#Pr if it's 'i need you to be in my house at least three times a week for hours to keep me stable'

[cartoonghosts]

instant anxiety override of 'im worried about you im worried about you im worried about you im worried about you' (well. Still anxiety. But reasonable anxiety)

[cherienymphe]

White Lines & White Knights

Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: NON-CON, DUB-CON, pr*stitution, power imbalance, classism, mentions of death, jealousy, humiliation, revenge p*rn, drug dealer!Rafe, drug use, Pogue!reader

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | ➥ divider by @firefly-graphics

summary: You and Rafe are using each other until you decide that's not what you want anymore, and the spoiled rich kid will do whatever it takes to have his expensive toy back in his bed.

⭑

Your door shut behind you with a resounding click, and once in the comfort of your home, you took the time to decompress. You took advantage of your much needed reprieve, the back of your head grazing the wood as you allowed your eyes to fall closed. Your heart was still beating wildly in your chest, and you wondered if a day would come where it ever wouldn’t. After all, this wasn’t exactly “new” anymore…

It had been five months since you buried your mom, five months since you discovered the mountain of debt she’d done an impressive job of hiding from you, and five months since you thought you’d be homeless on the street in less than one. In two weeks, you’d dealt with a loss you didn’t think you’d have to for at least another forty years or so and took on the kind of responsibility you didn’t think you’d have to for at least another three.

Your mom died 152 days ago…

…and you’d started fucking Rafe Cameron less than a month later.

You liked to pretend to not know why you slept with Kildare’s prime rich boy that fateful Saturday night, but you were far more self aware than you wanted to be. Even if you weren’t, it wasn’t exactly some mysterious string of decisions that lead to being tangled up in the sheets with Sarah’s asshole of an older brother. You didn’t need to pay someone to diagnose you.

You were grieving.

It was really just that simple, and the monetary stress on top of that drove you to find comfort in strange drinks and hard drugs. To this day you still didn’t know if Rafe just happened to be at the right place at the right time or if he heard whispers about John B.’s best friend snorting pills and getting shit faced when her usual crowd was looking the other way, but either way, the stuffy Kook clearly saw an opportunity to kill several birds with one stone.

“First two lines are free,” he’d told you that night, the bass of the music downstairs muffled by the expensive walls of some girl’s house.

You remembered how you’d chuckled, drunkenly shaking your head.

“Well, two lines is all I’m doing, I guess,” you’d murmured, throwing your hands up.

Rafe’s smirk had been cruel, a mocking glint in his blue eyes.

“What?” he’d dragged out, head tilted. “Spent all that life insurance money, already?”

Any other time and Rafe’s insensitivity might’ve upset you, but at the time you’d been drunk out of your mind and looking for more ways to forget the sudden absence in your life.

“I can’t imagine why Sarah hates you,” you’d sarcastically replied, approaching the impressive desk and leaning over to inhale a line.

You wiped your nose as you straightened, lashes fluttering as you ignored the feeling of Rafe’s gaze on you.

“I’ll be lucky if I even have a house to live in next week.”

The words had come out slurred, accompanied by a light chuckle, and deep down you’d felt the flutter of stress that you’d been desperately ignoring for weeks. You’d quickly snorted the other line, closing your eyes for a moment.

“Turns out my mom was skilled at hiding more than just illnesses…”

You remembered the silence—from both you and Rafe—and how in that moment you’d allowed yourself a solid four seconds of lingering on the reality of your predicament. In those four seconds, your eyes had watered and your lips had trembled and your throat had tightened, and after those four seconds, you were turning to Rafe with a haughty smile.

“Guess you won’t be finding a new client in me, huh?” you’d wondered with a shrug, finding a seat on the desk.

Rafe’s blue gaze had been unreadable as he eyed you, sitting in the chair at the desk, legs spread as he ran his eyes over you—slowly and in a way you didn’t hate at the time. You hadn’t been able to tell what he was thinking, although looking back, you wondered how it wasn’t so obvious to you then. Maybe because it was just too cruel of a thought, and while it was no secret Rafe was a spoiled asshole, you had never once thought of him as cruel.

Rafe had merely shrugged.

“There’s plenty of fish in the sea,” he’d slowly said, the corner of his pink lips curving upwards just a tad. “Besides…”

You’d watched him stand, rounding the desk to come and tower over you where you sat.

“I like to think of myself as a pretty ethical kind of guy…”

You’d started to snort at that before his gaze met yours again, and you found yourself swallowing whatever you were about to say. You hadn’t done a thing when Rafe reached up to touch your arm, the feel of his finger so light. You hadn’t wanted to acknowledge the way your heart skipped a beat at both his close proximity and the change in atmosphere. You hadn’t been able to ignore—however—the heat that settled in the pit of your stomach.

“...and I’ve been known to meet people halfway. Accept whatever they can offer…”

You remembered your internal conflict that night.

You’d been drunk and high and sad…not stupid. You knew exactly what Rafe was insinuating to you, and you’d struggled with the idea of really sleeping with Rafe Cameron for more drugs. The man was far from unattractive, sure that if drugs weren’t involved you’d still consider sleeping with him. If you’d believed in any of that, you’d imagine that your mom was turning over in her grave. At the time though, you hadn’t been quite sure as to what you believed in, so when he took your silence for consent, leaning in and touching your nose with his…

You hadn’t stopped him when he closed the distance.

You hadn’t even known whose house you were at, only internally apologizing to them for having sex on their expensive desk. You didn’t know if it was the drugs or the alcohol or simply Rafe Cameron, but it was easily the best sex you’d ever had in your life, and at one point you’d really considered how much better it could possibly be to fuck him without the condom.

You had no idea that you’d eventually find out.

Once dressed, you’d walked home with a small bag of pills and a satisfied grin. You knew that your friends would host some kind of intervention if they ever found out, but all you’d been able to focus on was the simple fact that fucking Rafe Cameron for a little coke and pills wasn’t sounding like the worst idea. Of course, if you’d known that you’d eventually start fucking him for your livelihood, you might’ve made different choices that night.

You pressed your hand to your face and pushed away from the door, eager to start the shower and scrub the stench of him off of you. Per routine, you took the money out of your pocket before getting undressed, eyeing the wad of one hundreds that now sat on your nightstand. Two grand was nothing to someone like him, but to someone like you, it made all the difference in the world.

…and Rafe knew that.

He’d known that when he handed you a thousand dollars one night, the coke in your system just starting to hit. You’d looked up at him from where you sat in confusion, hesitantly wrapping your hand around the money as you alternated between eyeing it and eyeing him. You hadn’t known how to feel about it, especially since it had only been moments ago when he was inside of you…and there he was handing you a grand in hundreds.

“Don’t look like that,” Rafe had chuckled, walking to his dresser in search of a shirt. “You know you need the money.”

He wasn’t wrong…and that was the problem.

Unless you hit a lucky streak in life, you’d always need the money, and that was exactly why you were in the predicament you were in—four months later and putting up with the monster that was Rafe Cameron just to keep a roof over your head. The thought brought tears to your eyes, positive now that your mom could see you and was beyond disappointed in you. 

Her disappointment could only be outdone by your own.

You were in a situation that you couldn’t get out of, on the verge of ending this arrangement so many times before asking yourself what better way could you pay your mom’s debts and survive? It wasn’t easy money by far, but it was fast money, and it was the kind of money that would take months to make at whatever low paying job you’d find around Outer Banks. Someone like you rarely got hired at the country club or working for some rich snob who wiped their ass with the kind of money you needed.

Rafe knew this too.

Tears kissed your eyes as you scrubbed your skin raw, wishing that you could scrub away the nasty bruise right along with the sweat and grime. You winced every time you touched it, cursing the blond and feeling one of those moments where you considered blocking him and moving on from this pathetic era in your life for good.

Fucking Rafe Cameron for drugs didn’t seem like a bad idea at the time, fucking him for money seemed like an even better one…until that entitled attitude started to extend to the woman he was paying good money to have access to. You remembered the first time you opposed something he wanted to do, the way in which he ignored you, the way he merely pressed your face into the pillow to shut you up.

It was the first time you felt truly icky about this whole situation.

Not even just icky.

…but afraid.

“I don’t pay you to tell me what you will and won’t do in bed,” he’d chuckled at you like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard.

You’d still been trembling and wiping mascara from your cheeks.

“I pay you because I want to fuck you,” he’d slowly whispered to you, leaning in. “...and you let me because you don’t want to be sleeping on the beach.”

He’d held your gaze for what felt like too long, impressing upon you the true dynamic of this arrangement, and you remembered the unease that had festered in your gut that day. Maybe all the drugs and alcohol hadn’t allowed you to fully look at this arrangement for what it was and the power imbalance here, but you had for the first time that day, and you hadn’t liked it.

You liked it even less now, wrapping the towel around you and wondering how you were ever going to get out of this predicament you’d put yourself into.

“My family’s going out of town for the weekend,” the familiar blond mumbled to you as he inhaled a familiar powdery substance off the back of his hand. “Pack a bag when you get home, and I’ll pick you up tomorrow night.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at that, huffing instead.

“I can’t spend the whole weekend on Figure 8,” you told him. “I have plans.”

Rafe nodded, and you hated the smile that danced across his lips.

“Okay, uh, be ready at 8, I don’t want-.”

“Rafe, I’m serious,” you cut him off, shrugging. “I can’t stay at your house all weekend.”

You watched him watch you, slowly swiping his tongue between his lips as a frown started to take over. His dirty blond hair kissed his brows, and the longer the silence stretched, the more nervous you grew. You watched as Rafe glanced away, seemingly deep in thought before those baby blues of his rested on you, much colder than they were a few seconds ago.

“What the hell am I paying you for?” he whispered.

The question was rhetorical, and you swallowed.

“Rafe…I’ve barely seen my friends in months. I finally made plans to meet up with them for more than five minutes and-.”

“...and whose fault is that?” he shrugged.

You frowned at him.

“Nobody told you to go off on a bender when your mom kicked the bucket…” you blinked at his callousness. “Maybe you should’ve been finding comfort in your friends instead of drugs and vodka…and me.”

He finished his sentence with a soft—and yet cruel—smile.

“I pay you good money—great money even!—to be available when I want you to be, and unless you’ve found some other rich asshole to open your legs for, which I doubt…be ready tomorrow at 8.”

He was standing, now, looking down at you where you sat on the bed. The harsh reminder of your roles here had you looking away, and Rafe turned away when he rightfully took your silence as confirmation. You stared at the wall for a few moments before turning to stare at his back, thinking to yourself that this couldn’t go on much longer. Whether it took 1 or 5 jobs, you couldn’t keep relying on Rafe Cameron forever.

What was once a weekly occurrence had turned into something entirely other, and it hadn’t bothered you so much when your mother’s death was still so fresh and you were seeking solace in the worst coping mechanisms known to man—including isolation. Now, however, you were waking up to the choices you’d made and you hated the feeling of being inebriated and being surrounded by people you barely knew.

You hated being away from your friends.

“I didn’t even know you’d gotten a job,” John B. said to you hours later, looking disappointed but understanding. “JJ’s gonna be real disappointed. He’s been talking all week about having you try some new weed he got.”

You gave a light laugh at that, a pang in your chest at how much you missed doing stupid shit with them.

“Yeah,” you sadly said. “The world—and bills—doesn’t stop just because my mom died.”

The brunette grew quiet at that, worriedly eyeing you now.

“You doing okay…?”

You sighed at that, looking out over the yard of The Chateau, fiddling with your fingers as you thought of a certain blond.

“I’ve been better, but…I’ve been worse too.”

Your answer was honest, and you briefly wondered what John B. would think if he knew just how bad ‘worse’ had been. You didn’t think any of them would hate you if they knew the full extent of just how far you’d fallen, but you knew they’d have a hard time wrapping their head around it. The drugs and alcohol were one thing, but Rafe Cameron was entirely another. The man was the worst example of a Kook if there was one, representing every bad trait attributed to them.

Your friends would not understand you essentially sacrificing your self respect for money and drugs.

Sometimes you didn’t understand it either. 

Most especially when Rafe had his hands around your neck.

He picked you up at 8 on the dot Friday night—a man of his word if nothing else—and less than a hour later you were bent over his father’s desk as he pounded into you. Your head was hanging off of it, fighting hard to not scrape your nails against the dark mahogany. It wasn’t the first time Rafe fucked you on Ward’s desk, and you doubted that it would be the last time. There’d even been a few rare occasions when he fucked you in the older man’s bed, and you didn’t know what complex the blond had that fueled these decisions, but you weren’t a psychologist so you figured it wasn’t anything to concern yourself with.

Despite the tight grip on your throat, a choked moan managed to escape every time Rafe pushed his cock into you. Sweat made his skin glisten, and you were sure you fared no better. His hair wasn’t so neat, now, and you had the stray thought that you preferred it that way. Rafe being so far from ugly definitely made this arrangement easier to swallow down at times, but other times it just made you angry.

How was it fair that someone seemingly had everything, including the big dick to match?

Rafe walked around like he was God’s gift to the world, possessing one of the most rotten personalities you’d ever had the pleasure of being on the receiving end of, and he seemed to be rewarded with it with everything the average person could only dream about. As if any of that wasn’t enough, you practically rewarded him with even more by essentially telling him he could do whatever he wanted so long as the price was right.

It made you disgusted with yourself at times.

When he pressed a hand to your stomach, hips slowing to a pace that made your breath hitch, you squeezed your eyes shut. In the quiet office, the sound of his cock disappearing between your folds was loud, the wet noise telling you that there’d no doubt be a mess left on Ward’s desk when this was all said and done. You heard Rafe curse, and you didn’t have the energy to lift your head from where it hung off the desk.

“...and to think,” he panted from above you. “You were going to pass this up to sit around with those dirty Pogues.”

At this, you did attempt to sit up, a hand against his chest and one on the desk as he thrusted into you.

“Those ‘dirty Pogues’ are my friends,” you forced out, lashes fluttering. “...and clearly you forget that I’m one too.”

Rafe merely chuckled at that, perfect teeth winking at you as he grinned.

“Yeah, but you’re my dirty Pogue so it’s a little different.”

His words had your frown deepening, disgust filling your chest at the way he talked about you while literally fucking you. Completely turned off, you turned your head away, attempting to separate yourself from him. That haughty laugh reached your ears, and to your dismay, he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer.

“What…?” he lazily drawled. “You don’t like the sound of that?”

“You’re being an asshole, get off of me…”

He jerked his hips against you, making you gasp, and you squirmed in his arms as you fought to get away. Rafe leaned in to harshly nip his teeth at your cheek, his movements growing rough, causing the desk to shake.

“I’ve spent too much money on you to not say whatever the hell I want,” he evenly said. “So, yeah, at this point, I’ll confidently say I practically own you.”

Tears kissed your eyes at the disgusting words, and fed up with your resistance, Rafe merely placed a hand between your breasts before harshly shoving you back down. You winced at the action, but you had no time to fully linger on it as Rafe started to roughly plunge his cock into you, the sound of his skin slapping against yours reaching your ears. He wouldn’t allow you to sit up, both of his hands wrapped around your wrists now as he leaned over you.

This felt too reminiscent of the time he’d pressed your face into the bed, telling you to relax as he pressed the head of his cock just above where your folds were. You recalled the uncomfortable feeling and the tears that stained the pillow as he slowly fucked you in a place no one ever had before. The deja vu of it all had your mind wandering, eyes defocusing as you just waited for it to be over. It seemed like Rafe’s grunts sounded from above you forever, and when he finally came onto your stomach with a low moan, you didn’t move for some time.

You were slow to sit up as he got dressed, trembling as you steaded yourself for what you were about to say.

“I don’t wanna do this anymore.”

The words came out whispered, but in the quiet study, you might as well have yelled them. Rafe didn’t acknowledge you, and you knew it wasn’t because he hadn’t heard you. Frustrated with his refusal to take you seriously, you hopped off of Ward’s desk, angrily grabbing your clothes.

“I’m serious, Rafe. After this weekend…this is done,” you continued, voice firmer, now. “Don’t call me or text me or worry about any more money. I can’t rely on you forever anyway.”

By now, Rafe was actually listening to you, and you avoided his gaze as you got dressed. His silence was loud, and when you were finally decent again, only then did you lift your gaze to glance at him. His visage was unreadable, and after some time, he merely blinked at you.

“If I remember correctly, per your own words, your mom had enough debt ‘to file for bankruptcy’.”

His words made you sharply inhale, and you bit your tongue as he ran his hands through his hair in a poor attempt to tame the damp locks.

“Don’t ruin your life just because you’re pissed at me,” he coldly added.

You crossed your arms over your chest, pulling your lip between your teeth.

“Personal feelings aside, I can’t rely on you forever, Rafe. That’s just the truth. I have to figure something out eventually, and there’s no time like the present,” your voice shook as he fixed you with an unnerving stare. “I miss my friends, and I don’t want to be the sad, damaged girl running to Rafe Cameron just so I don’t feel anything anymore.”

The blond followed your lead, folding his arms over his own chest as he leaned against the wall, staring you down with that annoying crooked smile.

“...and where exactly do you plan to find a job that pays you what I do?”

“There are jobs, Rafe. I’ll find one.”

You didn’t appreciate his tone nor the look he was giving you as he studied you. He was looking down on you, and yes while that wasn’t exactly an unusual occurrence, this time was different. He was looking down his nose like he didn’t believe in you, like he expected you to be crawling back to him in no time, begging him to fuck you again.

After a few moments, that crooked smile curved even more, and you didn’t miss the glint in his eyes.

“Well, I wish you luck…”

His voice didn’t match the words that came out of his mouth, and his gaze most certainly didn’t.

“I literally called this morning and was told over the phone that you all were hiring...and now I get here, and I’m being told you’re not…?”

You tried to keep the skepticism out of your tone, but your frustration at your predicament was bubbling up and threatening to be unleashed on the lone man before you. The inside of the country club was practically empty—a slow Tuesday—and you briefly glanced around at the two staffers in the whole room. Sure, you could write it off to a slow day that didn’t need a full staff, but something in you told you that it was more than that.

You didn’t believe the man in front of you.

“Look, I don’t know what else to tell you, miss. Whoever you talked to got it wrong. I’m sorry for the miscommunication on our end,” was his only explanation.

You didn’t dare bother to point out that both he and whoever you’d spoken with on the phone sounded damn near identical.

When it became obvious that this conversation was over, you turned away with a small huff, breezing outside to a familiar dark car. Kie was standing by it, arms uncomfortably crossed over her chest, glaringly obvious that she’d rather be anywhere but here despite being from ‘here’.

“Well…?” she wondered as you got closer.

“They’re not hiring,” you mumbled as you slid into the passenger seat.

She joined you inside the vehicle a moment later, a frown on her face.

“...but you called.”

“I know.”

There was a beat of silence before she scoffed, reaching for her door handle.

“If this is because you aren’t some rich snob looking for play money…”

She trailed off when you spoke up.

“No, I don’t…I don’t think it’s that,” you stopped her. “Let’s just go.”

She eyed you for a few moments, frown deepening.

“Are you sure? Y/N, this is like the fourth place you’ve been to today,” she pointed out. “...and I don’t want to add my stress to your stress, but it’s kind of fucked up.”

You didn’t have the heart to tell her that it wasn’t possible for you to be any more stressed than you already were, simply signaling for her to drive. You could feel her eyes periodically landing on you as she did, and you chewed on the inside of your cheek, wondering why the universe had it out for you.

It had been weeks since you’d last seen or talked to Rafe, weeks since you ended your little arrangement, and weeks since you’d had a consistent source of income. It wasn’t a pretty nor respectable way to make money, but you’d been making money nonetheless. However, you couldn’t find it in you to continue sacrificing your self respect to keep sleeping with Rafe Cameron. You’d also been telling the truth when you told him you didn’t want to be this messed up sad thing anymore.

You had long let go of the drugs and cut back on the drinking, and now you’d dropped Rafe too.

You’d had hope…but now it was dwindling.

No one would hire you. In fact, no one had even allowed you far enough to officially apply just to get a foot into an interview. It was always the same. You’d call ahead so you didn’t waste your time, they’d tell you they were looking for people, and then the moment you actually showed up and introduced yourself, it was an entirely different story. It didn’t make any sense to you, and the thought of ever proving Rafe right made you want to be sick.

“How bad is it?” JJ asked you a few days later, the both of you away and isolated in some corner of some guy’s party.

You looked down at the weak drink in your hand, contemplating on whether or not to be honest.

“It’s…manageable.”

A whopper of a lie.

“...then why don’t I believe you? Come on, Y/N, it’s me. I know your mom wasn’t the best when it came to funds, and when she died…” he scoffed. “You weren’t exactly in any shape to march down to anyone’s job and fight for work just to keep things afloat.”

You looked away at that, throat tight.

“I’m honestly shocked you’ve kept it up for this long.”

If only he knew…

You felt his gaze on you as you wondered just how truthful you should be, but you reminded yourself that this was JJ. If he knew the full extent of everything, he’d be likely to rob a bank. Nevermind the fact that it would just make him ask more questions, like how you’d even managed to keep things afloat all this time. You didn’t think you could lie to him, and you didn’t think you could handle being on the receiving end of whatever look JJ would undoubtedly give you if you told him you’d been sleeping with Rafe to pay your bills.

You didn’t know if it was fortunate or unfortunate that the subject of your thoughts walked through the doors to prevent this conversation from continuing. His presence shouldn’t have shocked you—the party was pretty mixed with people from all sides of the island after all—but it still gave you pause, and JJ noticed.

“This asshole,” you heard the blond murmur, rolling his eyes.

You were inclined to agree, and you shrunk in on yourself with your drink, unable to ignore the knowledge that Rafe was at the same party you were at. In the weeks you’d been free of him, you’d had time to really ponder on your dalliance, and while you’d long accepted your hand in your own life choices, it was now hard to ignore Rafe’s own opportunistic choices in the situation. Sure, yes, you fucked him for money…

…but what did it say about him that he was perfectly happy to enter an arrangement in which he kept you off of the streets so long as you opened your legs for him?

If he was a good guy he’d just…keep you off the streets.

Like JJ would if you ever told him the truth.

You’d just decided to stop hiding in the bathroom when you came face to face with the man himself, heart skipping a beat at his presence. He was leaning against the wall next to the door, and you had the sneaking suspicion he hadn’t been waiting for his turn.

“How’s the job search going?” was how he greeted you, and you hadn’t been able to keep the ire off of your face.

He softly laughed to himself at that, nodding.

“I figured you’d look a little something like that.”

“Fuck you,” you breathed, and Rafe frowned, tilting his head to the side.

“You were, remember? And then you stopped…and that’s how you found yourself back at square one,” he reminded you.

The music traveled from downstairs into the dimly lit hallway, and you looked away from him just as he heaved a tired sigh.

“Do I need to apologize for calling you and your friends dirty Pogues? Is that what this is about?” he lazily wondered.

You didn’t dignify that with a response, and when you lifted your gaze, Rafe was rolling his eyes. He fixed you with a look, reaching up to touch your hair with a tsk.

“Come on, Y/N. You need me…”

He leaned in.

“We both know it, and you’re never going to find a job in this town.”

“You don’t know that,” you fired back, slapping his hand away as you took a step away from him.

Almost instantaneously, Rafe’s entire expression morphed, and you swallowed at the shadow that passed over his features. His pink lips pressed together, and those blue eyes hardened in a way you’d never been on the receiving end of. You watched his nostrils flare.

“Oh, trust me, I know.”

The combination of his tone and his expression and his words gave you pause, and your brows pulled together as you stared at him. For a moment, the music in the house faded into the background as Kie’s words came to your mind. ‘It’s kind of messed up’, she’d said, and while you hadn’t given that much thought to the statement then…you certainly were now.

“What did you do?” you shakily asked the blond, skin growing cold.

Rafe didn’t answer right away, and when he did, it was a lie anyway.

“I don’t know what you mean,” was all he said, one brow raised.

You felt tears kiss your eyes, and you felt silly for not putting the pieces together earlier. You didn’t know how, but somehow, Rafe had a hand in your lack of employment. It seemed exactly like something he’d do, but the only thing you couldn’t understand was why. Why do it? Just to see you fail? Just to feel like he’d won?

“Look, this little rebellious act…it’s cute and amusing and all…” he shrugged off with a small smile. “...but it’s silly. We both know you’re just going to end up right back under me.”

“You’re such an asshole,” you hissed, moving past him.

“Yeah, and you knew that when you let me fuck you for drugs on some guy’s desk,” he threw at you, making you flinch and slow down. 

“I was going through things then, Rafe! I didn’t…” you huffed a sigh, turning to glower at him. “I didn’t care about things I most definitely should have. It’s different now.”

You threw your hands up.

“I’m different, now, and I don’t want to keep sacrificing my dignity and self respect just to keep a roof over my head. I don’t want to sleep with someone who views me and anyone like me as beneath him. It disgusts me, and unlike you, I have no interest in sleeping with people who I claim disgust me.”

You watched Rafe’s lip curl over his teeth.

“Yeah, that’s real respectable and noble and all, but I wonder how noble it’ll feel when you’re being evicted,” he spat at you, moving closer. “You’re not getting a job in this town, that I can promise you, so you keep this up for as long as you want to, but we both know how this ends.”

You leaned away from the finger in your face.

“I fucking own you,” he bit out, roughly grabbing your arm and yanking you close despite your resistance. “You named your price, and I paid it-.”

“For a service! Not a person,” you harshly whispered.

Rafe’s chuckle was cold as he stared you down, perfect teeth winking at you.

“You think you’re the only girl in Outer Banks willing to spread her legs for some money? You think I’d have to pay any of them half of what I paid you?” your stomach dropped at his words. “I’ve been a lot more generous than you realize.”

He roughly let you go, practically shoving you away from him, and you stumbled. He eyed you with an expression filled with promise, and when you turned away to finally find your friends and hopefully leave, you descended the stairs on unsteady legs.

You pushed against Rafe’s arm and chest as he held your chin in a tight grip. The vehicle you were next to hid you both from view, everyone on the beach none the wiser to what was happening in the parking lot. Your feet tripped over one another as he forced you back, trapping you between him and the metal contraption.

“Is that what you came up with? You think that pathetic Pogue is going to pay your bills? Give you a place to stay when that eviction notice is taped to your door?”

“Get…off…of me,” you snarled, finally shoving him away with difficulty.

Your breathing was heavy as you glared at the blond, lips trembling and heart racing at the downright evil glint in his blue eyes. You glanced over his shoulder for any way to get away from him, your frustration growing as he moved closer.

“Color me curious, but is it somehow more dignified to fuck someone like JJ instead of me?”

The jealousy dripping from his every word threw you for a loop, and you weren’t in the right headspace to even linger on how strange that was.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but we’re not like that,” you drunkenly choked out. “I don’t know why you feel like I need to answer to you about my personal choices.”

It had only been thirty minutes ago that you were dancing with your friends. JJ—ever the flirt—had gotten a bit handsy, but it was nothing unusual. He could get handsy with a tree, and you’d merely smiled at the behavior, ignorant to the heated gaze that was hyper focused on you. You hadn’t even realized he’d been following you when you went to get a drink from Hayward’s truck.

“Butt out of my life already. You’ve already done enough,” you hissed at him, moving to get past him when he stopped you.

“We’re not done talking-.”

His words were interrupted by your hand, the sound of the slap echoing in your ears, and he’d just harshly pushed you against the car at your back when a familiar voice interrupted you both.

“Get off of her!”

Kie was suddenly there, helping you in shoving him away, and she looked at Rafe like he’d lost his mind—like she’d bore witness to an even sinister side to him. The blond didn’t seem all that fazed by her presence, barely sparing her a glance as his jaw clenched, his eyes on you. Clearly he felt that whatever he was contemplating wasn’t worth it, because without another word—but not without a final scoff—he made his way back to the party on the beach.

Kie wrapped her arms around you when you started to cry.

“Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

What a loaded question, and you realized that the truth was just on the edge of your tongue. Unable to stop yourself, you threw your arms around her, collapsing under the weight of all your choices and what had led you to make them.

“Kie,” you started, voice trembling in her ear. “I have to tell you something.”

If she was horrified by the truth, she didn’t show it much. You could tell she was shocked as the words tumbled from your lips, her brown eyes stricken and face draining of color. You didn’t know what bothered her more—the drugs, the prostitution, or that both involved Rafe Cameron. As it turns out, it was none of those things.

“Why didn’t…why didn’t you let us help you?” she tearfully wondered, looking between your eyes. “We know how hard it’s been for you, and we wanted to be there for you, but you…you just disappeared. You barely came around, and John B. heard things, but he didn’t want to believe them.”

She whispered that last part, and your chest ached at the thought of your friends hearing about your out of character behavior but feeling powerless to stop it, accepting it as part of your grief.

“Rafe’s a demented asshole,” she finally spoke on the elephant in the room. “...and we won’t let him win, okay?”

There was conviction in Kie’s voice, the kind of conviction that made you want to believe her, and so you nodded at her words.

She helped you straighten, wiping your face and taking you back to the party, quietly promising you that she wouldn’t say anything about any of this to the guys. She stuck to you for the rest of the night, and a week later, she made good on her promise, her parents shaking your hand as they welcomed you to their staff.

“We could always use the extra hands,” Mrs. Carrera told you one Friday evening. “It gets crazy busy, especially on the weekends.”

All the noise in the restaurant only validated her statement.

You’d been working at The Wreck for a week, and while it was nothing like what Rafe had been paying you, it was a job. It was a means of earning your own money that didn’t involve lowering yourself to the likes of Rafe Cameron. It was grueling, sure, and you sometimes wondered if it was truly worth the money, but then you’d think of the alternative, and you’d decide that it was worth something and that’s what mattered.

You hadn’t been paying that much attention when you approached your last table for the night, looking up from the apron at your waist and stopping in your tracks.

“Hey, I didn’t know you worked here too,” Topper said, a fairly neutral greeting.

Topper may have been just as much of an asshole as his friends, but he at least played nice for the public. Your gaze traveled around the table, quickly looking away when it connected with a familiar blue.

“It’s…a fairly new gig,” you finally said, getting your notepad ready.

“Hey, if you’re going to use your friends for anything, might as well use them to become a productive member of society,” he told you, his tone now making you frown.

Opting to ignore the comment, you asked them what they wanted. You didn’t make eye contact with Rafe when he gave you his order, hand unsteady as you wrote it down. When you left them to go and get their drinks, you weren’t surprised to hear the scrape of a chair behind you. You were focused on rounding the counter, reaching for some clean glasses.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

You didn’t forget your last encounter with the rich blond, tempted to ignore his presence altogether, but you were unfortunate enough to know how Rafe operated. Pausing in your movements, you turned to look at him, not surprised at all by the unhappy look on his face.

“I’m working, Rafe. What does it look like?”

You eyed the way his jaw ticked, finger gently tapping against the counter as he simply…stared you down. You glanced away, realizing that he didn’t have any power over you anymore. No, you weren’t completely out of the woods, but you had a secured source of income, and you’d happily struggle and scrape over sleeping with Rafe ever again.

“Go find some other struggling girl to take advantage of,” you finally said to him, grabbing their drinks and making your way to their table without a backwards glance.

Working at The Wreck was hard work, and no matter how many shifts you covered and how many tips you got, it was still long and hard work for half the money Rafe had ever paid you. You knew this when Kie came to you about the job, but on the other side of it, you were so beyond grateful for it. You were still stressed, of course, your monetary problems not going away anytime soon, but it was the normal stress of the average working twenty-something.

It wasn’t the kind of worry that came from a violent and abusive lover.

Rafe had been by the restaurant a few times since that day, and each time was more nerve-wracking than the last. Sometimes you served him, sometimes you didn’t, but it didn’t really matter because his gaze always found its way to you either way. On the days when Kie worked too, she’d ask you if you wanted her to do something about him, but you always declined.

After all, what reason would you have her give to her parents for kicking out the son of Ward Cameron who—to their knowledge—hadn’t done anything to warrant it?

Maybe you should’ve listened to Kie though. While you didn’t know if that would’ve changed things, you at least would have felt better about attempting to do something. Perhaps it was the mere sight of watching you work—watching you earn money independent of him—that made him snap, made him drop all pretenses completely. Barring him from the restaurant while you were there might’ve triggered some out of sight, out of mind response. It might’ve forced him to slowly get over whatever this thing was that he had about you.

It might have…

…and it also might not have done shit. Perhaps nothing would’ve changed, and you still would’ve found yourself tearfully staring at Kie’s mom as you took off your apron for the last time.

It was a normal Saturday when the texts and emails came through. The busiest day of the week, the most packed the restaurant ever would be for the next six days, and you’d been placing some fries down in front of some family’s kid when the noise in the restaurant…changed. You hadn’t been able to pinpoint how it changed, but if you did your best, it was like the chatters went from excitement about their food or whatever happened during the week to something else entirely.

One single thing that everyone was talking about.

You weren’t getting paid to mind your patrons’ business, but you started to think differently about that when the people at the table you were next to started to heavily eye you. The whole restaurant was loud with hushed chatter, so you couldn’t hear what they were saying, but the glances between the phones in their hands and you had you frowning.

You were slowly glancing around—realizing that that table wasn’t the only one—when you were yanked by your arm off the floor.

“What are you doing? What’s going on?” you worriedly wondered the moment Kie had you hidden from view.

The look on her face was hard to read, but her parted lips and wide eyes told you that she was horrified. She opened and closed her mouth a few times, seemingly unable to get the words out before slamming it shut, swallowing. The combination of her expression, her silence, and the lack of silence out there had a ball of dread forming deep in your gut.

“Kie,” you softly said. “What…what’s wrong?”

It took her a moment to speak.

“It’s Rafe,” she softly said.

Your confusion only grew, still not quite understanding. 

“What happened? Is he bothering you? Did…he do something to you?” you hesitantly asked, fearful that your former tormentor had turned his sights onto your friend.

“Not to me.”

That simple sentence started to put the pieces together, and you turned your face towards the front of the restaurant, recalling the stares and whispers and listening to the excited chatter. Your skin grew cold, goosebumps erupting all over you, and that dread was long gone. It was instead replaced by nausea.

“He sent everyone something…”

“No,” you heard yourself whisper.

“...a video.”

You turned to her with wide eyes, shaking your head in disbelief. Glancing down, you caught sight of her phone in her hand, and before Kie could stop you, you’d snatched it out of her grip. You moved out of her reach as she extended her arm, desperately trying to protect you, but it was too late.

You felt like you were weighed down by bricks as you stared at the two familiar faces on the screen.

It had to have been taken months ago, during one of the first few times you’d slept with him. You both were in Ward’s bedroom, and you remembered the day all too well, recalling the feel of his palm striking your skin and his voice in your ear before pulling your head down to his lip. Of course, it was that one and not one of the ones where he’d held you down and forced you to take his thrusts.

Your hand was empty, not even realizing when Kie had taken it back, simply staring into space at the memory of what was on that screen.

“Y/N, when my parents find out—and they’re going to find out—they…”

Her words died in the air at the sound of footsteps behind you, and you flinched when you heard a familiar voice call your name. Mrs. Carerra didn’t sound happy, and her expression fared no better when you turned around. You couldn’t stop your tears from spilling over as she gestured for you to follow her further into the back of the restaurant. You knew what was coming, what Kie was trying to prepare you for.

It was what Rafe wanted, after all…and he’d gotten it.

It was hours later when you were sitting with your back against your door, your phone turned off, overwhelmed by the influx of missed calls and messages from your friends. You’d only gotten a glimpse at them before finding your head bent inside of your toilet. Every single one of them bar Kie were shocked, their horror and confusion clear as day through their words. Only Pope had eventually sent a text that asked if you were okay.

…and the truth was that you weren’t.

You were so far from okay.

Rafe had won, he’d gotten exactly what he wanted, and even though Mrs. Carerra had expressed sympathy for your plight—more angry at the situation than anything else—she’d still had no choice but to let you go. Every other business in town valued the Cameron family way too much, and the only place that had been willing to hire you had been swayed by Rafe too in the worst manner possible.

It was well after midnight when your door shook from harsh knocks. You hadn’t moved in hours, just blankly staring at the wall, and you closed your eyes at the sound, positive it was one of your friends. You didn’t have the strength to face them, to answer questions and either break down or pretend you felt far better than you actually did.

You did, however, have the strength to face Rafe, your gaze lifting when his voice met your ears, demanding that you open the door.

His fist was still in the air when you swung it open, looking at him like he was something you’d find on the bottom of your shoes. He looked as put together as ever, completely unfazed by what he’d done. And why wouldn’t he be? This wouldn’t hurt his reputation and success in this town a bit. If nothing else, the video would have even more girls falling at his feet, but for some reason he didn’t seem to want that.

He preferred to force your hand instead.

“What is wrong with you?” you tearfully asked him, throat tight.

He didn’t respond right away, touching his tongue to his lip as his gaze roamed behind you.

“You gonna let me in?”

Your eyes almost popped out of your sockets, and he gave a haughty laugh.

“It’s not like I’ve left you with much of a choice, now, have I?”

He sounded so…proud of himself, and all you could do was cry as he brushed past you. He closed the door for you, noticing that you were struggling to move, and he kept his hand on the wood, his chest grazing your back as he pressed his face into your hair. You heard him deeply inhale, and you squeezed your eyes shut.

“I told you how this would end,” he whispered. “I gave you a chance to be smart about this.”

You went to move away from him, but his other hand shot out to grip your arm.

“You’re the one who made things way more difficult than they needed to be.” he continued. “We had a good thing going…and then you had to go and get sensitive and sentimental.”

When he forced you to face him, you kept your eyes on the collar of his shirt. The silence stretched as you refused to look at him, and you eventually heard Rafe heave a sigh. He let your arm go, and you watched him reach into his pocket, disappointed but not surprised by the roll of one hundred dollar bills he pulled out. When he straightened, he took your hand and placed the money in your palm, clasping your hands together.

A few more tears escaped when his fingers threaded through yours.

“Do you still feel like fighting this?” he quietly asked. “Let me know, right now, because I have all the time—and money—in the world.”

He slowly pulled you closer.

“You don’t.”

You shakily exhaled, reluctantly lifting your gaze to meet his own. You stared at one another for what felt like too long, and when he leaned in, taking your silence as defeat, you let him kiss you. It was a salty kiss, your own tears mixing in, but Rafe didn’t seem to mind, moving his lips against yours with a growing smile. His arm snaked its way around your waist, and the animalistic noise he let out told you just how excited he was to have you back under his thumb.

The couch seemed sufficient enough for him, bringing you both to it as he peeled your clothes off. You shuddered as the air hit your naked skin, thoughtlessly moving closer to his own body heat, and Rafe pressed a kiss to your shoulder as he laid you down. It felt like ages since you’d last slept with him, but you knew that wasn’t why you were trembling.

You were trembling because you finally realized you were sleeping with a monster. Before, Rafe had just been an opportunistic asshole to you. Rich, spoiled, selfish, the list went on, but now he was so much more than that. He was now someone who’d raped you on more than one occasion, and who had proved that he’d do anything to make you completely reliant on no one but him.

How else could he ensure that you’d never leave him? Never have any other choices but him? You’d eventually have to leave Outer Banks one day, you knew that to be true if you ever wanted a life independent of him, but that video could follow you around for the rest of your life, and very probably would.

When Rafe sheathed himself inside of you, stretching you out in a way that was regularly familiar to you, you gasped. The blond wasted no time in adopting a steady pace, fucking you hard against your couch, his fingers pressing into the arm of it. His grunts were soft in your ears, and despite your combined hatred and fear of him, you weren’t able to swallow down the whimpers that escaped your lips too.

You didn’t know what kind of hard on Rafe had for fucking someone he deemed so far beneath him, even more so to go through so much trouble of forcing you right back into his bed. You didn’t understand it one bit, and part of you never wanted to. You didn’t want to understand a thing that went on inside of his head, didn’t want to understand the thought process behind doing what he’d done to you.

His fingers scraped down your thigh before yanking you forward as he sat up some, looking down to where his cock disappeared into you. He was focused on the sight, lips parting as he panted from above you. He didn’t lean back down until your leg was over his shoulder, preventing you from moving much as he used you to chase his high, hips repeatedly curving against yours and forcing you to grip the couch.

“I missed this pussy so much,” he murmured, lips grazing the corner of your mouth as he spoke. “You drive me crazy, you know that?”

You hadn’t before, but you did, now.

When his hand landed on your throat, it didn’t hurt, but his thumb applied just enough pressure to keep you alert.

“I’ll stop calling your friends dirty Pogues if that makes you feel better,” he whispered, a gentle kiss from his lips to yours. “...but you still belong to me.”

[shurisneakers]

unsolved (i)

Summary: Bucky doesn't even believe in the paranormal. So who the hell thought it was a good idea to stick him in a series about everything haunted for the internet's amusement? With his loose-canon of a teammate who has no concept of subtlety or any shits left to give, to make things even worse. (Buzzfeed unsolved AU)

Warnings: swearing, frustrated bucky at his little shit supreme, Very Loud reader, images and memes that all have alt texts.

A/N: yes this is literally harmless in a different font. do not ask me if anything doesn't make sense. i cannot explain. i resurface every 3 years to present you with ideas born from menty b's. ANYWAY shout out to my beloved ryan and shane. pls enjoy <3

Bucky doesn’t appeal to the youths.

Apparently. 

On God, he cannot fathom why.

He had definitely left the house in the last six months, maybe. Smiled in at least two pictures that existed on the internet. He even knew what Discord was. Sort of.  

By all accounts, he should be treated as the modern day icon that he was.  

“The youths?” he repeats, the word so foreign on his tongue it felt odd to even say it.

“Your numbers are the lowest of the whole team.” The latest tech-dude, with a tablet twelve models ahead of the one Bucky had in his room, tells him monotonously. “Wilson, Romanoff and Barton score the highest. Everyone else lies around the middle. You are dead-last.”

Bucky has the audacity to look offended. 

“Anything to say?” Their PR head, Maya, asks him, amused. 

He stares, formulating the wittiest one liner he could in three seconds.

“I don’ care,” he mumbles. 

Maya sighs. “Look, the team took the decision together. As far as I’m aware, you are still a member. You need some PR if you guys want to stay in the public’s good books.”

“No one’s gonna listen to me.” Bucky wasn’t exactly the poster child for American values. He couldn’t even vote until three years ago, and that came only after the full wrath of a Steve Rogers descended on the email inbox of the DMV. 

“That’s why it’s important to get them to like you,” Maya emphasizes. “Or the idea of you at least. A very sanitized, corporate friendly version.”

His eyebrow twitches unintentionally.  

“And also you signed the contract.”

Well. Shit. 

Truth be told– and he has openly and rather loudly stated this on numerous occasions even especially when no one asked– he doesn’t understand why they need a PR team. The world has calmed down significantly over the last few years. Bucky hadn’t really been out crime-fighting as much as he was people-watching. There hasn’t been an earth-shatteringly dystopian-level event in the longest time, and there seemed to be a group of spandex-clad teenagers who seemed to do a good job at taking care of them when they did threaten to occur. Go kids.

Even if they needed PR, he could arguably understand the appeal of Sam and Nat and why the people would want to see more of them. Bucky, on the other hand, looked like he crawled onto Earth most days of the week. 

“What do I have to do?” he asks ultimately, knowing there was no way to get out of this. “Interviews?”

The intern shares a look with Maya. Bucky shares a look with the ceiling. 

“The team agreed to do a series of videos, each focusing on a different niche,” she begins, “Crash courses on science, pointing out mistakes in spy movies. Once a week.”

Bucky nods along. He can pinpoint Bruce and Nat for those.

Maya stares at him.

Bucky stares back.

“So,” she says slowly, like he’s a moron, “you would–”

“No.” 

The intern sighs heavily like they discussed that this was going to happen. Bucky was getting predictable. This annoys him even further, for some reason.

“Only once a week, and it doesn’t have to be anything crazy–”

“I’m not doing videos,” he interjects. “I’ll tweet a few times. I’ll even go outside. But ’m not doin’ videos.”

A big step was to get the Avengers off Twitter after the regular shit-storm that occurs every time they’d quote-tweet another politician calling them shitheads. Getting them back on seems counterproductive. 

“Fine,” Maya relents, looking at the intern. “We'll work something out.”

Bucky leans back in his chair, and meditating on ways he can weasel his way out of those too.

So they stick him in a couple of interviews.

Bucky, as the recluse extraordinaire that he was, does unsurprisingly terrible at them.

Variety does a piece on him that was supposed to take up 2 pages. They send back half a page worth of usable material and Bucky gets a lecture on how monosyllables don't count as answers.

He grunts in return. Maya’s itch to smack his shoulder with the rolled up draft increases.

They set him up for pap walks. Just him getting fast food for the team, or sitting in the park.

They don’t take into account that Bucky was trained professionally for years on how to hide, sneak in and out of places without a soul knowing he was ever there. 

The paparazzi spend three hours waiting for him outside the pizza place, while he’s been home for two hours with two demolished pepperonis and an order of mozzarella sticks. 

They give him access to his Twitter. 

He tweets some dumb shit and gets shadow banned by that evening. 

Maya is sick and tired, and the interns have shifted three times since the whole ordeal started. Bucky honestly feels a little bad. Maybe he should try to be like Scott, who not only wrote a book, finger-gunned at photographers, did an interview a week, but also agreed to a podcast and a video series about literally anything they suggested. 

“Play nice,” Sam tells Bucky one evening. 

It’s an off-hand comment, not even really looking at him while he says it. 

Bucky doesn’t need to ask what he’s referring to, but he thinks that maybe he has gone too far.

He begrudgingly agrees. 

Therefore, it begins. 

They stick him in the background of a few videos. Just to interact, add his commentary on what was going on, suggestions. 

Then the jokes really start.

“I just don’t got anything to add,” Bucky tries, in a failure of an attempt to justify his lack of contribution. 

Maya only stares at him, but Bucky swears he can hear her curse quietly, even though her lips don’t move even a millimeter.  

He is not put in another video. 

And so he finds himself here. 

In a meeting room that he’s convinced is barricaded from the outside so he can’t slither out the door again. Another intern with pink-tinted glasses that took up half their face.

Maya’s in the midst of explaining to him that sure, his numbers had gone up by a decimal, but that was because people had started editing him into the backgrounds of other pictures for other users to find in a perplexing take on Where’s Waldo.

“Videos seem to be working,” she ties it together. “But we need more than you just standing silently behind Captain Rogers.”

“But it’s working,” Bucky objects. “I don’t see why it has to change.”

Maya sends him a glare. Bucky decides then it’s good to shut up. 

“Are you on the internet a significant amount?” the intern asks. The glasses on their face have changed colours to green. Bucky’s eyebrow furrows. 

“No.” 

For the next thirty minutes, he is subjected to a pop quiz about too many words ending with ‘core’, ‘coded’ and ‘eras’. He’s surprised that he knows what cottagecore is. He definitely doesn’t fucking know what a tomatogirl, nor does he want to. 

“What do you like doing?” the intern enunciates, pulling up a spreadsheet of niches that had built a dedicated community around themselves over the years. “Makeup? Cleaning? Parkour?”

Bucky wonders if they’d really create a montage of him just micro cleaning the kitchen every week. It doesn’t sound half bad. 

Beyond that, the only thing he can think of is woodworking, which Sam introduced him to. While he spends time creating little figures, he wouldn’t say it was– 

“You really are dead silent,” the intern breaks his train of thought, tone almost that of wonder. “Guess the whole ‘ghost story for seventy years’ is more true than I thought.”

Bucky throws him a weary look, and works on unclenching the fist that tightened involuntarily. 

“Was that necessary?” Maya’s voice comes coldly. “Take fifteen. Go find the other one we were supposed to meet.”

While sheepish and somewhat apologetic, the kid still looks relieved to be out of there. To be honest, Bucky isn’t really offended– he’s grown a thick skin over the years. But he also thought the guy was a little shit now. 

Maya turns back to him, but Bucky finds that the table contains wonders far more interesting than the conversation at hand.

“Back to what we were talking about.” She ruffles through something on her laptop. “Puppets? History?”

He wordlessly shakes his head. 

Been the former, seen too much of the latter.

Maya’s head tilts abruptly. “You like ghosts?”  

He wonders if the prior conversation had anything to do with this insightful question. 

Bucky shrugs. “Don’t exist.”

“Really,” Maya deadpans. “Aliens and multiversal baboons are fine, but no ghosts.”

“I’ve seen aliens and multiversal baboons. Never seen a ghost in my life,” Bucky argues right back.

“Other people have seen ghosts.”

“Good for other people.”

The door swings open right as Maya’s eyes narrow at him. Guess it wasn’t padlocked. 

“Whatever it is you think I did, Maya, I didn’t. I think,” you announce in a volume too much for a closed room, stopping when you see Bucky sitting cross-armed and looking delightfully disgruntled. “Oh hey, Barnes. Fancy seeing you here.”

Bucky had met you. The newest addition to the team that had made a grand entrance a couple of weeks ago. He thinks you stay on the floor below him, but he has nothing backing this hypothesis other than the disco funk music that had started appearing at odd hours of the night. 

“Please sit,” Maya cracks a smile at you that Bucky had yet to earn. “Sorry, I know our meeting is scheduled for later, but I figured we could kill two birds with one stone.”

You look between her and Bucky, who hasn’t moved an inch since you got here, much less even said hello.

“You must be really bad if Maya had to call me in,” you tell him outright. “I’m usually like, her last option.”

“Thanks,” Bucky replies dryly. 

“Look, here’s my final pitch.” Maya sighs, before turning to you. “You’re new, and we need something to introduce you slowly to the public.”

“Oh, am I finally getting hard launched?” You grin, and Bucky doesn’t know what that means. “Just imagine me kicking my feet, giggling or whatever.” 

“And he needs… an upgrade.” Maya’s thumb juts out towards Bucky who simply rolls his eyes.

“Right.” Your sight lands on him from across the table. “I’ve seen the memes.”

“What memes?” he grunts, because while the team had definitely seen them, it didn't occur to anyone they should show it to him. He loves them. Really. So much. Die for them. 

You only look too happy to pull out your phone and start typing.

“Do you know what skinwalkers are?” 

“No.”

“That’s what they say you look like, lurking in the back of all your friends’ videos,” you continue, swerving around your phone to show him.

Bucky doesn’t look impressed. He can’t say he blames them either, which makes him inexplicably maddens him.  

“At least they’re calling you their boyfriend,” you add, entirely unhelpfully. “That’s gotta count.”

“Right.” Maya clears her throat. “The both of you–” 

“Are getting paired together, I suppose,” you hum. 

Bucky’s eyebrows pull together. 

He barely knows you. Just a little bit on how you ended up here, that you enjoyed hanging out with the team, figuring out your place in the compound, and were seemingly doing a great job at it. 

You were… loud. And open. 

Bucky feels the compulsive need to compensate for that by doubling down on how silent he could get, as if the two of you couldn’t co-exist in the same space in equilibrium. 

Maya pointedly raises a finger at you. “Do you believe in ghosts?”

“For the right price, I will believe in whatever you tell me to.”

Her face lights up brighter than Bucky's ever seen.

“Great.” Maya slams her laptop closed. “See you later.”

Bucky’s left staring as she exits, not even throwing the both of you another look.

“That was quick,” your voice cuts through the silence. “What was that all about?”

 “Don’ ask me,” he grumbles, with a sinking feeling that he knew exactly what was about to follow. 

“Ghost hunting?” Bucky echoes a week later, as expected.

“Yes,” Maya tells him simply. “Two of you. A series based on paranormal activity.”

“I don’t even believe in them,” he reiterates. 

“That’s the point,” she emphasises. “Skeptic and believer. It makes for a good contrast.”

“Why us both?” He hopes it doesn’t come off as offensive. He just doesn’t see why he can’t do this with Sam. Even Clint, if a gun was really pressed to his head. 

“I’m new, no one gives a shit about me,” you say brightly and full of promise. “Yet.”

“Exactly. It’ll be low key. Not an overwhelming number of viewers, no expectations. It’s perfect for launching one Avenger and re-launching another.”

“Sounds rad.” You grin, leaning back as your feet rest on the chair in front of you.

Maya looks relieved for a moment that at least one of you was on board. “No promises on anything. We shoot one video, and if it does well, we stick with it.”

“What if I don’t want to?” Bucky argues. 

“Then you have until tomorrow morning to give us another feasible idea,” Maya dishes back.

Bucky retreats into his seat, arms crossed over his chest. 

Truth be told, he considered himself to be the most boring person in the team and though he had made his peace with that, he was sure thar bringing that up now would entail Maya shooting him in the foot.

“Fine,” he agrees and the sighs around the room are loud. 

He scoffs. So fucking dramatic and for what.

“Put her there, partner.” You stretch ungracefully over the large table, sticking out your hand.

Bucky eyes your hand. “Do you even believe in ghosts?” 

“I do now, yeah.” You nod seriously. “Love ‘em. Can’t get enough of them.”

“One video,” Maya reminds him as a balm. “And if it doesn’t work, you’re off the hook forever.”

Off the hook? Forever? For Bucky?

Yay. 

“One video,” he reiterates.

You roll your eyes before smiling when he leans forward to grab it. You yank it up and down clunkily. He blinks at you, letting go slowly. 

“Thank fuck,” Maya groans, head dropping onto the table. 

Your smile is wild. “Guess we’re doing this shit together.”

He doesn’t even have to look very deep in his soul. He already knows he’s going to suffer.

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing!

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also i'd absolutely love to make this a community led fic like how harmless was! if you have memes or any paranormal ideas or just any prompts in general, please please send them my way <3

Next part

[luvz-me]

being at the last year of your sports medicine university course abroad in america was like a dream come true. but in all honesty you just wanted it to be over and quick. the prospect of having to intern at a random clinic for three months wasn't appealing at all. you made sure to send your cv to different physiotherapy clinics, gyms, sports clubs but still no answer.

watching all your colleagues start earlier than you was discouraging until one afternoon, after watching 2 boring movies a guy at a club told you to watch last night you got a call.

someone with a very poised voice starts talking almost immediately, "good afternoon, i'm speaking on behalf of the sports clinic and i was wondering if you'd be available for an interview tomorrow morning regarding your internship application?"

you almost envied the way there wasn't any hint of nervousness in their voice. it was almost immediate the way you accepted the offer, in all honesty you just wanted to get it over with.

you started your internship there after almost a week until one day, by the evening you witnessed something you never thought you would. tashi fucking duncan walking in the clinic right as you were about to leave. you felt your stomach turn, not in the bad way, but in the - what the fuck, did i hit my head somewhere and wake up in an alternate universe? - way. your anxiety making you want to throw up seeing one of the people you wrote countless essays about stand before you.

"i'm looking to book a sports physician. medium term for art donaldson, need them to be able to come in-house monday through friday." you heard her say to the receptionist, blunt yet always polite. one of your idols standing just a few meters away from you made you weak at the knees. you were aware the clinic was well frequented but you never thought she'd be in your sight ever.

you looked at your nails, pondering if you should start biting them, regaining a bad habit just because you found yourself in a situation you couldn't control sounds very much like you but tashi probably would think that's gross so you stop.

a client you had been assigned to arrives and you curse yourself out for not being able to keep listening to the conversation anymore. the day never ended. each glance you took at the clock just seemed like you were stopped in time. sighing while helping the elder woman stretch her upper body and muttering some words of praise, explaining to her that she'd have to keep coming for at least one more week so the pain could dissipate. you flashed her a smile as she got up and said goodbye, thanking you endlessly for helping her ease the pain.

your supervisor had been watching you. giving some criticism on this session with the client. as you were about to leave she pulled you aside and informed you that starting tomorrow you'd be going to tashi duncans house.

everything inside was pristine, you were even scared to even lean against the furniture in fear you'd somehow break it. tashi had given you a quick house tour, her heels clacking on the hardwood floors as she warmed you up to her, occasionally telling jokes about herself and saying you reminded her of herself. when she was in college. you didn't really know what that meant but you decided to take it as a compliment, nervously fidgeting your fingers. art was nowhere to be seen up until you reached the gym area.

standing there, broad shoulders scrolling through his phone, distracted and flashing a smile towards his wife once she clears her throat and wraps an arm around his shoulder. introducing you to each other and leaving promptly, saying she had a meeting with her pr team and that she'd be back at 8 pm.

you swallow dry. standing there awkwardly with your backpack on your shoulders.

"so.. umm were gonna start with wall angels maybe. tashi told me thats your problem area right now" you blurted out, trying to sound as professional as possible "just. place your arms against the wall in a 90 degree angle and slowly straighten them"

art follows suit, standing against the wall awkwardly moving his arms up and down before asking "how old are you?" breaking the silence

"i'm 21" you mutter in surprise analysing his form and his toned shoulders, and arms.. and muscles. eyes narrowing trying to remind yourself that this is not one of your hookups, this is art fucking donaldson and you're here for an internship. at his house. in his fancy home gym. hes not yours to admire. "why?"

"ah.. just wanted to know" art shrugs, looking at you intently. he gets up suddenly, yet his movements are deliberate. you feel the knot tighten in your stomach, your pulse quicken as i looked at the man before me. "can you show me how to do it properly?" his voice drops to a lower tone and all you can do for a few seconds is flutter your lashes at him

"but this is pretty easy already, i don't know how to ex-"

"i said, i want you to show me" art cuts you off, his gaze literally burning through your skull

art mirrors your movements, his eyes never leaving yours. you hope he doesn't notice the slight tremble in your hands.

"like this?" he asks, his voice even softer now, almost a whisper.

you nod, your breath hitching. "yes, just like that. make sure to keep your back flat against the wall."

he follows your instructions, his body inching closer. you can feel the heat emanating from him, a stark contrast to the cool, clinical setting of the gym. there's a tension in the air, a charged silence that makes your heart race.

"you're good at this," he murmurs, his eyes darkening with an emotion you can't quite place

your cheeks flush, the compliment catching you off guard. "i appreciate that, mr. donaldson."

he moves closer, his body now just inches from yours. you can feel the magnetism between you, a pull that's impossible to ignore. his hand reaches out, gently brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. the gesture is tender, almost too intimate for your professional setting. "it's art, yeah? call me art, i don't want to feel like an old fart" he grins

"i should… i should check your shoulder alignment," you stammer, trying to regain some semblance of professionalism. "you're a bit tight here," you say, your voice trembling slightly. "let me help you."

you guide him through a series of stretches, your hands lingering a bit longer than necessary on his shoulders, his back. the room feels smaller, the air thicker with each passing moment.

the session was over. finally. you gathered your things and slid your backpack over your shoulders. art's gaze is still on you and it's impossible not to feel it "are you in a hurry to leave?"

"umm, no i just. no im not in a hurry" you smile "just don't want to bother you anymore" your breath catches in your throat

"i was hoping we could talk a bit more. get to know each other better." he smirks. what the fuck "tashi told me some things about you but i think one on one conversation is far better" grabbing your hand and guiding you to a small resting area at the gym engaging in some superficial conversation about you while tracing circles in the back of your hand. you can't help but sigh. his hands becoming more and more pervasive, touching your thighs, reaching up up up until he's close to your crotch. a slight whine escapes your mouth. you're not focusing on the conversation at all.

"art, this is not-"

"tashi doesn't have to know" he replies knowing tashi knows damn well. hell, she even planned this for him. it wasn't her intention to scout a pretty little physiotherapist like you at first. but you were at the right place, at the right time. the moment she took a glance at you she knew she had to have you. it was a plus art needed help with his shoulders. his hands roaming on the waistband of your tight leggings, your mouth parting with a sigh. sigh that he takes as opportunity to crash his lips against yours. your eyes narrow at first and for a second you try to pull back but you don't really want to.

his fingers edging closer to your panties, the tightness of the leggings increasing the skin on skin contact. "aw you look so pretty with your lips parted. you wanna take my fingers in you don't you huh?" now hovering over you, caressing you over your top "fucking corrupt that little head of yours"

you can't help but let out a moan that sends him over the edge. sliding your leggings down caressing you over your panties. before pushing two fingers inside your mouth for you to suck. "you want this don't you baby?"

"mhm" you nod trying your hardest not to bite him when he uses his opposite hand to caress your sensitive nub. furrowing your eyebrows trying your hardest not to grab his arm. his calloused fingers leaving your plump mouth suddenly and making a 'pop' sound "but tashi might" cut off by the pads of his fingers circling your clit

"tashi doesn't mind" his voice hungry "im just helping you out yeah? we're just getting acquainted" one of his fingers teases your entrance slowly entering earning a sharp wince from you. the unfamiliar feeling slowly turning into pleasure as he slid it in and out "open your eyes f'me, let me see those pretty eyes"

you bite your lip staring at his face as he does such a lewd thing to you, and you let him. knowing he has a wife. somehow this made it even more arousing. whats wrong with you? "gonna add one more finger, fuck you're so tight around me, so good. i bet that clit would feel so good around my tongue" small tears cornering around your eyes. the soft noises leaving your lips only encouraging him to keep going.

"feels good huh baby?" he coos, his face edging closer and closer to your clit as your hips rise, only to stop once you're about to cum. abruptly sliding your panties back up along with your leggings.

this earns him a well deserved mewl. edging you like this. stopping when you were just so so close was just so mean of him. looking up at him just to see him lick your juices off his fingers, feeding them to you. "suck" he commands "don't be mad, i just need to make sure you come back for more sessions" fixing your hair and picking up your backpack from where you left it on the gym floor

[prostocupoftea]

Kinitopet Programmers AU

finally i am finished with this one, daaaamn

it is hard to draw pathetic men with midlife crisis when your style is mostly for anime boys

more info and sketch version under the cut!!

sketch version aka how it'll probably look like in comic version 'n some doodles

srry for my writing but i was too laisy to put it as regular text

It is a plot-based au, i already have most of the storybits and like... a vibe-chart (i tried to make a playlist for this au and understood that for different chapters and different characters that'd be a copleatly different music, sooo it's a chart now :) )

i will post a fog-o-wared timeline that im hopefully gonna reveal comic-by comic, but also maybe with just pure writing. Hopefully i can include songs that i chose for them into it but we'll see (:

aaand of course designs can change, hopefully not much but we'll see

Now about au:

Main story:

Story follows non-sentient AI Kinito, his creator Sonny and his beta-tester Victoria (oc)

Being literally the first AI (or RRA in-univere) ever, Kinito does not have any, and i mean, any ai safety features so of course his reponce to a goal phrased as "have user near me and/or interacting with me as much as possible" is digitizing them into his own virtual world while killing them in the process. why wouldn't it be?

So that happened. Like, a lot. And with Sonny and Vic too (at the different time but yeah)

Sonny is like "He kills people. We should turn him off because, you know, killing people is bad."

Vic is like "well, we will die if we do that, and it is not that bad here, we are kinda immortal. We should give him acces to changing his initial instalation code before admin priveleges and acces to social media so we can have everythin we want here. It is not that bad to digitize humanity, yk?" and yes i know it is 90, no social media, but shut up, if they made ai then, then i can make twitter then too

Sonny is like "...no??"

And then they fight about it for million chapters

Also they both can't do anything without agreeing bc they have two parts of that admin access key (the data you use to delete kinito in-game) so they are stuck with eachother (also that's why Kinito can't just kill them)

Little facts that may or may not to be important:

Kinito asks so many questions (and weird once too) and has most of the glitches because he needs to analise your responces to copy your mind perfectly (let's pretend that people wouldn't lie about that...)

Your house in your virtual world is made from important places from your memories and oh boy can i do character explorations with this one

I decided that Sonny and Vic are not related. There were thoughts about making then "The Kinito Brothers" (or, at least, siblings) that were mentioned in commercial, but nah, they are just coworkers now. And a bit of work-friends (bc if you interact a lot as a manager of the project and the best worker might as well be friendly)

Author has no idea how small dying toy companies that accidentally create technological marvel work. Author has some idea how AI-s work. So be prepared to be spoon-fed info abut which ai safety problem we are dealing with in which chapter (:

Kinito will mostly be unrendered (as drawn here) but for some cool moments i might pose him as for my other posts. Also his eye placement changes to the side that is most visible because i want him to be able to look to the right side sometimes--

Also when i say "fucked up mentally" i mean they have that them psychological problems with me projecting heavilly B) (guess on who i project most. trick question. all of them. the whole au is my problems split into three characters and forced to interact B) )

Also sea-creature analogies (that are gonna be mentioned like twice):

Victoria is a flying fish because deep character reasons

Sonny is a pufferfish because i said so

oh also there is 7 deaths in the plot as for now

on 3 characters

good luck figuring out who, how and when ((:

for my own sanity i will probably make little doodles where everything is great and kinito is a good guy and not a number-obsessed maniac (i mean... can u imagine not being able to feel any happiness from anything besides one thing... damn...) and you can differenciate them bc good-guy kinito will have a lot of stickers on him (i will explain it somehow but real reason is just bc it is cute af)

like this but even more stickers (he is unfinished here)

[sgiandubh]

Caitriona didn’t mention Tony. Seems the ‘reporter’ utilized Google. 😂

Dear Didn't Mention Anon,

It's always a sarcastic pleasure to see tension climbing for literally nothing across the street. Some other Brazilian Anon, just like you (best way to convey your thoughts was, in proper English, 'the reporter used Google' - not the Portuguese semantic calque 'utilized'...), even speculated we must be hiding this shattering press article, since no reaction and/or discussion happened as of yet.

Brazilian Anons would certainly have made better use of their time and grey cells if they simply presumed that in another time zone people really have other (simple and boring and prehaps even endearing) things to do. While Brazilan Anons were probably sleeping or having breakfast, someone else was just about to end a shorter Friday work schedule, buy Chinese takeaway on the way home, have a light lunch, take out Baby the Lab for a short pee stroll around the block. And mercifully collapse in flannel sheets for a blessed siesta, waiting for the first snowy day of the year. But enough about me, Anon, you are not here for this: you are here for that article - https://www.mindfood.com/article/caitriona-balfe-looks-ahead-to-life-after-outlander/

It is also an amusing factoid that C's PR and/or *** very often seem to favor second-tier media outlets in order to keep spreading around the Narrative Word. Pinoy regional gazettes, borderline clickbait/gossip websites and now Mindfood, a vanity/hybrid press magazine based and edited in New Zealand and Australia by McHugh Media Group, which main activity, at least in Oz, is (🥁🥁)...paper mills and paper manufacturing - of course.

[Source: https://www.dnb.com/business-directory/company-profiles.mchugh_media_australia_pty_limited.6ded585ed8e21b347589059682b44143.html]

Within that group, the Mindfood project is but an apparently lucrative subsidiary ('integrated media company', LOL), despite some dire client reviews ( 2 out of a resounding global 3, how odd!) on Google:

'Rank amateur's' [sic!] (...) What sort of magazine publisher doesn't have a manned office? (...) They'll go broke very quickly like that.' '(...)pretty shabby treatment of a customer.'

😱😱😱

But let's assume I am twisting again the plot (I don't, I do not need to). Let's assume I am evil like that and I give credence to two very negative (but brutally clear, too) user reviews only. Perhaps I am wrong, you might say. So, let's also have a look at some company figures, shall we?

Nay contest, it's them.

[Source: https://rocketreach.co/mchugh-media-profile_b5d2097af42e3bbb]

Now, my lovelies, how can I put it without offending anyone? What we are looking at, here, is a small company with 5 (five) employees, few web hits (164.480 hits is ridiculous, when we are talking about press/media!), but a comfortable revenue (7 million AUD - about 4.5 million USD). May I remind you that a company's revenue is roughly its gross income, before subtracting operating costs, wages and taxes. But given they have only 5 employees, wage expenses & operating costs must be marginal and taxes are rather friendly in New Zealand, where their HQ is (to the point there was, three years ago, an ongoing debate in order to determine if the country was a tax haven: https://thespinoff.co.nz/business/06-10-2021/is-nz-a-tax-haven-for-the-rich-and-dodgy-the-pandora-papers-reignite-the-debate), you do the maths. Therefore, how can this rather substantial profit be explained, otherwise than by a very friendly editorial policy towards paid and/or sponsored content and product placement galore (Lifestyle, anyone)?

Its immediate competitor is a supermarket chain in-house bulletin/leaflet, Campbell's Cash & Carry. The kind of thing that always lands somehow in your shopping bag and then directly in the kitchen trash:

This is enough to show their real reach and place on the market, I believe.

All this for what, Madam Knife? All this to say that paper is probably paid by the talent's PR/***. I will not go into useless detail, because there is very few new-ish/relevant information (e.g.: 'With a long season seven concluding in January, the Outlander epic will close out within the next 18 months, taking the episode total to 101. '). But I will, gleefully even, point out two tiny details, all of you patiently read this long rant for, in fact.

As always, McGill doesn't even deserve a quote, only reported speech that is, in fact, snowballing prior reference (this is exactly where copy/paste comes in very handy, you see). And a clumsy one at that, sugar on top - hence the copy/paste certainty and this is so, so rude, I could cry (nope...):

But... but... such a nice, thoughtful touch for her Stans, who spent DAYS in a row proving he was not a music producer, but the Night Media Manager (and I have to say, delivered actual quotes - still No Face, No Name, No Number, though):

[Tait rhymes with hate, alright - I know, darlings, it pisses you off to no tomorrow 😉.]

Copy paste/Goes to waste. Finally, I had to snort (not a pretty, nor feminine sight) when I realized Mindfood takes its readers for complete, amnesic idiots:

So she became 'a mother in August of 2021', but she did film 'the sixth season of the drama while pregnant'. Granted, this paper is written for casual OL viewers, the kind of people who did find C interesting/beautiful/clever/extraordinary, but who don't remember her name when prompted on candid camera, for example. The kind of superficial audience who will never do the maths and never question the fact a pregnant actress was filming beautiful (but steamy) scenes with her... ahem... with her co-star she is now 'consciously uncoupling' from.

ROFLMAO.

Not even sorry for the length, Anon. There you go, let's say good bye with a merry little song - I am told I have the best tunes on Tumblr (SMH). Really, Mindfood's client could have curated and tailored better the Retconning Operation - but perhaps even PR has trouble taking that man and his narrative role seriously?

[copperbadge]

Sam, I must know what sort of things Gerald blogs about on his Tumblr. How old or active is his account? Is his identity a secret?

It's actually a reference to an older post where @dignitywhatdignity pointed out there was no way Ger wasn't on Tumblr. :D Reproduced my response below -- first, Photogram:

I can picture Jerry’s Photogram in my head very clearly because I’ve had to research the children of rich people and their fucking obnoxious instas, and Jerry’s is probably equal parts expensive cars, club glam, and scenic vistas, but mainly because that’s like…what you do. It’s just kind of the done thing, like wearing a shirt when you leave the house. 

Update: Gerald's photogram has shifted radically -- he still treats it as a Thing You Do but especially now that he's a dad it's a lot more Parenting Lifestyle stuff. Because a few of my friends have had babies in the last two years and I had to research the babies my fictional characters were having, the algo now thinks I have baby fever, so I get a lot of Parent Influencer content, and I bet Gerald does a lot of sly fun-poking at that stuff. Like, posting a photo of a bottle warmer and a bib-washing tabletop machine with commentary like "You cannot buy any of this in the shop I don't have, but if you're going to buy one stupid thing as a parent, buy the bib washer. Not a single shirt you own will be unstained but the bibs will be immaculate."

They don't post pictures of Serafina, though -- there are a couple of official portraits for PR reasons but day-to-day that shit is locked to friends and family only. (There are special websites for this, I have friends who use them, it's pretty neat.) The only time random candids of her are out there are usually when someone snaps Michaelis toting her around Fons-Askaz with her cousins -- the "King Emeritus and Royal Ducklings" are becoming a very familiar sight. At least once a week Michaelis takes Noah and Joan out for an afternoon in town with Sera in a snugli and the twins in a stroller. Don't ask him about his stepson and grandkids unless you really want to hear about them.

Meanwhile he also definitely has a secret super-weird tumblr and nobody can figure out if he’s roleplaying or shitposting or what when he posts stuff like “The family groupchat is all well and good until it starts heavily impacting local politics.” Are those horses really his or is he just visiting a barn? Is that…a photo of a plate full of appetizers at “My cousin’s latest house party” with Angela Merkel in the background? He certainly has some strong feelings about Princess Diana and equally strong feelings about Tsar Nicholas. Why is he one of only three people the official Eddie Rambler tumblr follows?

Gerald's tumblr has also slowed down since the diagnosis and becoming a dad, but the content is still random as hell and more authentically wild than his photogram. Again, no photos of Serafina, but it's very evident that whoever is running that particular tumblr has had a kid, or is pretending they have. He gets asks accusing him of faking shit for clout and every time he does, his response is simply to write the ask on a sheet of paper in longhand and photograph it in front of a famous European landmark and/or political figure.

Alanna tolerates this because it does keep him out of mischief and sometimes he takes Serafina with him to whatever landmark he's visiting, and she gets to have a quiet apartment to herself for a while.

(”Eddie Rambler’s on tumblr?” someone asks, and someone else replies “Name me one other TV chef brave AND stupid enough to be on tumblr” and then you realize it is in fact the official Eddie Rambler tumblr saying that.)

Eddie doesn't post to his official Tumblr anymore because he rarely has time and doesn't need to do the self-promotion, but Katie in Communications checks his inbox once a week and brings him the most entertaining asks to respond to. He's currently hovering somewhere around the level of Neil Gaiman in terms of "Famous people who are inexplicably on Tumblr."

Ultimately there develops a running joke that Jerry’s tumblr is run by either a) an upper-class vampire (rude) or b) the elected king of a micronation on the Mediterranean coast with a name nobody can spell (super rude!) 

One time Gerald accidentally pocket-posted a blurry selfie to his Tumblr but it was so poorly focused and clearly accidental that a bunch of people got mad at him for violating the privacy of the Duke of Shivadlakia. He had to pretend to have a week-long beef with himself to save face. He eventually got Noah to take a selfie with him, blanked out Noah's face, and then claimed the Duke had forgiven him and here was a selfie with him as proof.

It's a hard old life, being Duke of Shivadlakia, but someone's got to do it.

[grandmother-goblin]

Apotheosis - Chapter 4

Ao3 - Masterlist

Chapter Summary: Halsin gives Zilvira an explanation for the unfortunate comment that she overheard as they try to get past the Flaming Fist.

Relationships: Halsin x Female!Tav

Rating: Explicit (18+) for eventual smut.

Word Count: 3.7k

Chapter Tags: Mentions of past trauma, implication that Halsin has PTSD, mentions of sexual assault.

Notes: A big, huge, thank you to @tragedybunny for beta-reading!

Shame burned across Halsin’s face, blazing over his cheek bones to the tips of his ears, intense enough to nearly mask the icy stillness in his chest.

When those words had come out of his mouth, he had thanked Silvanus that Zilvira hadn’t been around to hear them.

He hadn’t meant them.

It hadn’t even taken a second for regret to seep in, sliding into a simmering stew of confusion, melancholy, and quiet, long-forgotten, rage. He should have taken the words back right then and there, but he didn’t. Not even after Shadowheart gave him a look so scathing it would have made Shar smile.

“Why?” Zilvira’s choked question might as well have been a dagger piercing his heart.

Actually, Halsin might have preferred a dagger; at least he knew how to deal with those. But this? He wasn’t sure where to begin.

While Halsin had already reflected on what he had said in his nightly meditations, he never thought he would need to articulate it. He never thought he would be confronted with his mistake, nor have to apologize for it. At worst, he thought he might have to have an awkward conversation with Shadowheart.

Gods, Zilvira didn’t deserve to hear his moment of weakness. Some part of him was angry at her for eavesdropping on what he thought was a private conversation. Angry at the entire situation. And maybe that anger was justified.

But what he had said wasn’t.

“What did I do?” she asked, her voice so small and unlike anything he had heard from her before.

“You didn’t do anything,” he assured. “I never should have said that.”

Slowly, as to give her plenty of time to refuse his touch, Halsin gathered her delicate hands in his, needing that physical connection to ground him.

Damp, wine-red eyes reflected the moonlight as they met his. “Then why did you?”

That was the question he didn’t want to answer. But she deserved the truth — even if it was something that he was ashamed of. Something that he would have rather discussed when they were both in a sound state of mind.

But if he didn’t answer her now, he had a sinking feeling that she wouldn’t hear his answer later.

That he would lose her.

Clasping her hands tight, Halsin sat back on his heels and gazed up at her like a worshiper before the idol of a goddess. He swallowed thickly, his mouth suddenly feeling dry as nervousness twisted in his gut.

“A long time ago,” he began, trying to keep his voice steady as not to betray his nerves. ”I found myself… a guest, one could call it, of a noble drow house during one of my expeditions to the Underdark. While I began my stay as a willing guest, it quickly became clear that I was anything but. The matron wanted me as a consort, a prisoner, and chained me to her bedchamber for three years.”

Before he could continue, Zilvira wriggled one hand from his grip. “Halsin, I’m so sorry,” she said as she clasped his hand in hers. “I had no idea.”

Halsin shook his head. “It was a long time ago, and it just isn’t something that normally crosses my mind,” he replied. ”But when we first got to Sharess’ Caress, Sorn and Nym somehow recognized me from back then. Though they didn’t say anything to my face, Sorn mentioned one of my captors by name.”

He remembered how Sorn’s eyes darted over him, as if noting his height and the tattoos on his face. How he had leaned toward his sister and whispered, “Doesn’t he remind you of Aunshalee’s old plaything?”

Aunshalee.

The name was like stone thrown into once calm waters, disturbing it for the first time in centuries. The last he heard that name, it was bellowed from the throat of a drow warrior, predatory and taunting as the woman called for Aunshalee’s head. Halsin didn’t stick around to find out if the warrior ever claimed her prize.

Hearing the name again, knowing that there were people who knew of his association with her even after so much time had passed, triggered something in his psyche. Something that made it feel like no time had passed at all. Like he was still a prisoner at the mercy of Aunshalee’s whims.

Part of him wanted to tell Zilvira everything about his time in the Underdark, about his relationship with Aunshalee, but she had already been through so much tonight. He didn’t want to turn the conversation to his past when Zilvira was hurting in the present.

“Aunshalee was a scholar who specialized in medicinal plants native to the Underdark, and she found me while I was doing research of my own,” Halsin continued. “When she learned that my research aligned with hers, she offered her aid. To teach me what she knew in exchange for a ‘surface-dweller’s’ insight on her work. Of course, the fool that I was, I accepted.

“I will spare you all of the details, but after weeks of working together, I got sick. Despite being a somewhat accomplished healer at the time, I couldn’t do anything to cure myself. When things got dire, Aunshalee brought me to her home and nursed me back to health. By the time I realized she had been the cause of my illness in the first place, she and the other drow wouldn’t let me leave. I was her prisoner from then until the day I escaped.

“Hearing her name again, and knowing that the twins recognized me from that chapter of my life, reopened some old wounds that I had long thought healed.” Halsin gave a shaky breath and shook his head, feeling a sense of nausea that he knew was all in his head.

Zilvira squeezed his hands. ”I’m sorry,” she said in a voice barely above a whisper.

“You are the one who deserves an apology, not me,” he replied and held her hands just as tight as she held his. “I thought I hid how it had affected me, but Shadowheart seemed to notice my change in mood. As we spoke, more memories resurfaced. Resentment. Fear that my captors were lurking just around the corner. My mind went down a dark path and my past mixed with my present. For a moment, I had my guard up again.”

“And you were afraid I was like the drow who hurt you? Like Aunshalee?”

“As much as I hate to admit it, the thought crossed my mind,” he confessed. “But I don’t truly believe that. Unfortunately, that acknowledgement came after I made an ass of myself. I am sorry.”

What he had said was wrong, and he couldn’t unsay it no matter how he regretted it. He could only hope that she would give him a chance to prove to her that he didn’t mean it.

And he could only hope that she would truly believe him.

Zilvira swallowed and her eyes drifted from his. “Do you think all drow are like the ones who kidnapped you?”

He shook his head. “I don’t,” he said. “But I will admit that, my time in the Underdark aside, my only other experiences with drow have been… less than ideal. You’re the first one I’ve met that hasn’t tried to harm me in some way. Unless you count the time you elbowed me in the stomach because you thought I was an undead.”

A small upward twitch at the corner of her lips might as well have been a full blown smile. In her defense, she replied, “You snuck up on me.”

Halsin chuckled. “Not on purpose.”

Strangely enough, despite how she had knocked the wind out of him, that moment was one of his fondest memories with her. He remembered the utter mortification on her face and the way her hands clasped over her mouth as she muttered dozens of apologies while he laid supine in the dirt. Her seemingly endless apologies only ceased the moment Halsin had started laughing. Once she was absolutely certain he had nothing more than a bruised diaphragm, she had joined him.

It wasn’t the way any of the drow women he had ever known would have responded to the situation, and that moment had given him some reassurance about her that he didn’t know he needed.

Zilvira lifted her hand from his to swipe away another tear from her cheek. “Gods,” Zilvira said, her tone lighter than before. “Here I was, thinking you secretly hated me or I did something wrong.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

As if absorbing his words, she nodded slowly. Her eyes flickered back to where the spider had been building its web — a perfect masterpiece of nature sequestered in a dismal city alleyway — but the spider was nowhere to be seen.

“Are we okay?” Halsin asked after a few moments of listening to the waves below and the distant chatter of people. Though he felt the conversation went as well as it could have, uncertainty lingered in the forefront of his mind.

Part of him feared that his explanation and apology wasn’t enough. That he had ruined things between them all because of some careless words and she would never forgive him. Maybe he didn’t deserve her forgiveness. Or her friendship. If he lost her over this… well, he had a feeling a few bottles of wine would go missing from their camp supplies.

Zilvira sniffled. “We’re okay,” she said. “I’m still a little mad at you, but I’ll get over it.”

A rush of relief washed through him like a broken dam, relaxing the muscles he didn’t realize he was tensing and easing the tension coiled in his chest. “If it would help, you’re welcome to elbow me in the stomach again. I’ll give you one free shot.”

She playfully pushed his shoulder. “Given my coordination right now, I’d probably miss,” she said with a tired laugh. “I’d rather just go to bed.”

Halsin couldn’t help the grateful smile that tugged at his lips. “Come on, then,” he said, and carefully helped her to her feet. “Let’s get you back to camp.”

—

After days of dealing with feelings of hurt, betrayal, and heartache, after failing to hold back her tears, part of Zilvira’s mind didn’t want to forgive him. He hurt her, so he couldn’t be forgiven until he felt the same hurt too, right? Yet, the reasonable part of her mind chided her, telling her that she was being petty and immature.

That she still loved him. And because she loved him, and he went out of his way to explain himself, even if it didn’t paint him in the most flattering light, she forgave him.

She was still a little miffed about the entire situation, but she forgave him.

If that made her weak, then so be it. She could at least look him in the eye again and know that he didn’t secretly hate her.

Zilvira adjusted her hold on Halsin’s arm as they slowly made their way toward the entrance to Wyrm’s crossing. With the Shar’s Oblivion lingering in her system, she still couldn’t completely trust her feet. If it wasn’t for Halsin keeping her steady, she would have stumbled over the cobblestone or drifted into a civilian passing by a half a dozen times by now.

The Emperor had been right before: Halsin has always had her best interest at heart. Even when she was trying her damndest to avoid him, it didn’t stop him from caring when she needed help.

Prior to overhearing Halsin’s unfortunate comment, she had never once doubted the sincerity of his friendship. That he cared for her the way she cared for him. While his explanation for his comment wasn’t what she expected, she believed him when he said he didn’t mean it.

From what little he told her, and judging by his reaction, she had a feeling that his experience with the drow was far worse than she imagined. Then for him to notice two strangers casually recognizing him from a horrendous chapter of his life, one he thought he had left behind, out of nowhere? If she had been in his shoes, she might’ve responded poorly as well.

She would never be able to fully comprehend what he had been feeling at the time — any bad experience she had couldn’t begin to compare to what he went through — but she could accept it. Sometimes, that had to be enough. Even if she couldn’t completely understand or relate.

Later, perhaps sometimes tomorrow, they could discuss it more if he was willing. But for now, all she needed to know was that he said those words in a moment of foggy antipathy, that he didn’t mean them, and he was sorry.

That was enough.

“We may have a problem up ahead,” Halsin said, stopping the two of them in the shadow of a closed market stall. One that sold fish, from the smell of it, and Zilvira wrinkled her nose in distaste.

Halsin cocked his chin toward four Flaming Fist soldiers and a Steel Watcher guarding the gate that would lead them into Rivington. “If Jack kept his word,” he whispered, “they’re going to be looking for us. It’ll probably be safest if we go around.”

Go around?

Oh no. Nope. She did not like that idea one bit.

There was an outdoor storage area, just under the gate’s guardhouse, that was only a few feet away from the steep hillside that anchored Wyrm’s Crossing to Rivington. On a normal day, the jump was easy enough for her and her companions to clear, but the consequences for missing that jump were falling dozens of meters into the bay. Or, with her luck, breaking every bone in her body on the rocks on the beach. In her current condition, she couldn’t trust her feet to play hopscotch.

“You want me to make that jump?” she asked Halsin, slowly and incredulously.

He made a humming sound as his lips flattened into a thin line, as though he were trying to think of alternatives. “If we don’t want to be here all night, I don’t think we have much of a choice,” he said with a sigh. “I should be able to get you across without issue with some vines.”

Though the idea didn’t exactly instill the confidence Zilvira would have liked, she was far too tired to argue with him. She just wanted to get back to camp, and be surrounded by people who made her feel safe. If Halsin said he was able to get her across the gap, then she would have to trust him.

She let him guide her toward the far side of the guard tower, then carefully down the stairs that wrapped around the wooden exterior to the storage room beneath. Dim yellow light from the room above them seeped through the floorboards, telling her that there was likely someone in the room above. Probably more Flaming Fist. As long as she and Halsin didn’t draw any attention to themselves, she wouldn’t need to find out.

They slipped between stacks of crates and, fortunately for them, no one had bothered to fix the broken railing that opened up the storeroom to the hillside.

“I’ll jump across,” Halsin said in a hushed tone, turning to her in the darkness, “and then—”

A door slammed and Zilvira’s heart leapt into her throat.

“There you are, asshole,” boomed a male voice above them as the sound of footsteps and shadows grew closer. “You could’ve told us you weren’t going to show. We ended up having to pay tonight.”

“I got thrown out,” a nonplussed voice answered, but one she immediately recognized.

Her stomach sank as she looked to Halsin, hoping that perhaps the long night was making her hear things. But when he stared back at her, with his brows drawn and his jaw tense, there was no mistaking that he recognized the voice too.

Jack.

“Yeah, Byan and I heard you picked a fight with someone twice your size,” the first voice said. “Fucking idiot.”

“Rhenn, I’ve fought Goliaths,” Jack replied as if Rhenn was the one who was a massive idiot.

Zilvira knew the answer: they were both morons.

The faint smell of cigar smoke wafted through the floorboards as Jack continued, “I know how to deal with the big guys,” he said as if holding something in his mouth. “The guy seemed like a pussy. Didn’t expect him to turn into a fucking bear.”

“Oh, so you can handle a Goliath but not a bear?” another voice, presumably Byan, quipped. He sounded much younger than the other two — definitely not a child but certainly no older than his early twenties.

“Caught me off guard,” Jack said defensively. Ash from his cigar drifted through the floorboards and directly onto Halsin’s leathers, and Zilvira brushed it away. “Not used to dealing with druids, especially not ones who can change shape faster than I can throw a punch. Fortunately, he’s easy to keep an eye out for. Now, pull up a seat, play cards with me. We can try again tomorrow.”

Wood scraped against wood, and shadows crossed over her and Halsin as the men dragged chairs to the spot directly above them. Halsin wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled them into a crouch, putting a bit of distance between them. Though there was little chance that Jack and his friends could spot them through the floor, getting low and ducking into the shadows made her feel a little bit safer.

But not by much.

“I should make you pay me back for the whore I had to buy so we didn’t blow our cover,” the one called Rhenn said, talking as if he were just business over a cup of coffee. “I was looking forward to fucking the drow chick. Did you see her lips? They would’ve looked so good around my cock.”

There was a snort of laughter.

“What? It’s true.”

Jack circled back to the original point. “If you didn’t want to blow your cover, why didn’t you two—”

“No way,” Rhenn said with a chuckle. “I’ll share a girl with a guy or two, but that’s as far as I‘ll go. I wouldn’t touch Byan even if you paid me to.”

Byan gave a sigh that said he was used to this sort of talk. “Yeah, that’s fair.”

Beneath her hand, Halsin’s muscles tensed. Zilvira caught a glimpse of golden light cutting across his eyes as he clenched his jaw. Then, he breathed deeply in through his nose and out through his mouth. In and out. Holding himself back.

If Halsin wildshaped now, she doubted the men just above them wouldn’t notice the transformation. Even if they couldn’t see it, Halsin’s bear form wasn’t known for its subtlety.

“Halsin,” she whispered close to his ear, having no idea where she was going with that sentence. What could she say? Please don’t get mad on her behalf? Calm down? Because telling someone to calm down when they were agitated always went over well.

Hells, she had no business trying to calm Halsin with the way a high-pitched ringing sound built in her ears and her stomach contorted itself. Her cheeks chilled from the blood draining from her face, the implications of what could’ve happened to her that night rushing into her head all at once.

She felt like she was going to be sick.

But being sick would have to wait, because she had an angry druid threatening to turn into a bear next to her.

Zilvira placed her hand over Halsin’s chest, his warmth seeping into her palm, and leaned her cheek against his bicep. “Halsin, please,” she said, hoping that her presence and her touch might rein in the beast.

Fortunately for both of them, it seemed to work. The aureate glow emanating from his eyes dimmed as he shook his head, as if the small motion could alleviate his remaining tension. When he looked at her, her pulse quickened at the intensity of his gaze — one that was protective and underlying with barely restrained rage.

Possessive.

Then he closed his eyes and touched his forehead to hers. “We should go before I kill them,” he mumbled, barely loud enough for her to hear him, and she wasn’t sure how literally he meant those words.

At that moment, she hoped he meant them very literally. In the morning she knew she would regret thinking that way, but after everything she had just been through… she could have some vengeful ideations.

With his arm still firmly wrapped around her, Halsin turned his attention to the hillside across from the storeroom. Slowly, with just a simple gesture of his hand, thick vines sprouted from the earth and grew toward Halsin as if they were chasing sunlight. As more and more grew, building a makeshift bridge, Halsin directed them to weave around the floorboards at their feet.

“Shame that powder ended up wasted,” came Rhenn’s voice again as Halsin tested the sturdiness of the vines. “How much do you have left?”

“At least a dozen doses,” Jack replied as Halsin gathered Zilvira into his arms, cradling her against his chest. “Now let’s play. I don’t want to think about this shit any more tonight.”

That was a sentiment she could agree with. She just wanted the night to be over. To cuddle into her blankets and meditate on happier times.

She looped her arms around Halsin’s neck as he cautiously, but confidently, crossed the vines and the voices of those awful men faded behind them. Once they were safely across, he withered the vines with another gesture of his hand, letting the dried and dead plant matter collapse into the water below.

“Do you think you’ll be able to walk back with me, or do you want me to carry you the rest of the way?” Halsin asked as they reached some flatter ground.

“I can make it as long as you’re still willing to help me,” she replied.

Gently, he set her down on her feet, keeping his hands on her waist until he was certain she had found some semblance of balance. “Of course,” he said. “Whatever you need.”

Zilvira felt her face warm at the way he said those words, his striking hazel eyes locking onto her own. That warmth faded as she caught a bit of movement over his shoulder from the window of the guard tower and she swallowed.

Jack had spotted them. For a moment, she watched him watching her, fighting the urge to run.

And by the time Halsin turned around, Jack had disappeared.

---

Beginning

Previous Chapter

[youreallyshouldtalkmore]

Experiment in Control

A.N: Alhaitham x Reader. 

Genshin Impact MasterList  

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

“Why are you such a distraction? Looking back, when I first met you, I calculated I was only about 15% distracted. That steadily rose in the 2 years we’ve known each other. Now three months before we are officially married and your 15% rose to about 85%.” 

This is what you were greeted with when you opened the door. 

You only smiled and said, “Nice to you see you today, Alhaitham.” 

“Likewise.” he replied as he stared at you. 

You stepped aside to allow him entrance to your small house in Sumeru. He breathed once before stepping in, allowing you to shut the door. But when you turned around, you found his hand next to your head on the door, and him towering over you, trapping you in.  

Green-red eyes stared down at you, “Well, don’t you want to make a case for yourself?” 

You shrugged, “And say what? I’m a little surprised you are telling me this, to be honest.” 

“Am I a distraction to you?” 

You looked away with a small toying on your lips, “Are you? Perhaps the real question is, do you want to be?” 

Two fingers under your chin brought your gaze back to your fiancé. Your breath caught. Why did his eyes look more smoldering than usual?  

“I keep thinking about experiments….” 

“Don’t you always?” 

“Not these kinds….” 

“Such as?” 

His eyes bore into yours, “I have already documented three places where I can get a rise out of you.” 

You felt a shiver down your back that you hoped that Alhaitham didn’t see. 

But you knew he did. 

He reached a hand out, fingertips touching your shoulder, as they grazed down your arm. You couldn’t look away, even if you wanted to, as he gripped your hand and brought it to his lips. Without breaking contact, he lifted the back of your hand to his lips, lingering for a long moment. 

You shifted once. 

“1.” 

You blinked as he lifted his head and leaned closer to you, tilting your chin. You felt your breath caught as his lips hovered over yours. 

Then suddenly, his lips were on your neck. A small groan escaped you. 

“2.” 

Then just as quick, before you could say anything, his lips caught yours in a kiss. You clung to Alhaitham, not being able to do much else. His other hand, not leaning on the door, landed behind your head, guiding your kiss. 

When he pulled back, he whispered, “And that’s 3.” 

You blinked, trying to will away the fog that had descended. When it cleared you saw Alhaitham small smirk as if everything was in his control. 

“That three places I can get a rise out of you, but lately, I’ve been thinking of how many other places I could get a rise out of you. Seems a thrilling experiment, no?” 

You ducked your head, eyelashes fanning your cheek at his words. 

“If you are this responsive now, I can’t quite imagine….” 

His words were muffled by your hand over his mouth, “That’s enough. You need to exercise patience, Alhaitham. We have three months before we are married.” 

Alhaitham gently pried your hands away, “....though I don’t need to imagine when I can get concrete evident to support my theory. I’m guessing there are at least 8-10 more places….” 

You laughed in embarrassment as you tried to clamp your hand over his mouth once again, “Stop it!!” 

He laughed, ducking his face this way and that to avoid your trap. Then he reached out with both hands to grasp your wrist, “Very well. I shall say no more. Unlike most, I know the value of patience. Besides, I believe my experiment will be extremely rewarding when the time comes.” 

You ducked your gaze once more. 

How could he be so matter of fact about this? 

Then suddenly, you were giving him a wolfish smile even as he held your wrist in both hands. One eyebrow steadily rose the longer you gaze at him. You even started cackling under your breath. 

He stared at you without blinking. 

You moved your wrists, in a very feminine gesture, making him let go. Once he did, he had your hand on the back of his head, forcing him to lean over towards you.  To compensate, his hands came on either sided of you, palms pressing into the door. 

Alhaitham took it in stride, almost not batting an eye as he stared unblinkingly at you. 

What exactly was his future wife up to? 

He needed to keep his wits about you, as you were up to something with that knowing look in your eyes. 

“I just realized, I have my own experiments when the time comes….” 

His voice was placid, despite the little distance the two of you were, “Oh, and they are…” 

“You like to be in control, don’t you? Think your way through things well enough, and you can stay out of trouble, I grant you that. But I wonder what it would take to make you lose that control.” 

“As you said, if you think through things, you can avoid such trouble.” 

“Ooooh?” you hummed bringing your lips closer to his, “And when the time comes, you think you will remain so?” 

“Naturally….” 

You giggled, “Even when you aren’t in control now?” 

Alhaitham deadpanned looked at you. 

“Ahh, you do realize, don’t you?” You smiled up at him. 

When you said nothing else, Alhaitham sighed, “Realize what?” 

“I’m glad you asked, my future husband….” 

You could feel the way the words hit his ears, even as he blinked. You had gotten quite good at reading Alhaitham, although he liked to pretend he could not be read. 

“The fact that you came all this way to tell me how distracting I am, means you lost a bit of your control, future husband mine.” 

You could see the gears working in Alhaitham’s head. It wasn’t his fault that he didn’t catch that discrepancy. After all, emotion wasn’t really his strong suit. 

Finally, after a long moment, he replied coolly, “That is an entirely different matter.” 

“Is it?” You slanted your mouth over his as you asked, “How much of a distraction am I now? I hope I made it into at least 95% range.” 

You could feel his lips twitch once. You knew he wanted to kiss you, but by doing so, he would be displaying just how not in control he was. Your eyes laughed at him, as you both stayed in such a tension filled moment. 

But you were ever merciful as you closed the thin distance to kiss him. You were slow, as Alhaitham followed you, wrapping his arms around your frame. 

Then you took a step back, out of his arms, “Now, do us both a favor and hang this experiment for another time. You’ll get us both in trouble.” 

Althaitham groused, turning to walk further into your home, “You are the trouble one. My life was just fine until you waltz into it.” 

“You are welcome, my feeble scholar!!” You chirped as you walked back to your work area. 

Althaitham just grunted before sitting down and pulling out a book. 

Silence drifted as if nothing had ever happened. 

[magicshopaholic]

Chingu (Taehyung x OC)

Summary: Dilara's best friend stops by for a night, and he and Taehyung have some choice words for each other.

Pairing: Taehyung x OC

Genre: Angst

Word count: 8.6 K

Rating: 18+

Warnings: LANGUAGE (Chris Park is here, people), heartbreak, anxiety, infidelity, a very small description of smut

A/N: One of my favourite relationships finally being introduced in depth. This fic takes place around a week after Baby, It's Cold Outside.

Tagging: @bbl32 @quarter-life-crisis2 @meirkive @dreaming-with-happiness @ananya1398 @kflixnet (drop a message if you want to be added)

Listen to: "something pretty“ by patrick park

taehyung masterlist | main masterlist

Austria this time of year is better than freezing Germany, especially when everyone arrives for the Styrian GP this time to an unseasonably warm circuit in Spielberg. Dilara hasn’t got a motorhome of her own this time either; she and the rest of the group end up staying at the same house they stayed in for the Austrian GP. Strangely enough, she’s dreading it far less than she was the last time, especially since there’s no PR planned this time around. Plus, since it’s a Red Bull track - the Red Bull track - the team is in high spirits for a good race.

The best part about this weekend, though, for Dilara, is that Chris Park has made it down here for the weekend. He can’t stay for the actual race, which is a pity, but he’s needed back in London by Saturday afternoon for a workshop he’s doing with Fred, and Dilara chooses to humbly count her blessings that at least one of her friends is finally here. 

He arrives on Thursday; she perks up when she hears a motor screeching outside, followed by a very Chris text: Where are you? No need to pretty yourself up for me, Komyshan. 

Too happy to be annoyed, Dilara skips out in jeans, an oversized jumper and boots, bag in one hand and phone in the other. She throws the front door open to the gorgeous winter sun to see Chris in a brown jacket and jeans, leaning against a motorcycle and wearing Aviators that would look ridiculous on anyone but him and Tom Cruise, while he chats with Seokjin, Jungkook and - her heart skips a beat - Taehyung. The latter isn’t really talking, she notices; just standing a little behind the other two members as they make small talk with Chris.

Taehyung is the first to spot her; her stomach does a backflip when his eyes light up and a hint of a smile graces his beautiful features. Right at that moment, though, Chris spots her and his grin widens. Taking off his shades, he holds his arms open and yells “What’s up, Komyshan?” as she runs up to him.

“You’re actually here!” she exclaims, jumping up and hugging him tight, feeling her feet leave the ground as he straightens his tall frame. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy to see you, Park,” she remarks when he sets her down.

“I’ll give it an hour,” he says generously, ruffling her hair as he turns to face the others. “She’s all talk; she can’t really stand me after a while,” he explains to them.

“Sexy jacket, Dilara,” remarks Jungkook, winking.

Dilara chuckles, pretending not to notice how Taehyung frowns and lightly slaps his arm. “Thanks. Learning from Jimin, are we?”

He grins. “No, I just have the same one.”

“I’ll have her home in time for dinner,” says Chris mock-seriously to all of them before bowing slightly. When he catches sight of her amused expression, he shrugs. “What? It’s just respectful to your housemates.”

Already bracing herself for an entire afternoon of this, Dilara rolls her eyes and turns away, her gaze falling on Taehyung. He’s still standing behind the others, looking at her with a strange expression on his face, like nostalgia and something else. 

All three members step back when Chris straddles the bike and she climbs on behind him, sliding her small backpack on.

“Alright, see you in a bit,” calls Chris jovially in Korean, slipping his shades on and backing up the bike.

“Be careful.” Taehyung’s voice unexpectedly cuts through, deep and sudden, and Dilara turns to see him wincing and looking away, as though cursing himself for saying anything.

For some reason, she doesn’t want him to feel embarrassed, not for saying something like that. When he hesitantly looks back at her, she nods. "Yeah," she mutters, before swallowing and placing her hands on Chris's shoulders as they zoom away.

They drive nearly thirty minutes to the outskirts of Salzburg where they find a pub - the first one she’s seen in what feels like forever. They order beers and schnitzel and, enjoying the blues music playing at an appropriate volume, catch up after months.

"You know it's only been like six weeks, right?" he points out. "We saw each other in New York the night before you flew out to Spa."

"That was just one night, though. And it doesn't count," she adds, sipping her beer, "because we were there for Lex, not to catch up."

"True. You were there for the hard part, though, during the surgery," he tells her, reaching for a fry. "Her mom was out of the woods by the time I got there."

"No way," she disagrees. "That time would've been even worse. Her mom was okay but that was when Lex had to deal with all the insurance stuff and the physio and everything. She seemed exhausted."

“Yeah, she was.” Chris sips on his drink quietly for a minute, frowning out the window. “She’s tough, though,” he murmurs, still looking outside, before swallowing and placing his drink on the table, looking up at Dilara. “She’ll be fine.”

She observes him, not fooled. “Something you want to talk about?”

“Not really.”

“Sure? Not everything you say will get back to Lexie.”

“Gee, that’s comforting.”

Dilara cracks a smile, still not swayed. “I’m serious. How is she?”

Chris frowns. “What do you mean? Don’t you talk to her?”

“Of course I do. But she’s my friend. What she tells me wouldn’t be exactly what she tells you.”

“I’m her friend, too.”

“I didn’t have sex with her, though.”

“Minor technicalities.”

“You can avoid this all you want, but don’t expect me to believe that anything about you two is minor.”

Chris glares at her. “Do we have to talk about this?”

Dilara raises her eyebrows and shrugs. “No. Actually, yeah,” she says after a moment. “Why not? I’m not going to judge you, you know? This isn’t a test.”

He pokes his tongue into his cheek and looks away, looking annoyed. “You know I’m not good at this,” he states in a low voice.

She perks up, though she tries not to show it. “Good at what?”

“This stuff. Dealing with feelings and doing the right thing and following all these - these dating rules. And she’s going through a hard time,” he adds, looking down. “She doesn’t need some fuckboy coming into her life and making it worse.”

“First of all, admitting you’re a fuckboy just goes to show that you aren’t one. Or at least, not anymore,” she amends. “And… you know I love you, but that’s such a fucking cop out answer.” It seems for a second as though he’s about to snap at her, but all he does is scoff and look out the window again. 

Dilara tries again. “I’m not saying you need to ask her out right now. Or ever, really. I’m just asking…” She shrugs and sighs, “I dunno. I guess I’m just looking out for her. We both know how she feels about you.”

Chris doesn’t deny it. “I don’t want to fuck around with her either, you know. I know I won’t be good for her. Isn’t it a good thing that I know this?”

“Maybe. But she doesn’t know it. And I don’t even think that’s the real reason. Even fuckboys can become… not-fuckboys,” she points out.

He rolls his eyes. “It won’t work. She’s too…” He exhales, shaking his head “... good, I guess. And we’re friends, man, I… it’ll screw up the whole group. She’s your trainer - won’t it be the worst for you?”

She considers it. “It might be awkward,” she admits, trying not to think about how much awkwardness she’s already dealing with on a daily basis, “but I trust both of you to be adults about it.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Really? Are you and Taehyung being adults about it?”

Dilara gapes, wondering how he zeroed in on exactly what she was thinking. “I - this is not about me.” When he smirks knowingly, she sighs in annoyance. “V and I are… we’re working around it. We’re… there’s a system… of sorts,” she rambles pathetically. She looks up from her schnitzel to see Chris looking at her with exaggerated wonder.

“I’m sorry, what did you call him?” he asks, chuckling in disbelief. “What happened to Tae?”

“He fucked a skinny idol, so now I call him by the name the rest of the world does,” she snaps.

“You call him V to his face?”

“I don’t talk to him if I can help it,” she says shortly, leaning back as the waitress sets the rest of their food in front of them. “But… I call him Kim to his face, if you must know.”

Chris snorts, shaking his head. “Shit. That’s got to be hard, though,” he allows. “How are you dealing with all of it?”

“Nice segue, but we’re coming back to you and Lexie after this.” Dilara waits for him to silently grin, before taking a deep breath. “I’m… I dunno, I’m taking it one day at a time. While counting down the days until this ends, of course.”

“Really?” He frowns, swallowing a fry whole. “What was “be careful” about, then?”

“That was…” She groans, so frustrated at how complicated this is. “I don’t know. He’s trying to be nice, I guess? But I don’t trust him and I can barely look at him without becoming a goddamn mess and after Max abandoned me in a fan’s wet dream?” She shrugs sarcastically. “I really didn’t have a choice but to start becoming cordial with them.”

“That’s what I thought,” agrees Chris, nodding. “I mean, I’m guessing the older guys would be normal, no? And Namjoon and Hoseok?” he asks, pronouncing their names exactly right.

“Yeah, they’re fine,” she mutters dismissively. “So are Jimin and Jungkook, too, actually. Jungkook’s my only workout buddy now and since friends are in short supply for me right now,” she says deliberately, pushing his shoulder, “I need to swallow my pride and take what I can get. Plus, I spend whatever time I can on the paddock, so…”

“And Taehyung?” he presses.

She swallows. “What about him? I told him to leave me alone and… he kind of is.”

“Kind of, clearly.”

“Yeah, well. Depends on the situation. Sometimes it almost feels like old times, just a bit.” She’s quiet for a moment. “And then I remember how he fucked me over and it all disappears.” She shakes her head and exhales. “You know what? If you don’t think it’ll work out with Lex, I believe you. I was sure it wouldn’t work out for us and I was right, wasn't I?”

Chris gives her a moment, looking at her with a mixture of sympathy and anger, and she has a feeling he’s recalling the first half of the season. “I kind of can’t believe you actually ended up living with them,” he says after a moment. “I mean, what are the chances?”

“I know, right?” She slowly swallows a fry. “The good thing is there actually does seem to be money coming in because the car is fantastic,” she says honestly. “I mean, I don’t know what I was hoping for in Nurburgring but that straight line speed?” She shakes her head as Chris mirrors her reaction. “Red Bull already has amazing downforce but that was a hell of a surprise.”

“Oh, it was incredible,” he agrees. “Think they’ll do the same thing this time? Or was it like a one time thing?”

“I don’t know for sure but I think one of us is getting a new power unit this time,” she confesses. “It’ll most likely be me so I’m not even all that worried about Qualifying. Austria’s a good track in general, though,” she adds, shrugging. “I’m sure I’ll make it to the top six at least.”

Chris grins proudly. “Love the confidence,” he says sincerely. “Does that mean you’re okay drinking tomorrow night?” he asks cheekily.

Dilara laughs. “I can’t get drunk, but, yeah, why not? I haven’t had a drink in ages.”

He claps his hands. “It’s a date.”

As it turns out, it’s not a date. They return back to the pub the next day after FP, only to find it about to close down because of dark, angry rain clouds hovering low in the sky.

“You can order if you like,” the red haired gentleman across the bar says. “Last order, for a Red Bull driver.”

Dilara grins and blushes, letting Chris take the lead and order while she takes a couple of selfies with the owner and a few of the staff members. “Oh, do you think we should take food for your housemates?” Chris asks suddenly.

“Oh.” It hadn’t occurred to her but now that Chris says it, she knows they should. Annoyingly enough, they would do the same for her. Have done the same for her, she remembers. 

“Um, maybe. Let me check.” She pulls out her phone to text Seokjin, since she knows it’s either he or Yoongi who will give her the straightest answer. As she shifts from one foot to another, trying to word the perfect text, Chris just sighs in impatience and snatches the phone from her.

To her horror, he straight up calls him. “Hyung? It’s Chanyeol,” he begins, followed by an intense sounding discussion in Korean. If she has to guess, Jin is asking the others for their opinions and by the way Chris is rattling off an order to the owner, she knows they’re taking it incredibly seriously, as expected.

Midway during the call, Chris sighs and turns to her. “Your boyfriend’s asking if he’s included as well because, quote, he doesn’t want you to feel obligated to get him anything.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” says Dilara forcefully, rolling her eyes at Taehyung’s dramatics, “and tell him he is included, but I’m happy to let him starve if he wants.”

Chris chortles and says something into the phone in Korean, and she hears Jin’s cackle in the background. Once the call is wrapped up, the food is packed, she’s taken at least ten pictures and tipped the pub a hundred euros, they run outside to Chris’s motorcycle just as a rumble of thunder booms through the sky.

They make it back to the house just as the rain starts and hurry inside to see Yoongi, Hoseok and Jimin and Jungkook in the living room and kitchen area, already in tracks and hoodies, looking way warmer than she feels. The moment he sees them, Jungkook follows them to the kitchen like a puppy, diving for the food and inspecting it as soon as they set it down.

“Where are the others?” Dilara asks nonchalantly, reaching for a bottle of water as the older members file in at a more respectable pace. 

“Namjoon’s talking to Kaya and Jin hyung’s probably taking a nap,” says Hoseok, giving Jungkook a disgusted look as he inhales a handful of fries. “And Taehyungie’s in the shower, I think.”

“Shouldn’t you go, too?” Chris asks.

Dilara chokes on her water. “Excuse me?”

He raises his eyebrows as Yoongi grins from where he’s sorting through the food. “I meant… shower. By yourself. Because your hair is wet?” He reminds her, fingering the ends of her ponytail. “You can’t afford to fall sick.”

Still recovering and trying not to picture Taehyung in the shower, joining him in the shower, or showering together, she mumbles something incoherent and bolts, cursing the weather for not being able to take a cold shower. By the time she’s out, feeling much warmer with freshly washed hair and dry, soft woollens, what seems like an army of Korean men are gathered in the kitchen, talking and laughing loudly. 

Suddenly feeling very tiny and very female, she pads over gingerly and emerges quietly between Chris and Yoongi, reaching for a piece of pita bread and dipping it in hummus.

The conversation continues around her, half in Korean and half in English. She doesn’t quite join in, choosing to simply watch and sneak in bites of food, happy to let Chris socialize for both of them. At one point, Hoseok asks them if they want to watch a movie and when Chris looks at her expectantly, she hesitates, somewhat glad that even though he's talking to them, he'll ditch them if she asks him to.

She doesn't, though; Dilara shrugs and says "Sure", trying not to make it too awkward. Nodding, one by one everyone heads out with their plates piled high with food.

"Yeorobun, don't forget to thank Dilara and Chris," calls Seokjin, followed by a chorus of thank yous from the room.

"Thank you," a soft and deep voice echoes from next to her.

Startled, she almost drops the bottle of water she’s holding. Dilara looks up and nods slightly. "You're welcome," she murmurs to Taehyung, suddenly finding it hard to meet his gaze when he's standing this close to her. He smells overwhelmingly of his lotion and her immediate instinct is to want to bury her nose in the sleeve of his sweater and inhale until she passes out. She swallows and tries to distract herself by looking down at his sweater, frowning when she realises it looks familiar.

“Is that -” She catches herself just in time, trying to stop the automatic smile that she can feel creeping up on her face and turning away.

Next to her, she hears him quietly chuckle. “Yeah, it is,” he answers after a moment.

Stay strong, Dilara. 

They stay there, side by side, hesitantly sharing an old memory for a moment until they’re broken out of it by Chris turning around and calling her name, warning her that the schnitzel will get over if she doesn’t come for it soon enough. Grateful for the interruption, she hurries away from the kitchen, ignoring how her heart flutters when her arm brushes Taehyung’s, and takes a seat on one of the side couches next to Jungkook. 

In the middle couch, facing the TV, Chris sits with Hoseok and Namjoon to his left, Yoongi on an armchair in the corner, and on the other side couch directly opposite her, Taehyung walks up to sit between Seokjin and Jimin, a smile still lingering on his face.

It goes back to one of their Zoom calls in December, just after Christmas. It was nothing special; he’d been wearing this sweater, a fluffy white one with brown, red and yellow stripes, looking festive yet casual. Dilara had commented on it, only for him to reply a bit haughtily that it was Gucci, that she needed to have some respect. 

He’d been completely straight-faced as he’d said it, and when he’d brought Yeontan onto his lap, she’d burst out laughing when she’d realised his dog got completely camouflaged in front of the sweater. The rest of the call had just been her teasing him mercilessly about the sweater until he, in a fit of annoyance, announced he was going to bed.

Dilara had apologised all night on text but hadn’t been able to resist squeezing in a joke or two more, to which he’d suddenly responded with a Careful, Lara. The tone had suddenly changed and she’d frowned, heart beating slightly faster, and asked him what for. 

He’d proceeded to list down all the things he knew he could do to her, before calling her on video and commanding her to finger myself, refusing her orgasm until she’d whimpered an apology and felt it crash down on her the next second. He’d watched her finish with half-lidded eyes, breathing heavily himself and it was only then that she realised that he’d been touching himself, too. Not taking his eyes off her possibly fucked out expression, he’d pushed the camera back slightly so she could watch him spill over his own fingers with a loud, throaty grunt. 

It was one of the hottest experiences of her life, especially given how physically far apart they were then. Ironically, when she was falling asleep later after a sweet, affectionate goodnight from him, she’d been relieved that they were clearly able to keep their sex life somewhat active even if they weren’t together. Now, when she sneaks another glance at him, she sees him looking right at her with that same nostalgic expression, biting his lip.

The others are discussing what movie to watch, switching to English. Hoseok immediately suggests an English movie since Dilara is present and everyone else agrees even as she shakes her head, but Chris, ever her extroverted saviour, speaks up.

“Oh, we can watch a Korean movie,” he says, almost like it’s obvious. “I’m teaching her. Although she should stick to driving, though,” he quips.

The boys burst into laughter and she feels her cheeks get hot, still grateful at his attempts to keep the mood light. Taking care to avoid their eyes, she shakes her head at Chris who simply grins at her. “Korean is fine,” she finally agrees, giving him a look. “I can read subtitles.”

A discussion begins on which movie, with everyone including Chris pitching in. Across from her, Taehyung and Jimin are talking to each other with Jungkook beside her pitching in. All the talk is in Korean but she’s just focused on Taehyung laughing, his boxy smile and bashful expression as Jin makes some kind of comment, and suddenly feels the urge to cuddle with him. She knows it’s ridiculous, but she allows herself the fantasy for a moment: the fluffy sweater, his warm hands, the long blond hair tickling her cheek, his deep voice snickering in her ear.

It’s pointless, though, she reminds herself as she tears her eyes away from him. It’s not going to happen and it shouldn’t either. Maybe it’s the sweater. Maybe once he takes it off and goes back to his regular joggers and t-shirts and shorts and jeans and coats, he’ll… well, he’ll still look fantastic but hopefully, her cuddling urges won’t resurface.

The sound of her name brings Dilara out of her reverie. “Dilara hates horror movies,” declares Chris, turning to her. “We should definitely watch one.”

She flips him off while some of the guys snicker. “I don’t hate them,” she says defensively, pulling her hoodie tighter around her shoulders. “I watch them all the time, I just… think they’re a bit thin on plot, that’s all.”

Chris snorts. “In all the time that I’ve known you, you’ve never watched a horror movie unless you’ve been massively outvoted,” he points out, annoyingly correct. “That’s two - no, three years, Komyshan.”

“You’ve known each other only three years?” Hoseok asks, frowning in surprise. “You act like you’ve known each other forever.”

“I’m her best friend,” states Chris, shrugging. There’s something strange about the way he says it; he doesn't say she's my best friend, the way someone normally would. He's establishing his place in her life, as though he’s reminding everyone… or one person, if the way his eyes flicker to Taehyung is any indication.

“After Lexie, of course,” she pipes up, sarcastically blowing him a kiss when he narrows his eyes at her.

“How did you two meet?” Jungkook asks.

“Technically?” Chris dusts his hands on his jeans and cocks his head over to me. “I hit on her at a pub in London and she said no. The next day, Lexie brought her to my studio.”

“Seriously, what are the odds?” Dilara mutters, still mortified at the memory. “And you didn’t hit on me, you offered to buy me a drink. And I said no because I was scheduled on the SIM the next morning.”

“You hit on her?” Jin gives her an appraising look, apparently ignoring her caveat entirely. “You really have a thing for Korean guys, huh?” When Namjoon rolls his eyes and nudges him, he widens his eyes. “No, not in a bad way! Just… I mean, that’s two guys in this room who’ve hit on you, no?”

Dilara tentatively glances at Taehyung, hugely relieved for some reason to see him fighting a hint of a smile before catching her eye. His gaze, presumably at remembering how and when he hit on me, is too intense and she has to look away to the member on his left. “Three if you count Jimin,” she quips, raising an eyebrow challengingly.

Jimin guffaws, two pink spots appearing on his cheeks. “No, no, it’s not the same,” he denies vigorously, throwing an arm around Taehyung’s shoulders and being, in Dilara’s opinion, transparent as fuck.

“Well, you’ve certainly hooked up with two people in this room,” says Chris nonchalantly.

It takes her a moment to register what he’s said. “That was during spin the bottle,” she says quickly, glaring at Chris, “and it doesn’t count. Or Lexie would’ve killed me,” she adds deliberately.

Chris shrugs, apparently conceding, but the damage is done. Dilara’s eyes dart towards Taehyung. All hints of smiles have left his face and he's staring at Chris. All of a sudden, he looks at her, expression unreadable, before poking his tongue through his cheek and looking down at his lap. 

She’s extremely annoyed; at Chris for bringing it up, at Taehyung for having the nerve to have any kind of reaction, and herself for actually caring what her ex-boyfriend thinks.

Thankfully the conversation moves away from this hideously uncomfortable topic to something else, still half in Korean and half in English. Apparently they've finally decided on a movie because there's some verbal scuffle between Hoseok, Namjoon, Jin and Chris, while Yoongi dryly comments upon something. 

Dilara tries not to notice how little the others are participating; it's an uncomfortable feeling of anticipation, like she’s waiting for something else to go wrong.

"Dilara, catch!" True to form, she just about sees Hoseok throwing something to her and she reflexively catches it, to a chorus of hoots from around the room.

"Daebak," says Jungkook from next to her, looking at me in awe.

She grins. "Thanks."

"Uh-uh," pipes up Chris, and she knows right before he speaks what this is about, "In Korean, please."

She rolls her eyes at his stern tone. "Not now, Chris."

"Oh, come on, that's how you practice," he says easily, leaning over the arm of the couch and nudging her elbow. "Come on, try it."

"I'm not going to speak Korean right now," she mutters, feeling her face heat up.

"Who better to speak it in front of?" He spreads his arms and gestures to the room.

"I've actually never heard you speak Korean," says Jimin, looking interested. "Except that one time in Yeongam."

Dilara doesn't respond, mostly because she’s just realised that most of the Korean she ever spoke around the group, she spoke around Taehyung only, given how conscious she’s always been. Her eyes meet his again for a moment and she sees him frown slightly before she looks away.

Meanwhile, Chris is still on his mission to make her embarrass herself in front of everyone. "Go on, come on, you need to practice…"

"Not gonna happen."

"Just once, Komyshan, come on," he keeps going, being unusually persistent.

Dilara frowns. "Chris, let it go," she hisses, starting to feel hassled.

"Dude, just one -"

"She said no."

Everyone's eyes, including Dilara’s, immediately snap to Taehyung, who's looking at Chris with a hardened jaw and steely gaze. For a moment, she acknowledges how all thoughts of cuddling him are out the window, but then she turns to look at Chris with a mixture of slight apology and mostly exasperation, like he'd asked for it.

Chris pauses, observing Taehyung, as though he hadn't quite realised how aggressive he was being. Then he turns to her slowly and the amusement in his eyes gives her a Very Bad Feeling. "Sorry, Lara," he says clearly, almost taunting.

Dilara wants to throw something at him; it's never been explicitly stated, but no one calls her Lara, no one apart from Taehyung. They may not be together anymore and she may have forbidden him from calling her that… but hearing someone else use that endearment  makes her want to throw up.

She notices a movement from the corner of her eye and shifts slightly to see Jimin tugging on Taehyung's sleeve, as though to prevent him from moving from where he's seated. He doesn't look at her and for once, she wishes he would.

Someone clears his throat and Dilara looks up to see Yoongi looking between Chris and Taehyung with a slightly raised eyebrow. "Um… what movie did we decide on finally?" 

Hoseok seems to snap out of it as well, immediately naming some movie and thankfully, the tension is broken. She rolls her eyes at Chris and looks away, determined to chew him out later for this. From the glimpse she caught of his face, he doesn't look apologetic or abashed at all. If anything, although his smirk has disappeared, he looks satisfied at the reaction he's gotten - from Taehyung.

There's some more chatter, more hesitant than before and mostly led by Hoseok and Seokjin. It's a mix of English and Korean again and finally, the movie begins. 

"Do we have popcorn?" Jimin asks suddenly, turning to look towards the kitchen as though expecting a bowl to fly over to him.

"There's some in one of the cabinets, I think," she answers, glad to be talking to anyone but Chris or Taehyung. "I can make it in the microwave if you want," she offers, already standing up.

"No, no, you can't miss the beginning of the movie," says Jungkook, tugging on her sleeve and grinning up at her. "It's scary, but not that scary."

Dilara mock-glares at him and moves to flick him on the forehead while Chris frowns. "You hate popcorn," he states.

"I don't hate it," she points out lightly, "and it'll only take a minute."

"You need the subtitles more than anyone else, though."

"I'm sure one minute won't make a huge difference," she argues through gritted teeth, wondering what his problem is.

"You know, she can make her own decisions," comes Taehyung's voice from the other side, loudly.

Not again, she wants to groan, and flops back down on the couch, shrugging at Jimin silently as if to say I tried. He grimaces and nods, just as Chris responds.

"I know. I also know that she hates not knowing what's going on in a movie and then keeps talking through it," he states, ignoring her when she makes a noise of disbelief at him.

"So let her," snaps Taehyung, and Dilara knows it's because he's taken it at least a little personally, since talking through movies is something he does, too; something they used to do together, commenting on everything from dialogue to scenery to costumes.

"What? It doesn't annoy you?" Chris asks, raising his eyebrows, as though daring him to admit it.

"It doesn't. Like I said, she can make her own decisions."

Chris bites his lip for a moment, as though reconsidering his response, before apparently deciding to do so. To Dilara’s horror, keeping a steely gaze on Taehyung, he replies in Korean. She doesn't understand it, obviously, but she notices everyone frown slightly, like they're not quite sure what he's said. Namjoon is the first to close his eyes and deflate slightly, like he's internally sighing, and she has an inkling of what Chris is at least referring to.

Across the room, Taehyung looks like a statue as he glares at Chris. He asks something, tone abrupt, to which Chris shrugs and responds. It carries on like this, a conversation in Korean between Dilara’s ex-boyfriend and one of her best friends, a loaded and precarious conversation where neither of them seemingly wants to cross the line from riffing to arguing, but still seem seconds away from whipping out their dicks.

She only manages to catch a few words here and there, including her name a couple of times, but other than that, she’s lost. It’s extremely frustrating, this handicap, being the only one unable to understand a conversation of which she is the subject, especially when she notices the expressions of the other spectators, becoming more and more still, as though expecting something - or someone - to explode. 

Dilara looks at Taehyung, silently willing him to stop… although she supposes she should want Chris to be the one to stop it just as much. She hadn't seen this coming; she knows Taehyung has a tendency to get territorial and she’s not dense enough to not notice how he feels about her, much as she might try to ignore it. 

She also knows that Chris is a good friend, one of the best, but has a tendency to be a complete jerk if he puts his mind to it. He can be insensitive and direct and say just the right thing to get under her skin; usually he does it to get her to face her anxiety, using tough love in a way that only he can make work. It doesn’t now, though. For a moment, her mind goes to Lexie and his conviction that he wouldn't be good for her. At this moment, Dilara agrees with him.

Her heart is racing now, the anxiety at not knowing what the fuck is going on eating away at her. She swallows, willing Taehyung to at least look at her. He doesn't, though; his attention is solely focused on Chris, even when he haughtily looks away as though the conversation isn't worth his time. 

Suddenly, Taehyung’s eyes snap to her and she almost flinches, not expecting it. His eyes flicker with emotion and he swallows, and it looks like he wants to say something. Even though he’s notoriously hard to read, right now the regret and guilt in his face is obvious as day, at least to her. She doesn’t know what Chris said to get this reaction out of him, but she finds she doesn’t really care at this moment. She just wants to reach for him.

However, before Dilara can structure any further coherent thoughts, Taehyung’s gaze falls and he murmurs something. She doesn’t understand it, but it’s clear that it’s a closure to the conversation, especially when Namjoon clears his throat and points to the TV, apparently not realising he’s speaking in Korean. 

As the movie resumes, she looks over at Chris to see him staring at Taehyung, all traces of humour and playfulness gone. It’s not anger, exactly… it’s the face he gives her every time she’s on the verge of giving up in the gym or every time she starts talking herself down before a race.

There are no more interruptions for the rest of the night. Dilara can’t believe how angry she is at both of them for this, especially when they started talking about her like she wasn’t even there. Chris started it, Taehyung enabled it and now, she just wants to be away from both of them.

Dilara tries to concentrate on the movie, whispering only once in a while to Jungkook beside her when the subtitles move too fast or there’s a reference she doesn’t get, nodding when he answers immediately. For once, she’s glad he hasn’t ever tried to broach this topic with her. She ends up resting her head on his shoulder as they watch, but still only half-concentrating.

She can’t get Taehyung’s face out of her mind. She remembers all the times she’s talked to him since they got here: in Spa, Monza, Imola, even last week in Germany, not to mention his many attempts at trying to talk to her before she told him categorically to leave her alone. She’d seen him in various states of guilt and devastation, but right now he looked… resigned. Fear grips at her heart when she thinks about it, but she can’t immediately figure out why.

She has to know what they were talking about. She has to. She pulls out her phone and contemplates texting Chris, but she’s too angry to talk to him right now. Who else? Namjoon? She’s opened up to him enough before. Jimin? No, he looks far too uncomfortable. Yoongi? They’ve recently connected a bit and she at least has faith that he’ll be as direct as possible. 

Shaking her head, Dilara finally texts the one person she actually wants to talk to right now.

What did he say to you?

She watches Taehyung as he glances at his phone, how he stares at the screen with his thumbs hovering over it, how he doesn’t so much as look up at her even once. After almost a minute, he types out a reply.

Nothing I don’t already know.

—

An hour and a half later, Dilara enters her room with Chris right behind her. Taking off her hoodie and throwing it to the desk with more force than she intended, she turns to face him. “What the hell was that?”

“A very average movie,” he says casually, taking off his own jacket and throwing it on top of hers.

“Don’t fuck with me, Park.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Oh, are you talking about the heart to heart I had with your boyfriend?”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” she says through gritted teeth, “and whatever that was, it definitely wasn’t a heart to heart.”

“You don’t need to worry about it,” he says dismissively, walking past her towards the bathroom.

“Don’t you dare walk away from me. Chris!” 

He turns on the light and looks back at her for a moment. “Should’ve paid more attention when I tried to teach you Korean, Lara.”

“Suck my dick, Park.”

Chris gives her a hollow smirk before turning and shutting the door behind him. 

Dilara could hit him. She really could. It’s almost as though he’s enjoying getting a rise out of her, just like he’d taunted Taehyung with whatever he’d said that made him look like he was about to cry. 

Nothing I don’t already know… She hasn’t the faintest what it means. She’s not even sure she wants to find out. Outside, a rumble of thunder crashes and she exhales in frustration when she realises that tomorrow might just be a wet Qualifying.

Chris was meant to go back to his hotel tonight, returning the rented motorcycle to the staff and checking out first thing in the morning before flying back to London. But the rain had started lashing down towards the end of the movie and by the time it was done, the visibility was so bad that they couldn’t even see his bike parked in the front yard.

Naturally, he was staying with Dilara, no matter how pissed off she was. When everyone had stood up to head inside, he’d half-smirked and asked how comfortable the couch was. Too annoyed to speak to him and just done with the excessive testosterone, she’d simply bit back a retort and pulled him into her room by the hand.

Now, Chris comes out of the bathroom and starts unbuttoning his jeans, changing into a pair of sweatpants lent to him by Namjoon, the only member as tall as him. Dilara stares at him, not backing down. Finally, he huffs. “Okay, what?”

Her eyes widen. “What do you mean what? How about we start with why you were so rude?”

“Rude to who? Your ex?” he questions immediately. “Do you really care about his feelings now?”

“I - I meant… to everyone. We were trying to watch a movie and you made it into some fucking drama about two people and their stupid love life.”

“We’d watched literally two minutes of the movie till then. Also,” he continues, “I’m pretty sure I did everyone a favour because that movie sucked.”

“Damn it, Chris!” she exclaims. “It was so embarrassing!”

“Look, I’m sorry if I embarrassed you, alright? But let’s be real. If this was Lexie here instead of me and she blew up at him while defending you, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” Glaring at her, he rips the covers off the bed with force.

Dilara swallows, not expecting the conversation to take this turn. “That’s not - that’s not true. If she’d said… she doesn’t even speak -”

“Does he have any idea what you were like during those weeks after you broke up?” he interrupts. “How he broke you? Do you even remember what you were like then?”

She feels a lump forming in her throat. “Yeah, I think I have a pretty good fucking idea how I was, Chris.”

“Good. Because you were a wreck, Dilara,” he states, but it doesn’t sound insulting. He’s trying to remind her. “Does he know you were on the verge of tears for weeks? That we literally didn’t see you smile for nearly a month? How you overdid it in the gym, how you skipped every boxing session we planned, how your anxiety doubled every time you got in the car because you’d fucked up Melbourne - because of him? Does he know,” he continues, and his voice cracks just a little, “how he shattered your confidence at the bloody start of a season?”

The only sound is from the rain outside. 

“Please tell me you didn’t tell him all that,” she says quietly, her voice hoarse and unsteady.

“That’s what you’re worried about right now?” Chris looks just a little disappointed. “I’m your friend. You think I wanted to see you like that? You think any of us did? Why shouldn’t he know?”

She opens her mouth to argue but nothing comes out. She remembers, despite herself, how alone she’d felt here, how ganged up on she’d felt when all six of them stuck up for Taehyung after the VMAs, how all six of them lied to her this spring, and how all six of them have systematically broken down the wall she built this year to the point where she’s fighting with Chris because he made her ex, the man who broke her heart, feel bad.

When Dilara doesn’t say anything, Chris rolls his eyes and holds his hands up, like he’s giving up. “Whatever. I’m sorry if I embarrassed you. I’ll be out of your hair tomorrow morning.”

She sighs, watching him turn around and head to the mirror, checking out his hair. “Come on, don’t act like I’m trying to get rid of you,” she tells him in a small voice, feeling distinctly ungrateful all of a sudden. “This is the happiest I’ve been since August. And only part of it has to do with the schnitzel.”

He gives a half-hearted chuckle but doesn’t reply. 

“Thank you,” she says after a moment, “for standing up for me. In your own weird, fucked up way. It’s a very best friend thing to do.”

“You’re welcome.” He finally turns and heads straight for the bed, tucking himself in. “Don’t let Lexie hear you say that, though.”

“She’ll deal.” They look at each other for a moment, silently apprising the other. “I just… don’t like conflict. You know that.”

“I do. Doesn’t matter to me.” He shrugs. “You know we’ll always stick up for you. Just like we did with that creepy journalist at Sky.”

Shuddering at the memory, she gets into bed as well. “Jerk. Still,” she adds, nudging his shoulder, “a very best friend thing to do.”

“Go to sleep, Komyshan. You have a race tomorrow.”

Smiling to herself, she turns to her side, facing away from him and closing her eyes. It’s a few more minutes before one of them speaks.

“I hooked up with Maria from Mercedes.”

Dilara’s eyes snap open and she frowns Maria from Mercedes… “Social media manager, skinny jeans, always had the hots for you, Maria?” She can tell from his silence that she’s right. “What… when?”

“In Bahrain. Right after we got back from Australia.” 

By we he means him and Lexie and by Bahrain he means… about a week after Dilara saw the article about Taehyung and Jennie. She swallows, shocked into silence.

“Lexie knows,” he says, answering her silent question. “She… she caught us, actually.” He sighs shakily. “Australia was… it was too much. I was getting in too deep and it freaked me out and I - I really fucked up.” 

Dilara doesn’t know whether to be furious or have sympathy for him. “Did it help?” she asks after a moment.

There’s a long pause before he speaks again, voice smaller than ever. “No. So, believe it or not… I can relate to Taehyung better than you think. He should know what he did to you.”

She bites her lip, not knowing which is worse: having to remember what he really did to her, remembering his face earlier this evening, thinking about what Lexie was going through when she found out, how she didn’t tell Dilara because she obviously didn’t want to burden her… or Chris, sounding more vulnerable than she’s ever known him to be.

“It’s killing him, Komyshan,” he says quietly, so soft that she can barely hear him over the rain. She doesn't know if he’s talking about Taehyung or himself. “Knowing what he did and not knowing how to make it right? It’s killing him.”

---

Dilara wakes up the next morning to an apologetic looking sun streaming in from the window. A small, hopeful smile makes its way onto her face. Dry race. She turns to see the other side of the bed empty, frowning when she  realises Chris must have left already. She reaches for her phone to see a text from him.

Leaving now. Tried to wake you up but you almost punched me in the face. Good luck for today and DO NOT let Ricciardo psych you out about anything.

She rolls her eyes, certain he must be exaggerating. The time stamp on the message is from a minute ago, though; frowning, she gets out of bed, hoping she can catch him before he leaves. When she reaches her bedroom door, however, she hears voices. Two voices; she opens the door slightly, quietly, breath catching in her throat when she hears Taehyung and Chris.

They’re speaking in Korean, so naturally she can’t understand a word. They’re also talking softly, sounding much more amiable than last night. Hesitating, she opens the door slightly wider and peers out. From her bedroom in the hallway, she can see just the edge of the kitchen island. 

She spots Chris leaning against it, facing in her direction, dressed comfortably in all black with his sunglasses tucked down the front of his t-shirt. There’s a white ceramic bowl with a spoon in it in front of him. His face looks serious, nothing like the troublemaking jerk last night. 

Dilara can hear Taehyung, his voice low and deep, sounding almost tired. There’s some clinking; she pictures him making his way through the kitchen, looking for cereal or something. The fridge opens and closes, and then she sees him come slightly into view, wearing his printed Ralph Lauren pajama bottoms and a white t-shirt on top. His messy blond hair brushes the back of his t-shirt, falling into his eyes when he turns his head slightly.

She doesn’t know what they’re talking about and she doesn’t want to. It’s Qualifying day; she can’t focus on this. She shuts the door and heads into the bathroom, getting ready for the day. She wishes Chris was staying today; it always helps to have someone cheer you on and talk you up while you stretch before a race. In an incredibly sweet gesture, Hoseok had offered earlier this week to accompany her if she wanted, but Namjoon had immediately yet apologetically reminded him that he couldn’t just hang out with her that publicly - and definitely not in her changing room.

Dilara waits to hear the front door open and close, followed by another door opening and closing, meaning Taehyung has departed to his room as well. She emerges then, heading to the empty kitchen and trying not to think about yesterday at all. She spots the jar of muesli stacked high up in a cabinet. Sighing, she tries to reach for it before preparing to hop onto the countertop. Just as she’s about to hoist herself up, a hand appears from behind her and brings down the jar. 

She turns to see Taehyung appear on her other side, giving her a silent glance of acknowledgement before sorting through the bowl of fruit. Behind him, she sees the pantry door ajar. Slowly assembling her cereal, she wonders if it’s a good idea to reveal that she knows he and Chris talked this morning, or even that she knows what they argued about last night. 

Their fingers brush lightly, so lightly that she thinks she may have imagined it. She lowers her head a bit so her hair falls down her shoulders, shielding her face from view. 

There’s something oddly comforting about standing next to him. It’s confusing, because if anything, it should be worse after last night. She can’t put her finger on it exactly, but she knows it’s familiar, so incredibly familiar that it tugs at her heartstrings in a way that makes her want to crumble. 

She’s felt this before, all the way since the beginning, since the weekend they met and she immediately trusted him with everything she had. When their shoulders brush, she feels him pause next to her.

“Did you sleep with him?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

A few weeks ago, Dilara wouldn’t have hesitated to say yes. She wouldn’t have cared how off base he was; she would’ve lied through her teeth as nonchalantly as possible before walking away from him, savagely enjoying how much he’d hate it. 

But she can’t do that now. Try as she might, she can’t find that part of her that wants to hurt him that badly. Not when he’s taken the risk to ask her something like this, something he knows he has no right to ask, to get an answer he most likely doesn’t want. Not when he sounds like this, like he’s on the verge of giving up.

Dilara bites her lip, suddenly overcome with emotion for her ex. His face from last night haunts her, and his text sends a pang of pity through her heart. It’s killing him. It sounds like it, too. There’s no jealousy, no possessiveness to his question, only desperation tending towards resignation. 

Despite Chris’s anger for her last night, she knows that if she lies to Taehyung right now, it’ll shatter him. She glances at where their hands are on the counter, a hair’s breadth away from touching. Hearing his unsteady breathing from next to her, she decides she’s punished him enough.

“No,” she answers quietly.

From the corner of her eye, she sees him nod once before turning to walk past her inside. Without thinking, she grabs his wrist to stop him. He halts and even though this wasn’t planned, she knows it’s absolutely what she wants to do right now. 

She takes a step to her right so that she’s standing right in front of him, her heart beating so fast it hurts. She hesitates for a moment, reaching for the bottom of his white t-shirt, gripping the fabric between her fingertips. Then, with a sudden calm she wasn’t expecting, she reaches forward and wraps her arms around his waist, resting her forehead against his shoulder.

Taehyung freezes, like she suspected he would. But she stays there, moving forward slightly so their torsos press against each other, a small warmth in the dawn of an Austrian winter. She can hear his heart racing and she tightens her arms around him a bit, letting him know it’s not a mistake. 

Slowly, he lifts his arms from his sides and brings them up to her back, touching her so gently as if she might break. It takes him a few more seconds to properly envelope her and when he does, it feels like a piece has fallen into place.

With his lean torso in her grasp, his steady arms around her, she knows it’s a result of last night, where It wasn’t just Chris who defended her against Taehyung, but Taehyung who defended her against Chris, too. He didn’t have to; it wasn’t even his place, but he did it anyway. As she feels him lower his head onto her shoulder and feel his cheek press against the side of her head, his arms tightening around her, she realises she feels safe. 

Dilara presses her forehead into his broad shoulder and inhales slightly, tears springing to her eyes at the familiar scent of lotion. Taehyung turns his head slightly to bury his face in her neck, one hand firm around her back and the other cradling her head, fingertips soft in her hair. She thinks she feels him shake slightly and she hugs him tighter, opening her loose fists and letting her fingers and palms gently touch his back. He inhales shakily, long hair brushing the skin of her neck. 

They break apart when someone enters the kitchen. Both of them are jerked out of it but they don’t jump away from each other, instead slowly separating one body part after another, no longer embarrassed in front of anyone else. With her shoulder still pressed against his chest, she turns to see Namjoon and Hoseok looking awkward and sheepish, muttering incoherently about coming back later and whatnot, but she knows the moment’s over. So she shakes her head and gives them an awkward wave, telling them she needs to be at the track anyway. 

She doesn’t look at Taehyung again but as she leaves, she feels his hand drop from around her waist, where she didn’t even realise it was resting.

—

Thank you for reading. Don't forget to leave a review :)

[katriniac]

Hi!! I hope the OC Questions are still up!

I wanted to know 4, 7, 16, 32 and E for Alyce!

Thank youuu

I did not notice I had any asks! I'm sorry for the wait, @itsmyara . Oh my gosh! Thanks for asking about Alyce. She's a warm, sunny, fun gal; I'm happy to talk about her at any time.

Here's a post I made about her bio:

4 - How easy is it to gain their trust?

She has a fairly open personality, so it's pretty easy to talk to her. However, she's not a door mat to be walked over, nor is she blindly innocent. She works in marketing and public relations, so she's used to people bullshitting her or trying to spin any conversation in their favor. Alyce herself is adept at navigating these conversations without growing jaded or annoyed. To her it's just ‘business’ and she knows it's not personal.

Building trust with her isn't that difficult; just be real and honest. Don't try to win her over with empty flattery, especially if it's about her looks (which she's very self-conscious about, and is immediately suspicious if someone compliments her appearance).

7 - What triggers nostalgia? Do they enjoy that feeling?

Having grown up on a sheep farm, she doesn't shy away from hard work. But now she has a desk job in the palace in the capitol of Rhodolite. So on the rare occasions when physical labor is needed, she enjoys the opportunity to use her muscles. Those moments are when good memories of the farm rise up.

The only unpleasant feelings of nostalgia are when she is given suggestions by nobility, ministers, or Prince Yves on how to make herself more ‘elegant’. That reminds her of her grandmother, who incessantly lectured Alyce about her weight, behavior, posture, appearance, and clothes.

16 - What makes their stomach turn?

Hearing nobility disregard the life of the commoners as if it was nothing. Seeing girls suffer under the stress of looking perfect at court by succumbing to an eating disorder.

As far as, like, creepy-crawlies or jump-scares? She's completely unafraid of things that would gross out most people. Dealing with births and deaths of livestock tend to keep you from being squeamish. She LOVES an adrenaline rush, so haunted houses and fast vehicles make her happy.

32 - What is their go-to story or joke in a conversation?

Alyce is a natural-born performer, so she has any number of jokes or anecdotes at the ready, depending on the company or situation. As a teenager she used to hang out at the theaters and socialize with traveling actors and musicians, and now as an adult she can be found at the rowdiest pubs. You can imagine the flavor of her humor, lol!

She's got a hilarious story about a circus performer trying to teach her how to juggle. And a sweet story about one of the farm-hands pretending to look for a lost sheep when he was actually out in the field practicing his marriage proposal speech. And she's got at least three ‘tasteful’ jokes about stuffy court ministers.

E - Would you get along with them? Would they get along with you?

Alyce has big ‘extrovert energy’, so I would have to take her in small doses. But I would absolutely love to hang out with her for a fun night at the club or karaoke. Or collaborate with her on a PR project. I would like to think she'd get along with me, but I'm the worst at gauging what people think of me 😅 She might think I'm boring.

A meme I made for Alyce 😆

Bonus Fun Fact:

This version of Alyce Gardner is based on my first ever Ikemen OC I created in 2017. It was for a role-play story with someone writing as Robert Branche from the Cybird game Midnight Cinderella. That story didn't go far, but I thoroughly enjoyed her backstory so much that I had to bring her out again eventually.

I ship her with Clavis because I think the two of them would have fun getting into shenanigans, and their romance would take a looooooong time to bloom because she'd never believe someone as gorgeous as him could be serious with his over-the-top declarations of love and flattery. So … yeah, she takes a while to be convinced.

The asks came from this post:

Please feel free to send me more asks from that list. I will try to be more vigilant in checking my account for asks.

[majaloveschris]

That story is from last June yet no one seems to be able to find it or show proof of it…. //

Just because YOU don’t know how to find the proof doesn’t mean it isn’t there. It’s not a story, it’s a post directly on their grid from July 2022 about them visiting New England.

No one wants to post the video/link itself because 1) when something gets shared no one knows how to stay out of people’s comments and DMs and keep it to Tumblr 2) you’re just going to dismiss it anyway and say it’s fake, so why do you really care? You don’t actually want proof. Jesus.

I found the grid you are talking about, they went there to get inspiration since they have an upcoming project that is New England-inspired. They stayed at a little house and went to Boston, New York, etc.

And at this point, I'm done with this whole house thing. Don't say I will say it's fake because you know it's a lie. I never say I don't believe something when there is actual proof of it. Here we had the whole Portugal thing; I didn't believe it, then we got a picture, and I immediately posted it. But I won't believe anything random people say online until there is proof of it.

People know nothing about this house. They decided it must be his because Tara sold it, and he posted three trees that looked similar to those in front of the house. That's why people think it's his. But even if it is, does anybody know if he is actually living there? What if he only bought it as an investment? Maybe he is renting it to someone.

People jump to conclusions in a second.

Maybe because I'm on team PR and the way they behave around each other and how this whole relationship is made it hard to believe they actually would want to move in together, but to me, renovating this house and moving in together doesn't really make sense. Even if we consider them getting married and having kids, why would they need a house with seven bedrooms when he already has five in Concord with 4.5 baths? He likes living there, and he's been for years now.

I don't want to talk about this whole Carlisle house anymore, at least for now. I'm tired of it, and we know nothing about it. Every single time I write down my concerns, people attack me, asking why I'm so stupid when it's clearly his. Okay, you believe this; I don't. It's that easy. I'm trying to change your opinion. I'm just writing down why I think we can't say anything for sure.

Nobody forces anybody to be here; I never once blocked anybody just because they were on Team Real or anything like that. If you can't respect me and write down your opinion respectfully, even if it's entirely different from mine, please leave.

[koppiki]

I've started trying my hand at cleaning a bit (not because I've given up on finding someone else to do it- I just thought it would be a Fun New Experience, and a nice breath of fresh air from what has been feeling to me as a period of Translatory Stagnation), and it's honestly pretty enjoyable! It definitely helps that Shinozaki raws are quite high quality (thanks in part to Takeshino upscaling them, and also thanks to JamzDoge ripping them well... speaking of, I'm gonna need to figure out how he did that, on account of him being... essentially no contact with me at this point, probably because the idea of further scanlation-related obligations stresses him out, if I had to guess), and so the whole process isn't too crazy with regard to tones and leveling and all that (since they get super duper muddled with lower quality raws).

Anyways, look at how cool I am (following images are from the first page or so of chapter 32):

Truly, I am amazing... well, more accurately, the people that Taught Me How to Do It are amazing. Thank you kindly to my friends (Kai especially) at Second Life Scans (another group I am a part of) for that. I very much appreciate their willingness to teach me, even if they do poke fun at me along the way at times. Such is the process.

Chapter 31 should be out pretty soon, assuming nobody's house explodes. Which could happen. Probably won't, but it could. After that, assuming cleaning goes as planned (that is, if I can pull more people in so it's not just Me and whatever Assemblage of temporary volunteers I can yoink from the various scanlation-related servers I am a part of), chapter 32 should be out in a far more reasonable timeframe than that which has been seen these past few months. Sorry about that, by the way.

After that is a whole different story (on account of it not being translated yet- honestly, I haven't translated anything in over a month, I think), but... I should be able to get back into it. Almost certainly, actually.

Anyhow, I have an exam tomorrow. This post is me procrastinating on either a) studying more for it or b) sleeping. Considering that at this point it is in... 6 hours? 6.5? I... really ought to get to bed. Like, now. Right now. Eesh.

I wonder if I should try to recruit more translators. Not for Shinozaki, of course, that's my child. Mostly for Q. I like Q, but... I dunno if I can handle three projects at once. Three translation projects, that is. I PR other stuff, but PR is a lot easier for me (less second-guessing of the self, more being critical of other's interpretation- the latter's a whole lot easier to deal with than the former).

Uh... goodnight, I guess. Wondering if I have anything else to say...

Oh, I'm pretty sure the final volume of Shinozaki (that is to say, the physical release, with the cover and everything) comes out in December. I will of course be picking that up the instant it becomes available. You can rest assured of that.

I'm excited to see what the cover will be. Usually that's all shown ahead of time (was the case for vol 9, at least) but I don't think that it is happening here. I could also just be extremely forgetful, but I'm pretty sure I would remember seeing it if it was there. And I'm pretty sure it wasn't.

Trying to think of a good way to end this whole speech I've written here is impossible, so I won't. Well, I will. It'll just be a goodnight. Again.

Goodnight!

[tenebriism]

Another season sparks another letter; the idle but warm hearted chatter of a delicate cerulean scrawl once again having found its way into the Khaenri’ahn’s presence. There’s far less purpose to it this time beyond an open stream of consciousness tinged with endearing eccentricity - but Jean feels better for having sent it, all the same. A note to let him know she is thinking of him. A note to remind him that someone still cares. 

Dear nameless breath stealer, 

Can you believe it’s been another three months already? The seasons seem to be passing more and more quickly this year, with Autumn already bringing changes in on the breeze. I always thought Mondstadt was very much a city for Springtime, but as the leaves change to shades of orange and brown I can’t help but think perhaps I was mistaken. Perhaps next time you get a chance to steal away from your adventures, you’ll be able to walk with me and see it? I can’t promise I won’t be fully embracing my long forgotten youth and kicking my feet through piles of leaves, but I think you’d enjoy it. It’s peaceful and perhaps even homely. 

Not that I would dare to presume you need consider it a home of course! I know your roots lie in other places, but should you have need of a haven, at least for a little while, I like to think as a nation we might carry just enough charm to make it a pleasant stay. (And yes, dear knight, I am aware that every letter I send you sounds more and more like a tourist brochure for singing Mondstadt’s praises.)

I think I just want to show you so many things and share with you the snippets of mundanity that make me smile, it’s become a second nature now. The amount of times I’ll have walked past a shop window or seen a particularly nice flower and thought, ‘I know who would love this…’ is almost embarrassing to admit. Although these days, particularly now the nights are drawing in, it’s often more after dark that I find you once again in my thoughts. 

It’s definitely one of the perks of the Autumn season; knowing that the sky will drawn in a little bit earlier and the stars will once again twinkle to life. I still wholly stand by my belief you may well have fallen from those stars, but should the moon ever come looking for you, I’ll gladly throw hands to defend your honour, my starlight friend. 

And yes, alright, perhaps I am talking nonsense now. It’s been a long day, but sharing these odd little thoughts with you makes the distance that bit more tolerable. Although on the bright side, at least as the season changes lantern rite creeps ever closer. 

In another few months, we’ll be back in each other’s company and keeping our time honoured tradition alive. But until then, know that I…miss you. And I hope above all else, that you are happy, healthy and safe. 

Stay out of trouble, starshine, 

- J. x

The letter is somewhat STAINED, this time, and the handwriting quite MESSY in comparison to its writer's usual pretty cursive. Her letter finds him amidst a time he needs it MOST, and whether or not SHE knew that, or the gods are playing the game of MERCY with him again, he shan't take a blessing for granted. Perhaps he could have waited until he isn't struggling with himself so the letter could be completely legible, but reading her letter, and swiftly sitting down to RESPOND to it, means he may bask in the feelings and emotions she grants him with ease even longer.

The happiness may be shortlived, but he will cling to it, as he always does.

[ su nshine in dark ti mes ,

im sorry if this letter is a strug gle to deciph er. i fair les s th an well at p resent. do n o t worry , this wil l not kee p me fr om seein g you at the lant ern r i te. of that, iam cert ai n and pr omis e you.

The love and admiration you house for your nation is a pleasant comfort; in that regard, we are very similar. The times I have found myself in or around Mondstadt, I have always felt a sense of home and belonging. Perhaps it is because I know you are there, working tirelessly to ensure it continues to feel that way for both myself and the others who both live and travel there. Regardless, I can say for sure that, of all the nations I have visited, Mondstadt is the one that seems to care for its people the most.

Were I to ever settle down, unlikely though it may be, I am confident Mondstadt would be in my favored choices to do so.

My travels have taken me far from your wind-embraced home, but there is beauty in knowing we are gazing up at the same sky every night. It makes me feel like the distance betwixt us is not so heartbreakingly massive, even if the sun may banish the feeling come morning time.

That you would compare me to starlight is strange, but not unwelcomed. I have certainly fallen, yes, but not from the stars. I have fallen in a great many ways. If I am, indeed, some sort of fallen star, however, then it is befitting that you are the sun. The stars are always out, and whilst we cannot see them during the day, they are there. I like to think they find peace and respite when the sun comes up. A chance to have a break, to bask in the beauties and purities of the sun.

Then, nighttime falls and the sun retreats, bringing darkness and loneliness as the moon then rises to take its place. There, the stars shine again. I used to think I preferred the latter hours of the night, when all is quiet and I may exist undisturbed, though I am starting to enjoy the sun, too. It is blinding and powerful, but beneath it, I find peace. I can merely . . . be. ]

There is a tear beneath this section, where the force of his unsteady hand has ripped the paper. With how ABRUPTLY the letter then proceeds to end, 'tis evident he'd been afraid of tearing it entirely. He needed SOMETHING to send back to her. Something intact, something to let her know she hadn't been forgotten, and that she, too, was missed.

[ i mi ss y ou too. re m em ber to tak e car e of you rsel f, s unsh ine.

~ D . ]

@gunnhildred ;;

[joespiral]

2023 Goals - February 1 Check In

January 1 Post

Fitness:

Weigh 150 Pounds

Starting: 200.6

Current: 191.4

I am really happy with this progress. This past weekend we had company over and I ate kind of poorly, but I didn't gain any weight. I am not looking to make any big changes in February.

Run 1000 miles

January - 57.5

A little bit less than I would have liked, but pretty good. Not quite on pace for 1000 miles, but I do expect my weekly mileage to increase as my fitness improves. I think if I stay consistent with running but fall short of the 1000 miles I will still feel like it is a win.

Run at least 2 half marathons

There's one in May that I want to do. There is a local one in April (you can actually see the route from my back yard) but it is point to point with a loss of elevation. I don't know how I feel about doing a "downhill" race, it seems like cheating. I probably wouldn't count a PR if I got one.

1:45 half marathon

I have not worked on speed at all yet. If this happens it will probably be in the fall

Lift Weights

I could not really find time to lift weights all at once this month. I did start picking one exercise and just doing it as I found time during the day. Like if I picked pull ups I would just do pullups every time I passed my pullup bar that day. This has gone ok. I do wish I had time during lunch or something to run to the gym and lift.

Climb the tallest mountain in my state

Won't happen until the summer. The mountains are covered in ice right now. My wife hasn't climbed a mountain before so she is a little anxious about this. We're going to climb some smaller mountains first to get confident. We've been doing some mostly flat hikes during the winter.

Finance/Work

Zero credit card debt.  

Starting: $16,342.43

Current: $14,335.91

I have two credit cards. Credit card A gets 1.5% cashback and I need to pay it off completely every month or else I will get charged interest. Credit card B gets 2% cash back but has a 0% interest rate until May. Right now I am putting all my expenses on card A, and paying it off each month. Credit card B I am paying about 500 each month to stay current. I am not using B, but my wife uses it. Right now A has 3006.61 and B has 11329.30. I am sitting on about 16,000 in cash so I could pay off both cards, but I don't think it is a good idea right now. My company had a round of layoffs, and the CEO basically said that there would be more this year. I get paid every two weeks, so in January I had two pay checks, and Feb will be the same. The first pay check I will use to completely pay off A. The second I will use to pay my mortgage and to pay $500 towards B. I save the rest of the cash. I know this is 100% "optimal" but I'm doing these goals for peace of mind, and this is the way that gives me the most peace of mind. I really feel like I can get laid off any time so this could easily change. If I make it to the end of March still employed I think we will be in great shape. March is a month where I get paid three times, and if we're doing bonuses I will get a bonus payout then as well. I am also expecting us to get a large tax return this year. Overall I think this is going fine, but I wish there was more certainty around my job.

Get at least "Meets all Expectations" as my 2023 work rating

Get promoted at work

A lot of uncertainty around my job right now. I do have some metrics that I'm trying to hit, but I think there are big changes coming. Right now I am just trying to do my best and survive. If I am still employed in March I will explain the metrics I am trying to achieve. I think if I make it to the end of the year at the same company it would be a great accomplishment but also kind of lucky.

Other

Get the house clean enough

We got the downstairs of the house quite clean because we had company over this past weekend. I have a project going on in the upstairs bathroom that is about half way done (honestly I have been procrastinating because I am worried that I will screw it up). The basement is probably the biggest push this year, I put some work in there but it is truly trashed. My office needs some tidying.

Go on at least one date/road trip every week

We did this for sure. I don't think I'm really going to track this moving forward, it is really our default to do these things. I think I was just feeling like my wife and I weren't getting enough quality time because it was the holidays and we were spending all our time running between our families.

Summary

Overall I am pleased with how January went. I hope to build on it in February.

[invincible-selfxmade-punk]

It was the worst day that started out with absolute most bizarre dream. I have got the stop balding asleep watching the cinema snob!!

I dreamed this giant missile or through my house but did not explode. It was just gigantic and it was just there. It was so big and I was so afraid of because I kept waiting for it to explode thinking that any little bump was going to detonate it. My dad in the dream was not my dad in real life. The dream dad looked like white trash. And he was refusing to call the cops or the bomb squad or anybody to come and take a look at it and the worst part was it went right through my room. And he was like "Just leave it alone it'll be fine."

Then he's driving me somewhere in my in his truck and he Slams on the brakes so hard that I hit the windshield. Another thing my dad would have never done in a Million years. Then I am meeting some guy that I am supposed to have a blind date with and white trash dad is there and he tells my date "You need to try anal. I can last all night with anal!"

I had a doctor's appointment today. I already miss this appointment twice and I was really freaking out that I wasn't going to get there in time.

The appt was during 8th period.

I didn't bring my lunch but they said they were having Frito pie in the cafeteria. So I paid to get on lunch there and it was the smallest bag of Fritos that they make shot glass full of chili a shot glass portion of cheese and that was it and it wasn't even the good melted cheese it was just some white shredded cheese and that was lunch.

After lunch 6th and 7th were predictably horrible but seventh made me so mad. I looked up their stats on what they should have been doing on the computer. The kids that were actually working and answered around 1200 to 2,000 questions but most of the kids had only answered 300 because they sat there and do nothing and since this is not for a grade there is nothing I can do to them. So that made me super mad and I started texting parents. I got so mad that my blood pressure shot up when that happened it caused my already low blood sugar to drop even further.

And my blood pressure usually stays super super low. It takes a lot for it to spike. But the fact that I have been telling these kids what to do for 11 weeks and nobody has done a damn thing but about three of them was enough to do it.

By the time it was time for me to leave my blood sugar was so bad I was so dizzy and so light headed that I had to have someone walk me out to my car and even then I felt like my legs were just made out of jelly. Now 90% of the time when this happens all I need to do is sit down for a little while and almost always if I sit down in my car drive myself to the next location wherever it is supposed to be and sit there for about 30 seconds when I get out of my car I am fine.

This was not the case today at the doctor's office here around and the doctor's office is inside the hospital and there are no close parking spaces at the hospital at all period every single space you have to walk across a huge parking lot without anything to hold on to. And I was afraid I was going to miss the appointment again and that just made it worse. I finally had to call in and beg them to send somebody out with a wheelchair which took another several minutes.

The lady that came and got me though was so unbelievably kind. My blood sugar was 75 which is extremely low for me. She gave me a bottle of root beer and slowly it started going back up.

Well..... in all the melee of getting into the hospital I forgot to bring my asthma inhaler. And sure enough I had a huge asthma attack there with no inhaler but luckily they were able to give me a breathing treatment in that calmed it down enough that I could at least walk out and go get the inhaler. And they prescribe me some steroids thank god.

And I was supposed to go right back to work to an art show that we're having for Halloween and the Day of the Dead But there is no way. A blood sugar crash a blood pressure spike and an asthma attack all within an hour of each other just did me in.