Is it taken care of?” your father asks.

“Yes, sir.”

Chatter returns as normal as if Bucky isn’t covered in fucking blood. Even your brothers don’t seem to care that blood is now on the table. Your mother doesn’t care that blood is getting on her nice white dining chair. You lean closer to him and grab your napkin. You grab his chin and start wiping the blood from his cheek.

“What the hell is the matter with you? Where were you? Why are you covered in blood? Whose is it?”

“Vince.”

Now everything makes sense. He must have called your father to tell him what you told him who then told your mother who then told your brothers.

“I told you I’d handle it.”

“He touched what’s mine.”

“Excuse me?”

“He touched my wife.”

You throw the napkin down knowing it’s useless. “Last I checked, Bucky, you don’t own me.”

“No, you but own me.” Your eyes widen in surprise. “I’d do it again and again to protect you.” He grabs your chin with his clean hand and kisses you. He pulls away from you and wipes away the drop of blood he got on your skin. “Eat.”

It takes you several seconds to wrap your brain around what just fucking happened. You grab your fork and take a bite slowly. Maybe there is some warmth to that cold heart.

x

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[raeofgayshine]

Hi okay so I was thinking and then this hit me so:

After the first movie, Larry approaches Ahkmenrah and asks for favor. He needs help with leading the museum, and keeping a balance between everyone there. Ahk already had the experience, and well his tablet did bring them to life so this was more or less his kingdom.

This conversation follows:

“It’s a kind offer Larry. But I don’t want to be pharaoh again.” Ahk stared up at the sky, trying his best to make out the stars against the pollution of the city. “I never wanted a crown. I never wanted to lead. But I couldn’t turn my back on my nation in need.”

Larry looked at him confused. “But Ahk, you were born to lead.”

Ahk shook his head. There wasn’t words to explain how far away from the truth that was. He tried so hard. But he was never cut out for the role of pharaoh.

“One last time. I’m past my prime. But I served with pride. So while we still have time, we’re going to teach them how to stay in line. You and I.”

It was the best he could offer. Ahkmenrah never wanted to be pharaoh again, but he could put the title back on for just a few more weeks if it meant helping Larry find peace in the museum. Together, they could teach the others a set of guidelines to keep the place running smoothly. And then Ahk would bow out. Step down for the final time from being a pharaoh, before it could take anything else from him.

“Three weeks. We have three weeks. And then you, Guardian of Brooklyn, will be the true leader of the museum. And I… I will be just Ahkmenrah. For the first time since I turned 18. I will be nothing but myself.”

[lazylittledragon]

ok i swear i'm not going to talk about my breakup forever but the thing that just keeps bothering me:

i know that not getting what you need in a relationship is a COMPLETELY valid reason to end it but also. i feel like having a very vulnerable moment where i opened up about my struggles with intimacy and being relieved that i didn't have to keep doing things i wasn't comfortable with, then being dumped a YEAR later because of my lack of intimacy. is something i should be allowed to be very hurt by???

[aziraphales-lawyer]

Literally no other way I could describe it right now.

[the-woman-upstairs]

Honestly, even without Art’s attempts at manipulation and sabotage, I don’t think Patrick and Tashi’s relationship would’ve survived anyway. Before they started dating, Patrick was criticizing her career plans and Tashi was never interested in entertaining his massive ego at her expense. Passion and chemistry are important to relationships, but if that’s the only foundation, it’s gonna crumble quickly.

The only difference between Patrick/Tashi vs Art/Tashi is that the relationship would��ve ending with a bang instead of a whimper.

[imagineagreatadventure]

when i think of corporate greed i remember how the worker comp attorney for the insurance company told my mom's workers comp lawyer (bc they have known each other for years) that they were essentially waiting for her to die and that's why they didnt' pay her for months the amount she was owed

[girlivealwaysbean]

and this

THIS ONE