#this past week has been incredibly disappointing and frustrating

[luimagines]

⭐️- Put this star in the inbox of your favorite blogs. It’s time to spread positivity 💖🌈

🍃

Oh thank you!!!! How lovely. :D

[dr-gaytorius]

Very awesome that my night was ruined because other people can't act like adults in ways that result in majorly divisive schisms in our community despite the fact that is entirely counterproductive to having any chance of surviving the next 4+ years. I'm just going to have to play my cards right and try to reach these people because they're all my friends but have decided they're each other's mortal enemies. For frankly stupid reasons. Terrifyingly flippant and fickle and honestly I just think some people take for granted the bonds they have because they don't know what it's like to have them suddenly taken away by death, or be betrayed, or left behind. They don't know how good what they have is because theyve never experienced just how bad it can be. And so they don't have the perspective of that loss and loneliness and hurt to fully comprehend the value of what they have. It's sad to say the very least. What a harmful waste.

[honeysinpaii]

It's a popular cafe at a busy hour. There's been a steady line at the register since four o'clock hit. Your coworkers are bustling behind you, taking orders and pouring coffee while you try to say the same thing you've been saying for past five weeks.

"I don’t date Bofurin, got it?" You assert with a scowl, manicured hands gripping the sticky counter in frustration.

And of course, just like every time he's asked before now, your words fall on deaf, pierced ears.

"Okay, okay, not a date then," he says with a grin, green eyes glittering with mischief. "Let's go out...as friends."

"No thanks," you grab the hand towel resting underneath the counter and get back to cleaning spilled coffee.

His face falls into a pathetic little frown, overcome with disappointment as he grips the edge of the counter and swings back to crouch beneath the edge. "Pleeaaasssse go out with me? What's it gonna taaakke?" He begs, embarrassing himself to the entire coffeehouse, not that anyone takes notice.

Mitsuki Kiryu. College sophomore. Has dated every girl in his class, and probably the entire town, all save for you.

And it's not from a lack of trying.

While he sips his latte with faux tears in his eyes, your coworker pulls you over in the back fridge to whisper into your ear. "I don't get it, he's totally your type, is rejecting him some sort of sick turn on for you?"

Whether you want to acknowledge it or not, you had to admit to yourself that you found Kiryu incredibly enticing. You've always had a particular weakness for men with an array of piercings. His cotton candy hair held a particular charm for you, and what made it all worse was the way he looked at you with those viridescent eyes.

There was something soft in them. Something playful and mischievous too.

You force the memories of the time the two of you first met out of your head and elbow her in her side as you reach for the milk. "I'm not dating someone that's in Bofurin. Ever."

You replace the empty milk carton on the counter with a fresh gallon in the fridge hidden behind the counter. Cleaning up little messes wherever you go. "And besides," you continue, peeking up from your work to make sure Kiryu was too far to overhear, "He's only asking me so he can tell everyone how he's dated every girl in his class. Perfect score for a perfect loser."

"You don't know that," she defends, though when she looks up over your head to take a look at the pink-haired man, it's with a look of suspicion.

"C'mon, don't you remember the rumors about him in high school?" You continue on your little rant, sweeping up spills on the sticky floors. "He had a new girl every week. There's no way I'd let myself be someone's flavor of the week."

She nodded along beside you, no longer putting her doubts to voice.

Whatever fleeting fantasies you may have had about dating Mitsuki Kiryu died early on in high school. He may have saved you as a member of Bofurin, but you had let that memory go the moment you realized you'd only ever be a fleeting fling to him.

Nirei was wrong about taking chances. Kiryu wasn’t even sure why he listened to him when he told him to lay it all out on the open. He should’ve known his friend would be wrong the moment he said he couldn’t imagine any girl telling him no.

Plenty of girls have turned down Mitsuki Kiryu for a date. He was only some guy after all, and what’s worse, he had received more rejections in his life than acceptances because of his rebellious appearance. He wasn’t the kind of guy a modest girl would take home to her family. And while his reputation at Bofurin had gained him some ground, he still knew that the rumors about him would only make dating harder.

He didn’t care to refute them at first. High school doesn’t last forever, and the girls he saved more than made up for any rumors that might come of being seen together. But now he was two years into college, and while it was easy enough for him to dive into the façade he had built for a summer of one night stands, that summer had quickly gone stale.

What’s worse, you’re a student at the same college he goes to. You’re the only person he’s never been able to get out of his head since meeting.

Not that you ever gave him the time of day anymore though.

There was a brief moment in time after the two of you met that he finally felt he was truly alive. Not living just trying to get by, existing just to see another day, but wholly invested in what the future might bring. Sunsets were brighter, songs were deeper, and he felt his whole life was aglow.

And now it seems like you can’t even stand to be in the same room as him.

Kiryu crumpled up the empty coffee cup in his hand as he leaned outside the building. Tossing it into the receptacle not too far from him. Laying everything out in the open was getting him nowhere.

It’s time to fight dirty.

[roseadleyn]

i still remember your order. || callisto regulus.

Callisto still remembers the day he fell in love with you.

It was the brightest day of summer, the sun was boiling hot, the sky a crystalline blue, and all of the plants either bright green or dull brown. He was incredibly irritated, having dealt with the nobles and their ceaseless list of complaints, then running into his stepmother and being forced to listen to her endless tirade.

They're all so bothersome. He thought to himself, trying to contain his anger and frustration. Annoying.

He decided that he'd take some time off in town to cool down his temper. He'd been working so hard for the past week, he deserved it; and so he dropped off a curt message to Cedric to finish up the paperwork for the new school they were organizing to open in the village - "Your Highness! You can't just run off like that-!" - and then headed downtown.

He'd only gone a few steps into the market, feeling the tension in his muscles unwind and letting out a deep sigh as he relaxed, when he heard a very, very familiar voice.

"Callisto! Hi!"

He turned and had scarcely a moment to process... well, anything, before you - a sweet student who had once healed his wounds - tackled him in a crushing hug. People stopped to openly stare and he threatened them with his eyes before ruffling your hair.

"Good afternoon." He responded, good naturedly. "I see that the summer heat has failed to lower your energy."

"And you're as grouchy as ever," You counter, frowning at him. You're the only person he allows to talk to him like that - if it was anyone else, he would have separated their head from their shoulders a long time ago. Slipping your hand into your pocket, you offer, "I was going to get myself a drink, if you're willing to come along?"

He considers the proposal before agreeing with a shrug. It's not like he has anywhere else to be. "Alright."

As you two make your way to the nearest little café, his thoughts wander back to when your way-too-cheerful presence actually became tolerable to him, actually became something he looked forward to. He had met you when an assasination attack had caught him off-guard, and though he'd managed to kill them, his wounds were just a little bit too deep. He'd staggered into the more remote parts of the village, fighting against his pounding head, when he'd stumbled into you. You'd given only one shriek of surprise before he'd shut your mouth with one of his satin black gloves, mumbling at you to not 'cause a ruckus' before promptly passing out.

You'd managed to haul him to your cozy little house, somehow, with much groaning and cursing. You had then set yourself, rather determinedly, to the task of healing him, and even though it had taken you three hours whole, you had done it.

Callisto had woken up in your small, comfortable bedroom, hazy and dazed. He'd wondered why the walls were wooden instead of smooth white marble, why the bedsheets were cotton instead of pure silk, and why on Earth there was a small, sleepy commoner dozing off at the foot of the bed with a bottle of medicine swinging from her hand.

"Oi, you. Wake up."

You had stirred and then abruptly sitten up, as though remembering who was there with you. "Your Highness. Are you feeling alright?"

"Yes, but... were you the one who healed me?"

You had laughed. "Yes, sorry to disappoint you."

He rouses himself from the memory as you push open the door to the little café. He doesn't quite understand why his heartbeat speeds up, why he nervously watches you ask for your drink as though it's an exact science, why his stomach seems to be performing somersaults by just looking at you.

You order casually and without event — a milk tea with sugary pearls and extra sugar — and he orders a matcha tea with honey and milk.

The hot milk and warm honey remind him of himself. You take a sip of your drink and look so delighted that he wonders if he can ever make you look happier than you are right now and then resolves to try his best. Desperate to say something but not knowing what to say, he says, "Your drink looks sweet. That fits."

You flush pink and grin at him.

That look on your face is one he'll never forget.

——

'So, Your Majesty ordered a matcha tea with honey and milk, along with a milk tea with chocolate sugar pearls and extra sugar, is that right?'

Callisto nods. The first drink — matcha tea with honey and milk — isn't necessarily his favorite, but he orders it out of habit everytime he comes by to this place. The woman behind the counter places both drinks on the table, and the little girl in his lap begins to squirm and reaches for your drink with small chubby hands.

"No, silly," He chides his daughter, "that's for mama, remember? You're too small."

The woman makes a sound of surprise and looks abashed as he glances up, but he only explains, "She's only a few months old. Choking hazard."

She laughs but gives a solemn nod. "Yes, it's bad for the baby princess."

Callisto smiles and thanks her before stepping outside, wanting to get home and surprise you with the drink as soon as possible.

The summer is still bright as ever.

——

tagging ; @writerig, @loekas, @dxmoness, @primordixl, @ykassu, @dion-s-lawyer, @orpheusdionodin, @that-one-pretty-bitch, @hmerus, @cerisearan, @dxmoness, @lvmxlee, @d10nsaint, @meow-meow-potato, @parkykwho, @izumi-astra-123, and @palaceofghosts.

[ originally posted on wattpad first ]

——

[gerec]

For the past couple of weeks I've been part of a small team responsible for the logistics of a prestigious competition/event; last night was the formal Awards Banquet where we were served an amazing dinner catered by one of the city's best restaurants. During the breaks where we weren't running the show/working, I had a very long and in-depth conversation with a young colleague who's worked on this project all the way from the beginning planning stages (i.e. as far back as Feb/Mar this year). She shared her disappointment with the lack of acknowledgement that she's gotten from the agency's management for all the long hours and hard work she's poured into this project, and also the incredible frustration over the poor treatment she's getting from the same. For instance, she flew in from out of town, but because she's contracted to work 4 out of 5 days a week they're not paying her for today's travel day back home (which if you don't know is standard practice for event management - travel time is part of the job). This is just one of a long list of examples she shared with me.

The good news is, she's already decided to quit at the end of her contract (which is soon), but she still had some misgivings about doing so; like asking herself what, if anything, she could have done differently, and feeling like she failed because this is her first job out of uni and she couldn't make a longer go of it. For the record, she's an absolute delight and a superb employee - and if I were in a position to hire staff I would hire her in a heart beat. (Also she's been full time for a year and part time for 2 before that so...she's absolutely not leaving without giving it a go.)

I guess I'm sharing this story because there might be young people like her out there who need to hear what I told her last night. So here goes:

Yes, work can be frustrating and can suck - badly - at times, but you should not hesitate to leave any job where you're crying on a regular basis because of how stressful it is and how badly you're treated.

Yes, you should leave a job where your manager berates you regularly, or sends you emails on weekends/outside of work hours to berate you. If they have an issue with your performance, they should explain what you're doing wrong and help you or give you the tools to do it properly not just yell at you. I know this happens a lot (sadly) but also know that this is NOT normal and NOT something you simply have to suffer in silence over. You have every right to expect to be treated fairly, courteously and professionally at work.

Yes, you should leave a job where people take advantage of you and don't pay you for the hours you work. I read a lot about Gen X and Boomers lamenting the Gen Z's for not being good workers because they're not willing to put in the blood sweat and tears to hang on to their jobs but I'm Gen X and I say that's BULLSHIT. A) Not every Boomer/Gen X feels that way, and B) Employers, no matter how nice they are as people, or how much you might like them will absolutely take advantage of you and SCREW YOU if they can. You can and should fight for your every goddamned hard-earned/well deserved dollar because no one else will do it for you. Same goes for your career - you are the only one you can rely on to make the best decisions for you.

So why am I working with these guys? Well, I'm a freelancer (I'm a Marketing Consultant) currently going project by project so I have the freedom to say no to any job I don't want to take and also to walk away the minute it no longer suits me to continue the relationship. I've also been at this for 28 years, so I imagine there's a bit of reverse ageism going on because they know they can't pull the same crap with me. (So there you go, this one time in this one instance, being older helps lol).

Anyways, the job market is rough, many employers are appallingly rude to job seekers (ask me about ghost job postings some time UGH) and people can be dicks (water is wet ha). Just...know your own worth and don't feel bad about leaving something if it's not working - you owe loyalty to no one but yourself.

[mono-blogs-art]

The Loyal Pin episode 14 was both very fun and very frustrating.

Let me preface this by saying it very clearly: I never don't enjoy my time with this show. It has consumed my brain for the past 2+ months and I love this show and I'm sad we are getting into the last 2 episodes now. But this episode was admittedly a lot of screen time and nothing happening that brings us forward. Which is somewhat disappointing especially after last week's episode 13 which I thought was probably the best episode in the entire show so far.

I don't have a huge essay like last week, but three points that I would like to point out. First, as much as I LOVE the trio of Anin/Anan/Prik and their shenanigans, the comedic tone the show took was just misplaced this late in the show. Especially while the other main character is crying in every scene she's in. I understand that because of the pacing and the fact that we have time to fill before the wedding gets inevitably crashed (which needs to be the cliffhanger, of course), a prolonged sequence of chase scenes and a stake-out is necessary (+ gives some very deserved appreciation to Prik, who is the best side character) but I feel like the time could have been allotted better.

Secondly, Anin immediately not respecting her own boundaries she sets with Pin is funny (she is loosing the IDGAF war so much) but especially after hearing that in the book, she does go away and is not around for basically all of what happened this episode, I'm sad!!! She set a clear line, she never wants to see Pin again and she's finally giving herself space to grieve fully, and then she immediately goes back to investigating Kuea and his wife and fighting for Pin risking it all. Girl, I understand you are down horrendous and that you are courageous and righteous and the only Gentleman™️ this show has, but at some point you need to respect yourself a little. I understand this was also likely done for production constraints, you can't really have your main actress be absent for a whole episode etc. Just purely from a narrative standpoint it's frustrating because it feels like backtracking an important point that last episode made about Anin's development. But...

The worst offense is Pin. Babygirl I said I would always be on your side but I can't defend you any longer. You are giving into the doomerism and martyrhood too much. As a viewer, Pin is our main character, and part of the enjoyment of watching a high-stakes drama like this is that at some point the protagonists take a chance. In TLP, that chance was now - when Pin was at her very lowest point at the wedding. And she is suffering. She is absolutely destroyed. But she endures it all because, like Anin says in the beginning of the episode: "I bet you still think that the decision you made was the right one." It's incredibly frustrating because it just feels like Anin has made leaps in character development while Pin retracted back. I understand that she is doing her very best, and in-universe she is doing everything she can within her power - but AGAIN, AS A VIEWER it becomes frustrating at a point when your girl doesn't fight back at all and becomes a pawn in her own story. And I don't even expected Pin to defy authority actively this episode. I was hoping for even just like, a sliver of hesitation. A silent resignation. A passive act of letting her true emotions bubble over. Like having no strength to hold up her hands for the King to pour the water at the ceremony. Or look up into Princess Patt's face and be unable to stop the tears. Anything. But no, Pin is stronger than me, and she endures it all and smiles through most of it. Noble, yes. Sure. But in a way that makes me feel like the character really just plummets deeper into the abyss and refuses to even look for a rope.

That said, there was a lot of good stuff this episode too. Anin & Uangfah's conversation in the car was great - Uangfah truly is Pin's only other ally. Both of Anin and Pin's confrontations were great, especially the first one where Anin (who is physically smaller) remained stood on the stairs for the whole conversation so she could still look down at Pin. It's simple but good. The second confrontation was also great, with Anin turning away when her voice breaks and the tears start rolling because she can't look at Pin giving up anymore. Throwing away the ring. Pin telling her outright that she will suffer forever and bear the pain, which she thinks she deserves, and Anin just looks at her like; What the Fuck are you on about?? The acting? Top. Tier. Truly. The cinematography? There were multiple shots where me and my watchbuddy @transimailisa called out: "Wow, that just looks like a painting." Anin going to the beach and not telling anyone so she doesn't have to attend the wedding? Amazing, and drawing a line even if it should have been earlier. That shot of Pin in her (GORGEOUS) wedding gown, sitting alone in her room with just the bunny? Fucking. Devastating.

There's so much to love with this show. And I'm really looking forward to episodes 15 & 16. I just wanted to voice some of my criticism with this particular episode. See you next week!

[chenouttachen]

dff this week fell so flat for a lot of reasons, but one of the big ones for me, was the reveals.

i’ve been itching to see the truth come out for weeks, and finally it has, but… no one really cared. and i think a big part of that was who was doing the revealing.

we can skip past the pheejin reveals because i’m frustrated with both of them - their scene really was not the catharsis i wanted it to be. additionally, the majority of the episode was exposition, which is never really a fun time. especially when the emotional punch feels so far removed.

but the reveal that tan is new being taken out of his own hands by phee and jin? a waste of anticipation. top never revealing that he was the one who broke the camera? incredibly dissatisfying. and whilst tee’s reveal was emotional and suitably guilt ridden, there are no consequences to it (except probably his relationship with white).

there were so many other ways they could have spun this episode and the effects that it had on the friends, but they really dropped the ball. it’s the first time i’ve been disappointed in the writing of this show since the beginning, and i really hope they pick it up for the final two episodes.

[dwtsfun]

Dancing with the Stars Season 33: THE PREMIERE!

So because it's the weekend and several days after the show, I'm going to forego talking about each couple individually and give my thoughts on the show as a whole. So I will say that overall, I enjoyed this much more than last season. This season has way more potential to be fun and interesting than last season did. I'll break down why I feel that way. Last year was a tough transition period for the show, so I think things are getting figured out.

The Hosting

While I still don't think that Julianne and Alfonso are the greatest hosts, they have seemed to find something that works for them. Julianne especially seemed to be way more comfortable on Tuesday than she was at any point last season. I think she was having more fun with it and that's really what you need to do as a cohost. She knows that the celebs and pros are all up there, nervous, concerned, frustrated, disappointed and excited. So she just has to feel things out and either keep the energy up, attempt to lighten the mood and/or uplift disappointed contestants. I think she was better at that.

The Judges

This was a major improvement to me. Now that everyone has had a year to adjust their judging style with Len being gone (specifically Derek), I think this week, I saw some judging that finally made sense and was in line with what I was thinking would be given (mostly). Hopefully the judges do this all season. This is judging that I can get behind.

The Partnerships

Never thought I would have to talk about mismatched partners after the all star season, but then season 32 came around. So I'll say this. I am glad that they figured it out this season. Everyone seems to be matched pretty well (that could change). There are no outliers to me right now.

The Pros

I'm glad I didn't talk about the shifts in casting as that has always been fluid up until right before the GMA reveal. While I'm sad that Koko isn't on this season (anyone know why) and not ecstatic about Sasha and Gleb returning, I am happy that Ezra was promoted and that Witney is back. Everyone seems to be in a decent spot, so hopefully everyone will be firing on all cylinders this season *stares at the men*.

The Dances

I'm not going to talk about everyone, but I will say that as a whole, I was thoroughly impressed with the dances. The pros gave the celebs some decent enough choreography and the celebs performed decently well. Almost everyone showed some sort of potential and I see some real great partnerships forming. I'm worried about Eric and Reggie and what they will realistically be able to do. Brooks, while having a ton of potential, was a non-event and I'm thinking she will be the first one to go. As far as my standouts, Chandler was incredible and is the one to beat. Stephen is right there, we just need him to work on some musicality and finesse with his feet. Dwight can MOVE and is one to look out for. Joey might be a spoiler because he seems really fun, grounded, self-aware and has potential too.

Unfortunately there was one big problem for me. And that was:

The Music Choices

I don't need for us to go back to traditional songs for everything, but I want the music choices to make sense. This wasn't as big of a problem in the past. Idk why it's an issue now. I should not be watching a tango to Hot To Go or A Bar Song. I'm sorry, but the moods of that dance does not go with the feeling of those two songs. Especially as they were. They tried to shift the arrangement of A Bar Song a little bit. And I see some odd song choices for dances this week. Like Ode to Joy for a paso. Seriously?

The final concern:

Anna

So I'm going to keep this short and simple. I have no desire to see her on the show, but we're here. She's decent, but she is not revealing a personality. She's doing nothing to humanize herself and on this show, she has to do that. Ezra is trying, but she's not responding on the show. Now, what I will say is I've heard that she’s being more human in the post show interviews. If she wants to stay, she must bring that to the ballroom. Cuz right now, she's a criminal with a bejeweled ankle monitor on. I feel like she can have a shot, but she's gotta be willing to put forth an effort and not come across as the Ice Queen.

That's it. Tuesday we have our first elimination and it's a double. I'm thinking some combination of Brooks, Anna, Eric and Reggie is eliminated. It all depends on what happens with the scores next week. Let me know you all's thoughts and I will talk to you all soon!

[emeryhiro]

Thank you so much for answering my questions last week!! Your answers were so insightful and interesting, and have made me even more excited for the book of carol!!

That's awesome to hear that you're more confident about caryl canon after watching ep one. I totally agree with you about how them being alone will open up opportunities for it in a way it never has before. And i agree that if it doesn't happen, it's probably because Melissa & Norman don't want it (which I'd be super disappointed about but would respect their choice). But from everything I've seen, i also think they do want things to go in that direction!

Haha emotional and unhinged are great words to describe caryl in general! And I'm excited for nostalgia. The emojis are intriguing! They're making me think Carol blows up a plane, hopefully once she's safely in France lol! And that's interesting about how the people at the nest treat Daryl, that also frustrated me in s1!

I had a couple of other questions but no worries if you can't answer any of them:

1 Do we see anything specifically relating to Carol from Daryl's pov in this ep? Or is he talking generally about 'people at home'?

2 What did you think of the opening credits?

3 Did you see the ep title? I'm really curious about what that might be!

4 Where would you rank the ep in terms of your fave twd eps?

Thanks again for everything you've shared! I love how you've given us hopeful teasers without spoiling the details!

Hey Anon ♡

You're so welcome!!! I've been having a lot of fun answering your questions, so feel free to let me know if you have any others, and to be honest, I'm happy with any excuse to talk about Caryl 😅

Mild spoiler warning for my response to question 1 ♡

1) No, there was no situation where Daryl directly spoke about Carol. However, I do think there's a good reason for it, which I've spoken about in detail in a previous post [HERE]. It's also important to note the screen time division; episode one is about 85% Carol and 15% Daryl, so we don't get many scenes with him and very little dialogue. The dialogue that we do hear from him sounds very frustrated and resentful as if he's tired of being held back by the Nest and wants to leave as soon as possible (like he's rushing a resolution for the conflict in France).

The line below that we hear in the teaser is actually in episode 1, and it's the only time he references anything about home.

"I don't know if this is the place I'm supposed to be. I've been thinking about all the people I left behind, wondering if they're still thinking about me."

This is then followed by a few other lines where, in no uncertain terms, he says that he doesn't think he'd ever be happy at the nest.

2) I loved the opening credits; there were some really nice animated scenes of Carol that I really liked, and my favourite is the closing shot of the opening credits which is one of Carol and Daryl together. 🥰

3) No, unfortunately, I don't remember seeing or hearing anything about the episode title. But I think they'll announce the title either during San Diego or the following week, but most probably during the next screening of episode one that's being held on the 26th of July (tonight).

4) Honestly, episode 1 is now my favourite episode of TWD. It hit all the right emotional notes and delved deep into Carol's mindset, which is way overdue. It also had the walker action and suspense that left me on the edge of my seat (literally) the entire time. Melissa is incredibly talented and has everything it takes to play a leading character, especially one like Carol, who has so much depth and layers.

I have no doubt that the rest of the episodes will be just as good, if not better, especially the reunion episode!! And I'm confident that this season will be my favourite of all time, from any show.

~~~~

Thanks again for the questions! Once again, they were a joy to answer😊🩵 I'm sorry if this was a little delayed. I've been very busy with my uni finals during the past couple of weeks, and I wanted to wait until I had enough time to give your questions proper responses.

Also, I can't believe today is the day we finally see the trailer!!! I'm SO EXCITED, and my brain/emotions are already on overdrive. I also apologise in advance 'cause I already know I'm gonna be over analysing it and sharing my thoughts as soon as I can 😅

[magicshopaholic]

Zandvoort (Taehyung x OC)

Summary: Somewhere in the dead of night, in a small town in Europe, Taehyung and Dilara succumb to their feelings.

Pairing: Taehyung x OC

Genre: Angst, smut

Word count: 13.3 K

Rating: 18+

Warnings: language, heartbreak, mentions of minor (as in not very major) assault, masturbation, kissing, fingering, nipple play, blowjobs, oral sex, sex, rough sex, implication of injury (consensual)

A/N: This may be the last Taehyung fic for a bit so enjoy! Not going to say much else, but hope you guys like it. It starts a couple of days after So Many Signs.

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

Listen to: “every other freckle” by alt-j

taehyung masterlist | main masterlist

There’s no Dutch Grand Prix this year. It’s disappointing for everyone in Red Bull, especially since Max was a sure shot winner, just like every year. In a move to seemingly placate everyone, a shoot has been scheduled in the Zandvoort circuit in the week between the Portuguese and Russian races to ensure that even if they aren’t racing in the Netherlands, they’re at least getting photographed there.

Dilara wakes up on Tuesday, feeling like a gentle monster that’s been slumbering for years and has finally awoken. She reaches for her phone on the nightstand to see three phone calls she’s slept through, and the local time to be a respectable half past nine. The curtains she made sure to open last night allow nice, soft rays of sunlight to stream in while giving her a peek of some clear blue Netherlands sky.

She stretches and bends her legs again, when she feels something sticky between her thighs. Eyes widening in horror and mind instantly doing some math, she shoves a hand down to her bare thighs under her oversized t-shirt and brings it back out, frowning. No blood. She rubs her thighs together once more, slowly, and like a light that’s been switched on, the dream comes back with a movie-like clarity.

Dilara sighs and drops her head back down on her pillow. Even a momentary recall of it makes her core throb. Before she knows it, her hand travels down her body again and into her underwear this time, another sigh escaping her lips when she dips two fingers to nudge her clit, already swollen and soaking. She shuts her eyes, grudgingly allowing more moments of the dream to come forward: Taehyung’s mouth on her neck, his hands on her breasts, his cock stretching her out… 

She starts moving her fingers faster, forcing herself to keep her moans as quiet as possible until she feels herself nearing that sweet, sweet high. She grabs the pillow and gasps when she feels it, arching her back and dropping her head when the orgasm takes rein, a breathless whisper of a name falling from her mouth.

Truthfully, Dilara isn’t all that surprised. Annoyed, yes, but ever since she kissed him three days ago, all she’s been able to think about is how much more she knows is there but can’t get. Strictly speaking, she’s quite sure she can if she asks, but no matter how sexually frustrated she is, she knows it’s a line she can’t cross right now. 

It’s a tough pill to swallow, so she washes up and heads to the kitchen, hoping that the presence of other people might help her forget. There isn’t a soul there, though, so she heads outside to the private stretch of beach and, with an enviable view of the North Sea on Zandvoort beach, she stretches. By the time she returns inside half an hour later, Seokjin, Yoongi and Jungkook are bustling around the kitchen. An incredible aroma of ramen fills the room and her stomach immediately rumbles.

“Pork belly?” Yoongi asks by way of greeting, brandishing a large slice of pink meat between a pair of metallic tongs.

“Uh, no, thank you,” she answers, taken a little off guard. “I’ll just have cereal.” Dilara intends to do just that but when Jungkook arrives to sit next to her at the table with a humongous serving of mouth-watering ramen, she’s forced to abandon her sad little breakfast and dives for his bowl with a pair of chopsticks.

While he’s initially rather generous, eventually he starts getting annoyed, whining for her to go get her own, elbowing her out of the way while she mutters at him not to be such a baby.

“Suga hyung will make more,” he insists, eyes wide and pained as he tries to wrestle a tiny piece of pork from between her chopsticks. “Get your - ugh, you’re strong - go get your own bowl -”

“I can’t,” she implores again, trying to avoid his giant arms and dip the meat in the soup. “I have a race this weekend, I can’t eat red meat - Jesus, Jungkook, are you serious?”

“It’s mine, and you’ve already had half of -”

“I had two bites, JK, don’t exaggerate -”

“You did not have -”

“What are we having?” Taehyung’s voice comes out from nowhere just when a hand appears from in between them. The familiar scent of lotion, a freshly laundered shirt and sleep overwhelms her and Dilara drops her chopsticks, the piece of pork falling into the bowl with a tiny splash. Jungkook takes this opportunity to snatch the bowl and bolt to the other side of the table, but not before Taehyung manages to snag the aforementioned piece of meat and pop it into his mouth.

“Gwaenchanha?” he asks her nonchalantly as he swallows. She nods and averts her eyes, not trusting herself to speak, and hoping he can’t tell how her heart is now racing faster than her car. Her dream featuring a naked Taehyung doing unspeakable things to her flits through her mind again and she automatically squeezes her legs together, wondering when on earth she became this pathetic about her ex-boyfriend.

It’s been like this for a while, unfortunately, ever since the kiss. The day after, which was race day, felt more exciting than it had in a long time. Dilara had also managed her first win of the year and the second of her career, and while she’d been hugged by every member of the Red Bull team and, later, all other members of BTS, Taehyung was the only one she realised she’d been looking for.

Dilara and the team had celebrated into the late hours of Sunday, followed by a couple of hours of sleep in total before she and the group had to wake up for their early morning flight to Paris, and then a train to Amsterdam. It was exhausting, to say the least, and since she was made to travel separately to Paris in order to not be photographed with the group, she’d hoped for some sleep on the flight, only to be thwarted by not one but two crying babies. 

The train ride, albeit with BTS, was bumpy as shit for some reason and the only sleep she’d managed to get was a half an hour nap with her head on Seokjin’s shoulder, the only member other than Yoongi who managed to sit still for longer than five minutes.

The entire time, though, a good fifty percent of her attention remained fixated on Taehyung sitting opposite her, how they caught each other sneaking glances before immediately turning away, how he offered to share the last remaining brownie with her, how when she woke up, she spotted him staring at his phone and started wondering if his lockscreen was still a picture of her. 

Now, when Dilara watches him saunter into the kitchen and peer over Jin’s shoulder at a pot on the stove, she can’t help but think about how nice their kiss was, how familiar and comforting it felt. It was tentative, hesitant - neither of them were sure of what was happening. But the underlying passion was there, she knows it was. It’s insane; she hasn’t been this physically attracted to him in months, where it feels like a world of pleasure is just out of her reach.

“Lara, your phone is ringing.” 

The name falls so effortlessly from his lips that it takes her a moment to understand why her heart is zooming. She walks up to the kitchen island in a trance, looking anywhere but at him. Out of the other three inhabitants of the room, only Yoongi seems to have picked up on it, if his amused frown at Taehyung is anything to go by.

Hurriedly, she picks up her phone to see Max’s name flash. “Guten tag. What’s up?” 

“What time are you reaching the circuit?”

“Um…” Dilara turns to look at a clock. “In about an hour?” She avoids Taehyung’s eyes. “You?”

“An hour?”

“Yeah, this house isn’t that close to the circuit. Why?”

“Still. An hour? Are you a racing driver or what?” he asks scathingly.

“Fuck you, Verstappen. I need longer to get ready,” she snaps, rolling her eyes when he grunts his approval. “Why are you in such a hurry anyway?”

“I’m not in a hurry,” he disagrees, and she can hear voices in the background. “I just don’t want to be the only one there. I can pick you up,” he offers.

“That’s… generous. Why?”

Max is quiet for a moment. “Because I need to avoid a meeting in Amsterdam?”

There it is. “And you’re hoping that if you show up with me, you can claim you have work and ditch.”

“I knew you’d understand. I’ll buy you a coffee, too. See you in forty-five.” The line goes dead.

Slowly placing her phone down, Dilara sighs. “Well, looks like I’m driving down to Amsterdam later today. Anyone want to come with me?” 

“We have to work today,” mumbles Jungkook forlornly, looking up with his huge doe eyes.

“We can go after,” suggests Hoseok, who’s also joined them. “Or tomorrow - Namjoon is going tomorrow,” he adds, pointing at the leader who’s trailing inside behind him.

“What?” Namjoon shakes his bangs out of his eyes, bleary-eyed. “Yeah, I’m going tomorrow. Kaya’s coming back from Brussels so I’ll probably stay the night at her place.”

“Kaya?” Taehyung’s eyes widen in surprise. “Bring her here!”

“Maybe the day after.”

“Yeah, they haven’t seen each other in months,” reminds Seokjin, grinning. “She won’t want to hang out with us tomorrow.”

“Wait, hang on, do I finally get to meet the famous Kaya?” Dilara asks, looking up at Namjoon, who shrugs.

“Depends. Can you stay back till Thursday?”

She deflates. “Unfortunately, my job gets in the way of that,” she mutters. “Guess I’ll just have to come down to Amsterdam by myself someday and meet her.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Dilara leaves soon after that, taking a quick shower and waving to the guys, all of whom are awake now and in the kitchen, prowling around like hungry animals when they see her go. 

It’s a long day of pure F1 PR, filming crazy sketches and doing a bunch of interviews with the AlphaTauri guys. By the end of it, after their detour into Amsterdam when Max drops her close to the house, the sky is already overcast. It’s nearly five pm when she reaches, frowning when she notices a crowd of people in the sandy backyard that extends further into the beach itself. She walks towards it, getting an inkling of what’s going on when she inches closer to hear a lot of laughter and chatter - in Korean.

Dilara stops some distance behind who she now identifies as BTS staff, around ten people behind a bunch of cameras to see the group. They’re dressed in colourful beachwear, playing what looks like some warped version of football with a beachball along with, for some reason, tennis balls also being flung and caught in the air. All the boys are shrieking and tripping over themselves before collapsing into laughter every ten seconds. 

She gives up instantly on figuring out the rules - the ludicrousness and the language both prevent her from doing so - but when Namjoon kicks the ball through the air with force and Taehyung lunges for it only to fall and take Jimin and Hoseok down with him, even she can’t control her laughter.

She stifles it immediately but a couple of staff members do end up spotting her. On the other side of the camera, Jungkook catches her eye and grins and when Seokjin yells at him to pay attention, she slinks away, still taken off guard at seeing Run BTS being filmed live.

Since this means the house is empty, Dilara opts for a nap in the quiet and sleeps like the dead, waking up only when the sky is dark and she hears voices in the house. The members are back - or at least Yoongi, Hoseok and Namjoon are in the kitchen. Taking this as her cue (and the gigantic lunch she had today), she goes to the home gym for a workout, emerging no less than two hours later, adequately sweaty and full of adrenaline.

She takes the long way round to the house; down by the beach with only the white suds visible where the waves crash on the sand. The sound is the most soothing one she’s heard in ages; before she knows it, she has halted on the spot, feeling the salty breeze on her cool skin and thanking the fact that it hasn’t rained today at all. She doesn’t open her eyes until she hears footsteps; turning to her right, she spots Jeon Jungkook jogging towards her, a headband holding his messy hair back.

“Lara!” he calls gleefully, giggling when she gives him a look. “What? Taehyung hyung’s calling you that, you know.”

“I do know,” she says shortly, trying not to let on how her heart skips a beat. “I told him he could. When you punch my ex for me, you can call me Lara, too.”

He grins. “Does Taehyung hyung count?”

“I’ll give you a hundred pounds to punch Tae in the face.”

Jungkook’s face twists into a forcefully suppressed smile. “You’re calling him ‘Tae’ too, I see.”

Cheeks feeling hot, she kicks some sand at him. “Shut up. It’s a force of habit.” When all he does is laugh, Dilara looks around at the lone volleyball net just for something to distract him. “What the hell were you guys playing anyway? I mean, that was for Run, right?”

He nods. “We had to kick the big ball to the other team and in between the rally, the person who caught the most tennis balls got extra points, but only if they caught it from the other team.”

“What if they caught it from their own?”

He considers it for a moment. “Then it’s points for the team.”

“But why would you throw it to the other team at all, then?”

“Because if they miss, you get a point.”

Dilara stares at him. “Are you sure about this?”

Jungkook scoffs. “I wasn’t even sure about this while we were filming. By the end of it, Namjoon hyung was just trying not to injure anyone while me and Jimin were seeing how many times we could make Jin hyung trip.”

“He’s so lucky to have you.”

“He is. No one else compliments his cooking like I do.”

“By eating it.”

“That’s right.”

Dilara chuckles. “He does cook well. As someone who can’t cook to save her life, I can appreciate it,” she says generously. Catching his raised eyebrow, she rolls her eyes. “Do not tell me that Tae and I make so much sense together. I must have heard it, like, fifty times.”

“You do, though,” agrees Jungkook anyway, sounding somewhat relieved that he isn’t the first one to think it. “For example, I’m sure you would’ve been just as frus- pissed off with today’s game as he was. Although you would’ve been better at it,” he amends.

“I’m sure I would have. In fact, I might just be better than you,” she provokes, smirking when he grins.

“I dare you.” Reaching for the portable shed a few feet away, he retrieves the beachball. “It’s just the two of us so we have to stick to this.” He throws the ball to her and she catches it easily.

“Alright, then. Let’s see if I can figure out this ridiculous game.” 

They move to opposite sides of the net and start kicking and knocking the ball over, but it becomes apparent fairly quickly that they can’t give a shit about the rules; they’re just rallying to see who drops the balls first, their common competitiveness emerging with gusto.

It’s not long before they’re joined by other people, though. About fifteen minutes into their make-believe volleyball, Dilara hears a familiar tinkling laugh and turns to see Jimin and Taehyung arrive, looking amused yet unsurprised at what they’re doing. She can empathise: she and Jungkook must look ridiculous, sweaty in workout gear, running around barefoot on the beach at night and tossing around a beachball like they’re in the Olympics.

Taehyung asks something in Korean and Jungkook nods, grinning. 

“Where are the tennis balls?” Jimin asks, still laughing. 

“There.” Jungkook points at the shed. “Oh, now we can play in teams!”

“Fine.” Dilara turns to Jimin and Taehyung. “JK’s better than me for now so whoever sucks more between you two can join him.”

“Oh, that’s Taehyung,” says Jimin automatically, clapping his shoulder before skipping over to her. She grins and gives him a high-five as she watches Taehyung saunter over to Jungkook, hands in the pockets of his tracks, face smooth and unimpressed.

“Okay, so it’s tall people against the rest,” declares Jungkook, making Taehyung laugh - and Dilara’s stomach does a backflip. They restart the game; if Dilara thought that the game between her and Jungkook was mindless, this one is on a whole new level. It’s hard enough to understand even the basics of this random game without the darkness making it harder to see and the lack of a referee to make impartial decisions. There’s a lot of insane running around and shrieks, mostly from Jimin, while Taehyung just stands around looking gorgeous and amused at how Jungkook and Dilara don’t let a single point go without arguing it to death. 

“Go, go, get it!” Jimin yells as a tennis ball bounces and rolls away into the darkness behind them and she sees Taehyung already running towards it. Not fully sure why, she runs, too, the sand making it harder - but she’s determined to stay in front of Taehyung. 

The makeshift volleyball court is no longer visible by the time the fluorescent green tennis ball comes to a stop. Dilara trips in the sand at the same time Taehyung lunges for the ball, and they tumble to the ground together. Desperate not to let him get at the ball, she pushes him down and straddles him.

Barely a second passes before her lips are on his and they’re snogging on Zandvoort beach, nothing but the night surrounding them. She threads her fingers through his hair, long and thick, shivering slightly when she feels his hands slowly run down her sides, his touch light and floaty. A cool breeze blows and his hands grab her hips, making her sigh involuntarily into his mouth, just before he flips them over.

Dilara gasps as she’s slammed into the soft sand and opens her eyes to see Taehyung hovering over her where he’s situated between her legs, gaze on her mouth as he bites his lower lip. Then, to her horror, he gets to his feet in one swift motion and winks at her, smirking as he shows off the tennis ball in his hand before running away.

By the time she reaches the backyard, it looks like the game is over. There’s some chatter, some in English and some in Korean, about the possibility of rain and sand on everyone’s clothes. Dilara can’t bring herself to pay attention; all she can concentrate on right now is how her heart is racing, how winded she feels, and how just the knowledge that Kim Taehyung is a few feet away is making her abdomen burn in a way it hasn’t in months.

Dilara can feel him looking at her, but for the sake of her own sanity and self-respect, she resists the urge to return his gaze. Her lips are still tingling when she steps into the shower and rinses the sand off her hair, watching the granules wash down her body and into the drain. 

The last time she and Taehyung were in a shower together was… last December, in Italy. He’d snuck up behind her while she washed her hair and had silently begun soaping her while she got hot and bothered all by herself, finally having to whisper to him to please, please put her out of her agony. 

She knew he enjoyed it, watching the effect he had on her, seeing how long it took her to succumb to him and beg him to make her feel good. It aroused him to no end, the feeling of being that desired. As for her, all it took was Taehyung.

It takes all her inner strength to resist fingering herself in the shower. Just before she’s about to step out, she turns the settings down so the water immediately changes in temperature from warm and steamy to lukewarm to positively chilly. It takes care of her problem for the time being, so she gets dressed and heads out to the kitchen.

Dilara runs her fingers through her wet hair, rummaging through the cabinets for some dinner, but mostly just to distract herself. She retrieves a box of cereal, contemplating.

“That’s your dinner?”

Like the chopsticks this morning, the box slips out of her hand in shock, spilling bits of cornflakes on the counter. “Christ, don’t - don’t sneak up on me like that,” she mutters, hating how her pulse has been on high alert all day.

Taehyung raises his eyebrows. “I walked into the kitchen. I’m standing, like, five feet away from you,” he points out, annoyingly correct.

The fact that he’s affecting her this much even from five feet away isn’t lost on Dilara, and it only gets worse when he casually walks up behind her to reach for a bottle of water and the smell of his lotion and shampoo engulfs her. 

“Fucking hell,” she whispers, putting a hand to her forehead. 

“Are you okay?”

“M-hm.” Dilara turns around to face him, leaning back against the counter. “I’m great. What about you?”

Taehyung smirks, and she knows all pretence is dropped. “Not bad. Did you have fun? At the game?”

“So much fun. Jungkook’s really good.” She pauses, waiting for him to slowly nod. “You’re not bad either.”

“Thanks. What time is your flight tomorrow?” This time, the playfulness dims slightly and she’s suddenly transported back to last year, to every time they had to leave each other.

“Um, six pm.”

“So you need to leave around… three?”

“Two… just to be safe.” Dilara fights a smile at his automatic pout which he immediately tries to hide. “Right after the shoot.”

Taehyung nods, not looking at her. “And, uh… Max is going with you, right?”

She gives him a look. “You know I travel all the time, right? I can take care of myself.”

His head snaps up. “What? No, of course, I - I know. I know you can,” he repeats, eyes softening slightly. “Just… you know, I’m concerned. As a - as a friend.”

“As a friend,” repeats Dilara, eyes widening, grinning when he chuckles and shakes his head. “You’re worried about me as a friend?”

“Okay, a little more than a friend,” he concedes, stepping closer and dropping his gaze to her mouth. The inadvertent admission makes her heart pound, becoming harder when he brings a hand up to her hair and grips a wet strand near her neck with two fingers. A bead of water squeezes out and lands on her thin t-shirt, just above her breast, immediately soaking through.

It’s slower but fully, unabashedly mutual this time, how they gravitate towards each other and their mouths meet. It’s more frantic, however, with their hands grabbing at each other - but it only lasts about five seconds until they’re interrupted once again.

“Should we have ramen?” Jungkook announces his arrival with an important question. “I can make some.”

Taehyung clears his throat as he steps away from Dilara, running a hand through his wet hair and looking appropriately frustrated. She gives him a warning look before turning to Jungkook, who’s now peering into the rice cooker. 

“Um… yeah, sounds good. Is it just us?” she asks, suddenly realising that she hasn’t seen the other four in hours.

“Hoseok hyung and Suga hyung went out for drinks,” explains Jimin, also appearing and smelling overwhelmingly of citrus, “and Namjoon hyung and Jin hyung went to Amsterdam so they’ll be late.”

“Kaya’s back?”

“No, she’s coming tomorrow. If she was here I don’t think Jin hyung would’ve gone…”

“Yeah, even he knows not to interrupt them after three months…”

The conversation continues as the smell of ramen fills the kitchen. Midway during the meal, Jimin gets a call from Hoseok, claiming that he and Yoongi are drunk and need a ride back. Dilara volunteers immediately, only to get drowned out by all three scoffing before she can even get all the words out.

“Excuse me?” 

“It’s the middle of the night. It’s not safe for you to go by yourself,” says Taehyung calmly, leaning back in his chair.

“It’s literally ten o’clock,” she points out, ignoring the sudden whoosh in her stomach. 

“Still late,” agrees Jungkook. “Just because you walked back this late on Saturday night doesn’t mean it’s always -”

“Wait - Saturday night?” Taehyung frowns. “When were you -”

“It’s not important,” she interrupts quickly, standing up and walking over to the bowl of keys on top of the fridge. It doesn’t seem important to tell him that the only way she could unwind from the whole Jaden incident was to go play FIFA with Charles and Lando at their hotel.

“I’m the only one out of us that hasn’t had anything to drink,” she reminds them. “And if it’s really bothering you that much, you can come with me, JK,” she offers, grabbing the sleeve of his shirt and pulling him up.

“Good idea,” pipes Jimin from his seat, not even pretending to get up. “I think both Hobi hyung and Suga hyung will have forgotten their English when they’re this drunk anyway.”

“Cool. We’ll see you in a bit,” she tells them, meeting Taehyung’s smooth, cold stare before the door closes behind her.

It doesn’t take too long to find them once Jungkook puts them on speaker, despite the screaming and giggling instructions from Yoongi and Hoseok respectively in Korean, just as Jimin predicted. The entire trip takes about an hour; by the time they get back to the house, Namjoon and Seokjin are back as well, both looking tired after a night out.

Jimin takes charge of Hoseok, in hysterics the whole time, while Namjoon volunteers for Yoongi, rolling his eyes. Seokjin follows them, cackling with Jungkook who’s holding up a camera and filming them. To no surprise of hers, Taehyung hangs back, leaning against the kitchen island.

“Hoseok and Suga have been very nice to me,” she explains after a few seconds. “I figured I could give them a ride.”

“You snuck out on Saturday night?” he asks, but doesn’t sound annoyed, just mildly exasperated.

“I didn’t sneak out, I went out,” she corrects him. “And, yeah. I went to hang out with Lando and Charles for a bit. In case you don’t remember, it was a pretty stressful night.” She stops a couple of feet away from him.

“Still not safe,” he murmurs, and she notices his fingers twitch at his sides.

“No,” she agrees. “Why? Were you worried about me? As a friend?”

Taehyung laughs self-consciously and lowers his head before meeting her eyes. “Little more than a friend,” he repeats.

The unexpected emotion in his voice catches Dilara off guard. She suspects their kiss on Saturday started it all, but kissing him on the beach today might have opened the floodgates to the heaps of unresolved feelings between them - starting with the most primal ones.

There’s no point thinking about it now, though, especially not when the house is bustling with drunk, unpredictable people who, as she remembers from Monterey last year, seem to have a thing for calling out PDA. Right on cue, Namjoon and Jimin appear and the moment’s gone, and eventually she mutters a goodnight and heads back into her room to pack for her flight to Sochi tomorrow. It’s not the best way to leave, she reflects as she zips up her suitcase, wondering if she’ll have to resort to her fingers and vibrator for the rest of the week.

Sleep is harder to come by than expected, especially when her mind seems stuck on one Kim Taehyung in bed elsewhere in the house, possibly in nothing but pajama bottoms and messy hair, mindlessly scrolling through his phone with long fingers that are capable of so much more. 

Dilara’s mind goes back to Saturday again, how they’d managed to sneak in a few moments of privacy because they’d bumped into each other in the middle of the night. It’s too much to hope for such a coincidence to occur again but given how sleep is evading her anyway, she climbs out of bed to at least take a sleeping pill, if nothing else.

She’s at the kitchen island, a half-full bottle of water in front of her, with no idea what the time is - she’s guessing late. 

“Did you drink all that?”

“Jesus!” Dilara whispers loudly, clutching her chest as she spots a tall figure come up behind her. “What are you - waiting for me?” When all she hears is a quiet snicker, she huffs. “For fuck’s sake, Tae, stop doing that.” 

She half-expects him to say doing what, but instead he’s silent for a moment. Then, she hears his voice right at her shoulder.

“Say that again.” Taehyung’s voice is soft, and Dilara shivers. Slowly, he places his hands on either side of her, his chest just brushing her back.

“Stop doing that?” she ventures, hearing her own breath hitch.

He shakes his head, his long hair grazing the side of her face. “No,” he says softly, lowering his head so she can feel his breath on her shoulder. “Say my name.”

Dilara closes her eyes, her hands curling into fists where they’re gripping the granite. The familiar scent of lotion and something that’s just so Taehyung is overwhelming to the point where her knees feel weak even with no physical contact, and she finds herself succumbing to her impulses, just like she had two years ago.

Cornered between him and the kitchen island, she leans back into his chest and feels him stiffen behind me. “Tae.” It comes out almost like a plea.

Taehyung lowers his head again onto her shoulder, his warm breath against the side of her neck. He softly presses his lips to her skin, in the hollow between her collarbone and her shoulder. He trails his kisses slowly upwards, warm and open-mouthed, until he reaches her earlobe. Grazing his teeth against the soft skin, he sighs.

“Your skin tastes like silk, you know,” he whispers, brushing her hair away, long fingers lingering on her shoulder. Dilara tilts her head to give him better access and he pulls at her earlobe with his teeth, making her gasp. “I’d almost forgotten…” 

He tugs the collar of her thin t-shirt away slightly, kisses becoming more fervent now. It’s like he’s revelling in torturing her, taking his time and ignoring how she’s breathing slow and deep.

As he sucks a mark above her collarbone, his left hand moves from her shoulder down to her chest and he pauses before gently squeezing her breast. Dilara gasps at the sensation and without thinking about it, she moves her hand up to cover his, encouraging him to go on. He hardens behind her, his erection resting firm against the small of her back. His lips don’t leave her neck as he moves his hand down and up her t-shirt, cupping her bra-covered breast.

“You’ll tell me to stop?” Taehyung asks, lips against the shell of her ear. He sounds breathless, raw - like he’s just about holding himself back with all his restraint.

Dilara nods, sinking back further into him. “Please don’t stop, Tae,” she whispers faintly, and at the sound of his name, his mouth finally finds hers. She snakes her arm around his neck to hold him in place, kissing him back with everything she’s got, pressing her tongue to his, tasting him, addicted to his flavour. His hips buckle slightly and she’s pressed up against the kitchen island and he yanks the cup of her bra down with a hiss before his fingers find her hard, erect nipple.

She moans into his mouth as he pinches it between his fingers, twisting it until she pulls away from the kiss to catch her breath. Her head resting back against his shoulders, she can feel his lips trail down her jaw eagerly before he finally drops his other hand from the counter and places it on her hip, gripping it and holding her pelvis against his.

Dilara reaches behind her to palm the tent in his pajamas and he groans softly, his left hand now moving across her chest and pulling the other cup down, too, massaging her breast. His right hand snakes down her hips and directly to between her legs, palming her suddenly. She whimpers out loud and he immediately pinches her nipple in warning.

“Shh,” he murmurs, voice deep and tight and velvety all at once. “Someone might hear you. What if they come out to see what I’m doing to you?” The way his erection twitches against her back, she can tell the prospect turns him on just as much as it does her.

“What if they see your fingers inside me?” Dilara prompts softly, hoping he’ll take the hint. “Let them see… I don’t care.”

With a quiet growl against her neck, Taehyung squeezes her core again and this time she bites down on her lip to keep from moaning out loud. “I can feel you soaking through your shorts, love,” he murmurs, pushing two fingers against her clothed clit. “How wet have you been getting for me all night?”

“So fucking wet…” Dilara answers in defeat, wanting more than anything to feel him inside her. “You’ve got me so fucking wet, Tae… please don’t make me wait any longer, baby…”

“You’re going to kill me, Lara,” he groans, slipping his hand straight into her underwear and into her dripping cunt, two fingers entering her straight away. She gasps and moves to fall forward but he holds her against him, and she can feel him watching her, watching her face as she comes unravelled. His thumb moves up to find her clit, swollen and pulsing for his touch. It takes everything in her to not cry out loud as his fingers move faster, slipping a third finger inside of her and stretching me out.

“Tae, I’m so close,” she whispers, and he moves his other hand from under her shirt to wrap around her waist and hold her steady. “Oh, God, I’m so close… don’t stop…”

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful, Lara…” Taehyung murmurs against her temple, his fingers speeding up now. Her knees tremble as her orgasm washes over me, and his fingers slow down slightly to help her ride it out. She sinks back against him, her breath still coming out ragged as she vaguely registers how sub-standard her own fingers have been this whole time.

Taehyung’s lips brush against her cheek as he retrieves his hand and Dilara turns around on the spot, immediately capturing his lips in hers, kissing him like she hasn’t in ages. His arms are tight around her, holding her to him as they let their impulses take over. 

She reaches for the waistband of his pajamas and tugs them down before getting down on her knees, ignoring the sudden chill of the tile floor on her bare knees. Pulling his pajamas and boxers down slightly, she helps him slip his erection out, the tip already glistening with precum, making her silently groan at the sight.

Grasping him firmly and stroking him once, Dilara bites her lips when his breath hitches and his hands snap forward to grasp the kitchen counter. She reaches out with her tongue first, taking just his tip in her mouth before pulling away and spreading the precum down his shaft to lubricate it. Taehyung lets out another guttural groan, looking unbelievably beautiful from where she’s looking up at him, his neck long with two veins popping as he struggles to stay quiet. She has to consciously look away and back down at him, stroking him once more before taking him in her mouth. She takes him in as much as she can, running her lips along his length slowly as she holds his thigh with her other hand for support.

One of his hands reaches for her head and he buries his fingers in her hair, groaning softly when she moans around him. Mouth still on him, Dilara trains her eyes up to look at him and immediately freezes, an image tugging at her mind that makes her stomach drop. No. No. No, not now, please. But it’s too late; the image is there and she  knows she only has seconds before her mind takes over and the moment is ruined. She pulls away and drops his cock from her hand, registering vaguely how he looks down at her.

“What’s wrong?” Taehyung’s voice is hoarse, but the concern sounds genuine. 

Dilara stands up and meets his eyes for a moment, and she thinks he can tell what’s on her mind because the passion in his expression starts to fade. Without thinking about it, she reaches up and kisses him, opening her mouth and pressing her body against his, silently begging him to make her forget. Taehyung takes a moment to catch on before he pulls her to him, brushing her hair back and devouring her, letting his hands run down her side and to her arse, squeezing it and pressing her pelvis to his as thunder roars outside.

Her core is starting to throb again; clutching his shirt and pulling him even closer, she nips at his bottom lip before she turns them around and starts walking backwards. Her back touches the door and he pushes it open, not breaking contact with each other for even a moment. Taking off her own t-shirt, she ignores his quiet groan and tugs on the bottom of his to make him take it off, before pushing him back down on the bed just as the rain starts pouring.

“Oof,” he groans softly, but makes no move to get up. “Where are you going?” he asks, propping himself up on his elbows; with his tousled blond hair, bare torso and visible erection in his boxers, he looks like the ultimate wet dream. 

Dilara strides over to her suitcase anyway, unzipping it to retrieve her toiletry kit perched on top, rummaging to find what she was looking for. Making her way back to Taehyung, she wordlessly tosses the condom packet on the bed before climbing on top of him.

She scrapes her fingernails down his torso, hearing him hiss and feeling his hand squeeze her arse. Rolling her hips forward, the friction of his bulge against her core is almost too much to bear, but she forces herself to rally. She moves down from his lips briefly down to his jaw, to his collarbones and the middle of his chest before shuffling lower and tugging his pajamas and boxers down his legs and tossing them on the floor.

“Lara, you don’t have to -” Taehyung’s voice is hoarse, a tight combination of desire and apprehension, but he’s cut off when she grasps him again and his words are replaced by a groan. His eyes find hers just before they flutter shut, and she can tell he knows that this is bigger than him, bigger than his preference for dominance; this is a challenge she cannot back down from.

This time when Dilara takes him in her mouth, she doesn’t hold back. She’s wet and sloppy, her tongue swirling around his head and touching the tip to the back of her throat. She knows it’s how he likes it and his raspy moans are enough to assure her that she hasn’t forgotten. It’s something else to see Taehyung in the throes of passion; he’s beautiful in the most ethereal way possible and Dilara is determined not to let a pathetic memory that isn’t even hers deprive her of it, because if there’s one thing she isn’t wired to do, it’s lose.

“Fuck, I’m -” 

Taehyung’s fingers tangle around her hair and he clutches at it. His hips buckle at the last moment and he spills into her mouth with a drawn out groan, and just the sound of it makes her stomach flip. Dilara swallows and releases him, leaving him semi-erect and straddling him again to see him breathlessly opening his eyes to look up at her. 

It’s almost as though he’s seeing someone else… or someone after a long time. She lowers her head to kiss him and he responds at once, running his hands up her sides and down her hips and thighs, grabbing at the flesh hard enough to leave bruises. She breaks away momentarily to sit up halfway and unhook her bra, barely tossing it aside before he rises to kiss her with a low growl. He slips one hand under the fabric of her shorts and squeezes her arse before spanking it.

Dilara gasps into his mouth and the next thing she knows, Taehyung’s flipped them over again just like he had at the beach a million years ago. In the momentary brightness from a crack of lightning, she sees his eyes dark and full of lust, his expression almost feral. The heat between her legs becomes unbearable as she pictures the things he’s about to do, as he cups the side of her face and tilts it up so he can suck a harsh mark right above her collarbone. She can’t help but moan out loud, especially when she feels his naked chest against hers and her soaked core against his pelvic bone. 

Mouth still at her neck, Taehyung brings one hand to her breast, massaging it and running his fingers over the hardened peak of her nipple. She bites down on her lip to keep from being too loud but it’s so hard when he’s teasing her like this; without thinking, she brings her own hand up to do what he won’t when he grabs it reflexively and pins it to the pillow next to her head. 

Taking care to meet her gaze, he moves his lips down her neck and chest, agonizingly slow before he finally reaches her nipple. He brushes his tongue over it and lets his teeth graze it until she squirms and blurts out, whimpering, “God, please, Tae!”

Dilara feels him groan against her skin. “I love hearing you beg,” he mutters, before finally taking her nipple into his mouth and sucking on it. Her back arches and she moans again, louder when his other hand squeezes her hip. He eventually lets it go, kissing every inch of her sternum with wet, open-mouthed kisses until he reaches the waistband of her shorts. Straightening up, he pulls them down along with her underwear in one swift movement, exposing her to the cool night and making her shiver in anticipation.

Taehyung groans as he lowers himself to come between her legs, holding her thighs apart as he views her dripping pussy for the first time in nearly a year. “Fuck, you’re so wet for me,” he murmurs, a note of victory in his voice. He presses a kiss to her left knee before trailing his lips up her inner thigh, sucking small marks into the skin and taking his own sweet time until he finally, finally reaches her core. She knows what’s coming; how he’s going to drag this out until she’s a writhing, screaming mess, begging for him to make her cum. 

“So eager,” he observes, his mouth a hair’s breadth away from her arousal. Dilara can feel his breath on her and her toes curl on the bed, her hands clutch at the sheets. Taehyung kisses her outer lips and she whimpers again, but he barely seems to hear her. “God, I’ve missed how you taste,” he murmurs wistfully before running his tongue up her slit. She moans and drops her head back on her pillow as he, now unleashed, continues his assault on her pussy. 

Taehyung’s down there for what feels like forever, alternating between her clit and her core, using his lips, his tongue and his fingers to take her all the way to the edge before just bringing her back. “Tae, I wanna cum,” she cries eventually, pulling at his blond hair between her legs and running her foot down his bare back. “Fuck, Tae, you feel so good, I wanna cum, baby, please…”

Coming up slightly to suck on her clit again while one of his hands pumps two fingers in and out of her, Taehyung hums into her, and she hopes it’s a sign of agreement. The heat is bordering on painful now but she’s finally nearing her high and it’s so close - and then it washes over her and she shudders in an earth-shattering orgasm. He patiently lets her ride it out, slowing his lips but not detaching completely, helping her along until she’s in danger of being overstimulated.

“Tae…” 

She says his name and he crawls up, mouth and chin slick with her juices. Taehyung kisses her, his naked body completely covering hers as the rain continues to pour outside. Their hands are everywhere and Dilara can feel his erection come back, stiff against her hip. 

She knows Taehyung can go on for hours if he wants, changing positions, alternating between being on top and the bottom, going from gentle to ravaging depending on the mood. Dilara doesn’t know how long ago he fingered her in the kitchen - it feels like a lifetime away. Here, alone with him in the most raw, primal form as her hands shamelessly roam all over his torso, nails digging into his back as he sucks another mark above her breast, she’s lost all sense of time and space.

“Where’s the condom?” he whispers, lips right under her ear, voice so deep and calm that at first she isn’t even sure what he’s said. “Lara,” he says, slightly louder this time, nipping at her earlobe to get her attention. “Where’s the condom, jagiya?”

“It’s, um -” Dilara can’t form the words, so she reaches out with her right hand and pats the bed, hoping to feel the cold, metallic packet. 

“Got it.” Taehyung’s body disappears from on top of her and she opens her eyes to see him sit up with the blue packet in his hand. He rips it open and massages his length once before slipping on the condom. Dilara doesn’t know how much more her body can handle but she knows she wants this, so bad. 

“God, I can’t get enough of you, Lara,” he half-whines, bending to kiss her again as one hand snakes down her front between her legs to cup her. Her swollen clit brushes against his palm and she moans into his mouth, pulling away to catch her breath.

“I - I need -” But Dilara can’t find the words, even less so when Taehyung bites his lip above her, his expression a mixture of satisfaction and absolute, unbridled desire. He bends to kiss her passionately before gripping her hip and flipping her over. 

Taehyung stifles a low groan before pressing a kiss to her arse cheek, kneading the flesh before spanking it again. The suddenness of it makes her gasp and she clenches her walls just as he dips a finger into her folds.

Dilara muffles her groan into the pillow but Taehyung does no such thing, muttering "Fuck" as he moves his fingers up to her clit, already sore. His other hand runs up her body soothingly, coming under her to gently cup her breast and massage it until she’s soaking again.

"Tell me what you want, baby." 

She whimpers at Taehyung's classic question during sex, his power play, his insurance and her consent. He whispers it into her ear, lips brushing the silver ring piercing her helix and his chest pressed against her back, both damp and sweaty by now.

"I want you to fuck me, Tae," she murmurs, partly out of breath, knowing how much he'll love hearing that. "Please, please fuck me, baby…"

Taehyung’s fingers disappear abruptly and she whines into the pillow. A moment later she feels another hard spank on her arse cheek before he gently strokes the stinging area, groaning softly. Dilara pictures him stroking himself before she feels him grab her hips with both hands and raise it an inch off the bed.

“Spread your legs,” he commands softly, and the low, deep voice makes her shiver. She obeys and opens wider as far as her legs will allow her to, just before he slams into her. This time, she can’t bother stifling the sound of her moan and it doesn’t even seem as though Taehyung cares; his low, throaty grunts only get her wetter as he pounds into her and she props herself up on her forearms, vaguely aware of how her long hair is tangled down her shoulders and over her face.

“You’re so - God, you’re so… so fucking tight,” he murmurs, squeezing her arse as his rhythm increases. Taehyung’s big, probably the biggest she’s been with and even though she’s never expressly told him that, she’s sure he’s aware for every single time they’ve ever fucked since Japan, he finds a way to remind her. She whimpers as he stretches out her walls almost painfully, her arms giving out eventually so her front falls against the pillow.

Dilara feels him pull out and she wants to protest but she doesn’t think she can ever speak again. She feels his warm hand stroke her arm before he turns her around onto her back. Bending down to press a sweet kiss to her lips, Taehyung brushes her sweaty bangs off her forehead. “Sure you can keep going?” he asks quietly, his other hand resting on her hip.

Dilara can’t imagine saying no. Pulling him down to kiss him again, she nods frantically. “Yeah,” she whispers, catching her breath, “yeah, I want…”

Taehyung’s beautiful mouth curves into a smile and morphs into an expression of ecstasy as he sinks into her again. They groan together as he bottoms out, his balls brushing against her skin as he goes deep into her. She wraps her legs around his waist as he rolls his hips into hers, and she knows she’s close; she has about a minute, tops, before she comes undone once again tonight. 

“Harder, Tae…” Dilara gasps as he complies immediately, fucking her with all his strength. Her walls clench automatically and he groans loudly.

“Fuck, Lara, you’re gonna make me come so hard, baby…”

Her back arches and her sounds grow louder. She clutches at his shoulders, sinking her nails into the lean muscle. “Don’t stop, Tae, don’t stop…”

“You’re doing so well, Lara…” Taehyung’s grunts are louder now, mixing with her whimpers. “Fuck, Lara, I want to… fuck, I love you, I love you so much -” He lifts her right leg up and pushes her thigh into her chest, hitting her g-spot so sweetly that she knows she only has seconds. He goes faster now, apparently unaware of what he’s doing, what he’s saying…

“Tae, I’m -” Dilara’s words are cut off by an explosion again and she shudders, feeling every last speck of energy leave her. This orgasm lasts a bit longer; Taehyung slows down slightly and presses an open-mouthed kiss to her exposed neck. Dilara falls back against the covers, thoroughly exhausted and when she nudges his hip with her foot, he takes it as permission to resume.

“Lara, I’m close,” he mutters, thrusting into her once again before rapidly speeding up. He lifts his torso up to give himself more support and continues before finally groaning deep inside her. A couple more thrusts later, he drops his head onto her shoulder, turning slowly to kiss the side of her neck.

Taehyung’s weight feels so familiar, so comforting, so protective. Dilara brings her hand to the back of his head, exhaling silently at his low hum of contentment. He looks up then, face inches above hers. It’s overwhelming, this feeling. It’s just them; there’s absolutely nobody else in this moment, in this private, intimate moment. 

Dilara’s mind is still hazy and all she can focus on is Taehyung, his gaze, his large, soft eyes. She moves her hand slightly to finger the long, blond locks at the base of his neck, thick and damp, just as he lowers his head to kiss her once more.

It’s a short yet passionate kiss and when they pull apart, he rests his forehead against hers for a moment. “You’re incredible,” he murmurs, almost shyly, as he lifts his head up. 

Dilara nods, a little self-conscious with the way he’s looking at her. “Um, I need to…” She glances in the direction she’s talking about and her heart flutters at the hint of a smile playing on his lips. Taehyung nods and pulls out of her slowly before rolling off onto his side. She clambers off the bed awkwardly, trying not to wince when she brings her legs together. 

Noticing the pile of discarded clothes on the floor, she decides against it, at the last moment opting to take the rumpled sheet off the bed and wrap it around her as she heads to the bathroom. She turns around to look at him before shutting the door to see him sitting up against the headboard, completely naked, watching her leave. When he notices her turn, he tilts his head back and smirks, making her stomach flip.

During her routine post-sex bathroom break, Dilara can’t help but finally acknowledge how much pain she’s in already - and how sore she’s sure to be tomorrow. Dully, she counts the number of hours she has left before she needs to get into the car again. It’s the wee hours of Wednesday by now, surely; that gives her a little over forty-eight hours to recover - which doesn’t seem impossible. When she stands up and faces the mirror, her silhouette is enough to tell her that her hair is tangled and messy beyond repair which means she has no recourse but to wash and condition it before the shoot tomorrow.

Sighing, Dilara picks up the sheet and loosely wraps it around herself before opening the door to see Taehyung sitting on the edge of the bed, just his pajamas on, elbow resting on his thigh as he scrolls though his phone. When he hears her, he looks up and a shy smile spreads across his face as he stands up to walk over to her. The rain has stopped and the sky has lightened marginally; it must be nearly dawn, she realises.

“Are you okay?” he asks, stopping a decent couple of feet away from her. Despite the intense, long-lasting sex, the thought of his honey-coloured torso within arm’s reach does things to her. She forces herself to look up at his face, and her heart stutters. She remembers then that he’s asked her something.

“What? Oh, uh, yeah.” Dilara shrugs awkwardly. “It’s just… you know. It’s been a while.” She bites her lip, trying to suppress a small smile. “You haven’t changed. Still got the stamina of an athlete.”

Taehyung grins. “Thanks. You haven’t changed either. Flexible as always,” he adds, winking when she rolls her eyes. He looks incredible; in the faint light from the window, his face is illuminated in a silvery blue glow. Draped in nothing but a sheet she’s clutching to her chest, she suddenly feels very small in front of him.

“Is your hand okay?”

He glances at the back of his right hand, his knuckles still an angry red. “A lot better. I tried to use this one as less as possible.”

“You messed up my hair,” she chides softly, nudging his shoulder. 

Taehyung shrugs, reaching up to smooth her hair. “You still look beautiful. And it didn’t seem like you were complaining,” he adds after a moment, smirking slightly. “Or is that what all the noise was?”

“Shut up,” she mutters, feeling her cheeks heat up. “Shit, I’m sure everyone heard us,” she groans, falling against the doorframe before straightening up.

“Maybe,” he says, sounding rather indifferent. He takes a small step closer. “I don’t really care.”

Dilara says nothing to that, knowing he’s just being honest. There are some things that would embarrass most people, but Taehyung genuinely does not care about them. Being loud during sex is one. She wonders if confessions during sex is another. His gaze is too intense, too adoring for her to believe he said it in the heat of the moment. He meant it, she’s sure, and while there’s a part of her that’s ecstatic, there’s also the part that’s more wary than ever, for she isn’t sure she can give him what he wants this time.

He’s close enough now that the kiss is no surprise. It’s soft and gentle - the complete opposite of what just transpired on the bed. He raises one hand to lightly rest on the side of her face, but otherwise they stay where they are. His lips mould so perfectly with hers; there’s none of that hesitance that was present the night she kissed him in Portugal. It’s comfortable and familiar, to the point where she can’t fathom how she went so long without it, and worse, how she can continue without it.

They break apart mutually. Taehyung drops his hand and swallows. “Do you want me to stay?” he asks hesitantly. 

Dilara can tell now that this has been on his mind since the moment they were done. Evidently he wasn’t able to decide if she’d want him to stay or leave and he presumably didn’t want to pressure her either way, which was why he got half-dressed. She also appreciates that he asked her if she wants him to stay and not if she wants him to leave, knowing it’s harder to answer the latter than the former.

She bites her lip, continuing to meet his gaze. “I’m not ready,” she admits finally.

Taehyung nods, looking as though he’d expected this. He brushes her cheekbone with his injured knuckle before leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. She tries not to lean into it too much and resists the urge to turn her head and kiss him back. “I’ll see you in the morning, Lara,” he murmurs, stepping back. “Sleep well.”

Dilara nods as he steps further back and slips on his t-shirt before ruffling his hair. Giving her a small, reassuring smile, Taehyung exits her room, shutting the door quietly behind him.

—

Dilara limps into the kitchen the next morning, hoping to be completely invisible. She doesn't make eye contact with anyone, fortunately sidling in in the middle of a joke being told in Korean. Jimin, who's the one doing the narrating, seamlessly greets her mid-sentence before delving back into his story. She isn’t even sure who else is in the room; it's only some of them… but Taehyung is definitely one of them.

She bustles around as quietly as she can, procuring milk and cereal. When she turns around to retrieve a bowl, she sees Jimin, Yoongi, Hoseok, Jungkook and Taehyung in the room, all laughing at whatever story Jimin is relaying. She hears her name then and it takes her a second to realise Jungkook is speaking to her because he automatically starts off in Korean.

"Huh?"

"Sorry - are you okay?" Jungkook frowns, looking concerned.

Dilara smooths down her hair as a reflex. "Yeah… why wouldn't I be?"

"You're limping," he points out innocently and she instantly wants to die. "Did you hurt yourself?"

Dilara almost chokes. "No, it's just… uh, period cramps," she lies, knowing that it's a topic uncomfortable enough that Jungkook won't probe. 

Predictably, Jungkook goes red. "Oh, you can - I mean, I have -" He stutters, looking around at his older members desperately. "... Ibuprofen," he mutters eventually.

"Thanks, Jungkook." She hopes the topic dies there but unfortunately, she catches Hoseok frowning as well. "What?"

"It looks like an injury," he states, tilting his head. "You were opening up your hips just now," he says and she realises in horror that he's right. "Did you go to the gym yesterday?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I did. It's possible I could've… yeah, maybe." Dilara deliberately doesn't look in Taehyung’s direction, mostly because she’s quite sure what he looks like. Pride and concern would be the top expressions, mixed with just a bit of wariness at the questioning.

Yoongi raises his eyebrows in an expression that indicates he believes her, but it’s taking him a hell of an effort to do so. Her eyes finally go to Taehyung, who’s sitting cross legged on the floor, fiddling with what looks like one of Jungkook’s action figures. His mouth twitches for a moment before it goes blank.

“Namjoon hyung,” he calls, interrupting Hoseok who was surely about to ask another question. “What time do we have to be at the location?”

“A couple of hours, actually. Jimin and Jungkook - you two need to go live before that,” he reminds them. This is followed by Jimin whining in Korean and additional chatter, successfully taking the attention away from Dilara as she’s left alone to finish her breakfast. Namjoon must have told them all to get ready, for they mill around the kitchen and eventually start trudging inside one by one.

Breathing a silent sigh of relief, Dilara washes her bowl and spoon when Taehyung joins her. “I can do that,” he says softly, holding up a dry cloth and taking the bowl from her. She lets him, watching as he dries it and stacks it inside the cabinet.

“Thanks.”

He gives her a small smile that holds far more than it should. She’s reminded of his inadvertent confession last night, how he’d said it loud and clear, and averts her gaze.

“Are you okay?” Taehyung asks, lightly touching the small of her back. It sounds different from the way Jungkook asked her.

Dilara nods. “It’s not too bad. I’ll be fine,” she adds. “Are you okay?” she asks after a moment, part playfully.

“Me? I’ll be fine,” he says seriously. He touches a wavy strand of hair that’s fallen out of her makeshift bun. “Do you need to wash your hair?”

“Wash, detangle, brush,” she informs him, giving him a look. “It’s going to be a pain.”

“Mhm. Does that mean you regret it?” he asks, his voice a bit smaller. “Last night?”

Anyone with half a brain cell could tell he isn’t asking about her hair. Dilara considers it, images of last night flashing through her mind. Every touch had been electric and their spark had gone nowhere. Despite everything, he elicited feelings of pleasure and ecstasy like no one else ever could, and still made her feel like she was the only person in the world after it.

“No,” she admits, a bit hesitant. “I don’t.” A moment passes where she doesn’t look at him. “What about you? Do you regret it?”

Taehyung exhales softly. “A little bit.”

Dilara’s heart drops. Swallowing, she looks up at him, wondering why, after everything, he would… He returns her gaze with the same smooth, impassive expression. It takes her another moment of observing his face before her own relaxes, and she smacks his shoulder with the back of her hand.

Taehyung winces and grabs his arm, laughing as she walks away in a huff. “What? You know my answer,” he calls after her, still chuckling when she doesn’t respond. “I’ll see you at the shoot?”

“Shut up, Kim,” comes her voice from inside, just before she shuts her bedroom door behind her.

The shoot is located close to the house; yet, they still only make it in the nick of time. Dilara, who had been requested to travel separately so as to not attract attention by arriving with BTS, is already at the location, getting  a coffee with Max.

“Someone looks happier,” comments Max, gesturing towards the group as they trundle in.

Dilara follows his gaze, predictably landing straight on Taehyung, looking unreadable as ever, with half his face hidden behind gigantic sunglasses. “Does he look happier?” she asks, frowning.

“Well, he looks less depressed than he has since September.”

It’s true; she watches as he saunters in, hands in his pockets, and surveying the location coolly. Then he takes off his sunglasses and squints slightly before looking right at Dilara, and his face breaks into a smile. Dilara averts her gaze immediately, suppressing a smile of her own, and ends up facing Max.

“Ah,” he says deliberately after a moment. “I see.”

“Don’t,” she warns him.

“We’ve really come a long way from the fashion show, huh.”

“Max.”

“No more of that responsibility to get you nice and drunk so you can forget,” he remembers fondly.

“Shut up.”

“Not when you have all the privacy to rekindle that Suzuka romance - not to mention do whatever you -”

“Max Emilian Verstappen!” Dilara exclaims, loud enough that a few people turn to look at her while Max guffaws into his coffee cup. “Are you done?” she hisses. “This is a work setting. There are professionals here - can we save the teasing for the long-ass flight to Sochi?”

Max waits patiently for her to finish. “You have a hickey the size of a rock on your neck.” With that, he waves to her and walks away.

Predictably, Dilara’s first stop from there is hair and make-up, determined to have the incriminating mark covered up before anyone else sees it, especially one of the guys. She doesn’t believe Taehyung would tell them about last night - bragging has never been his style - but with the embarrassing questioning this morning and the hickey? It would be obvious as hell and Dilara doesn’t think she can take Jimin’s reaction to it today.

Thankfully, there’s no one in there. She snags a bottle of concealer and does a rather shoddy job of covering up the hickey, but she doesn’t care. It’s better than the looks the make-up artists are sure to give each other and she’s just thankful that none of the other hickeys on her body are in visible places.

Fortunately, no one else spots the hickey. The shoot commences, everyone in AlphaTauri sporting gear and posing around cars and bikes and other equipment. Dilara is so relieved at the normalcy that even being the only person in a sports bra in the chilly weather, while the others pose in jackets and t-shirts, can’t dampen her mood. 

By the end of it, an old familiar feeling starts creeping back, a disappointment she later identifies as not wanting to leave. BTS aren’t flying to Russia with her and Max and while that had seemed like the highlight of the calendar back in August, it feels like the dark spot in the improving relationship between her and Taehyung.

He feels it, too, she knows. He approaches her when she’s at the food cart, longingly looking at the tray of doughnuts and resisting the urge to scarf one down. 

“They won’t kill you,” comes Taehyung’s voice, and he stops next to her. “The blueberry one is the best.”

Dilara raises an eyebrow. “You’ve had it?”

“Oh, no,” he says, shaking his head. “It looks like it would be the best. Besides, you like blueberry, no?”

“Yeah, but…” She sighs. “It’s way too much sugar. Is there such a thing as a sugar-free doughnut?”

“Yes, it’s called sadness.”

Dilara laughs, biting her lip and looking up at him. Fuck, he looks incredible. “Split one?”

Taehyung frowns, considering it, before looking out at where the stylists are. “As long as they don’t rat me out.”

“To who? Your staff?”

“No, Namjoon hyung.”

She stifles another laugh, her gaze going straight to where Namjoon is sitting on the grass with Jungkook and - to her mild surprise - Max. 

“So? You want to split it? We’ll have to be smart about it, though.”

Dilara looks back up at him, contemplating. His eyes twinkle, and she fights a smile. Reaching over, she grabs the doughnut and breaks it into rough halves while Taehyung grabs a couple of napkins. Like school kids sharing a secret, they turn their backs on the shoot and, silently acquiescing, they start walking away.

Start, being the operative word. Before they’ve taken maybe five steps, two stylists come bounding up to them. “Oh, Tae, they need you for another shot,” says the one with the blue tips in her hair. Before Dilara can register the Tae, her eyes drop to his hands and her eyes widen. “You said you couldn’t eat sugar!” she exclaims, lunging for it as Tae moves it out of her reach, grinning.

“I’m sorry, what’s your name?” Dilara interrupts. She ignores Taehyung’s frown as the girl looks at her, as though she’s just noticed he’s not alone.

“Oh, it’s Rhiannon. Like the song?” she prompts.

“Yeah, I know Fleetwood Mac. Listen, Rhiannon, do you mind -”

“Oh, look, they’re calling you again,” she says loudly, turning back to Taehyung and pointing over his shoulder to the photographer.

“I’ll take that.” Seokjin’s hand appears out of nowhere and grabs Taehyung’s doughnut, making him groan, but the director calls out his name this time so he has no choice but to leave. As Seokjin swallows the doughnut whole before sauntering away, Dilara feels a pit of rage in her stomach. 

“Are you going to eat that?”

She jumps, turning around to see Min Yoongi behind her, looking irritatingly knowing. “Where did you come from?” she demands, clutching at her chest. “Oh, you brought Jimin, too,” she notes, as the younger member comes into view, grinning, in her opinion, for no reason at all.

Suddenly conscious of how annoyed she must be looking, Dilara makes an excuse and hurries away, taking care to stay away from all members for the rest of the shoot. It’s just as well, she thinks, for she doesn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea - least of all, herself.

It’s the reason she goes back to her changing room alone at the end of the shoot, considering simply texting Taehyung goodbye. A verbal goodbye could be too much and would very much be in the wrong idea category, not to mention would haunt her for the rest of the weekend, a time when her focus should be nothing but the race. Her suitcases are already in the car, as is Max, who’s begun texting her to hurry up.

Dilara is packing up her bag when a sound, once again, almost makes her jump. When she spots the speaker in the corner of the trailer, she relaxes, guessing it must just be one of the microphones causing a disturbance. 

“... really good shots,” comes a male voice, crackling through the speaker. “Campaign’s going to look epic.”

“Great for your resume,” replies another, a girl this time. “Although it’s greatest for whoever shot this guy,” she adds.

Someone else whistles and there’s some snickering. “That would be me,” says a second guy. “He’s fantastic - it’s the least direction I’ve ever had to give talent. He’s a dream to work with.”

“Who are we talking about?” This voice is familiar. Rhiannon. Like the song?

“The dude in the red jacket.”

Dilara pauses, for there was only one dreamy dude in the red jacket - and she’d spent the night with him. It’s clear that one of the microphones has been accidentally left switched on and if she can hear everything in her trailer, the group can definitely hear it in their much larger trailer. She pauses to listen, already amused as she pictures Taehyung’s bashful smile as the others tease him.

“Oh, yeah. I checked out his Instagram,” says Rhiannon. “Some really aesthetic shit. Whoever’s taking pictures of him has the easiest job in the world.”

“Hey!”

“No, I’m just saying. He looks unreal. Whether it’s his girlfriend or whoever - she kind of hit a jackpot. Wait, Jack - what are you doing?”

“Checking out who this lucky person might be,” answers Jack, presumably. “There’s no way someone who looks like that is single.”

Something creeps through Dilara’s stomach, a feeling of foreboding. This isn’t going the way it’s supposed to.

“Knew it. Jennie Kim. Dating BTS V,” says Jack after a moment.

“Rumoured to be dating him,” pipes up someone else. “And the article is six months old.”

“So? Seems pretty plausible to me. I mean… look at her.” Jack exhales. “She looks like a natural. Damn, do you know who’s representing her?”

“Wait - Jennie Kim,” says one of the girls. “Says here she’s - oh, man, I knew I’d seen her somewhere. She’s brand ambassador for Chanel.”

There’s some noise as everyone presumably looks at a picture. The self-preserving part of Dilara tells her to leave, now, but her feet stay rooted to the ground.

“Makes sense,” confirms Rhiannon. “Jesus Christ, they’d make some gorgeous babies.”

“Jumping the gun a bit?” The first guy says. “It’s a rumour from a million years ago. Personally, I think he has a thing for Komyshan?”

“Dilara Komyshan? From today? Really?”

“Yeah, he kept looking over at her. Why? What’s wrong with her?”

“Dilara’s hot,” says the second girl. “She drives cars, dude.”

“Nothing is wrong with her!” Rhiannon exclaims. “She’s my favourite driver. I’ve been rooting for her all season - I screamed all over Twitter on Sunday when she won in Portugal. She’s just…”

There’s a snicker. “This should be good.”

“She’s more… real. Natural.” Rhiannon audibly hesitates. “And he’s…”

There’s a few seconds when no one can come up with an unoffensive word, while everyone including Dilara knows exactly what Rhiannon means.

“K-pop,” finishes Jack, sounding somewhat apologetic. “They’re kind of a different league,” he adds.

“A Jennie Kim kind of league. Do you know if your friend - what’s his face -” Someone clicks their fingers. “Damien. Do you know if he’s still on contract with Chanel?”

“Doubt it. That was a year ago. I can still check, though…”

Dilara can’t hear anything else. There’s a roaring in her ears and her chest feels as though it’s about to constrict, cutting off all air supply. It’s too much, too many words, too many truthful, honest words that have lived in her mind for the better part of a year… words that haven’t ceased to be true, no matter how desperate she’s been to repress them.

Her eyes land on the speaker again and she knows she has to leave immediately because if she can hear everything in her trailer… Taehyung can definitely hear everything in his much larger trailer.

The car is just outside the gate. Dilara hurries as fast as her feet will take her, her chest painfully heavy with humiliation and shame. Last night had felt like stepping back into a time machine to a less complicated time; there was doubt and hesitation, but the passion made up for it. Now, it fills her with disgust, the memory of it, how openly and fervently she’d given herself to him, how after everything, she’d still let herself be that vulnerable before him.

Dilara is surprised to hear herself sniffle but less so when she hears footsteps behind her. She doesn’t bother turning around; it doesn’t matter who it is, even if it is Taehyung, even if he is coming back to explain himself once again, like every other -

“Lara -”

“Don’t touch me,” she snaps, yanking her hand out of his. Her anger wavers for a moment when she sees his face change, first from apology to confusion, and then to shock. It’s clear he wasn’t expecting her to react this way. “Just - just leave me alone,” she says tightly. She turns to leave, not trusting herself to speak any longer.

“Lara, no.” Taehyung stops her, shuffling to stand in front of her. Over his shoulder, she spots the car that’s supposed to take her to the airport. “No, no , no…” He searches her face frantically, the fear spreading across his beautiful features. 

Dilara says nothing. It’s too much, everything she’s heard, everything she's starting to remember. Max’s words come back: We’ve come a long way from the fashion show. The fashion show, where she’d thrown up in the bathroom at the sight of him, cried tears of frustration to Max and done everything in her power to avoid Taehyung.

“Lara, please. You - you can’t listen to them. You can’t possibly believe what they’re saying -“

“Oh, my God,” she whispers, dropping her head in her hands. “Oh, God, what have I done?” She takes a shaky step back, her stomach churning painfully. “We had sex - oh, my God!”

“Baby, listen to me -“

“Do not call me that,” she interrupts him. “Why should I listen to you? Huh? So you can fucking charm your way into my life again?” she demands, pushing him back. “You just - you just look pretty and say the right things and I just… forget everything you did?” Because that’s exactly what I did.

“No! God, Lara - they’re strangers!” Taehyung exclaims desperately. “They have no idea what they’re talking about! They don’t know us! Come on, please - please don’t let them ruin everything. Please.”

“They didn’t ruin everything,” she snarls, turning to walk past him when he stops her again.

“I love you,” he blurts, and Dilara freezes. “I - I love you, Lara. I do, so much,” he repeats, his voice trembling. It’s not an accident this time. “We’ve made it so far, baby,” he says urgently, pulling her closer by the arms. “Please don’t do this.”

Dilara swallows, her heart hurting. Taehyung looks… he looks anguished. Somewhere, she knows how he feels, the thought of every single shaky piece they’ve built up crashing down around them again. A part of her wants to agree with him, just to have those moments back; the laughing and the flirting and the feel of his naked body against hers.

But she can’t. It would be tainted, and she would spend every minute second-guessing herself, reliving those awful weeks she’d spent comparing herself to another woman, imagining all the things she’d probably done wrong to deserve this. She meets his gaze again, wishing she could go back to this morning again.

“Lara?”

He loves her. That much she believes. But it’s nowhere near enough right now.

Dilara sniffs and pulls out of his grip, gentler this time. “I - I need to go to Russia. My flight is in a couple of hours.”

“What about -“

“I don’t know. I have no idea, Taehyung,” she says quietly. “I think…” Dilara sighs as she realises it’s finally the time to do what she’s been considering for a while now. “I need space. We need space.”

Taehyung swallows. “Just space?” he asks, and even through the hurt, she can hear the skepticism in his tone.

“Yeah, I - I can’t be around you. For a while,” she adds when his face drops. “You know I’ll see you in Tuscany anyway,” she says in a low voice.

He nods silently, biting his lip. 

Dilara exhales shakily and hitches her bag higher on her shoulder. “It’s just too hard, Tae. This… this might be a good thing,” she says, taking a step backwards.

Taehyung looks at the ground, seeming resigned. “Fly safe,” he says hoarsely.

She nods and starts to turn away, when he speaks again.

“Can I -” He sniffs, still looking beautiful in his sadness. He’s a dream. “Can I call you?”

Dilara wishes he wasn’t making her say this. Stay strong, Komyshan. 

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

—

Thank you for reading. Don't forget to leave a review :)

[sharingtheprocess]

I wanted to write this two weeks ago

Hey y'all :) I've been spending a lot of time thinking about things that I want to do instead of going out and doing them, so this first post is dedicated to letting my ideas live outside my brain.

When I thought about how I wanted to record this journey I knew I wanted to do some kind of blog. I think my personality better suits vlogs but there is still a part of me that feels a little uncomfortable taking up space in that way. However, I don't want to restrict myself so I'm thinking this will be a place for my ramblings to exist in whatever form (text, video, audio & pics).

As a person with a poor memory I have found archiving events, particularly through photos (but also audio diaries and journaling) really helps me remember myself, my accomplishments, and my trails. So I knew I wanted some kind of informal space to reflect on life in Brazil. I told myself a monthly update would be manageable and yet here I am almost a month and a half in writing my first post 😂. I say all this with no shame- just want to acknowledge that to some I moved and fell off the face of the Earth so I am v sorry for my radio silence.

I think there was a part of me that felt nervous to share & give updates because things have not been rainbows & butterflies. I wanted to have a ton of photos from trips and cool events to show off but tbh a bitch has been in the crib. If anything, I realized this past month and a half has had a lot more to do with me learning how to live with my partner, navigate relationship conflict, be transparent about my needs & in tune with my body. I definitely feel like my time and attention has been more inward and concerned with my home/private life than anything really to do with Brazil.

At first I was frustrated, I felt restricted, disappointed, and irritable. Things just weren't easy and a bitch can list some reasons why:

I don't know the language

My grandmother's health has been a major concern and it feels harder to navigate while being so far away

Missing my friends/community/loved ones

Constantly hearing about phone theft & other robberies and not wanting to look like an easy lick- but also feeling confused knowing my ass did not just come from Atlanta, Philly, and parts of Trenton to be worried about "crime" over here

Struggling with a lack of structure/routine

Thinking that being with my partner would feel like all the times we've vacationed together

I felt insecure about doing things on my own, but I had to embrace that because following other people's rhythm didn't satisfy me. As a person who is already naturally shy and reserved, constantly feeling outside my comfort zone without a new established safe space or outlet has been sooo hard. I would either feel fatigued or high strung from socializing. Too nervous to do things solo or overly concerned with how out of place I felt and how easily my anxious energy could be read by others.

I was constantly denying myself out of fear and minimizing my feelings. I came with a lot of big dreams and aspirations, and I think they are still possible but I'm realizing it just won't be as straightforward as I imagined- and that's ok. I need to be a lot more intentional here and that means putting in the work, energy, and consistency to live how I want.

I've already seen so many things that I've come to love about being here:

I am a five minute walk away from the ocean and living this close to the beach has been so healing for my body and spirit

I eat good everyday!

The party/dance culture here is incredibly liberating

I live in a beautiful black queer ass city

Seeing people w piercings and tattoos as a common/normal body mod is deeply affirming

Space and time feels slower here- it made me restless at first but surrendering to this pace has actually brought me more freedom to be curious about myself, my art, my spirit...

Things haven't been bad but my arrival didn't fit my expectations. I've had a lot of growing pains and mini breakthroughs. Now that I've had more time to adjust I want to play an active role in making my desires match my reality. I know things won't change overnight so I'm glad I'll be here for some time. Thanks for reading & journeying with me 💓

~JC

[moveslikeanape]

hercules does have amazing lyrics, you're right! it's another one of my favorite disney movies and that's definitely one reason why. one last hope has so many clever lines! another disney song lyric that i've always really liked, from hunchback of notre dame, is in bells of notre dame: "they gazed up in fear and alarm, at a figure whose clutches were iron as much as the bells". and in the reprise: "whatever their pitch, you can feel them bewitch you, the rich and the ritual knells of the bells of notre dame". they're just such satisfying rhymes, and i feel like most of the songs in that movie have really nice lyrics.

i agree with you about the quality of disney lately. i actually enjoyed encanto, but many of their other recent movies have been disappointing to me in one way or another, and it's especially frustrating that they couldn't do better with wish. people have been creating fan works based on the concept art that i think are so much better than the final film was. i also agree about mulan! i love that movie so much, and the music in it too--i especially love the extra lyrics to reflection, that unfortunately ended up getting cut to save time. but i agree that true to your heart should've been kept in the credits instead of in the movie itself.

i think that makes sense about phil collins! wish's songs sound a bit too much like what you'd hear on the radio now, to the point that whenever i hear the song "knowing what i know now" i just get this nagging feeling that i've basically heard the same song multiple times before. and, as i mentioned in a previous message, the song "at all costs" sounds incredibly out of place in the movie. i won't explain the context of that song just in case i'd be spoiling it, but i'll say that the lyrics make it sound like a romantic duet and it very much isn't. i was baffled when i found out what it was actually about. tarzan's songs, on the other hand, are perfectly crafted for the movie and for the feelings they're meant to convey.

this also reminds me that elton john had never written broadway-style music before working on the lion king, but it's mentioned in disney's art of animation that one reason he wanted to join the project was that he loved disney's romantic duets and wanted to write one! and from everything else i've read, it seems like he loved disney music in general and really wanted to be able to capture the same magic that the movies that came before TLK had. it also must've helped a lot that he was working alongside tim rice, who did have an established career in musical theatre.

i'd definitely recommend reading the art of animation book! i still haven't finished it as life got a bit hectic for me this past week, which is also why it took me a few days to send this. but this edition has a huge section dedicated to the making of hercules, which was actually the main reason i picked it up: when i read the actual art book for hercules, i felt that it had a lot of beautiful artwork but wasn't as detailed about the production as it could've been. so far, this book seems to have a lot more of the detail that i wanted.

maybe i'll give tarzan 2 and the tv series a watch at some point! it's interesting that the tv series had episodes based on the novels. although it's too bad the characters weren't very well written in it, especially jane. i've had a similar experience where a movie i loved got a tv series based on it, and although i enjoyed certain things about the series, the characters felt really off and i ended up having mixed feelings about it as a whole. it's always disappointing when things like that happen.

it's also really cool that one of tarzan 2's songs was reworked for the broadway show! that reminds me of how the same thing sort of happened in reverse with the lion king 2: the song "he lives in you" was first used in the broadway show, and then later included in the lion king 2.

(also, sorry if this appears in your ask box multiple times. i'm having a strange sort of issue while trying to send it and i'm not sure if it's my internet or the site itself causing it.) -🌟

OMG, I live for the Hunchback soundtrack!!! If I was forced to choose, I'd say Hunchback is my fav Disney movie after Tarzan. The songs and score are so gorgeous. And that line you chose, "whose clutches were iron", is a perfect example of brilliant lyrics. It defines Frollo's character perfectly and sticks to the subject of the song. And then there's Topsy Turvy… every line of that song is pure gold!

From what I've heard of the movie, and what I've heard about/seen of the concept art this is probably the first time where it's a disappointment seeing the concept art… getting to see what could have been and knowing we got so much less. They need to stop running the studio like a business and go back to Walt's ideals. "Quality will out". Let the artists to what they're best at, let them make the movie properly. They're going so far downhill they're almost at the point where they can't rely on people just buying it because it's Disney anymore.

I know that they need to "keep up" with modern tastes and style, but the songs should feel fresh. If they feel like you've heard them before, it should be because they feel like Disney songs, especially for something meant to celebrate Disney. And I don't think I've ever heard a Disney song that was as far off as you say "at all costs" is. If a song is done properly, you should know exactly what's going on without having context. Otherwise, the songs meaning is not getting through, a definite sign of poor writing.

That's a good point about Elton John and Tim Rice. Tim knew what he was doing, and Elton wanted to do that very thing. Obviously they needed to bring some of themselves into it, that's why they got hired in the first place, but it still needs to serve the movie. Kind of like the animators themselves… you have many people working on many characters, but they all have to feel like they fit in the world of the movie. The artists bring some of their own style, as you can see in concept art, but at the end of the day they have to serve the film and make it feel whole, not just a bunch of stuff thrown together. (I also love the trivia about Can You Feel the Love Tonight, that they wanted it to be completely sung by Timon and Pumbaa until Elton put his foot down. He'd written it in the tradition of the great Disney love songs, and didn't want a "big, stinky warthog" ruining it, lol)

Ya, that's one thing that's kind of disappointing about the "art of" books, they're more artwork and little notes than an actual in-depth making of… true there's only so much room and a true making of book would be huge, but still. Hope things slow down for you soon!!

I'm sorry that happened with the movie you mentioned, it's so disappointing when that happens… I get lower quality because of a smaller budget, but the characters should at least feel the same.

Tarzan 2 and the series are definitely worth at least one watch, if for nothing else than the new adventures. Tarzan 2 is seriously cute though. And although it's different actors playing Tarzan, Terk, and Tantor, Glenn Close and Lance Henriksen came back to voice Kala and Kerchak!

You're right about He Lives in You! Love how the broadway productions inspired by a movie can turn around and inspire the movie series.

(Ugh, that had to be frustrating! I only got the message once though. Hope it was just a one off problem!)

[rg-notes]

Operating with intention

I’ve recently been focused on the idea of being intentional. I define that simply as having a reason, a purpose, behind doing whatever it is that I’m doing. Once you go down the path of having a purpose, it’s almost impossible for the next step not to be a plan.

This last week my effort to be intentional has been most evident as a parent. My two toddler boys are curious, adventurous and emotional as hell, and being present and aware of how my reactions to those emotions are affecting them has been challenging, but rewarding. The more I think through it as a game of life, the more I get excited about the incredible impact I can have on who they become and the relationship we’ll form over their lives. Having a purpose, or a hope in many cases, is helpful, but having a plan is necessary in order to see your purpose come to fruition.

A plan can be simple. I’ll use and share the framework from Principles by Ray Dalio, shared in a recent post. Start with a clear GOAL. Write out your intention. It’s critical to get this one paper (or digital, just write it.) Then identify the top reasons you’ll fall short of your intended goal. I call these FAILURE MODES. Write those down too. Then write out a few ways you’ll avoid each failure, Ray calls this the DIAGNOSIS. Then with every ounce of intentionality you have, write the PLAN that gets your around the failure modes. Then just go do it. The simplest part to say, the hardest part to accomplish.

In my parenting, my goal was to help my son realize why he was sad. The failure mode was me getting emotional, typically frustrated or angry, that he was so emotional. The diagnosis was that I would react quickly to his emotions so my plan was to wait 30-60 seconds before doing or saying anything to him. Let him experience his emotions for a minute to feel what that was like. It let me breath and think through my intentions before just acting. My plan was then to ask him question vs telling him what to do/feel. “Whats going on buddy?” “Why do you feel this way?” “What can I do to help you?” It didn’t work all the time, but I’ll tell ya what, it felt good. And it was better than the alternative.

With this topic on my mind I re-listened to Oprah’s podcast w/ Dr. Shefali Tsabary about Concious parenting, which will challenge any parent to their core. One simple idea to noodle on from the convo is that the child existing to shape the parent vs the generally accepted hierarchical alternative of the parents existing to raise the child. When we rethink about the expectations that we project onto our children we realize we shape them to not only be “like us” but “to be the most perfect versions of us” which is not only unfair, but unrealistic and destined for disappointment. Nothing will make you want to be more intentional than when you realize you’re daily shaping the person your child will become.

I’ve also thumbed the pages of the Patagonia (yes the clothing brand) book called Family Business about the reasons behind, and the practices within the daycare & home school offered to the children of Patagonia employees. This is a gem, more as a reference, but I love it because it weaves together family life and business life philosophies that resonate with me. And, they are business practices I wish I could have been a part of implimenting in past companies, but will certainly seek to employ in the future.

So, back to intentionality. All these micro processes take time, but you must know what it is you actual want. You must be self critical and self aware that the way you “accomplish” is as important as what you accomplish. I personally found these lessons of intentionality which start out specific to parenting to be insanely practical in operating a company, in investing into companies, and frankly for any-one wants accomplish things in their life. There is something profoundly OK with your intention being a set of ideals, and your result set being the cumulative of where you’ve fallen short. In fact, that is the only possible reality.

Ryan Graves

[atlabeth]

(not so) simple p1 - anthony bridgerton

masterlist

summary: coercing lord bridgerton into pretending to court you to avoid the affections of a baron is very simple — that is, until it isn't.

a/n: she's finally here!! the long ass anthony fic that i've been talking about for like three months lmao. as much as i wanted to release this all as one fic it became way too long and oh my god i just wanted to post something for it after writing for months. but here u go the first part of a few i hope you enjoy

wc: 10k

warning(s): reader is a little insensitive, mentions of issues getting pregnant, unwanted advances/gross men, historical inaccuracies

“No.”

“Darling—”

“No!” you protested once more, turning away from the mirror to face her. “Mother, you cannot be serious—”

“My dear, can you at least try to see things my way?” Your mother took a step back from you to admire the fit of your dress before she looked back at you. “Lord Cardew is an excellent match; he has a beautiful estate, incredibly vast wealth — for goodness sake, he is a baron! And he is interested in you.”

“He is a complete lecher,” you snapped. “I’d sooner die than accept even the slightest nicety from him.”

This kind of conversation had been going on between you and your mother ever since your debut the past week — you were no diamond, but you were no disaster either; you were as you’d always been, perfectly content with being perfectly average. But despite your lackluster introduction, you’d somehow managed to earn the attention of Baron Jonathan Cardew. An illustrious man with more wealth than you had ever experienced, your mother nearly fainted when he approached you after your debut and requested a dance. 

It would have been a blessing of the highest order had he been fifteen years younger, capable of basic decency, and you wanted to be married in the first place. 

Unfortunately, none of those were true, and after spending a waltz with him where you were more occupied with denying his advances than truly dancing, you became aware of the reason he flaunted his money so often — it was the only way to cover up how awful he was. But your mother was more taken with him than you were, insisting you follow through on his interest. Therefore, you were stuck in quite the unfavorable situation. 

“That kind of mouth is why you can never keep a suitor,” she berated, turning you around to continue fussing with your hair. “Oh, I know it is disappointing to be unable to marry for love, but this is what you are meant for. You are the crown jewel of our family, my dear — do not throw it away on one of your many whims!”

“This is not a whim, mother!” You pulled away from her once again and stalked across the room in frustration, your arms crossed against your chest as you gazed out the window. “You have known for years that I have never wanted to marry.”

“And you have known for years that it is your duty!” she exclaimed. “Would you so readily allow our name to fall into ruin over something so simple?”

“Marriage is not at all simple!” you retorted, wholly exasperated. “I do not think I am at all unreasonable to reject a union with someone I despise.”

“You are unreasonable,” she insisted. “Your father and I have tried our best to raise you into the finest woman we could. My dear, you are beautiful, kind, creative; you are wonderful in so many ways, and perfectly eligible — if it wasn’t for your ridiculous notions, you would have suitors lining up outside our door!”

“It is not my fault that I am the only one here for you to marry off!” you shouted, aware that you were touching a nerve but too enraged to care. “I do not exist simply for you to dress me up and pass off to a man before society deems me unacceptable. You know who I am, and you should know that you cannot change me. If you wanted a daughter to give you heirs without complaint, you should’ve tried harder to secure your lineage than thrusting the responsibility onto me.”

You saw your mother’s jaw clench, and you felt the slightest pang of guilt. “Do not take that tone with me, young lady. We have tried more times than you know, and your father and I have worked harder than you could ever imagine building this life. The very least you can do is help us keep it.”

“You would rather I be miserable with a horrible man as long as your fortune and good name are ensured,” you accused, and you raised your skirt up as you crossed over to the door. You opened it with one hand and turned to her as you stood in the doorframe. “I will be back in time for Lady Danbury’s ball tonight, and I will participate in the social season to keep up appearances. But I will not seek out suitors, and I will not become any man’s wife — least of all Lord Cardew.”

Before your mother could protest any further, you shut the door behind you. You hurried through the halls of your estate as quickly as you could, armed with the intent of airing your grievances to the only other person in all of England who understood you. 

-

“Lord Cardew?” Eloise scoffed as she set down her book. “I will never understand the men of the ton, going after women that could be their daughters.”

“You as much as I,” you sighed as you settled onto the couch next to her. “I just wish my mother wasn’t so intent on forcing us together. She is so blinded by title that she cannot see how awful he is— how awful we would be together.”

“Daphne had to deal with the same thing during her debut, a man of the same awful sort named Lord Berbrooke.” Eloise grimaced but then looked at you innocently. “She dealt with him with some well-deserved violence. I suggest you try her methods.” 

“Eloise!” you gasped with mock horror at the suggestion. “You cannot say those things to me. You know I will go through with it if given the chance.” 

“As you very well should!” she responded with a laugh. “Have you thought about running away?” You had to stifle your laughter at the question and she rolled her eyes. “It is a serious question! The way you tell it, you would all but be disowned if you go against your mother’s wishes. Disappearing might just be a better plan.”

“I must admit that I have,” you responded, “but I could never follow through with it. As much as she frustrates me at times, I do love my mother. She truly wants what is best for me, it is just that she has no idea what that is.”

“Sometimes I wish I could just escape to the country,” Eloise said, looking at you with a smile. “I would take you with me, and we would not have to deal with society’s demands; no men, no marriages, and everything we’ve ever wanted that has been locked away from us by virtue.”

“That sounds lovely,” you mused, laying your head against the cushions. “Able to simply walk about instead of promenading with a suitor, able to hitch our skirts and run as far and long as we can, able to read every book we can get our hands on, to be more than just another lady — it all sounds so perfect.” You glanced at her out of the corner of your eye. “But I thought you wanted to go to university.”

“Oh, you know I do,” she sighed. “If my half-brained brother can attend Oxford then I believe I am fully capable of doing the same. But a miracle would have to occur for them to suddenly allow my enrollment.”

“If there is anyone in England who deserves the privilege, it is you.”

Eloise beamed at you and you offered a smile of your own, though the moment was interrupted by the door being pushed open along with a demanding voice you had grown accustomed to over the years.

“Eloise, have you seen my quill?”

You looked up at the appearance and bit back a smile at the sight of the viscount — you were familiar with Anthony, having been friends with Eloise for so long, but he never seemed to appreciate your presence. His annoyance simply made it all the more fun to tease him. 

“No, Anthony,” Eloise answered, “but have you tried your own desk? It seems far more likely to be there than in the drawing room the day I have a visitor. You are not as sly as you think, brother.”

It was then he seemed to notice you, whether by design or truth. “If it isn’t Miss Worthing,” Anthony said as he breezed across the room, offering nothing more than a passing glance at you. “I must ask, are you ever seen on your own estate, or have you decided to permanently establish yourself here?” 

“It is quite funny that you ask, Anthony,” you started with a smile. “I have started moving more and more of my possessions here with every visit to Eloise — I believe it will only be a month more until I am fully settled at the Bridgerton estate.” 

He hummed, wholly unamused as he rustled through the contents of the drawer across from the two of you. “I think it best for you to remain on your own grounds, lest you never leave again. I also think it best you refer to me as Lord Bridgerton — we are hardly close enough to warrant anything less.” 

“Brother,” Eloise sighed, rolling her eyes in apology as she glanced at you, “must you insult my closest friend? There is no need for formalities in our own time.” 

“It is not an insult, Eloise,” Anthony insisted. “Your closest friend has just debuted — it would do her some good to learn proper manners before the season gets too far along.” 

“Well, Lord Bridgerton,” you made sure to enunciate his title, which only served to earn you another unamused look, “I very much appreciate your concerns, but they are not needed. I do not intend to marry this season.” 

“My advice should not be taken lightly.” Anthony made a triumphant noise as he found what he was looking for, the aforementioned quill, then turned his attention back to you. “I have been the man of the house for longer than you know, Miss Worthing, and I guided my sister through an extremely successful season. I consider myself an expert on such affairs; it would do you well to listen to someone else for once in your life.”

You raised your eyebrows. “Do correct me if I am mistaken, but I believe that the man Daphne chose to marry was the one suitor you were intent on keeping her away from. Wasn’t it once you finally stepped back for a moment, she truly began to flourish as the diamond?” 

“You certainly have an interesting memory, Miss Worthing,” Anthony said, restraint clear in his voice. “I am sure that you attract many suitors acting like this.” 

“I don’t attract many,” you confirmed with a smile, “which is rather fortunate, seeing as I don’t plan to marry.” 

“As you’ve already said,” he noted. “An interesting plan, I admit. I cannot imagine your mother is too happy about it.”

“I cannot imagine why you would care so much about her prospects,” Eloise mused. “I would assume your hands are quite full with our family alone. You air your grievances enough just at the idea of my own debut.”  

“It is because she is a bad influence on you, Eloise. Your debut has already been delayed once, and if you continue to spend time around her it will surely happen again.” Anthony then turned to you and gave you a pointed look. “In fact, I believe it is time for you to go, Miss Worthing, if you wish to make it back to your estate in time for Lady Danbury’s ball.”

“How kind of you to remind me,” you said dryly as you stood up from the couch. Eloise stood as well and the two of you embraced, and she placed her hands on your shoulders when you separated.

“I’ll see you tonight?” she asked, and she glanced back at Anthony. “My dearest friend, who is in no way a bad influence?” 

You nodded with a laugh. “Of course. I wager I will need someone to accompany me as I find my true calling as a wallflower.”

“It would do you well to change your attitude,” Anthony interrupted, and you responded by rolling your eyes at Eloise as she stifled her own laugh. “You are hardly two and twenty, Miss Worthing. You should not want to throw away your potential so soon.”

“Once again, I appreciate your concerns, but your worries are unnecessary.” You raised an eyebrow. “If you are so intent on my becoming a true lady, perhaps you should take matters into your own hands and court me.”

“Ah, yes. My younger sister’s closest friend; the most desirable lady of the season.” Anthony gestured towards the door in lieu of explaining his sarcasm further. You just smiled. 

“I will see you tonight, Eloise,” you repeated as you started walking. “I look forward to your latest conversation.”

“I am sure my material is far more interesting than any suitor you may happen across,” Eloise reassured. “Including Lord Cardew.”

“You may be my savior yet,” you grinned. As you reached the door you bowed your head to Eloise, and then turned to Anthony and lifted your skirts up in a slight curtsy. “Lord Bridgerton.”

“Miss Worthing,” he responded in kind, offering the same tight-lipped smile as always. 

As Anthony closed the door behind you, Eloise fell back onto the sofa with an exasperated sigh. “Why do you treat her so, brother? Now that my dear Penelope has truly set off into society to find a match, she is the only one that shares my sentiments about our fates. I understand I might not be able to avoid it, but you should at least allow me this much.” 

“She is nothing but trouble,” Anthony responded as he crossed his arms behind his back. “It is in her best interest to find a husband as soon as possible, and yet she resists it with all her might. I should only imagine the kinds of things she is putting into your mind. Are you aware that she has been spotted in the heart of London attending rallies more boisterous than even you could handle?” 

“Truly?” she asked, her eyes lighting up with enthusiasm. “Oh, I must insist she bring me to her next one!”

“That is not my—” Anthony rubbed his forehead with a sigh. “You are just as impossible as her, are you aware?” 

Eloise grinned. “Now that is a compliment.” 

-

Lady Danbury’s ball was shaping up to be as dreadful as you had imagined. 

Your initial plans of blending in with the wallpaper as you watched from afar and enjoyed the music were foiled almost as soon as you had arrived — you faulted the gems embedded into your dress, insisted upon by your mother — for no sooner had you stepped foot into the main hall did the baron approach you.

“Lady Worthing, Miss Worthing,” he greeted with a slight bow, and he eyed you with a smile. “How wonderful to see the two of you here — especially you, my dear. May I say how ravishing you look in that gown?”

“You may not—” you began to say, but your mother cut you off with a very unladylike jab to your side, though masterfully disguised in her usual fashion.

“Thank you, Lord Cardew,” she said. “I apologize for my daughter; she is simply caught up in all the emotions she has been experiencing since her debut. She means no disrespect.” 

“I understand, my lady. Rest assured, I do not mind.” Lord Cardew extended a hand toward you, and your entire body stiffened. “Might I raise your spirits with a dance?” 

“I apologize, my lord,” you said emphatically. “My dance card is full.” 

Your mother forced out a bright laugh as she grasped your arm; it seemed you were already getting to her. “That certainly is funny, my dear! But of course, your card cannot be full as we have just arrived, and one does not refuse a baron in such a way.”

You opened your mouth to protest once more but she leaned into your side and muttered into your ear. “Just one dance with him. The sooner you do it, the sooner it will be over.”

The thought of your time spent within a yard of the baron being over as soon as possible was certainly an appealing notion, enough so that you plastered on a smile and took Lord Cardew’s hand. 

“I would be… honored to dance with you, my lord.” You had to force the words out, but he seemed none the wiser as his smile widened and he led you onto the floor. 

“I have had my eye on you for quite a long time, my lady,” he said as the two of you took your positions and seamlessly joined in with the flow of the other dancers. “You were a sure sight during your debut — truly, none of the other ladies hold even the slightest candle to you.”

“You flatter me, Lord Cardew.” You grimaced as his hand inched further down your waist and you glanced over at the orchestra, as if hoping the desperation in your eyes alone would be enough for them to cut the waltz short. Unfortunately, your silent plea achieved nothing. 

“I must admit, it is a surprise you have only just now entered society,” he said. You noticed your mother smiling at you in the group of many spectators, and you glared at her as best you could in the time the baron was looking away from you. The second his attention turned to you once more, that practiced smile was back in place. “Whyever did it take so long?” 

“I am afraid it is a private matter, my lord,” you said as politely as you could, but he shook his head. 

“You needn’t hold your tongue around me, dear,” he said as he spun you out and then took you back in, your entire body stiffening as he pulled you far closer than what was appropriate. “You do not extend the notion to any other member of the ton, so I do not see why it should apply to me.” 

“My mother simply decided to give me a few more years of respite,” you lied. “It is only this year that she decided she could not delay my debut any longer, so alas, I am here.” 

“And the season is made that much better by your presence, my lady.” Lord Cardew offered a smile and you were only able to manage one so thin it hardly qualified as a smile. But your invisible pleas must have done something because the waltz began to play to a close, and you had to hold back your breath of relief as you both bowed to each other.  

“Thank you for the dance and your… myriad of compliments, Lord Cardew,” you said as you straightened again. 

“It would do you good to get used to them,” he said with a smile, “for they will extend all throughout this courtship and our betrothal — you may have to work harder for them in marriage.” 

Your world stopped spinning on his axis as your entire body stiffened, frozen to the spot. 

“I am sorry?” you breathed, your eyes surely as wide as dinner plates as you attempted to process his words. 

“Compliments may be genuine, but they are also a ploy,” he said. “Without them, how does a man expect to claim a woman? Of course, after marriage a man does not have to fight for her affections anymore, so they—”

“I am not talking about your… views,” you interrupted sharply. “I was not aware of any engagement.” 

“Miss Worthing,” Lord Cardew sighed, his tone nothing less than patronizing, “it is obvious even to the most oblivious that your family is in need of whatever they can get — after our dance at the debutante ball, your father approached me and all but begged me to take your hand. Of course, I prefer to enjoy the process through a bit of courting, but rest assured, it will end in a proposal.” 

That was the shattering point. You had always known that your future hardly lay in your hands despite all your attempts to move it there, but you’d not expected your father to so easily yield— no, not yield, beg— to a man like the one that stood in front of you. 

You felt the rate of your heart speed up as your breathing fell shallow, and you knew you would not last another second in the middle of it all. 

“Excuse me, my lord.” You extracted your hand from his grasp, thankful for the barrier of your gloves however thin it may have been, and offered what you hoped was a convincing smile over the anxieties running rampant below the surface. “I find myself quite parched after our dance — I shall return soon after fetching a glass of lemonade.” 

Before the baron could protest you turned on your heel and set off towards the refreshment table. You poured the liquid from the pitcher into your glass with shaking hands, eyeing the baron out of your peripherals once you finished. The moment his attention moved away from you, you set your glass down and hurried off, easily dissolving into the crowd from years of practice. You glanced over your shoulder once more to ensure you were not being followed before you ducked around the corner. The second you were out of sight you picked up your skirts and ran, every step away from the main hall reducing the weight on your shoulders.

If this was to be the model for the rest of the season, you were sure that you would not survive it — you would not even survive another second in Lord Cardew’s presence. 

You nodded your thanks to the servants as they opened the outside doors to you, and you sucked in a large breath of fresh air once you reached the gardens. Thankfully, the nobles here numbered few — enough for you to remain proper being there on your own while still allowing yourself time to recover from what your parents wanted to be the start of the rest of your life. 

You leaned against the wall, the night breeze cooling your flushed cheeks. You hadn’t the slightest clue how you were supposed to get out of anything involved Lord Cardew, especially the inevitable proposal — no matter the number of your denials, it was just a nicety; the second he tired of your stubbornness, he would go over your head to your mother or father and trap you in a marriage you would spend the rest of your life resenting.

You cursed underneath your breath as you allowed yourself a moment to look out over the gardens. If only he were not a baron — then he would be any other common suitor, one that would be no closer to royalty than you and therefore requiring no special treatment. 

It was then that your gaze caught hold of a certain viscount, standing around idly amongst the small groups of people with a flute of champagne in his hand. 

It was no surprise to see Anthony away from the party — his infamy did not come from his eagerness to participate in the season — but you did smile a bit at it all. He was doing the exact same thing you were, running away from responsibility; he just had the added benefit of alcohol. Maybe the two of you shared more similarities than you thought. 

Your eyes suddenly widened. 

Perhaps there was a way to get out of your predicament. 

You hitched your skirt up yet again and all but ran over to the viscount, and his eyebrows rose as you approached. 

“Miss Worthing?” he greeted with a hint of confusion, though he didn’t get the chance to continue. 

“Anthony,” you breathed, coming to a stop in front of him as you loosened your grip on your skirt, “I am in dire need of your assistance.”

“Lord—“ he began to correct almost instinctively, but you shook your head.

“I’ve no time for a lecture,” you interrupted. “I need you to court me.”

He looked so utterly dumbfounded that if your social life wasn’t in the hanging you would have laughed. “Excuse me?” 

“I need you to court me,” you repeated. “Right now.” 

Anthony frowned. “My lady, are you feeling alright?”

“No,” you responded curtly, “no, I am not alright, seeing as the one man that my mother seems intent on me marrying is the single most despicable man in all the world. There is no possible way for me to get out of it alone, which is why I need your assistance.” 

He looked completely vexed, so many emotions warring on his face that you could hardly pick out one from the bunch. “I apologize for your predicament, but what could I possibly have to do with this?” 

“My mother is so intent on the union because he is a baron, and she is fully convinced that all of our problems will go away when I become a baroness alongside him. Because a man of such rank is interested in me, she will not be satisfied with anything less. But you—” you gestured towards him with your hand, a smile blooming on your face, “—you are a viscount. You are more, not less, and if I am thought to become a viscountess myself, then both my mother and every other suitor, especially Lord Cardew, will finally leave me be.” 

“Now I am even more convinced you have fallen ill,” Anthony muttered. “May I, if no one else has, inform you of how ill-advised a plan like this is?” He shook his head, that incredulous expression still on his face. “Even if it wasn’t, this is coming out of the blue — I do not want to marry you, my lady.” 

“Nor I you!” you exclaimed. “You’ve as little desire as I to be bound in a marriage; what better option than pretending to have eyes for each other to avoid a true commitment? At the end of the season, we will stage an argument after we’ve realized that we cannot continue into a union with each other, because I find you completely infuriating and you realize that I am simply far too good for you—”

“Excuse me?” 

You ignored him as you continued on your tirade. “You will no longer be courting me then — you will be free to delay your search for yet another season, and I will be free to live the life of a spinster.” 

Anthony frowned once more; you feared if he continued like this in your conversations, his brow would be permanently furrowed. “I was not aware that was a desirable status for a woman like yourself.”

“Well, perhaps not the title, but the life…” You sighed dreamily, allowing yourself to gaze off for a moment before looking back to Anthony. “An unmarried life would allow me the freedom I have always dreamed of. All I require is your fake courtship for one season, just one, and I will be able to find the rest of the way on my own.” 

Anthony was silent for a beat before he sighed. “I sympathize with your plight, Miss Worthing — it is one that Eloise finds herself in as well — but there is little I can do for you. This is not a matter I should be involved in; it is a conversation much better suited for your own family.”

“Do you believe that I have not tried?” you bemoaned, gesturing with exasperated motions. “The life that I want is one that you could have for yourself at any time. If you ever tire of society and decide you no longer want to be the man of the house, you could up and leave and no one would hear from Anthony Bridgerton again. You have seven siblings to leave in your wake, all there to pick up after you should you go. But for me — the sole daughter, the sole child of the Worthing family — I will never be able to have that life. Not without more sacrifice than I alone am able to give.” 

Anthony opened his mouth to respond, but all he did was stare at you with unwavering eyes, the silence in between the two of you weighing heavily in the air.

You screwed your eyes shut as you heard your name called in a familiarly unwanted voice, and with a shaky breath you opened them and looked at Anthony. The saccharine sweet smile you offered him was undercut by the pure desperation in your eyes as you lowered your voice to a whisper. “You’re out of time, my lord.” 

Just as the words left your mouth the man you’d been trying to avoid turned the corner, and you took in and let out a deep breath in preparation as you inched closer to Anthony. 

“Miss Worthing!” the baron exclaimed as he came to a stop in front of you, and you had to hold back a grimace at his bow. 

“Lord Cardew,” you greeted, latching onto Anthony’s arm as quickly as you could. Though Anthony stiffened at your touch, he allowed it. “I admit, I was not expecting you tonight.” 

“You have been a tricky one to find, my lady. You all but disappeared after our dance.” The lord’s smile quickly faded as Anthony cleared his throat next to you, and in a move that surprised you, pulled you closer to him. 

“Have you considered that it was by design?” he asked curtly, and you had to hold back your shock. “Miss Worthing is quite busy at the moment.” 

“Is that so?” Lord Cardew folded his arms behind his back, his expression unreadable. “Bridgerton, surely you are not suggesting—” 

“That he is courting me?” you interrupted with a slight smile. “It is more than a suggestion, my lord — it is the truth. I’m sorry to say that I am quite occupied; for the rest of the season, might I add.” 

The lord carefully controlled his surprise, the emotion only betrayed by the slightest raise of his brow as he looked at Anthony. “This is quite prominent news — such official courting, and so early on in the season? I had not heard even a word of it until just now.”  

“It is the truth, Cardew,” Anthony answered, “I assure you. It is high time I’ve found a wife, and I believe there could be none better than Miss Worthing.” 

“How interesting,” he noted tersely, his eyes set on you as he spoke. “It is a disappointment you lose your eligibility so soon, my lady. Though perhaps there is still time for your head to be turned for a more… suitable match.” 

“You dare to question Miss Worthing’s honor?” Anthony pressed, and he pulled you closer to him ever so slightly. “I will not have a man such as yourself setting his eyes upon my future wife and insulting her so.”

Lord Cardew set his jaw before he bowed his head reluctantly to both you and Anthony. “My sincerest apologies, Bridgerton—” 

“Lord Bridgerton,” Anthony interrupted, and once again you had to bite back your smile at the baron’s visible frustration. 

“...My sincerest apologies, Lord Bridgerton,” he corrected, but Anthony tutted. 

“I believe you owe an apology to the lady as well.” 

“Do not test me,” Lord Cardew snapped. “And do not think I will give up so easily on account of your ridiculous claim.” 

“Watch yourself, Cardew,” Anthony warned. “Should it come down to it, you do not want an enemy in me.” 

Lord Cardew glowered at Anthony for so long the tension could be felt in the air, until he finally released his anger in a huff and stormed off in a way unbecoming of a gentleman. With every step he took away from you, the more the weight on your shoulders dissolved.

“That is the man your mother wants you to marry?” Anthony marveled.

You nodded as you smoothed your dress down and let out a haggard breath. “It is a rather damning fate, is it not?” 

“Indeed,” he murmured, his own gaze fixed in the distance from where Lord Cardew left. “I suppose it is fortunate you have another suitor.” 

“It is,” you agreed. “Though I must admit, I did not expect you to go along with me.”

“It was just as much of a surprise to me,” Anthony admitted, and when you turned to him he still seemed slightly shocked. 

“Then I am all the more thankful for it. You have no idea how much you have just saved me.”

“I cannot believe what you have dragged me into,” Anthony lamented, and as he extracted his arm from your grasp you took a few steps away from him. 

“Do not worry,” you reassured. “I promise, it is nothing but a ruse — just to keep that awful man away from me until he finds a match in a lady that is not me.” 

“And how long will that take?

“I haven’t the slightest,” you offered with a tight smile, “but I pray it will be soon.”  

Anthony let out a loose sigh as he rubbed his forehead. “This is going to be a very long season.” 

“Indeed it will be.” You cleared your throat and took a moment to readjust the neckline of your dress before offering your hand to Anthony. “Now. Shall we indulge the ton with a dance to close out their night and give them something worthwhile to gossip about?” 

“I believe I am the one meant to offer you my hand,” he noted. 

You shrugged. “I suppose I am already preparing for my freedom outside of society.” 

Anthony stared at you for a moment before his lips quirked up. “You certainly waste no time.” 

“One must be efficient if they wish to get anything out of life.” You extended your hand further, your own smile blooming. 

“I agree.” Anthony took your hand and placed it on the crook of his elbow. “Shall we?” 

You nodded. “We shall.” 

— 

Lady Danbury’s ball had been the place of endless gossip after your first dance with Anthony — you now understood how he felt during the social season, for you were now, along with him, the talk of the ton, the center of attention from dozens of miffed mothers. To them, you were the childish, thankless, pathetic excuse for a lady that had taken away their daughter’s chance at viscountess. You had to admit, you did not at all enjoy the spotlight, and on your third dance you’d started to wonder if this truly was the best option — for both your sanity and your feet. 

After all you had committed yourself to in the night before, you had been looking forward to at least sleeping soundly once you retired for the evening. And though you had been granted the relief, it was taken away far too early.

The steps of your lady’s maid alerted you to her presence even before she threw the drapes open, sunlight immediately filtering into your room. 

“Julia,” you groaned as you covered your eyes from the fresh rays with your arm, “you know I adore you, but I do not know how much longer I can handle these early wakings.” 

“My sincerest apologies miss, but your mother insisted upon it.” 

That was the quickest way to get your attention. You rubbed the sleep out of your eyes and when you looked up, you were, true to Julia’s word, greeted with your mother. 

“What are you doing here so early?” you mumbled, turning onto your side and burying your head in your pillows to avoid the sun. “I don’t have any arrangements planned.”

“The newest edition of Whistledown came this morning,” she explained, walking over to sit down on the side of your bed. “And my dear, you must read it.”

You groaned once more, reluctantly turning over and sitting up as your mother offered you the pamphlet. 

Dearest Reader,

Is there anything as exciting as the beginning of a brand new season? The ton comes to life once more, with frantic mamas and earnest debutantes all finishing last minute preparations in the hopes that they will be crowned the season’s diamond. I certainly know it is a modiste’s favorite time of year. 

You raised an eyebrow at her. “This is truly thrilling news, mother.”

She hit your elbow lightly and pointed towards the end of the edition. “Skip here.”

I had not anticipated delivering this news so early on in the season, nor ever, if I am being truthful, but I do admit it excites me. It appears as though two of the most stubborn heads to set foot in London have found solace in each other, in a move that not even I expected. 

The rumors are indeed true: The Viscount Bridgerton has finally commenced his search for a wife after years of rakedom, and his choice in courtship is none other than Miss Y/N Worthing. Both are known for their outspoken views against marriage, but maybe it is the common dissatisfaction that has brought the pair together. Whatever the reason, they are sure to shake up England together. 

I am ever looking forward to how this courting will end, so fret not; every step of this unusual union will be uncovered. Oh, gentlest reader, I only hope you are just as intrigued as I.  

Yours Truly, 

Lady Whistledown. 

You hummed, unenthused as you handed the leaflet back to her. “I’m in Whistledown.”

“Unbelievable,” your mother said with a shake of her head, and you closed your eyes as you let your head fall back against the pillows. “This is huge, darling!” 

“Really, mother?” you sighed. “You pay no mind to any of my other accomplishments, but getting mentioned by Lady Whistledown is worth your attention. I do not understand it.” 

“It is not Lady Whistledown I am concerned with,” your mother admonished with a glance in your direction, “you know that. It is the fact that you are being courted by Anthony Bridgerton! My darling, you are to be a Bridgerton! Oh, I am so proud of you!” 

How ironic, you thought, that the one thing your mother is proud of you for is something that is not even real. It truly is just your luck. 

“Yes,” you responded idly, “it is quite exciting. But there is no guarantee that I will be a Bridgerton, mother. All the viscount did was request a dance, and all I did was indulge him. It can hardly even be considered courting.” 

She sighed, immensely exasperated. “One does not simply dance with an eligible lady as a bachelor if one does not intend on courtship. Have I not taught you anything?”

“On the contrary, I argue that you have taught me far too much.” You fixed her with a pointed look. “I should think there is no room left for anything of actual importance after all the meaningless dances and instruments you have forced me to learn.”

“I understand you are not a fan of quadrilles, but do not lie to me and say that you do not enjoy the violin.” Her lips quirked up in amusement, and you could see in her eyes she was going back to it. “That was a particularly interesting summer, when you decided to try your hand at as many instruments as you could find.”

You chuckled. “Well, if we couldn’t afford a teacher, I was going to try as many as possible to see what clicked. I just did not anticipate enjoying all of them so much.” 

Your mother smiled at you, and you were reminded of how fond you were of her company when marriage wasn’t on her mind. “You are certainly more gifted than me at the pianoforte — I was a complete wreck. My voice was my saving grace.” 

You laughed again with a knowing nod — your mother accompanied you more times than you could remember with her singing, steadfast through every single instrument you insisted on learning. But your thoughts were interrupted with a yawn, and you covered your mouth with the palm of your hand, giving your mother a soft smile once it passed. 

“As much as I am enjoying these memories, I must admit I am exhausted,” you said as you leaned back against your pillows. “And your early rising for the sake of Whistledown has not helped.”

“Darling,” your mother sighed. “Ladies start their day bright and early — now that you have debuted, you do not get to laze around all morning and read all day. You have duties you must attend to.” 

“I do not have any engagements today!” you protested. “If you so approve of the viscount courting me, I am in need of my rest to deal with him. He is quite a handful.” 

Before your mother could respond, another maid poked her head in through the open door. “Excuse me, misses — forgive me for the interruption, but Miss Worthing has a caller. He is waiting in the drawing room.” 

Your mother’s eyes widened with excitement as she stood up from your bed, satisfaction underneath her smile. “You do have an engagement, my dear, and I cannot wait to see who. Maybe it is the viscount himself!” She squeezed her hands together, her smile growing larger by the second. “Oh, how exciting!” 

Before she exited your room she looked at your lady’s maid. “Julia, will you assist her in getting ready? I do not trust her judgment on such an important matter.” 

“Of course, my lady,” she nodded, and you blew out a loose sigh as your mother closed the door behind her. 

If this truly was Anthony, you needed to ensure any future meetings were set at a much later hour. Elsewise, you would not survive this courtship either. 

—

“So,” Julia couldn’t help the smile on her lips as she laced up your corset, meeting your eyes in the mirror, “you must explain to me how you have gone from an avid hater of marriage to being courted by Anthony Bridgerton, of all men! I believe we have stood in this exact same position before, only with the topic of conversation being his latest outrageous act by word of Miss Eloise rather than his courtship of you.” 

You sighed, shivering slightly as her cold fingers brushed over your shoulder, and shook your head. “I do not even think I can give you an answer to that, Jules. It certainly is… something.”

She chuckled and began to help you into the dress she had selected, the light blue fabric embroidered with white thread designs hanging off of your build in a simple but flattering way. “Whatever the reason may be, I hope you know I am proud of you. I know it is not easy to embark on a journey like this, especially one you have been so firm in denying, but I have the utmost faith that you will succeed. You are doing a great service to your family.”

You opened your mouth to say something but she interrupted you with that slight smile again. “And before you claim the opposite, know that I have always been proud of you, not just in your social season. You have blossomed into a truly wonderful lady, and that will not change whether or not you gain the weight of a ring on your finger.” 

Your lips quirked up into a small smile of your own as Julia laid a locket around your neck, letting your hair go once she clasped the two ends together. “What would I do without you?” 

“Most likely find another much less willing servant to rant to,” she joked. “But you needn’t worry — I am not going anywhere.” 

“And for that, I am eternally thankful,” you said, “though I do not think I am granted the same fate.” 

Julia smiled and smoothed out the sleeves of your dress before she turned you around, that steadfast confidence in her eyes that you knew so well helping to calm your nerves. “You will do just fine, my lady. Anthony Bridgerton is only above you in title and nothing else — I have the utmost faith that you can handle him.”

You had no worries about handling him — your troubles lay more in the fact that your arrangement was nothing more than an illusion. Anthony was not particularly known for his patience, and though you had an agreement, your fears were anchored in the true reliability of your fake beau. It was not at all out of the realm of possibility for the viscount to reach his limit and ruin this entire thing for the both of you. 

Though you often aired your troubles to your lady’s maid, you could not do that now— not when your troubles were of such a sort. So instead you merely took a deep breath as you smoothed out your skirt and adjusted the neckline of your dress.

“Indeed. Now,” you turned to face her with a smile, “shall we?”

-

You trailed through the hallways of your estate with Julia by your side, trying not to show too much of your disdain. Anthony’s courtship of you did not mean you had to act the part of a doting lady, but it did mean your civility was required. 

Of course, a small part of you hoped that it was not Anthony who sat in your drawing room. The amiability required by his courtship was not necessary for a normal suitor — at least if another man was your caller, you needn’t hold your tongue.

Your hopes were dashed the moment you stepped inside the open doors of your drawing room, trying your best to keep a straight face at the sight of the viscount. He did not share your feelings, made obvious by the smile that bloomed on his lips as he stood up from the couch.

“Ah, Miss Worthing!” he greeted. “I was wondering when you would show.”

You responded with a tight smile of your own. “When one shows up unannounced, he should expect delays. In fact, he should consider himself lucky for even earning an audience.”

Your mother laughed uncomfortably as she stood up from her chair, guiding you over to Anthony with an arm on your shoulder. 

“Forgive my daughter, Viscount Bridgerton, please,” she said with the voice of an exasperated mother. “It is still early, and she has not yet broken her fast — she is slightly irritable.”

“It is of no worry, Lady Worthing,” he reassured, and Anthony sat down with you. “I hope I was not an imposition.”

“You—”

“—Are not at all!” Your mother interrupted once again before you could say he most certainly was. She settled in her chair and picked up her embroidery hoop once more, offering a pleasant smile to the two of you. “Please, feel free to converse as if I am not even here.”

You offered her a tight, mocking smile as you turned to Anthony, lowering your voice so as to keep your insults private.

“You are a cruel man,” you muttered, glancing at your mother out of the corner of your eye to ensure she could not hear your true words. “This was not how I hoped our partnership would begin.” 

“However so?” Anthony asked, tilting his head to the side slightly. He was clearly enjoying your pain, of which he was the cause. It was truly irritating. “If I recall correctly, this entire affair was your idea.”

“Showing up as an unannounced caller, and at this hour nonetheless?” You shook your head. “This arrangement is meant to be equally beneficial. I cannot benefit if I am forced to bear constant early wakings.”

“I am an early riser, my lady,” he said, and you could not figure out whether or not his austerity was genuine. “And I have long held the belief that the morning is the best time to achieve anything, when one’s mind is at its most alert.” 

“Your ‘alert mind’ is doing you no good if you are unable to see the effect this has on me,” you said, glaring very pointedly at him as you lowered your voice even more. “This is a fake courtship. None of this is necessary.”

“I see it very clearly. I figured putting up with my own sudden visits could be your payment in return for springing something like this on me at the last possible moment,” Anthony said. ”As you know, I am a man of honor, a gentleman at that— if you want anyone to believe this, you will have to deal with my actions.”

“You could have refused,” you pointed out. 

“I should hope you do not see me as horrid enough to allow that man to actually court you,” Anthony countered with a slight frown. 

“Daphne’s season spells out something entirely different.” 

“You are aware of how much longer this arrangement will seem if you insist on arguing your way through it,” he said dryly.

“It is in my nature,” you responded with a smile. “It is how I’ve managed to avoid suitors thus far.” 

He hummed. “Perhaps I should have been taking tips from you long before this season. No matter how often I expressed my intentions to stay unmarried, countless mothers continued to all but throw their daughters at me. It’s not enjoyable in the slightest.” 

“Imagine how the young ladies feel,” you mused. “Being forced to try their hand at you knowing you fully despise them.” 

Anthony raised an eyebrow. “Is that not what any suitor considering you must deal with?” 

Your nose crinkled at the idea. “I… suppose you are indeed correct.” 

“I often am,” he responded, his smugness not lost on you. 

Your gaze flitted away from him for a moment before an idea popped into your head. Thus far, it seemed that this fake courtship between you and Viscount Bridgerton would be a test of who could irritate the other the most without breaking the illusion you were creating. 

Two could certainly play at that game. 

“Why yes, my lord!” you exclaimed, purposefully raising your voice so that your conversation could now be heard. In your peripherals you saw your mother look up from her embroidery hoop as well as Anthony’s sudden frown, and you could hardly hold back your smile. “I would love to visit the marketplace with you. How kind of you to notice that I am in need of a new reticule.” 

Your scheme quickly dawned on him, but beyond the slightest crease of his eyebrows there was no sign of the distaste surely brewing underneath the surface. 

“The marketplace?” You turned as your mother spoke, a satisfied smile on her lips. “That sounds like a lovely idea, Lord Bridgerton. Thank you immensely for your kindness.”

“Of course,” he replied easily, and after he stood up himself he offered a hand to you. You stood up without it, causing only an amused expression to flit across Anthony’s face as he looked over at your mother. “Should you like to accompany us?”

“Oh, no.” She brushed it off with her hand as she beamed at you. “I do not want to intrude on the new lovers. Julia, would you please chaperone them?”

Your lady’s maid nodded with a smile. “Of course, my lady.”

Anthony offered his arm to you, and this time you took it, albeit very begrudgingly. “Do you hear that?” he muttered with obvious amusement, leaning to speak into your ear as the two of you walked out. “We are new lovers.”

“You could at least act as if you are not enjoying this,” you whispered back. 

“Oh, but I am,” he smiled. “And you should be as well! This was your idea, and yet you are already completely miserable. What were you thinking when you proposed this to me?”

You huffed. “I was thinking the man that has avoided marriage for his entire life would not be so insistent on conducting a real courtship.”

Anthony simply chuckled. “Then it appears you still have much to learn about me.” 

-

The fresh air of the London streets helped in clearing your mind as you strolled through the marketplace, despite the fact that you were arm in arm with Anthony Bridgerton. It did bring you some satisfaction to know that you had at least dealt yourself into the fold with this outing, but you had a feeling Anthony could play this game far better than you. 

After all, a man did not become the head of his household and prepare his myriad of siblings for their respective seasons without picking up some skills of his own, even if he has not yet chosen a wife — especially if he was without a wife, it seemed, as Anthony had all the charm and knowledge of how to seduce a lady and yet none of the results. You surmised that was just the way he liked it. 

If anything, this was just as much of a game to him as it was to you. Some way to make himself feel like even more of a gentleman while avoiding the ton and having a bit of fun all the same. 

“My lady, did you hear me?” 

You blinked a few times as you looked to Anthony, shaking your head. “Apologies. My thoughts are much more interesting than you.”

He chuckled. “You wound me so, Miss Worthing. However am I to cope knowing the woman I am courting does not see me the same way?” 

“Do you always act like this?” you questioned. “Because if that is the case, it is certainly no wonder you have not found a wife. You are far too irritating for any lady to possibly stand.” 

“Did you choose me for your task simply to ridicule me?” Anthony asked instead. “Although I admit I enjoy your company, Miss Worthing, I am not sure if I can handle an entire season of insults.”

“You have seven siblings,” you said. “You have handled fifteen years of insults.”  

“Ah, but they are all the more scathing coming from you.” You chuckled a bit at his words, and Anthony continued. “But truly, what was your reason for choosing me over any other man?”

“I chose you because of your title,” you said simply.

“There must be other viscounts or earls for you to rope into this scheme,” Anthony said, “other men that do not annoy you half as much as I.”

You smiled a bit. “Truth be told, you are the only one I am acquainted with that is of higher ranking than the baron. Even if I knew others, the plan only came to mind when I saw you out in the gardens last night, and you are the only one that I could think of that would even entertain my offer.” 

Anthony hummed in acknowledgment. “It is rather fortunate I was there, then— it will be a welcome reprieve for the season, not having to deal with mamas throwing their daughters at me left and right.”

“See?” you said. “It was purposeful on my part. Mutually beneficial, just as I told you.”

He chuckled, and you smiled. The two of you continued to walk idly through the marketplace, his attention lingering on each stall for a few seconds before passing to the next. The silence between the two of you was surprisingly comfortable, especially with the ambiance of the city you so enjoyed, which is why the question that came out surprised you just as much as him. 

“Why did you choose me?” 

Anthony gave you a curious look. “I’m afraid you have to be more specific, my lady.” 

“By agreeing to this ruse, you chose me, just as I chose you,” you said. “Why would you do such a thing when you are not yet officially looking for a wife?”  

“…I suppose your words struck me,” he responded. “Your position is not one of envy— the sole heir to a family in need, put on a pedestal to a horde of suitors that you don’t desire in the slightest. I am in a similar position, having to marry for the good of my family, but you are correct. The level of scrutiny I face is nowhere near the amount you must put up with, and the idea of you marrying…” Anthony grimaced, “that sorry excuse for a man? No one with good conscience could deny you.”

“So you accepted because of sympathy,” you said.

He chuckled. “Perhaps. Would you rather I outright denied you?”

You smiled yourself as you shrugged. “No. I just enjoy questioning everything you do.”

Anthony shook his head, though he was clearly amused. “Perhaps we should continue this courtship for real— you already bother me as much as a true wife.”

And at that, you laughed aloud. “And you irritate me as much as a true husband.” You glanced behind you to see your lady’s maid walking a distance behind you, pretending not to listen but very obviously eavesdropping.

Anthony glanced back as well and looked at you, catching onto it. “Will she be a problem?”

“Julia?” you asked, and when he nodded you laughed again. “Spare no mind — she has been one of my closest confidantes, and I hers, for as long as I can remember. Should she overhear anything, she will not repeat it.”

“You are close with your lady’s maid?” Anthony asked, and you frowned.

“Are you not acquainted with your manservants?”

“No,” he said, “they are simply servants. I’m friendly with them of course, but certainly not close. Not to the level of sharing secrets.”

“I cannot imagine that,” you sighed. “We employed her three years ago, and since then she has become one of my best friends. Julia knows some of my closest secrets— not having such a bond with the person who spends so much time with you is nearly impossible in my eyes.”

Anthony went silent, and when you looked over you saw him staring at you with an odd look in his eyes.

“What?” you asked, and he shook his head.

“Nothing,” he said, and then he stopped you in front of a market stall that was selling coin purses and reticules. “Should we complete the task we embarked on this journey for?”

You wanted to push him on the subject of his thoughts, but you decided not to as you gave him a smile instead. “So formal, my lord. But I suppose it cannot hurt.”

Anthony picked up a light blue reticule, the white embroidered floral pattern particularly catching your eye. “This one rather suits you, I think. It matches your gown.”

“You’ve got quite an eye!” you exclaimed, taking it from him and holding it up to your dress. You weren’t one to indulge in luxuries such as mindless shopping — you couldn’t quite afford it, to be truthful — but… it did compliment your outfit, and it was a lovely purse.

But you did not even have a chance to deliberate any further, as Anthony was already talking with the merchant. Before you knew it he was thanking her and handing over coin, and you raised your eyebrows at him.

“What?” he said, having the gall to not even look ashamed. “You did say you were in need of a new reticule.” 

You opened your mouth to protest, tell him that you could not afford to waste money on trivial things such as purses out of instinct, but you realized you did not have to. It was the Bridgerton’s coin, and they were far more affluent than your family— with seven children, they had to be. 

And if it was on the Bridgerton’s coin, did it really matter? Would you not be expected to accept gifts from the gentleman courting you? 

“...Thank you,” you finally said, and you beckoned Julia over. 

“What do you think?” you asked as she stopped next to you, holding it up in front of you to model it. “Does the viscount have a better eye for fashion than I thought?”

Julia grinned. “It is as lovely as you, my lady. The color compliments you perfectly.”

“You flatter me so,” you said with a smile. 

“I only tell the truth, Y/N,” she insisted, and you chuckled. “If I may, I’m in need of a few items— do you mind if I wander for a bit?”

“Of course,” you nodded. “Would you like us to wait for you?”

Julia shook her head. “I know the way by heart; I will be fine. Enjoy your time with the viscount.”

She winked at you as she walked past, and you couldn’t stifle your laugh as you rolled your eyes. She would be the death of you, you were certain.

“Shall we, then?” Anthony offered his arm to you, and you nodded as you took it. The two of you began to walk again, the conversation picking up once more.

“Your workers call you by your name?” he asked, and you raised your eyebrows. 

“Not all of us are viscounts of important families, Anthony,” you said. “I do not see the need for someone I regard as closely as a sister to call me by a title I’ve no use for. Many would certainly argue I am in no way a lady.” 

“If your family is viewed in such a way, then why not try to change their opinion? Why not marry a man of higher standing, bring the Worthing name up with you, and prove the ton wrong?”

“I’ve no need for you to impart your wisdom upon me, Lord Bridgerton,” you chuckled. “In terms of high society, yes, my family is wildly poor. But if we were to just exit the ton, live a normal life in middle class sections of the city, or even move to the country where we can have an even simpler existence, then all of our problems would be solved.” You sighed deeply. “But I do not think my parents will ever choose to do so. I’ve no idea why they are so set on us remaining in Mayfair.” 

“You used my title,” Anthony mused, the statement coming out of nowhere after a weighted moment of silence. “Was a walk together all it took for you to find it in yourself a modicum of respect?”

You let out a laugh and looked at him with mirth twinkling in your eyes. “If this walk somehow earned you my respect, then the clarification of it has certainly lost it. Besides; I thought it quite obvious I was merely joking.” 

“The more time I spend with you, the more I think that half the insults towards me in Eloise’s repertoire have in fact come from you.” Anthony gave you a pointed look. “Have you anything at all to say about turning my sister against me?” 

You shrugged. “I cannot be blamed for Eloise’s own creativity. However she chooses to express it is out of my control.” 

Anthony chuckled and glanced away for a moment, before a surprisingly soft gaze found its way to you. 

“You are much more than I expected.” He did not say it with disdain, rather an unexpected lightness. Maybe the viscount was not the way that you expected either, with walls surrounding his emotions impenetrable even by the queen’s army and a mind set only on business matters. Maybe it was possible that Anthony Bridgerton truly had a heart. 

But you could not tell him that you were already beginning to see him in a different light — no, that would mark you as the loser of this game you’d started. You were quite good at irritating others, Anthony included, as you’d realized after years of friendship with Eloise. It could not be too difficult to continue it under the guise of a courtship. 

So instead you shrugged, an amused smile on your lips. “Perhaps there is still much for you to learn of me.” 

And in that moment, looking into Anthony’s eyes, you would’ve given anything to hear his thoughts. But you could not, and so when he smiled back at you, it was merely a smile.

“Perhaps there is," he said.

-

perm tags: @dv0412 @siriuslyslyslytherin @maruchan77 @simonsbluee @kwyloz @masteroperator

bridgerton tags: @theonewithallthemilkshakes @milkiane

anthony bridgerton tags: @gwenebear @lurkymurker @likeballet @tommymcartney

[finelinevogue]

Thanks can you write something about one of the kids getting hate online from jealous people and how it affects them and what Harry and Y/N do

hello!! so this one is going to be about isabelle getting hate (😔), which you will find out why. i’m also changing the age gaps between them because it’s so hard to write with larger age gaps. so here isabelle is 16, felix is 19 and oli is 21!!

“Mum!”

You had been busy ironing the clothes downstairs, whilst watching ‘Call the Midwife’ on the TV, when you heard Felix shouting you from upstairs.

“What?” You shouted back, moving from the lounge to the bottom of the stairs to hear better.

“I think you should see this.”

When your children say things like this you either roll your eyes when you find out they wanted to show you a meme, or panic because some rumour has been spread all over the internet of them.

“Just hang on a minute!” Your attention diverted to the front door being opened harshly. Everyone else was already home but Belle, so it must’ve been her. It was a Wednesday today and Belle always had study group in the library after-school on a Wednesday, although today she was back a little earlier than normal.

You moved the latch off the porch door and opened it to welcome Belle home, watching as she threw off her high-top converse aggressively.

“Hiya love, you alr—” You didn’t get to finish before you saw that her eyes were red and puffy, tears streaming down her face like a cascading waterfall. Her mascara was smudged and made it look like she hadn’t slept for weeks. “Woah, hey, Belle?”

Belle didn’t listen to you though, instead she stormed past and ran up the stairs and a minute later you heard her bedroom door slam shut.

What the fuck was that about?

“Minute too late mum!” Felix shouted again, making you roll your eyes in annoyance. However, it did confirm that something had happened to Belle on social media or over the internet and you had to get Harry on top of this now.

You walked down the stairs, into your basement - which Harry had converted into a sound-proof studio - and saw him sat with a guitar on his lap and pencil between his teeth, playing around with chords on repeat.

“Babe?” You knocked on the door as you spoke, Harry looking up from where he was sat to you and smiling as bright as ever.

“You alright love?” He asked sweetly, taking the pencil out of his mouth first.

“I am yeah, but Belle’s just come home crying and shut herself in her room.” You furrowed your eyebrows, trying to work through everything that had happened and wondering whether you’d done something or not done something.

Harry instantly got to his feet, putting everything down so that he could come over to you. He placed his warm hands on your cheeks and kissed your lips once just because, “I know what you’re thinking, so stop it. Something’s probably happened at school. Let me go talk to her, okay?” You nodded in agreement and sighed in thanks.

Belle had always been more of a daddy’s girl than a mommy’s girl, and that was okay. It just meant that she was more open to her feelings and her heart with her dad than you, not to say she never talked to you about things like that. Harry always filled you in on things, though, and would prompt you to talk to her if he thought extremely necessary. Belle liked to work things out by herself normally, not liking to be a burden to anyone - a lot like you actually.

Harry walked out of the room and climbed the stairs two at a time until he made it outside Belle’s room. He knocked before entering, but Belle made no sound for him to enter.

“Belles?” Harry asked softly, shutting the door and walking over to her bed which she was curled up on. She had obviously flopped on the bed and began crying, because there was no sign of effort to get under the covers or get comfortable.

“D-dad?” She mumbled roughly, her choked sobs holding her back.

“Yes sweetheart, i’m here.” Harry sat down on the edge of her bed and sat their patiently. He didn’t want to invade her space or make her feel claustrophobic, so he waited for her to come to him and that didn’t take long. She sprang up and hugged him with her head buried against her dad’s chest, sobbing so violently that Harry’s heart cracked in two. He hated to see his baby cry. It was his biggest weakness.

Belle made an attempt to speak but Harry couldn’t understand due to the shear heaviness of her cries.

“Belles, y’gotta calm down for me, my heart. Gotta breathe it out before you make yourself sick.” He smoothed his hand over the back of her hair, like he’d always done. Her breathing ever-so-slowly coming back down to a normal and healthy pace. “That’s it, thank you.” He kissed the top of her head and held her tightly still.

“Dad?” She shakily started.

“Yes love.”

“Do y-you know?” She sat up so she could face her dad, bur Harry didn’t let his hands leave hers.

“Know what, sweetheart?”

Harry genuinely didn’t know and Belle could see that in his honest, kind, eyes.

“T-that…” Belle started tearing up again, her bottom lip wobbling like sailors legs.

“Hey, calm down. You’re okay. Breathe and then talk to me, okay?” Harry ordered her, not caring if this took all night. He was here for his baby girl whenever and wherever, no exceptions. If she didn’t ever tell him, that was okay as long as he helped her build up her happiness again. A few deep breaths later and she was feeling more comfortable.

“I..,” she paused momentarily to collect her words before letting them flow out beautifully, “i’m gay dad.”

Warmth spread through Harry’s heart as if he were torch that’d just been set alight. He could only put the way he felt into one word; proud. He was so proud that his daughter was turning into the loving and open and beautiful woman she was always born to be. He was also just so happy that she had the confidence in him to tell him something so important to her.

“I’m so proud of you, Belle.”

“Really?” She sounded surprised, which made Harry take a step back in confusion.

“Yes of course,” Harry squeezed her hand just a little tighter, “have I ever given you a reason to think otherwise?”

“No.”

“Then where’s this doubt coming from hey?”

Belle began to cry again at his question.

“T-the media found out and i-it’s been published everywhere a-and I w-was worried I wouldn’t b-be able to tell you myself b-before they could. They’re being s-so rude too.” Her cries broke Harry all over again. As much as he was proud of her for coming out so bravely, he was incredibly pissed off that the media thought it was there business to pass around before Belle was even comfortable admitting it first. It’s Belle’s right to come out when she wants and how she wants and Harry could understand how frustrating and upsetting that must be to have it all taken away. He had to keep calm for Belle though, pulling her back into his chest to hold her safely.

“What are they saying?”

Anger bubbled through Harry’s veins as she began to speak.

“That i’m only gay to promote the values you stand for or that you’ll be disappointed that not all your children are straight.”

Harry’s fingers curled at her words, not understanding how much of a low-life you have to be to genuinely type and publish these things about a child, let alone his child. He was furious and he was going to burn - metaphorically - the people responsible for this abuse.

“How did they find out?”

Instead of her saying anything she pulled up a picture of the article online - released by ‘The Sun’ unsurprisingly as they were the worst for paparazzi stalking - and it all started to piece together.

The article headlined a picture of Belle and another girl, kissing outside of school. The study group mustn’t have been exclusively studying. Harry didn’t focus on the shitty article, he instead focused on how the smile on Belle’s face was the widest he’d ever seen.

“You look very happy.” Harry tried to make light of the situation for his daughter.

“I am. They make me very happy.” Belle blushed and Harry caught on.

“And they’re called?”

“Megan.”

“Megan,” Harry repeated the name, getting a feel for the way it sounded for future use, “well they seem lovely.”

“Dad you’ve only seen them through a picture of us kissing.” Belle rolled her eyes and Harry reached out to dab the tears away, not minding that his sleeve was becoming heavily damp.

“Shut up you,” he laughed causing a smile to leap onto Belles face too, “do we get to meet them?”

“Hopefully,” Belle smiles, before looking down to her lap with furrowed brows, “that is, if they still like me after this whole media shambles.” Belle let out a breathe of shaky air and Harry caught her anxiety before she could let herself run off with it.

“Let me take care of that, don’t worry yourself over it, okay?” Belle nodded.

“Do I have to make like a statement or anything?”

“You do whatever you want to, Belles, and i’ll love you no matter what.”

And with that Harry left the room, a smile on his face for feeling like the proudest most happiest parent on the planet. It only lasted a few minutes though, because now it was time to make some phone calls and sue a few people.

[mandos-sluts]

The Apology

The Mandolorian x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Wordcount: 2.5k

Warnings: Smut, rough sex, dubious consent, degradation, daddy kink, dirty talk, alcohol consumption

Summary: You cause Mando’s negotiation to break down seek a way to make it up to him

A/N: Please message us or comment if you want to be on our tag list!!

You and Mando have been working as partner bounty hunters for about six months. The two of you just apprehended and turned in a bounty that was incredibly difficult to catch. But Mando was especially driven to catch her not because the price on her head was super high (though it was), but because there was a possibility the two of you would be able to collect the payout in beskar. The agency that put the bounty on her has a considerable reserve of beskar, and Mando has heard that they have paid out in beskar before.

The two of you arrive at the cantina where you’ve arranged to meet with a representative from the firm to negotiate your payment. You are exhausted and extra irritable— that bounty put up a grueling fight. You and Mando slide into a booth as a waiter approaches your table.

“Your strongest spotchka please.” You tell the waiter.

Mando turns his head and looks at you. “Y/n.” He says in a low, warning tone.

“What, Mando? We just turned in a bounty which we spent over a week hunting. I’m allowed to have a drink.”

The waiter returns with your drink and it’s gone within the minute. You set your empty glass on the table as a frail middle-aged man walks up to your booth.

Mando rises eagerly to his feet. “Hello sir, thank you for coming.” He says, shaking his hand. You don’t bother to stand, instead offering him a silent smile. You and Mando are partners, but this whole beskar exchange is his forte, and you’re fine with letting him take the lead.

“I understand that you would like to negotiate for your payment to be in beskar.” The man says sitting across from you and Mando.

“That’s correct sir. Thank you for meeting with us.” Mando returns. You’ve never seen him be so polite and formal with someone before.

“My consortium pays out in beskar very rarely. And that is typically only when the value of the Imperial Credit or the Calamari Flan are especially volatile. But both currencies are stable right now, why should we pay you with our limited beskar reserves?”

Mando begins his argument. *see gif* You pretty much zone out, slouched beside him. You know he’s saying something about how beskar is sacred to Mandalorians and how the amount you’re willing to accept in beskar is much less than they would pay you guys in a different form.

“Well, we would like to be in good standing with you.” You hear the man say as you zone back in. “And you must be one hell of a bounty hunter if you’re able to afford escorts as young and pretty as her.” The man says pointing at you. “Maybe I'll use the credits we don’t pay you to pick one of them young things up for myself.”

You lift your head and sit up straight. Being a woman bounty hunter, you get sexist comments like this all of the time. You usually ignore them, especially in high-pressure situations like this. However, you downed that spotchka you ordered and the alcohol is overriding the voice in your head that tells you to keep your mouth shut.

“I’m not a sex worker, I’m his hunting partner.” You assert, completely unamused.

“Hahahaha oh that’s cute. Sure you are, sweetheart.” The man cackles.

“And ya know….you probably wouldn’t need to pay women to be around you if you weren’t such a creepy pervert.” You say harshly.

Instant regret.

The tone in the booth immediately shifts. Shock and offense cover the man’s face.

“...Excuse me?” He says slowly rising from his seat with his palms on the table.

Mando quickly stands. “Sir, I’m sorry, she didn’t mean that. Please we–”

“Who the hell do you think you are?! You come in here asking for a favor and then disrespect me!?” The man yells down at you. “Here!” He tosses a bag of coins on the table. “Enjoy your Imperial credits!” He spits before turning and storming away.

“Wait sir, the beskar–” Mando pleads, but the man is already out the door.

You feel the guilt rise in your stomach. “Fuck! Mando I’m so sor–”

“Shut up. Let’s go.”

“Mando wait let me go talk to hi–”

“Let’s go!” He barks at you, making you jump.

You spend the walk back to the Crest profusely apologizing to Mando. He stays silent and doesn’t even acknowledge you. He’s walking so fast you’re running to keep up with him.

You desperately seek a response from him, but Mando enters the ship without saying a word. He makes his way up the ladder and you follow.

“Mando! I fucked up, I’m really sorry I shouldn’t have said anything. I know how important recovering beskar is to you, and I’m so sorry. I was drunk and….and I’m so so sorry!” You plead as your eyes fill with tears.

“Mando.” You beg, voice cracking as tears begin rolling down your face, “Please, please say something.” You cry as you pull on his arm. He yanks away from you and walks silently into the cockpit.

Mando has been livid with you before. You guys have engaged in plenty of screaming matches throughout your six months working together. They typically stem from you doing things he doesn’t think are safe, or the two of you disagreeing on what strategy you should employ to catch a bounty. But you’ve never seen him like this before. He’s more upset than angry; he’s disappointed. So much so that he doesn’t even want to yell at you. This is his creed, his religion, his people’s stolen commodity, and you just fucked up a chance for him to get some of it back.

Mando sits down in the pilot’s chair. You’re standing in the door to the cockpit behind him.

You take a deep breath. Your eyes are glossy and streaks of tears stain your cheeks. “Is–is there anything I can do to make it up to you?”

Mando spins around in his chair so that he is facing you. “Yeah.” He says shortly.

Your eyes widened. “W-what is it?”

“Get on your knees.” Mando says in a low, rough voice.

“What?”

“You heard me. Get on your knees.”

Your knees shake as you slowly lower yourself to the floor. You sit on your knees and stare up at Mando with wide eyes and a confused desperate look.

“Take your hair down and take your dress off.” He commands flatly.

“Um, wh–”

“Are you gonna make me tell you again?” He interrupts you.

You pull your hair tie out of your hair, letting it fall down past your shoulders. You look up at Mando sitting in the chair, and see that he’s rubbing an unmistakable bulge over his pants.

Arousal shoots through your core and you can feel your panties become damp. He takes off his gloves and drops them to the floor. You begin slowly unbuttoning your dress, and Mando unbuttons his pants, removing his hard thick cock as he stares at you. He starts slowly stroking his length with his hand, sitting there, unapologetically watching you undress on your knees in front of him.

You can’t believe what’s happening. You’ve fantasized about Mando almost every night since you became a team, but you never envisioned something like this.

You pull your dress over your head and set it down on the cold metal floor next to you. You weren’t wearing a bra, so you’re completely naked except for a thong. Mando stands up and starts slowly creeping toward you, his cock in hand. Your head tilts higher and higher as he nears you with your gaze on his visor.

He stops when he’s standing directly above you, pumping his cock just inches away from your face which is still fresh with tears.

“M-Mando, I–”

“Shut up.” He snaps, grabbing your chin with his other hand. He runs his thumb along your bottom lip. “I only want your mouth open if my cock is in it.” He pulls your face toward his member and you instinctively part your lips as Mando pushes it into your mouth.

You’re in shock by what’s happening, but you manage to gather your composure and you begin sucking his dick. In any other situation, you would tease him by licking his length or starting only with the tip, but you figure it’s best to jump right in.

“Fuck.” Mando says under his breath, surprised at how readily you started bobbing your head.

You take a deep breath through your nose and move one of your hands to his thigh to steady yourself and the other to the bottom of his shaft and move it up and down along with your head.

Mando’s breathing picks up. “You’re such a fuckin brat.” He spits, weaving his hand into your hair on the back of your head.

You swirl your tongue around his tip and begin to take more of his length. “F-fuck your mouth feels so good.” Mando breaths out.

You let out a whimper and look up into his visor. His words encourage you to bob your head faster.

“Shit, y/n. You’re sucking my cock better than I thought you could. You do this a lot before, little slut?”

You feel arousal shoot to your pussy at the vulgar things that he— your hunting partner, your colleague— is saying to you. You can feel that your panties are soaked.

Mando’s grip on your hair tightens and he begins thrusting his hips. “Do you know how many times I’ve thought about shoving you to your knees and forcing my cock into that annoying mouth of yours?”

Breathing through your nose, you try your best not to gag as you let him take control. You want to show Mando how good you are at this— how much you can satisfy him.You bring your hand up and start kneading his balls, and Mando grunts. He can’t believe how submissive you’re being.

“Pfft, you’re a– a desperate little whore, letting– letting me fuck this delicate little throat of yours.” Mando says between thrusts. “You know you could tell me to stop, but you like this don’t you? You like being treated like a slut.”

You let out a pathetic whimper, signalling how right he was. You love that Mando is using you and fucking out his frustrations on you.

“Bet your panties are soaking wet.” Mando says. He takes his cock out of your mouth and grabs your upper arms. “In fact, let's see.” He says as he pulls you up off your feet. Mando sits down in the pilot’s chair and throws you over his lap.

Your head is near the ground and your ass is perched up on his lap. Mando spreads your ass cheeks apart and peers down at the drenched thin fabric covering your pussy. He grabs the top of your thong and wraps it around his hand. He pulls it up, making the fabric pull against your clit. You let out a yelp but he doesn’t relent, pulling it so hard until it snaps. He tosses the stretched broken panties to the ground and gazes down at your glistening, soaking wet cunt.

“Ha. I knew it. Fuck. Look at this desperate pussy.” Mando runs his middle finger through your folds. “Poor little girl. That why you’re being such a brat? Huh? You needed someone to fill your neglected little hole?”

Without warning, Mando plunges his middle finger into your hole and starts pumping it fast. Your mouth opens and whines begin to fall from your lips. Mando’s other hand slaps your ass. And you scream out. He spanks you a few more times, each harder than the one before.

The sounds of your whimpers, the sounds of his hand striking your soft skin, and the sounds of your obscenely wet pussy gushing as his fingers pump it fill the otherwise silent cockpit.

“Fuck your pussy is tight, y/n.” Mando spits. “You did such a good job with my cock in your mouth, let’s see how your pussy takes it.” He says flipping you around so that you are straddling him.

“Mando, I-I don’t know if it’s gonna fit!” You cry as you bring your hand down to cover your hole.

“I’m gonna make it fit.” Mando growls back, shoving your hand away and lining his member up with your entrance. But then, noticing the genuine worry in your eyes, he changes his tone.

“Come on, baby girl, open up for me.” Mando purrs softly. With his hands on your hips, he slowly guides your hips down so that just his tip enters you. He can feel your body relax.

You let out a breath and stare deeply into his visor, your hands are wrapped around his neck. You begin moving up and down his length, each time taking more of it into you as your moans become louder and your mouth falls open.

Mando lets out a grunt once his cock is fully engulfed by your walls. He can’t help but thrust his hips up as you begin to pick up your pace. Your moans become screams as his harsh thrusts upward coincide perfectly with the drop of your hips.

Mando is driving deep into your cunt as fast as he can. He moves one of his hands to your throat and squeezes it. “You– you gonna behave now, you little brat?”

“Y-yes, daddy.” You whimper back.

“Yeah? You gonna be a good girl for me?” Mando says as he aggressively spanks your ass.

All you can do at this point is nod in response. Your mouth agape and uncontrollable wails fall from your lips.

“You’re a dirty little slut, aren’t you? Letting me fuck the shit out of this prestine cunt of yours. Calling your partner daddy. Do it again.” He commands. “Call me daddy.”

“Daddy! D-daddy please– please don’t stop.” You cry out, gripping his shoulders and neck for dear life.

“Fuck, this pussy is– is so good. I might just have you sit on my cock while I– while I pilot the fucking ship.” Mando says.

He moves his hand back down to your waist and pushes your back so that he’s holding you up against him. His cold beskar feels so good against your nipples. Mando starts thrusting even faster and his grip on you tightens as he feels his orgasm approaching. Then Mando abruptly lifts you off his lap and drops you onto your knees in front of him. He stands up, pumping his member with his hand.

He’s panting. “I’m gonna cum on that pretty face of yours.”

You close your eyes and stick out your tongue, just as you feel Mando’s warm juices rain onto your face. “Ahhhhhhhhhh fuckkkkk.” He moans, looking down at your docile expression as he paints your skin with his cum.

“You look good like this.” Mando says with a slight chuckle as he bends down. He runs his thumb across your chin and then puts it in your mouth. You obediently suck his finger before he pops it out and grabs you a rag.

You wipe your face off. “Mando, I’m sorry.” You say flatly.

“I forgive you. And I’m sorry too.” He says sincerely. “That guy was an asshole.”

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