#the burgundy jumper

[goiwantamuffin]

Look, it's Aled!

#certified babyboy #i love him so much #also you have no idea how long i sat and agonized about which colour his jumper should be #like i wanted it to be burgundy (for Radio Silence reasons) #but they're all wearing their school uniform #and in my head that's blue #so #yeah #anyway GIVE IT UP FOR ALED #aled radio silence #heartstopper #heartstopper colouring book #aled heartstopper #aled last

[bobbie-robron]

If she’s this positive then you should be, too.

12-Apr-2018

#robron #robert sugden #aaron dingle #liv flaherty #liv returns #robert lite #robert liv hug #don’t get yourself in a state #think positive #robert chilling wearing his leather jacket #burgundy jumper #20180412 #robron episodes 2018

[hawleywilby]

#robert sugden #robron #a great comedian #can he do some comedy next #a r m s #the leather jacket #the burgundy jumper #301017 #my set

[l0vegl0wsinthedark]

Zoom In.

Muggle AU, professor of 18C literature and poetry Draco, celebrity Harry ✨️

~

Violet was the first to log in - again. In the minutes before class began - in the "waiting room" - while she stared at her blank screen, it felt like the only real few moments she truly had to herself.

She spent all those moments, like so many others, thinking about Professor Malfoy.

To every single straight girl, and the singular gay guy, in class, Professor Malfoy was prime wank material. Violet hadn't known her classmates to be as desperate for a good word on their assignments from any other professor. To think homework would feature so high on the to-do lists of some of the biggest lunkheads she knew...there was definitely something about him, that Professor Malfoy.

She could see the appeal. The eerily pale eyes, hair, and skin made to appear warmer by the fluffy jumpers - all in elegant shades of scarlet, burgundy, emerald, wine, golden yellow - he wore over crisply ironed button-downs and tailored trousers; the way he used his hands when he talked, long fingers like a pianist's; the slim golden spectacles he was constantly misplacing on his own head, the rich precision with which he pronounced the olde names and subjects that he spoke of - it was very difficult not to admire Professor Malfoy.

All of that, but nobody really knew much about him outside of uni.

They'd switched to virtual classes a week ago; hurrah for the new pandemic. The idea that she didn't have to sit in class with her tittering classmates, a stray cough sounding now and again, made Violet automatically sit up straighter and smile, just as the little boxes on her screen began popping into life.

"Aaaayyyy!"

"Tell me we don't need to have our faces on display."

"So, yes, before anyone asks: this is a real lip ring. An actual piercing. Yeah, I'm not blowing you, Greg, sod off."

"Is Professor Malfoy on?"

"No, I don't see him here yet. Did he grade your essay?"

"Yo, can someone please tell me how to turn this camera off, I am smashed out my--"

"Click on the camera icon, Bryan--"

"It's not even noon, what d'you mean "smashed"?

"No, you've turned off your mic. No, we cannot hear you screaming."

"First icon on the bottom left," Violet said, rolling her eyes.

And then Professor Malfoy was in class.

There was a beat of silence before everyone called out greetings, a chaotic round of cheerful hello's that nobody could quite make sense of. Least of all Professor Malfoy.

He was peering into his screen, his slim nose scrunched.

"All right, so I can see me. Can you?"

Cacophonic confirmations.

"Okay, so nobody can see or hear me. Right."

More shrill reassurances. One loud beer-belch.

"Damn it all to hell, I knew this would happen, I told him that I'll need--"

"We can see you!" shrieked Preiti.

"We can hear you!" Nora bellowed.

But Professor Malfoy was already twisting around in his chair, scowling heavily, and screaming, "OY! COME IN HERE, YOU MISERABLE WANKER!"

Violet, along with her classmates, just stared in mystified silence. The professor never spoke like that. He ticked them off if they did.

A tall figure in a too big hoodie appeared suddenly, hissing back at Professor Malfoy. There was a golden lion printed on the maroon jacket. The hood was drawn in close, and Violet could just barely make out the light from the computer screen glinting off a pair of round glasses, on which a shaggy fringe of dark hair fell.

"You need to turn the volume up. Git," said the stranger. "Your camera's already on."

"I hate technology," Professor Malfoy seethed.

"You hate so much else. I'm getting fish and chips." The man was already walking off.

"I want mushy peas too, with mine."

"What kind of sick bastard." The room door was shut with a thud.

"Sorry about all that. We are now officially in session," Professor Malfoy said, smiling and restoring his glasses upon his nose. "Do you all have--?"

There was a muffled shout from somewhere behind the professor. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Professor Malfoy called back, "No. No, I don't want a curry dipping sauce."

There was more muffled yelling.

"Harry, get out right now!" shrieked Professor Malfoy, and Violet, along with the others, just ogled.

Malfoy sighed. "Sorry 'bout that. Just my idiot husband."

"You're married?!" Violet had asked before she could stop herself.

Professor Malfoy sighed, flipping open a thick, spiral bound folder. "Yes. You've heard of Harry Potter, I'm sure. He's the poor idiot I married."

#my writing #drarry #professor malfoy

[alphabetboyluvr]

throttle │ jjk - one

this fic is my baby and has just hit 400k over on wp, so I'm sharing her here too he he

one / two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight / nine / ten / eleven

warnings - jungkook is blonde <3, he's also a bit of an asshole. dangerous driving, alcohol consumption, nothing major, we're setting scenes, building worlds just to ruin them woohoo. mentions of violence, gang dynamics. both the oc and jk swear like sailors.

word count - 17.8k

minors dni // posted to wp late 2021 // series masterlist

The bell above the gas station door always chimes just a little bit louder than is really necessary. 

In fact, the shrill clang of metal is so intrusive, that it feels borderline rude every single time a customer swings the door open. It's only natural for you to ignore it now, affronted by the way it distracts your focus.

It's not like you're ever doing anything important. Just flicking through the day's newspapers or counting stock. 

Although, come to think of it, you're never actually counting stock, either. You leave that job for Jieun, because you know she's a stickler for the rules, and likes feeling accomplished after her shifts are finished.

You're not really sure how much accomplishment can be derived from a part-time job at a GS25 attached to a gas station forecourt, but she seems to enjoy it.

This job really isn't for you - but it's better than following your father into local politics, and nepotism is all you really have going for you, considering you flunked the college entrance exam. An act of rebellion, for the corruption scandal your father had chosen to embroil himself in during your senior year, you had refused to write a single word on the paper. 

You thought it would embarrass him - and it did. Just at your expense.

And so, while it may not be your childhood dream of being a pop star, or a vet, or anything of any significance, ringing up bills at the gas station is how you're able to pay your own bills. It'll do for now.

You ignore the chime of the bell as the door to the service station opens once more. 

It's the start of the year, and the breeze is bitter whenever it rushes in. This time, the wind is accompanied by a guy in his mid-thirties. Dark slacks, burgundy jumper. His off-brand sliders scuff across the floor as he traipses round to the refrigerator, bottle clinking as he picks up a little soju and some beer for his evening. It's not an uncommon occurrence for men his age.

You hypothesise his next move. To the snack section to pick up something for his kids? Maybe straight to the kiosk to pay for his fuel? You check the screen, and notice he's barely added enough gas to cover the minimum charge. 

A scornful mutter of 'priorities' laces your lips, as you see him put back the soju and reach for the whisky instead.

Still, you can't blame him. It's fucking freezing. A little whisky to warm him up will probably be as cost-effective as getting a new boiler that actually works.

It's all just an assumption of course. 

You don't know this man, and you don't have a clue if his boiler works or not - but thinking about the lives of the people you meet for split fractions of time always helps to make your shift go quicker. 

He comes to the counter, pays, and leaves. 

You wonder if he's made up a life for you in his head, too.

Probably not. He probably already has an actual life to distract him from his thoughts. Maybe that's what the whisky is for.

And there you go again; hypothesising. Thinking. Putting your assumptions onto strangers.

The next customer is a girl around your age, wearing a fluffy pink coat and hoops big enough to be worn as bangles. She arrives on foot, pushing the swing door open without much care for excessive force. 

You decide, all rather quickly, that she must work at the gentlemen's club around the corner from the gas station. She's buying a coffee, iced, and nothing else. 

It's when she's at the kiosk that you realise your make-believe life for her is terribly inaccurate. She fumbles with her purse, dropping her staff I.D. card.

She's a nurse. Paediatric nurse, to be specific. The coffee she's picked up isn't for a boost before a shift on the poles, but to keep her going through a night on the wards.

And yet despite how your assumptions are so often so wrong, you still consider yourself to be a good judge of character.

It's a flaw, the way you always seem to think you can read people; think you can look at their demeanour, their clothes, and assume their financial status, what they do after the sun sets, and if they're going home to an empty house or not.

Your thoughts become lore. The gas station you work in is the thick leather cover that protects your make-believe world from outsiders.

When the bell chimes again, you don't look up. 

It's a habit. You don't want to make eye contact. It breaks the illusion that these people are just characters in your head.

Instead, you glance up to the curved mirror in the far corner of the shop. It acts as a second pair of eyes, and is ignored by pretty much all of the customers - except for the teenage girls who like to take selfies in it.

Tall, you assess when you finally find the new customer in the mirror. Broad. 

His posture a little sloped, but all things considered, he carries himself well. He heads for the refrigerators, just like every man above the age of 19 seems to do on a Friday night. There's that clink again, and you guess he's going for soju. He's young, so it seems apt. Whatever's cheapest seems to be the drink of choice for the guys your age, and you can't blame them.

You watch, cautious to not catch his gaze, as he heads to the food fridge. 

Gimbap, you guess. Tuna, not chicken. One roll, not two. 

He pulls out his phone to check a notification, and you notice just how hard his gaze is. There's a ridge between his brows, and a couple silver ballbearings accenting the brow farthest from you. Whatever he's reading on his phone, he doesn't like.

Girlfriend, you guess again. No. An ex. No, no. A FWB turned far-too-clingy. 

He looks like the type to be after something a little casual. 

The tattoos on his hands are nothing special - you've seen hands like his in countless 'sneaky' Instagram stories; a hand on the thigh, holding a bag. Y'know, the ones. The kind of shit girls post with the caption 'private, not secret' - but you both know there's nothing really 'private' about it. The owner of the hands will be blocked within a week or two, once the girl realises he's nothing special, just like his hands.

You hear him mutter beneath his breath. You can't quite make it out, but the way he shakes his head lets you know that it was most likely a curse. He locks his phone, tucks it into the back pocket of his jeans, and carries on looking for something to eat. 

You watch as his gaze lifts and falls.

That's it, you urge silently. Go for the gimbap.

You want to be proven right. 

He's already got a green bottle tucked into the pocket of his black bomber jacket, so you know you've got his choice of drink correct. You're assuming that your guess about his phone is correct, too, so you only need one more right to get a full house.

As he looks across the snacks - gimbap, vacuum-sealed meats, cheese, strawberry sandwiches and enough microwavable food to feed an orphanage - he pushes his hair out of his face. The way it falls back down almost instantly makes you smile. 

He needs a haircut - but you bet that his FWB (turned far-too-clingy lover) loves it, so he keeps it long for her satisfaction. It's bleached; pale as the sticky rice balls he's eyeing up, with dark roots that let you know he's trouble. No boy with hair like that has ever been good news. Especially not the ones who look like him.

Or so you guess look like him. He's wearing a mask. It's black, to match his outfit, cinched at the nose, hooked around ears that are studded up the sides. He must have, what? Five? Six? Little square studs in there. Airport security must be a nightmare.

You smile to yourself as he reaches for gimbap. One roll, not two. Tuna, not chicken. Bingo.

"Pump six," he says as he approaches the counter. You already know. It's been waiting on the screen since he walked in. There's no one else in the forecourt. "And these."

He tosses down the gimbap, and pulls the soju from his pocket, an old receipt coming with it. Kang's Auto Repairs it reads, but he stuffs it back into his pocket before you can read anything else.

"We're cheaper," you note, not really caring for revealing just how incredibly nosey you are. There's a perspex screen between you, which always makes you feel protected - from people, their judgements and whatever other airborne diseases they might be carrying. From the looks of him, the only diseases he'll be carrying are the ones found beneath the sheets. He's too well-built to be suffering from any ailments - but equally, too well built to not to be fucking about. "Cheaper than Kang's, I mean. He'll charge you an arm and a leg for the honour of his service."

"Hmm?" He raises a brow, obviously just wanting to pay for his shit and go. "Thanks, but I like Kang's. Been going there for years."

You hold back a laugh. He's no older than you. 24? 25? Yet he's talking like he's been loyal to that over-priced, under-qualified garage for decades. The neighbourhood is littered with garages, scrap part dealers and gas stations, and yet Kang's is the main competitor for your place. It's not even in this neighbourhood - it's across the river, which is a different district entirely, but the proximity is close enough. Your boss will never miss an opportunity to shit talk Old Man Kang and his 'con-artist' car mechanics. He doesn't think any of them are actually trained.

"Yeah, well," you smile, scanning his items, pretending there's a fault with the barcode on his gimbap just to be a little annoying. "Our guy, Yoongi, he's a specialist with those." You nod out of the window and towards the car by pump six. It's red; a little bit brash, but a classic. "Pony, right? Hyundai? '80?"

"Pony," he nods, tone neutral but eyes a little narrow. Doesn't know why, but he didn't expect you to know - and then he remembers you work at a garage. Of course you know. Got the year wrong, though."It's an '83. A mark two. I'll keep the suggestion in mind," he adds, though you both know he's lying. "How much do I owe you?"

He doesn't really listen as you list off the figure. Just hands you his card, hums when you ask for his signature - sign of a big spender, must be a full tank - and says little else. His phone buzzes on the counter as he stuffs his purchases back into his pockets, and you glance down - again, not caring for the discretion of your nosey tendencies.

KNJ. (1)   New Message.

Sneaky bastard, you think. How rude of him not to have his message previews displayed.

You're not sure if he caught you looking, but he snaps his phone up regardless and shoves it into his back pocket.

"Cheers," he nods, before he sets off into the night. Car unlocked, he slides into the driver's seat and empties his pockets onto the passengers' side. You watch on for a moment, before there's a rattle of his exhaust pipe, engine roaring into action - and like that, he's gone. You assume he's not on his way to his FWB (turned far-too-clingy lover). Wouldn't have bought tuna if he was. Then again, he's a guy. You don't expect him to care about such social cues.

Maybe he's just left hers. His neck did seem a little red, but then again, it's cold. Minus 3. The river you walk across to get to work is frozen over, and has been for about two weeks now. You've got a heat pack stuffed in either pocket of your work jacket. 

Well, Yoongi's work jacket. It's his name stitched into the breast pocket - but it's bigger than yours, so you can fit a few more layers beneath it. If the boss saw you in it, he'd have a bitch fit for 'not following company protocols,' and for not caring about the 'company brand image'. Which is true. You're neither following protocols, nor do you care about the company nor its brand image. 

It's just gone nine on a Friday night, though, and the boss clocked out a few hours ago with a bottle of makgeolli and the day's newspaper under his arm. He's not gonna see. And if he does, what's he gonna do? Fire you? Good luck to him finding anyone else who wants to spend their winter nights freezing half-to-death in this shit hole of a gas station.

By the time midnight hits, you've been yawning for at least an hour. Keeping yourself warm is a laboursome task.

"You're gonna catch a cold," Yoongi acknowledges as he enters the shop through the back entrance. He's still wrapped up in a calf-length puffa jacket, all warm and cosy. He heads out past the kiosks as normal, up to the fridges. Bagged americano and a cup of ice. You know his score - and you're proven right. "Tell me why I agreed to cover your night shift, again?" he says with a slight shiver as he scans through his own items.

Though he's typically out fixing up cars behind the service station, he helps you out at the kiosk too. Normally just when there are staff shortages - which in all fairness, occur more frequently than you'd expect.

"'Cause you love me," you sing, knowing that it's entirely plausible. 

Yoongi - stone-cold, stoic, as emotionally inept as you'd expect a bachelor verging on his 30s to be - could very much be in love with you. It's not like he really speaks to many other women, and he's never given you a reason to believe he's not interested. 

But he does give you his jacket, cuts you slack on the days you feel like shit, and covers the shifts you don't want to work without asking any questions. Sometimes he sneaks you the food that was meant to be tossed in the bin overnight, and other times he makes sure there's a peach tea waiting for you when you clock in.

"It's 'cause I love money," he corrects, as if the extra 30,000 won he'll make from the last three hours of your shift is really an incentive. He's already spent 3,000 on his coffee. "Now scram. Get yourself home. Fucking freezing tonight. Want me to call you a cab?"

That'll be an extra 7,000 to his evenings' expenses. You really don't think he does love the money. At least not enough for it to be a reasonable excuse.

"It's good," you shake your head. "You know I'm not far away."

He nods, not really fighting your choices. It's not like you ever accept his offer anyway. He learned quite a long time ago that if you want something done, you'll do it for yourself.

Y'see, you're not the only one who watches.

Yoongi watches you too, as you tap through on the screen to log yourself out and cash up the till. 

You've only run 260,000 through your till in the last four hours, barely enough to make ends meet for the gas station. No wonder the place hasn't had any upgrades - with the exception of tills and a new fridge every now and again - since the mid-noughties. The signs are rusting, and Yoongi still has to change the fuel prices by hand every morning.

On the rare shifts you work together, you like to make assumptions together. You guess what people are gonna buy, hypothesise where they're going, who they're going with. When you hear bottles clink, you guess which flavour soju they're going for, as if you don't only have 4 flavours stocked. During the summer, you like to guess who's filling up their tanks to go to the coast.

The door chimes as a new customer walks in, and Yoongi knocks his head back. "Go on, out. I'll cash your till up. It's all good."

You ask if he's sure, to which he smiles and tells you to leave again - so you do. Not without thanking him, and fluttering your lashes a little. Maybe it is your fault, just a little, that Yoongi might be a tiny bit in love with you. 

"I owe you the world!" You squeal as you skip out the door. He laughs, but says nothing. He just wants you home and safe as quickly as possible.

Yoongi doesn't mind covering your shifts, not this late at night. He knows this area doesn't have the best reputation, and despite your sharp tongue, he knows that you'd stand absolutely no chance if someone decided that it seemed like a good place to commit a felony or two. 

It's a debate you've had a few times before. You know he's right, but you fight against him regardless. It always makes him smile, and only adds to your theory that he might be a little bit in love with you.

You forget the quiet thrum in your chest as soon as the cold air hits you. Yoongi traded his jacket with you before you left; him now in his work uniform, and you in his thick puffa which reaches down to your ankles. Hands stuffed into his pockets, your shoulders hunch as you walk, a mask covering your face just to keep the heat in. Your scarf is wrapped around you so tightly that you might just suffocate, but it would be worth it, you think. You hate this time of year. So fucking cold, and for what?

The bridge lights are off by the time you reach it, illuminated only by a couple of cars. They're sat up towards the far end, facing you, and you sigh. Every fucking weekend.

It's not always the same cars, but quite often it is - or some variation of the same group, at least. They sit, waiting for traffic to die down and the lights to cut off, before turning the bridge into their own little speedway.

You should have guessed from the sound of that asshole's exhaust earlier that evening that he'd be one of them. 

The fact he goes to Kang's, too. 

It's obvious, when you think about it now. 

Guys his age never fill up their tanks - but he did. Filled it up just to spit it all out again, painting the road in iridescent speckles of gas.

You can see the Pony. It's the car farthest away from you, next to a black SsangYong. 

You can't make out the model of the SsangYong, but it looks fast. It's lowered, windows tinted, exhaust tampered with, just to create an almighty roar - which screams 'I have a tiny cock'. 

At least with the Pony, you can tell that the sound being delivered comes from his engine. Credit where it's due, and all that. He could still very much have a tiny cock, but at least he's better at hiding it.

Crossing your arms over your chest, you hug into yourself to preserve heat. The lights of the cars make you a little self-conscious, aware that you're the only thing in sight that's disturbing their peace. There's ice on the road, but you pay it no notice, knowing that there's no point in worrying about one of the cars swerving off-road as they inevitably shoot past you. 

If it happens, it happens.

The SsangYong is loud. Obnoxiously, so. You can hear pressure being put down and released on the gas pedal, clutch raised. He's teasing you. Warning you. Hurry up. 

Next to it, the Pony hums. He doesn't seem interested in taunting you as if you could fight a two-tonne vehicle as it hurtles towards you. That, or he doesn't want to waste his gas. Lord knows he'll be wasting enough of it tonight as it is.

"Try me, fucker," you mumble under your breath, eyes trained on the black car. You can't make out its driver, nor do you really care. 

It's at this point you notice a guy on the opposite side of the road. 

He flashes the torch of his phone, once, twice. The Pony kicks into gear now, too, revving to rival the SsangYong. You're halfway across the bridge, wishing they could have just waited, like, one more minute. But whatever. Assholes will be assholes.

The torch guy is out of your line of vision by the time you hear tyres screech against the ice-cold road, rubber-burning regardless. The Ssangyong bolts, fumes from the exhaust fogging in the air behind it. You expect the Pony to do the same.

It takes you half a second to realise it's stagnated, and another half to realise that things aren't going to plan for Mr Gimbap.

There's a thud from the back wheels as they lock and release, causing the wheels to spin out. You've seen enough wheel spins now to know one, and as the Pony lurches forward, you know that's exactly what it is - but you also know the road is icy. 

The fun of a wheel spin, or so Yoongi likes to tell you, is that brief moment of lost control. He likes to do it whenever he gives you a lift home, because he finds the way you freak out funny - but he's always in command of his vehicle. He's never done it with you in the car during the winter. He knows better. Doesn't actually want to lose control.

At least, not like the dude in the driver's seat of the Pony currently is. 

The back kicks out, sending him swerving. The front wheels are a fucking mess, his hands twisting the wheel in an attempt to rectify his fuck up. It's fruitless. He's off the clutch, the wheels aren't spinning, but he's already on the ice, and he's hurtling towards you.

You're aware you should run, but like the river, you're stuck. Frozen in place. 

Maybe you should have accepted Yoongi's offer of a taxi. RIP.

There's another biting screech as you're doused in headlights, and you're pretty sure that this is what people mean when they say you see the light before you die. Fucking blinding. No way those lamps are regulation approved.

It's as you're bracing yourself for the inevitable end (and thinking about how embarrassing it's going to be when your family is tasked with clearing out your apartment after your demise - you haven't cleaned for weeks, laundry has been sat in the washer for two days, and there's a pizza box that you don't dare look in sitting next to the bin) that miracle seems to strike.

The Pony hits an uniced patch just in time for the driver to slam on his breaks. Handbrake, by the sound of it, but you're not sure. Not really sure of anything. Your heart is beating in your throat.

Steam is coming from the heat of the tyres, but the air around you is frozen, and so are you. You're not sure if it's from the cold or from the shock. A bit of both probably. You don't shake out of it until the driver's door pops open.

"The fuck are you doing?" He shouts. His mask is off now, not like it had been in the store. Light glimmers off yet more metal stuck in face, this time a ring around his plump bottom lip. His nose, though well proportioned, is blushed. "I could have fucking hit you!"

"Uh, yeah?" You almost laugh, too stunned to compute the fact that he was shouting at you. "Yeah, you could have fucking hit me, you asshole-"

"The fuck are you doing on the bridge? This late? Wearing all fucking black? I know you work around here, so I know you know what this place is used for-"

"Yeah, it's a bridge," you deadpan. It's notorious for racing, but who cares? It's not like you're in the wrong here. He's the one breaking laws. You're just trying to go home. "It's used to cross rivers. So, yanno, people working night shifts can walk home without rowing a fucking boat. Pretty neat actually, invented by the Greeks."

"Don't be smart," he scolds. "You saw us gearing up, you knew what was about to ha-"

"I'm sorry," you really are laughing now. "Are you telling me that I'm in the wrong? You? The asshole who's racing his shitty car on an icy fucking bridge? The asshole who can't control his aforementioned shitty car-"

"Can control it," he snaps. "If I couldn't, you'd be fucking dead."

"Oh, well thank you very much! How kind of you to not kill me as a result of your reckless driving. No, really. I appreciate it so much. How ever can I repay you?"

"You know what?" He calls after you when you begin to walk away. As far as you're concerned, the conversion is done. "Next time, I will just hit you."

"Be my fucking guest!" You shout back, holding your middle finger up to wave goodbye. "Stick to Kang's next time, you pretentious, self-absorbed cunt."

"Gladly."

"Oh, and by the way," you begin to say in a sickly sweet tone, which you just know is going to piss him off. You turn to find him standing, facing the bridge wall, looking at the river that's illuminated only by the headlamps of his car, like two little moons. The real one is hidden by clouds. "You'll have better control if you release the clutch a little slower. Wheelspin like that? Yeah, someone needs to practise their clutch control."

He looks like he wants to say something, but instead, he just flares his nostrils and grates his jaw. He knows you're right. Knows he missed the mark - but he'd been distracted when he noticed you on the bridge. You threw him off his game.

Equally, you know he's a good driver. The way he gained control of his car on the ice was borderline expert. Impressive. You won't go as far to say life-saving, because if it wasn't for his driving in the first place, your life wouldn't have needed any God Damn saving.

You walk backwards for a step or two, just to gloat in the knowledge you've gotten the last word. He glares at you, but stays silent. Victory.

"Oi, Kook. The fuck was that about?" A distant voice yells. The SsangYong driver, you assume.

"Nothin'," he yells back. His eyes are still on you, watching as you hunch a little, folding your arms over your chest. You must be freezing, he thinks. Stupid, too. The area is littered with taxis on Friday nights. Why anyone would choose to walk is beyond him. He casts you one final stare, his chest heaving from the adrenaline, before he turns away from you. "Stupid bitch almost got herself killed. Starting line. Let's go again."

────────────

You don't mention your near-death experience to Yoongi when you see him at work the following Monday. You know he'll just worry, and then he'll really start insisting on ordering cabs for you.

Worse yet, you think he might just order them to arrive when your shift finishes, and then you'll have to take them. No point in making mountains out of molehills.

Customers are always steady on Mondays; people fuelling up for the working week, replenishing stocks wasted on the weekends.

By the time it hits four, school kids are piling in. They're picking up snacks, something to fuel them between mandatory classes and the additional ones they've picked up at hagwons. Poor suckers, you always think.

It's been years since you did the same grind, and you still don't fully understand just why you worked yourself to the bone, only to end up working in a fucking service station. 

It had never been the dream. Still isn't - but it beats being hired on account of nepotism, thanks to a father with an unlawful influence in the city. 

Your family name - which you don't go by, these days - is on the side of buildings, in the list of hospital beneficiaries, even on the local soccer team's fucking shirts. You're cursed with it; no identity of your own. Even when did try to get a job without the backing of your family, people still knew. Your face has been at God knows how many press junkets, playing the role of the Mayor's darling daughter.

All bullshit, of course.

Your father is just as good at saving face as he is at making investments. Turns out there really is nothing money can't buy; support for a mayoral campaign, the silence of a nanny - of whom he started fucking when you were still in middle school - and enough pearls to keep your mother happy after she found out.

Cars, houses, material goods? You'd wanted for nothing as a kid.

Privilege. It's a funny little thing. You had the world, and yet none of it was yours. Not really. And so, as soon as you were of legal age, you were out of the family home, trying to find some concrete meaning for your life.

All you'd found so far was the harrowing knowledge that your father's mayoral tenure had been hell for those without the privileges you'd been raised with, and therefore you'd distanced yourself so far from your family that you weren't even sure they'd recognise you, anymore.

"You good?" Yoongi asks, around about the time the clock hits five. He's by the back entrance, wiping his oil-covered hands on an old rag. "Just finishing up."

"Good," you nod in response to his question. You give him a fond smile to let him know that the perplexed expression he'd caught on your face was nothing to be worried about, and then you ask him his plans for the evening.

There are only a few more hours left on the clock for you. It's a mid-shift, someone else coming in to work the night rotation. You've never liked these shifts - the highest influx of customers, but by far the least interesting interactions.

They come and go so quickly that it's hard to make up a fake life for them, before they're replaced by the next sullen face, wanting to get in and out as quickly as possible.

"Gimmie a call if you need a lift," Yoongi calls over as he gets his jacket to leave. Off comes his work one, tossed over to you, replaced with the black puffa you returned that morning.

"Will do," you nod - and you both know you're lying. Still, he's a gentleman through and through. Wouldn't have felt right if he didn't at least offer. The bell on the entryway door chimes, but you don't look over to see the customer, choosing to smile at your friend instead. "Catch ya later, Yoongs."

"Yeah, you too," he smiles back, zipping up his coat and pulling up his mask. He's walking home, too, but it's still light. It will be dark by the time nine hits, and even though he doesn't know about last Friday night, he still doesn't like the idea of you walking home alone.

You hear the clink of glasses by the fridge, but the view is obscured by an obnoxious advertising standee your boss has insisted you put up inside the store. You tried telling him that the whole point was to draw customers in, not block them from even entering, but he was having none of it. Doesn't trust the kids in the neighbourhood not to nick it.

There's a crunch as the lid of the chest freezer is slid open, a cup of ice rattling as it's pulled from the stack. You only filled it up half an hour ago. 

Annoying. And who the fuck is drinking an iced drink on a day like today? You think, as if Yoongi doesn't reach for an iced americano before each and every shift. You're just as bad. Your peach tea habit is becoming an issue.

You glance to the forecourt to check which pump to ring through - and that's when you see it. 

Sat in bay six, as proud as the paint is bright, is that stupid fucking Pony again. With a small scoff, you pull up the balance - just over 30,000. Half a tank. Already.

Hardly a surprise, with the way he had been ragging it about on Friday evening. Must be a common occurrence.

As he comes into your line of vision, you busy yourself. 

Turning your back to the kiosk, you're arranging cigarettes that don't need to be arranged, purely so that you don't have to look at him. The bottom of his soju bottle clinks against the counter, the ice and a coffee bag following suit. You still don't turn around, instead opting to look through the 'how-to' manual for the lottery machine, just to really reinforce the fact that serving him is the last thing you want to do.

Had you not told him to stick to Kang's?

"Ahem," he coughs.

You pause mid-page turn and look vacantly into the distance for a moment, before facing him with a smile so insincere it's almost comical.

"Sorry, didn't see you there."

He nods, but doesn't say anything further. He's in all black again, this time with a sweater beneath his bomber. Air quality is still bad, thanks to the cold temperatures and lack of rain to clear the skies, so he's wearing a mask again, but it's perched beneath his jaw. His poker face holds up well.

You ring up his total, ignoring the fact he's chosen to go for a peach tea, not coffee like you'd assumed, and ask if he wants a receipt. He declines, and heads on his way, scooping up his soju bottle, leaving the peach tea.

"Oi," you call after him, but he ignores you."Oi."

Still, nothing. He pushes the door open with his knuckles that are wrapped tightly around the neck of his bottle, not paying you any attention. He's just being a dick at this point. You know he can hear you.

"Oi," you shout again, sliding out from behind the kiosk and following him to the door. You don't grab his drink - he can go back and pick it up himself, the asshole. 

"Kook," you shout, remembering the name the SsangYong driver had called him by.

He stops now.

"Oh," he turns, lips pursed, before throwing your words right back at you. "Sorry, didn't see you there."

Neither of you say anything. It's fucking freezing, and you can see your breath as you huddle yourself together. His eyes are soft, expression gentle, to suggest he's only teasing, but you can't work him out.

"You left your drink."

He shakes his head. Holds up his soju. "No, I didn't. That's yours. You like them, right? It's what you were drinking the other day?"

You narrow your eyes, only for him to raise his brows. You aren't the only nosey one, doll.

"Bit weird," you tell him.

Retrospectively, he thinks you're probably right. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. He hadn't intended for it to be so strange - he just isn't great at admitting when he's in the wrong, so a peace offering is a far more tempting solution.

He digs a hand into his pocket, almost as if he's searching for the remains of his dignity, but simply shrugs. "I know I was a bit of a prick."

Acknowledgements of flaws are always welcome by you, but you really don't fancy just forgiving and forgetting. As stupid as it all seems, it was a life or death situation. A peach fucking tea wouldn't have resurrected you or uncrushed your bones.

"Yeah," you nod, biting down on your lip, a little unsure of how to handle the situation. "You were. And not just 'a bit' of a prick. Massive prick, actually."

He repeats your correction, and adds, "You just took me by surprise. I panicked. I'm not usually that..."

"Unreasonable? Arsey? Unable to control your clutch?"

"All of the above," he smiles, and you notice that he has dimples. Asshole. "Look, I won't bother you again. It just wasn't sitting right with me, the way I behaved. My mother would have been rolling in her grave if she heard me speak to a girl like that, especially so late at night. It was a dick move... and so," he inhales, looking at the ground before briefly meeting your eyes again. They're round and wide, almost as if he's incapable of telling lies. "I'm sorry."

There's silence for a moment, and then there's the flash of headlights as a second car rolls into the forecourt. You both turn to check the car, but it's just a standard family saloon. Nothing worth checking out, but it's enough to end the conversation.

"Stick to Kang's," you simply say as he pops open the door to his car. "I appreciate the sentiment, though. Was sweet."

He nods, fully intending on sticking to Kang's. He just needed to do this before he could move on from things. 

Or at least, that's the assumption that you make as he drives away. 

You wait for a little while, ignoring the man clicking the gas nozzle into the side of his car, just watching the now empty road where the small red car had sped off from. You wonder where he's going, but determine he's most likely going to that FWB you've decided he has.

Turning on your heels slowly, you let your body weight fall into the swing door, pushing it open with your shoulder. The bell jingles, like always, and for some reason, it kind of feels like the sound has settled in your stomach. It's all jittery and annoying, and you don't quite understand it. You definitely don't like it, whatever this feeling is.

It's the same feeling that washes over you next Thursday afternoon, when the bell chimes and you glance out the window, only to see a red Hyundai fucking Pony sat in bay six.

He begins to make a habit of it. Neither of you really address it. He just keeps showing up, filling his tank up, and buying whatever tickles his fancy from the snack fridge. It's nearly always gimbap. Occasionally he'll pick up something a little more substantial, and it's always accompanied with soju on Friday nights.

It takes about three weeks for you to be able to distinguish the way in which he opens the shop door. The bell chimes a little slower than normal, his casually cool demeanour preventing him from using too much force to open it. It will always 'ding' for just a bit longer than when other people push open the door. Doesn't matter where you are in the shop, what time it is. You always know when it's him.

It's a Saturday when you hear the unmistakable sound of him again, 4 weeks since that first time.

You can't see him, thanks to the standee that is still obstructing your view, but you can hear the fridges. One, two, bottles of soju. There's another clang. Three? Unusual. It's when he heads to the snack fridge that you realise you're off your game.

He's holding beers - four of them. Making the most of the four for 10,000 deal, you muse. The bottles are green, so you assume Terra, but there are some foreign imports in the fridge, too. You kind of stop guessing at this point, too busy watching. His hair is messy, like aways, and the flannel shirt he's wearing is in need of an iron, but you have to admit - there's a certain charm about him.

Your eyes flick to the door to check that nobody else has entered, and are proven correct - so why does your stomach still feel like that bloody bell chiming?

"Am I good to leave these here?" He asks, drawing your attention back to him. He's already putting the beers down on the counter, so it's not really like you can say no. "Haven't filled up yet, just wanted to check that you had what I was after, first."

"Beers?" You laugh almost immediately. "It's a GS25, dude. Course we have beers."

"Right," he nods, scrunching his nose up a little as he smiles. It was a stupid excuse, and he knew it. Part of you thinks he actually looks a little bashful. It's sweet. Confusing - but sweet, nonetheless. "I'll just go fill up."

"Uh-huh," you nod, when he doesn't leave immediately, almost as if he's waiting for permission. He laughs, and so do you. It's awkward, and you don't know why but you find yourself dropping his gaze. "Just go fill up your car."

"Yeah, yeah," he says. "Fill up. Right."

You move his bottles to the side just in case of another customer, and set about making yourself look busy, but you're a simple being. It's hard to do anything other than wistfully stare when a boy that pretty is stood in your forecourt. 

He pays you no notice as he unscrews his gas cap and positions the nozzle against the opening of his car.

There's a casual nature to his posture, leaning back ever so slightly as he slides the length of the nozzle into his car, displaying just how in tune he is with doing such a menial task. It's second nature at this point.

He watches the nozzle, then lifts his gaze above the car and out towards the road. His eyes are hard, focused almost, that little line forming between his brows again. Almost like he's looking for something.

There's a click as his gas reaches its limit, and he withdraws the nozzle slightly, letting the excess drip into the tank. He knocks it once, twice, against the entrance to be sure that he's emptied it of every last drop, before he slides it out and hooks it back into its holder.

You finally avert your eyes as he screws the cap back into place, your fingers working nimbly to bring up his total on the screen.

There's that ringing feeling again when you notice he's barely reached the minimum spend, yet you could hear the tell-tale sign of a full tank from the forecourt. He hadn't needed gas at all.

He could have just gotten a few bottles of beer from any of the convenience stores in the area - and yet for some reason, he made his excuse to come to you.

The silage of his aftershave lingers by the kiosk, and you remind yourself that he's probably off to see a girl you've made up in your head. The beers are probably to be drunk with her. The flannel shirt is still creased because what's the point in ironing something that will just end up on the floor, anyway?

It's these thoughts that have you acting a little frosty again when he returns. You ring up his total, instruct him to put his card in the machine, as if he doesn't know what he's doing, and then you offer him a receipt.

He's a little confused by the fact you're as cold as the air outside.

Had your interactions not developed past the point of a typical cashier-customer relationship? Maybe he'd read the situation a little wrong.

"Kang's have beer," he finally adds, accepting his receipt, studying it, just to see if it has your name listed under the cashier ID. It does. He takes his time to fold it up, instead of just stuffing it into his back pocket. He's biding time. Making more for himself. "But I'm a bit of a liar," he says, ending his statement with your name. The way he says it, hanging onto the last syllable, taking claim of your identity as his gaze meets your eyes, has that stupid ringing feeling back in your stomach. "I'm not here for beers."

"No?" you ask, almost nonchalant. You're divided by a perspex screen, and you've never been more thankful. It's cutting the tension for you.

"No," he shakes his head. He's about to speak, when the bell of the door goes again - for real, this time. Not just in your stomach. 

He steps aside to let the customer pay for their gas. It's a simple transaction, no added extras like Flannel Boy always has.

He stands awkwardly, toying at the bagged sweets with his ring adorned fingers. You decide that even if your assumptions about him are wrong, there's one that must be right: he knows he's hot.

The way he turns and smirks after the customer leaves, and says, "where were we?", only confirms this.

"You were saying how you weren't here for beer," you remind him, not that he actually needs it.

The perspex screen feels like a thick brick wall. You're simultaneously thankful for and annoyed by it.

"Ah, that's right," he nods. "You were saying how you're going to call in sick tomorrow night and meet me downtown."

"I'm gonna do what now?" You laugh, caught off guard by his boldness. He's smooth, you'll give him that much.

"You're gonna meet me downtown," he says simply, before adding, "Jungangno underground, exit two. The one near CGV. I can draw you a map-"

"Shut up," you laugh, blissfully ignoring the fact he's flirting with you. "I know Jungangno."

"So you'll meet me there?"

"I didn't say that."

He begins to gather up his beers, two in either hand, a smile etched on his cheeks. "So I'll see you tomorrow, at, hmm, say, 8?"

"No," you laugh.

"Yes," he grins back, walking away so that you don't have even more opportunities to reject his advances.

"No, you won't."

You sound so full of conviction when you say it. Determined. Self-assured.

Idiot.

────────────

You tell yourself that you're not going to go.

You told Mr Gimbap that, too, before he left the gas station, not that he was listening.

You tell yourself it again when you're thinking about what you could wear, and then you repeat it like an oath when you're texting Yoongi to see if he can cover your shift.

It's not like you're actually going to go.

You just want to check out your options.

And yet, somehow, you find yourself sitting on a bench outside a shitty burger chain at seven-fifty-six the next evening.

You're dressed casually, in a pair of jeans and a slouchy sweater which is a few sizes too big, but you think it looks cute. It's covered by a thick puffa jacket, regardless - cropped to your hips, unlike Yoongi's mammoth calf-length one.

He told you he'd be happy to cover your shift tonight when you asked, but you still feel a little guilty.

Mainly because when he asked why, you panicked and lied, telling him it was a friend's birthday. 

You then also told yourself that you're definitely going to hell - but it's not like that's news to you. 

It's still freezing, and you're thankful that you changed out of your converse and into a pair of boots before you left your apartment. Your hair is clipped up, make up the same as it normally is, just with a little more mascara than normal. You don't want to make it look like you've actually made an effort - but you definitely have.

You're about a mile and a half from work, but you can feel that bloody door chime in your stomach, again.

Should you walk away, a little? You don't want him to see you waiting.

Appearing too keen is the least of your desires. 

Desperation isn't a good look for anyone. If anything, he should be the one waiting for you. Kind of rude that he isn't, actually. So you get up, and pace around a little, before thinking fuck it. 

You hop on the elevator and head down into Jungangno underground mall, painfully aware of your stomach doing that stupid ringing thing again. Maybe it's vertigo. From, like, the change in altitude, or some shit like that. You're almost able to convince yourself that it's plausible. Almost. 

The shops in the underground mall are a welcome distraction. Ajummas stand in dated clothing stores, offering low-quality clothes for even lower prices. It's crowded, and stuffy, but you're enjoying the distraction. You head for your favourite jewellery place, an emporium filled floor to ceiling with what must be thousands of jewellery pieces, and fumble through the racks of earrings. 

You aren't wearing any, and remember that he - Kook, though you're not entirely sure that's actually his name - wore enough to open up his own jewellery store. You settle on a simple pair, just a couple silver hoops. It's a subtle difference, but one that makes you feel a little more confident. A little more willing to awkwardly say hello, and go on a date (if you can call it that) with a guy you barely know.

Pulling your phone out, you check the time. Seven past eight. Do-able. A little late, but not so late that it's rude. You head up the stairs, and are greeted with almost the exact same scene you had left ten minutes earlier. 

Perhaps he's just running late. It's not embarrassing to be the first one waiting, not now that it's gone past the meeting time, but you can feel that ringing in your stomach begin to grate against your insides. 

It hits eight-fifteen, and you're feeling anxious. Embarrassed. Even if he does show up now, it's obvious that you've been waiting there like a tragic, desperate excuse of a woman. 

Five more minutes, you tell yourself. 

But five turns into ten, and then another fifteen, and then it's nearly nine. 

You pull out your phone and are barely able to type, thanks to how bloody cold it is.

How long until lateness turns into being stood up?

Opinions vary, but everyone on the little online forum you're reading seems to be of agreement that 45 minutes is the cut off point. 45 cold, lonely, mortifying minutes. 

You imagine he's watching you, laughing from the warmth of a cafe, with that friends-with-benefits girl you've convinced yourself is definitely real. 

God, you must look like a twat. You've been sat here for so fucking long. Your hands are numb, arse too, and you know you're gonna wake up with a cold - but none of these compare to your hurt pride. Not by a country mile.

With a sigh, you stand, admitting defeat. Being a jerk, you could get over. But this? Deliberately being cruel? You're proven right, after all. The guy is an asshole.

You hop on the 503 out of the downtown area and back towards home. The ride is lonely, city lights reflecting in your eyes as you gaze out the window and wonder at which point your life became this bleak. You work at a gas station, and got stood up by a guy who drives a fucking Pony. Mortifying.

The ding of the bus as it rolls into its stops reminds you of the chime of the gas station door - so you stay on for a few extra stops past your apartment building. 

You're gentle as you press the red button to let the driver know you'd like to get off, but there's a little more traffic than normal, so he lets you off ahead of schedule. Odd. The roads are never normally blocked, not at this time of night. 

You're only a couple hundred steps away from the bridge, but you notice the red and blue flashing lights across it almost instantly. 

Your heart sinks to your stomach, right into the pit where the chime has been grating your insides apart. Still, you keep on walking. It's only the road that's blocked. Not the path. One foot in front of the next, you keep going, until your pace begins to increase. You can see the police cars now, and where they're parked. 

Fuck the kid you barely know, fuck feeling sorry for yourself. 

All you can think about is Yoongi. 

There are four cars sitting outside your place of work, and you can hear an ambulance blast its sirens away from the gas station in an attempt to get through the crowd. 

You're gonna be sick. You can feel it - or is that just the chime resting too far up in your oesophagus, now? You ignore it though, and begin to run, faster, faster, faster, boots clicking against the pavement as you draw closer to the gas station. Your boss is there, locked in conversation with a police officer, but Yoongi is nowhere to be seen.

A cop notices you approach, grabbing onto you as you attempt to run past the tape and into the store.

"Woah, woah, woah. Calm down, little lady-"

"Where is he?" You panic, not even caring to offended by the officers choice in tone. "Min Yoongi. The guy who was working. Yoongi, where is he?"

"Who are you?" The officer counters, and you want to scream.

"Where is he?!" You struggle against his grip, kicking out, but the officer is firm. He's trained to handle situations like this; girls like you. The little but fierce. The kind of girls Shakespeare wrote about. "Where the fuck is he?"

From across the forecourt, your boss calls over. "She's one of mine. Was meant to be working this shift. Did a last minute switch with Min Yoongi."

The officer nods, understanding the situation, but not easing his grip. "In that case, I'm gonna need you to come with me to the station. Need you to answer some questions."

You stop struggling. "I- What?"

"You're not under arrest. It's voluntary, but we'll have to go to the station," he speaks calmly, straight to the point. You notice that his nose is slightly crooked. You wonder how many people have punched it. Quite a few, probably, considering that you'd quite like to do the same.

"Just go," your boss calls over, not even looking in your direction. Asshole, you seethe internally. City is full of fucking assholes.

"Where the fuck is Yoongi?!" You demand to know, this time shouting towards your boss, who looks like he's in desperate need of a cigarette. He just fucking shrugs.

"C'mon, station," the officer says, deciding that enough is enough. 

You don't know your rights. You can't fight back, not really, and you're starting to tear up, and everything feels like such a fucking mess. You just wanna know that Yoongi is safe, that he's well, that he's okay. If he's not, it's all your fault, and you don't even know how to process that. 

In fact, you don't know how to process any of this. Your cheeks are wet before you're even sitting in the back of the police car. The engine rumbles, and before you know it, you're back downtown, but this time you're at the city's main police office. 

It's hard to comprehend anything. You practically feel like you're dragged from the car and then dumped in the witness interrogation room. Some rookie cop is asking you questions, and you find yourself not wanting to answer a single one of them.

They're stupid fucking questions, for starters. Dumb shit.

Why did you switch your shift? Were you aware of a planned hold up at your place of work? Is that why you swapped? Who were you going on a date with? Why did you lie to Min Yoongi about your activities this evening? How do you not know the name of your date? Says on your file that you legally changed your name six years ago? Why? Anyone know of your family ties to politics? 

Dumb questions reap dumb answers though, so once they realise they're getting nothing of any substance from you, they admit defeat. Tell you they'll be in touch if they need to follow up.

And then, after they've watched you cry for an hour and half over Yoongi, they tell you he's fine. Came in for routine questioning, but was released without charge (obviously) and drove back. 

He's waiting for you in the lobby. 

That temptation to break the officer's nose? Yeah. Intensifies. 

"God, you fucking idiot," Yoongi speaks softly as you come into view, face all red and puffy from tears cried over him. He pulls you into his chest, and you can hear his heart thud, thud, thud, against your head. "Why did you go to work? Shouldda just gone home."

He calls you an idiot again, and you sniffle into his chest. There's a comforting scent to his clothes, a mix of gasoline and cotton, and it makes you feel a little calmer. 

You pull away, and inspect his face. There's a small graze on his cheekbone, which is beginning to bruise, and a little dried blood crusting around his nostrils. Other than that, he seems okay. 

He's silent as your fingers trace the pink flesh of his cheeks, lips resting a little ajar, unsure. Uncertain. He doesn't know what to make of such an outward display of concern - so he simply brushes it off. 

"I'm fine, trouble," he promises, bringing his hands up to clasp your wrists and stop your hands from roaming. Doesn't wanna stop you. Not really. Just knows that he should. "C'mon, let's get you home."

And it's ridiculous, 'cause Yoongi was the one who had been held at knifepoint by three men that evening, the tills forcefully emptied and his life threatened if he didn't tell them where 'the girl' was. 

He doesn't tell you that last part when he tells you what happened, though. Doesn't want to scare you. He's scared enough, himself.

It replays in his head, the way the guy with the knife doubled-down when Yoongi said he had no clue where you were. The clatter of the knife against the counter, the hands that tangled in his hair and slammed his face against the surface... yeah, they weren't memories he'd be forgetting any time soon.

Yoongi has few regrets in life, but taking the perspex screen down at the beginning of his shift to clean it definitely makes the list.

A conversation plays on loop, though, which scares him more than anything else. 

"You said she'd be here. She ain't fuckin' here!" "Well she normally is. You know I've been keeping watch for weeks-" "Not hard enough." "Oh fuck you, you do it next time, prick." 

Doesn't take a genius to work it out - and Yoongi's pretty smart, regardless. For whatever reason, they'd been hoping you'd be on shift.

"Do me a favour?" Yoongi asks as he rolls his car into your neighbourhood. He only lives around the corner from you, but it's too far, he thinks. 

"Mhmm?"

"Kind of feel a bit..." he pauses, but doesn't elaborate. He doesn't need to. You already know. "Don't really wanna be alone."

"Stay at mine," you offer, straight off the bat, not giving it a second thought.

He shakes his head. Makes some excuse about your place being small. Avoids mentioning the fact he's scared that someones keeping tabs on you. 

"I've got a spare room," he adds. "Makes more sense."

You'd be forgiven for thinking this is just another sign that the poor boy is helplessly infatuated with you. He knows he isn't really all that inconspicuous, but he also knows that the pair of you would never work. He just can't seem to help himself.

And so you end up in his bed, while he takes the pull out sofa in his spare room, because he's far too much of a gent to make you sleep on something so crappy. He leaves the heater on in your room, because you're always complaining about the cold, and tells you not to worry when you pout and mention the fact it will hike his heating bill. It's a small price to pay. 

"All the money I've saved when you refuse taxis can go on the heater, instead."

Still, you click it off as soon as you're confident Yoongi won't be back in to check on you.

In the morning, when his hair is all fluffy and cheeks puffy from a crappy sleep, he orders breakfast and double-checks that you're okay to work the shift you're scheduled on for. You remind him that he was the one held at knifepoint. Not you.

You're not surprised to learn that Yoongi thinks two iced americanos and half a bagel each qualifies as 'breakfast', but you appreciate it nonetheless. 

"I can cover, if needs be," he rambles, bagel in one hand, americano in the other, while you watch on with a smile. His cheek has bruised rather spectacularly, and you wonder if it aches as much as your heart does. "Boss gave me a couple days off, but I don't love the idea of you being there alone-"

The guilt of asking him to cover the night before is eating you alive. You don't think you'll ever ask him to cover for you again. Karma will catch up with you, you're sure, but for now, you'll be your own Saturn. 

"I'll be fine," you smile. "Lightning never strikes twice." 

────────────

When Jungkook drives, he drives alone. 

No music, no radio, just him and the open road. He likes to hear the way the tarmac sounds beneath his tyres, and how the engine purrs a little louder when he steps on the gas. It's therapy in a way - though, with the amount that he spends on gas, he's pretty certain that an actual therapist would probably be cheaper.

The roads are empty, morning sun breaking beyond the mountains that line Daegu, as he makes his way past the bridge over the river, and out towards Kang's. There's a boxing studio next door, owned by Old Man Kang himself, a little decrepit and definitely not the kind of place you end up by chance. 

It's the kind of place that's bestowed upon those who need it; the people looking for a home. A family. A cult, some like to joke, though Jungkook thinks they're half right. For him, it's somewhere to hide when the world gets too invasive; a shadow in the spotlight. 

Old Man Kang's boxing club is a shit hole, when Jungkook looks at it objectively. Wires hang from the ceiling, and the walls have needed a paint ever since he'd first stepped foot into the place six years ago. He thinks about doing it sometimes, just showing up early before anyone else arrives, with a can of white emulsion from Daiso and a few brushes. Never does it, though. Would be a thankless job. Old Man Kang probably wouldn't even notice. 

And if he did? He'd probably make Jungkook pay for 'defacing his property.' 

As he pulls his car into the forecourt, parking up by the air compressors, Jungkook sighs. He isn't expecting anyone else to be here so early, but he's having trouble sleeping. Pulling down on his sun visor, he's rough as he slides the mirror cover across to study his face.

He's not looking too bad - lip a little split, but alright, all things considered. Could have been a lot worse. Namjoon has a mean left hook, after all.

His thumb presses down on the buckle of his seatbelt, releasing it as he reaches over for his duffle bag in the footwell of his passenger seat. There's a clink as he does so, half a dozen bottles of soju ready to be transferred into the fridge by the entrance to the locker room. It's a free for all, used by all the members of the boxing club, but no one ever knows who actually stocks it up. It just kind of... replenishes. Like Christmas presents, or coins under pillows in place of lost teeth.

Admittedly, Jungkook never used to know, either. He still doesn't know who stocks up the waters. He knows who stocks the soju, though. Or at least, he's known for the last few weeks, now.

Where else is he gonna put all the bottles he buys from your store? It's not like he ever drinks them. He just needs an excuse to visit so frequently. 

"You're early," a voice says from the back entrance, as Jungkook is shuffling around with the bottles. The fridge light hums, illuminating his face, as he lets his perfectionism take priority when arranging the bottles. He doesn't turn to look, knowing the tone by heart.

"So are you, Minnie."

Minnie by name, mini by nature, Park Jimin is a 5'7 (though he swears blind he's 5'9 with shoes on) force to be reckoned with. He likes to get to the club early, before his shifts at the fishmongers. It gets his blood pumping, ready for a day of hacking away at marine carcases. 

"I'm always early," he teases, as he tosses his bag on an old wicker chair in the corner of the room. 

It's a large space - a disused rice store that was repurposed in the 80's, and taken over by Old Man Kang after the last owner gambled it away during a back alley game of poker. A large square ring is in the middle, red ropes a little tatty, but still usable. There are a few machines dotted around the corners of the room, but most people opt to use the plethora of punching bags hung up by the far wall.

Jungkook smiles softly as he begins to wrap his hands up. He's dressed down in just a black t-shirt and a pair of grey sweats. They're tapered towards his ankles, where they meet his beat-up black high tops. His laces are pulled tight, wrapped around the classic star logo, and tied in hasty bows on the back of his ankles. Double knotted, as always. "Couldn't sleep."

For how much of a liar he is, Jungkook is always honest with Jimin. 

Well. Nearly always.

Jimin heads for the far corner, where a skipping rope is strung up on a rusty nail embedded into the wall. He nods, figuring as much. "Joon isn't happy."

Jungkook rolls his eyes as he stretches out his back. He couldn't give a fuck if Namjoon is happy or not, especially not after-

"You should talk to him."

Squaring up to the coffee-brown punching bag, Jungkook knocks his head to the side. His jaw clenches as he gently presses against the leather to get a feel for the weight. He bounces, left, right, and then throws a punch. The smack of his hand against the weighted bag echoes into the room.

"Or not," Jimin adds, sensing that Jungkook is in no mood to talk to anyone - and definitely not Namjoon.

Unsolicited advice is never received well by Jungkook. If he wants it, he'll ask for it. Jimin knows this.

There's an art to the way his body moves, recoiling a little with every punch thrown until he disciplines himself. Back broad and triangular, calves strong and tense, it's clear to see that Jungkook can defend his own. If he had wanted to fight back against Namjoon, he could have. 

But Jungkook is a man of honour. Integrity. Respect. He'd never fight against Namjoon, no matter how much he disagreed with him - so instead, he takes it out on a punching bag that is so old it may as well be an antique. The echo of his assault against the leather rings in his ears like a warning bell. A siren. A chime. 

It's funny, 'cause a few roads over - just past the bridge and down the lane  - there's a ringing in your ears too. 

For you, it actually is a chime - the one of the gas station door, and it's a scathing reminder of how badly you fucked up by asking Yoongi to cover your shift.

You spend your morning lamenting, hypothesising. You're so busy thinking about the stupid boy who drives that god-awful red car, that you don't even bother making assumptions about other customers.

They're all about him. Where he was, who he was with. Why he did what he did. 

You decide that he grew up in a single-parent household. He's already mentioned his late mother, and suggested that she influenced his need to apologise, so a father figure didn't really seem to fit the profile you have of him. 

He wears so much black because he's scared of having an actual personality. Scared that it makes him vulnerable. Or so you assume. In fact, you decide that 'scared' is the best way to describe him. 

A scaredy-cat. A chicken. A pussy. No balls. 

After all, he was too scared to show up, and didn't even have the bottle to find a way to let you know. Did he have your number? No - but perhaps that was deliberate on his part, too.

Your final assessment of his character comes in the form of his FWB (turned far-too-clingy lover). If she's real, which again, you've decided she is, then you don't think it's her fault that she's developed an unhealthy dependency on him. He seems to be the type to lift others up, only to drag them back down with him.

Enough thoughts about him, though. 

If you're not worthy of his time, then why should he be worthy of yours?

The next few days are spent in a subliminal haze; body moving, mind still. It's Wednesday before you know it.

Jieun is on shift with you, after she complained about not wanting to work alone following the raid. You told her that no one would be stupid enough to rush the place again so soon after the first time, but she's having none of it.

"We don't get paid enough to put our lives at risk," she states whenever the topic of conversation is mentioned. And she's right - you don't.

But as you look at the grainy CCTV footage still-image that's taped up above the counter, you can't help but think they wouldn't have actually killed either you or Jieun. Realistically, they barely left a scratch on Yoongi. Physically, at least. Mentally, he's a little more wounded. 

There had been three of them; two rather tall, the third shorter. About Yoongi's height, you guess. Dressed in all black, it's hard to really distinguish any features or their bodies, let alone their faces, which had been covered in ski masks. Run of the mill robbers. The kind you see in crappy action films. Background characters. Just a way to move the plot along, no real personalities, no actual significance to the lives of the protagonists, other than causing a mild inconvenience.

You don't even realise when you're making assumptions, these days.  You think in hypothesis more often than not.

The thieves had run off on foot and down the back alley behind the shop, which is where the trail to find them ends. The CCTV for the alley has been out for months. The boss didn't deem it a necessary investment - "Well, we'd never been robbed before!" - so it had fallen to the bottom of his priority list. The issue with the back alley is that it leads to an underpass with so many blind spots that it's easy - almost too easy - to slip into nothingness. 

It's when you're staring at them, thinking about the assumptions you could make for your mystery men of misdemeanours, that the door chimes. 

You don't ignore it, anymore. The raid has spooked you. So you look towards it, and are met with the sight a broad back. The shoulders, strong and well-defined, are covered in a brown flannel shirt. It's tucked into a pair of jeans, that cling to the contours of the customer's legs. He's not wearing a coat - just hopped out of his car, where the aircon is keeping him toasty - and you realise you recognise his posture. 

The mop of bleached hair is pretty damn recognisable, too. 

"Jieun," you hiss quietly, drawing her attention from the stock she's counting in front of the kiosk. She glances towards you, eyes startled by your tone. You beckon your head back, and she scurries over to you.

"Can you man the till?"

She looks confused for a second. "Why?"

"Girl issues," you lie, knowing she won't be able to say no. "Just came on my period. Need to, yanno-"

"Go, go, go," she nods, hurrying behind the counter, ushering you away and towards the staff room door. 

As you leave, you glance to the curved mirror in the far corner; the one that only you look in. It's your second pair of eyes - but you find another pair staring back at you. It's brief, and his gaze drops as soon as he sees you focus on him, blonde hair covering his dark eyes from your view. He's looking at the gimbap again, now.  Pretending like he never saw you.

Good, you think. Fuck off. 

It's been three days since he stood you up; three days since you jeopardised one of your best friends lives to see him, only for him to be M.I.A. You don't know the kid, not really. Why waste any more of your time on him?

You stay in the bathroom for upwards of five minutes. Just enough time for him to leave. Jieun must be wondering what you're doing, but you'll just explain it away.

You're quite good at that. Lying. Just little ones, white lies. Porkies. Fibs. Never anything that will harm another person, just things that will protect you instead. 

"Who's the blonde dude?" Jieun asks when you return. You furrow your brows and play dumb. "The one with the brow piercing," she adds, as if you need any clarification. Blonde dudes aren't really the norm around these parts. He sticks out like a sore fucking thumb. "Tattoos."

"Dunno," you say with a smile. It's the same one that laces all of your little lies.

For once, Jieun looks at you, her thick brows hard and poised, as if she knows you're lying. 

And then she nods towards the counter, where a peach tea and a cup of ice sits. "Left this for you."

"Hmm," you purr. "Must think I'm someone I'm not."

Yeah, you think scornfully. Must think I'm an idiot.

It worked as an apology once before - but it's a pattern of behaviour, now. He's a leopard, spots unchanged as he runs away from the consequences of his actions, suffocating you in the dust clouds he leaves behind.

"He's cute," Jieun muses.

"No," you smile. It's the same one. That little one full of lies. "He's not."

────────────

The peach tea sits on the counter by the till for two days. It's tucked behind a box of pocket money candies, which are waiting to be restocked; hidden in such a way so that only you know it's there.

Y'see, you've been making assumptions again - though you wouldn't really call this one an assumption. It's acceptance of a habit that's been proven: he will return.

He always does, it seems. 

And sure enough, that afternoon, two days after you'd last been graced with his presence, he returns.

Jieun spots him first, eyes darting immediately towards yours. You're like a deer in headlights, ready to bolt - but she doesn't let you.

"Gotta go," she squeaks, before mouthing 'girl issues' to you, with a smile she reserves moments like these; her little victories. 

He does his usual rounds, and you're already mentally ringing it up: a bottle of soju, and a tuna gimbap roll. You glance out to the forecourt, towards pump six - but it's empty. Not a single car in sight, let alone his trusty red pony. You're confused. Brows furrowed, nostrils a little flared. Lips pouty. You big baby. 

When he eventually comes to the kiosk, it takes all of your strength not to ask, 'why the fuck are you here?'

And just like all of your assumptions about him, you're wrong. Again. 

No soju, no gimbap. Banana milk and bibimyun ramyeon, instead. A great combination by all accounts, but you're not gonna give him the satisfaction of letting him know you think his choice is elite. 

As far as you're concerned, he can take his banana milk and shove it up his ass.

Frustratingly, he appears to find amusement in your outward expression of annoyance. There seems to be a small grin on his face, cheeks appled beneath his mask, as if he's not aware that it's painfully awkward between the pair of you.  

He has no manners, you decide. No spine. No awareness of social cues, either. A triple whammy. What a catch.

But you believe that silence is a virtue, so you say nothing as you ring up his items. You don't even tell him his total - just nod towards the card machine. He follows your line of sight, watching the machine light up for a moment, before putting his card in the slot. 

While he does so, you reach for the peach tea and add it to his stockpile. 

"You forgot your drink again."

He looks at the pouch of tea, then up towards you. And then he repeats it, several times.

"Ouch," he says, ending his declaration of pain with a small laugh. You've got half a mind to rip the pouch open and pour it all over his shitty flannel shirt. It's blue today, paired with sweats, because apparently that's fashionable? 

Boy looks like he got dressed in the dark, you think scornfully - but really, you're just annoyed with how hot you think he looks. Unreasonably hot. He's the bloody Sahara storming through Daegu's coldest winter. He's melting the river, leaving everyone wet in the process. 

Or maybe not. Maybe just you-

"What's the grin for?" he teases, and you realise that you've been paying too much attention to your thoughts.

"No grin," you snap, face flushed.

"Service with a smile, as always."

"Your transaction is done," you say, this time smiling as if butter wouldn't melt. "You can leave, now."

He holds up his pot of ramyeon and shrugs, before glancing over to the food station, where the hot water and microwaves are waiting for him. "Actually, I think I'm just gonna eat here."

Without even so much as a glance back towards you, the asshole picks up a pair of chopsticks, wrapped in thin paper, and heads towards the food station. You're in a state of disbelief. Entitled prick.

Jieun returns almost as soon as he's left the counter. She still doesn't have a clue about whatever's happened between the pair of you, but she did see you hiding up the peach tea a couple of days ago, so she figured it was something. 

"You gonna take it to him?" she asks, nodding down towards the tea, which he's left at the counter, again.

"No."

"Take him the tea."

"No."

"Take it."

"No.

"Fine," she huffs. "If you don't, I will-"

"Fine!" you whisper, though it's definitely a shout. You might not want anything to do with him, but you also don't want to watch him work his charms on Jieun. For her benefit. Not yours. Definitely not because you don't want to see him flirting with her instead.

Him, with his stupid tattoos, and dumb blonde hair, and annoying smile and-

"Go," she grins. 

"Just... give me a minute."

You watch as he fills up his ramyeon bowl, hot air steaming around the jet of water. It's been a while since you ate, and you're a little jealous. Your break isn't for another few hours yet, though, so smelling his food throughout the store will be torture. Asshole.

He sits down, and Jieun pesters you a little more, but you're trying to wait it out. If a customer comes in, then you can just deal with them instead - but the forecourt is empty, just like it always is at this awkward time of day. After lunch, but before the end of school. This is the real ghost shift of a gas station - after midnight is when it comes alive. 

Admittedly, it was a little too lively the night of the raid. You make a mental note to text Yoongi on your break, just to check-in, and then you glare at Jieun and her shit-eating grin, before heading towards gimbap-less Mr Gimbap. 

Tossing the bag down onto the cheap plastic table, you're indifferent as you speak. "Like I said. This is yours."

"Is it?" he asks, unpierced brow raised. "Doesn't look like mine."

"Well, it is," you say, clearly fed up with him. "And just while we're talking - where's your car?"

His eyes narrow ever so briefly. Almost like he knows you're onto him. For what? No clue. But something.

"Taillights out. Just needs a repair."

You nod. Seems plausible. At least he sticks to the highway code - even if he does break it after the clock strikes twelve every other weekend. 

You're not quite sure what to make of him as he looks at you, eyes only lingering for long enough to let you know that there's something he's not telling you. 

The air quality isn't bad today. There's no need for him to be wearing a mask, but he's hiding. From you? From something else? You can't work him out.

Perhaps it's shame. 

After all, this is a boy who came and apologised to you for being a little bit mean in the heat of the moment. Being deliberately cruel doesn't really seem like his motive, no matter how cold his demeanour is.

And so, instead of just letting your assumptions fester, you voice them.

"You're hiding something." 

You're met with silence. 

"Behind that mask," you clarify, before repeating yourself. "You're hiding something."

He looks at you for a moment, before dropping your gaze, and glancing towards the door. 

Thinking about making a run for it, you lament internally - but he's not. He just doesn't like how sometimes - just sometimes - your assumptions are entirely correct.

He lifts his ringed index finger to his ear, unhooking the thin black elastic that keeps his mask in place, before letting it fall. His skin is clammy beneath it from the heat of his breath, and the chill of the winter breeze outside, but your eyes fall to his bottom lip. 

It's split, the centre crease darker than the soft pink flesh around it. There's a bruise beneath it, still tender and sore. You don't mean to, but you gasp at the sight of it. It's no worse than Yoongi's graze, the placement makes it so much more bothersome.

Uncomfortable with the way you're looking at him - like you feel sorry for him - he hooks his mask back up again. 

"Happy now?" he asks, knowing that you just love to be proven right.

You scoff, a little offended. "Obviously not. What happened?" You take the seat opposite his. "Are you okay?"

"Nothing happened," he lies, avoiding your eyes as he does so. It's funny how you haven't noticed that little trait of his yet. You will. Just not yet. "I'm fine."

"You're quite clearly not fine."

"Quite clearly am," he bickers, before nodding to the food on the table. "Just hungry."

Ouch. You're just trying to make sure he's okay, but if he wants to be hostile again, then fine. No skin off your back. 

You nod, looking away. It's awkward, and when the bell chimes to indicate another customer entering the shop, you find your stomach lurching. 

Still, he toys with the softening noodles in their pot, as if they're the most fascinating things in the world. 

This isn't how he wanted this conversation to go. Hell, he doesn't even know what the outcome should be. He's just feeling uneasy, as if he's making all the wrong choices.

"I heard about the raid."

You nod. It's been on all the local radio stations. Thankfully Yoongi is the only employee being name-checked. You aren't ready to give up your own personal paradise just yet, which is exactly what will happen the second your family gets notice of where you're spending your days.

"Yeah, me too," you deadpan. It's a fault of yours, giving back the same energy you receive, unable to just suck things up and be nice all the time.

Thankfully, he smiles. You kind of expected that he would. He seems to get you, get your humour. It's something you both share, like a little secret. A smile rests on his lips as he glances up towards you, like he's a school kid trying not to giggle in class.

And then you find yourself making assumptions again. You wonder what he would have been like in school, if he would have been just as charming. You bet that he was the kind of kid who could get away with murder in class. All he'd have to do was flash those of eyes of his, and he'd be off the hook.

Sort of like how he does with you. Why else would you be giving him the time of day after he stood you up?

"Oh really?" He entertains your attitude."What did you hear?"

You lean against the table, a little bit provocative, but only 'cause his tone of voice matched it. "Heard that I'm lucky some prick asked me out, even if he did leave me waiting for hours in the dark."

His smile falters a little, but only for a fraction of a second. He likes the flirt; doesn't like the acknowledgement of what he did. "Hours?"

"Nah," you scrunch your nose up, and sit up straight again. You're still smiling, to let him know that you're feeling fine about it, now. "Didn't stick around for that long. What?" You laugh when he raises a brow, and begin to tell white lies. He'll see through them, but you want him to. "You think I don't have other eligible bachelors lining up, trying to take me on dates?"

He shrugs, and you can tell that he's pouting a little behind his mask. "I'm still the one you skived off work for, am I not?"

"That's neither here nor there."

"Yeah, it is," he speaks softly, leaning forward on the table. Closer. "What time do you clock off today? I wanna talk. Properly."

"Are we not talking properly now?" You say, unable to resist being difficult. It takes everything within his power not to roll those pretty eyes of his - but you're grinning, and he finds himself doing the same back. His mouth may be covered by his mask, but you can still tell.

He thinks about his response for a moment. If he's being honest, he wants to make some crude remark; tell you that he wants to get you talking just so he can think of ways to shut you up. You're not at that level yet, though. Coming on strong is unfavoured by him, so he opts for something a little cooler.

"We're talking about talking," he reminds you, picking up the pot up and leaning over to the sink by the food station to drain the excess water. "I wanna talk about... well, anything else."

You purse your lips, folding your arms across your chest. There's part of you that really wants to say no, to tell him to go fuck himself. But there's a teeny tiny part of you that wants to say-

"Nine. I'm off at nine."

"Nine," he nods. "I'll be here."

"Sure you will," you tease.

"I will."

"Yeah, yeah. Course. You're really good at that." You're nodding enthusiastically, a stupid smile on your face, eyes all wide as if you couldn't be more naive. You can tell he's smiling again, and it's like that door chime in your stomach is bloody broken. "Yanno, the whole showing up when you say you will, thing."

"Shut up," he laughs, but it catches in his throat like a low growl. "I'll be here, but not if you keep being a little bitch."

Your teeth cushion themselves on your bottom lip, and you nod. "See you at nine... Kook?" You question, realising that you're yet to actually ask his name.

"Jungkook. But Kook works, too. Just depends on how well acquainted you're planning on getting."

He doesn't give you a chance to reply, simply standing as he pushes the pot of noodles over to you. "Eat up. You look hungry."

Turning on his heel, he heads for the door. 

The bell chimes, and it's like it's harmonising with the feeling in your stomach.

You prod around at the noodles, and sigh, posture defeated. This is not good.

────────────

The rest of your shift trudges on. It's slow, the hands of the clock seemingly frozen - until, suddenly, it's nine.

"You're late," Jungkook greets you, perched on a bollard by the side of the forecourt. He's wearing a coat, now, wrapped up a little warmer than he had been earlier. His sweats have been traded for jeans, but he's still in that big blue flannel shirt. You like it. 

And he's not wrong - cashing up your till took a little longer than normal, thanks to an old note that wouldn't read properly in the sorter. Just another thing your boss refuses to upgrade.

"At least I'm here," you quip back.

"Touché." He holds out his arm, almost as if he expects you to link yours with his. "Shall we?"

You look at his arm, then up towards him. And then you repeat it, letting out a soft laugh, not accepting his arm, instead turning to walk in the direction of home. "C'mon," you call back. "You walking me home or not?"

It's his turn to laugh now as he ups his pace to catch up with you. "Not."

"Not?"

"Not," he repeats, seemingly unable to say anything else - until, of course, he does. "My cars around the corner. Wanna go for a drive?"

"Sorted the taillight?" You ask, curious, figuring that it would have been at Kang's overnight.

Jungkook hums a response, not really saying yes or no, but as you turn the corner and it comes into vision, you can see that his taillights seem fine - not that you can really judge. A car as old as his doesn't come with central locking systems, so it's not like you'll see the lights flash as it-

Oh. Nevermind.

There's a beep, and the car flashes in front of you, mocking those damn assumptions of yours.

"Since when do Pony's have electric locks?" You ask defensively, almost as a reflex for having your assumptions disproven.

"Since I decided to install them," he says, as if it's the simplest job in the world. You've heard Yoongi mutter 'bastard locks' enough times to know otherwise.

"Kang's must make a killing from you," you joke as he nods towards the passenger side, indicating for you to get in.

"Kang's don't make shit from me when it comes to the wires."

You wait for him to pop his door open before you do the same. The interior is leather, all black, and is cold to the touch as you get in. The windscreen begins to fog almost instantly, the minimal heat you're letting off proving just how cold it's been getting lately. 

It's curious, you think. There should be a little heat left in the car from his drive to meet you.

"No?" you question, choosing to ignore the temperature of the car. It's below zero, you rationalise. Of course it cooled quickly.

"No," he shakes his head, turning the key in the ignition.

The car rumbles - purrs - softly. You can tell he's listening to the engine, making sure that it sounds okay before he sets off. Standard old car problems. Running gas through the motor before it warms up only causes issues.

Like his locking system, you notice that the stereo isn't exactly true to the era in which the car was built (even if the lack of insulation is). It's got an aux cord hanging from the headphone jack, which he picks up and places in your lap. "Don't put anything shit on."

He avoids clarifying your question, and it annoys you - so you choose to be direct about it, not plugging your phone in at all. If he doesn't want to listen to shit music, he should be a more specific.

You're stewing, clearly irritated, but you're also casually enamoured, watching him as he carefully observes the dashboard, checking the revs, trying to heat the car up a little.

"Just the electrics? What about everything else?"

He doesn't look your way as he replies. "Just the electrics. Put your seatbelt on."

"Why?"

He's still not looking at you. "'Cause if I crash, you'll go straight through the windshield."

"Not the seatbelt," you reply, though he's got a point. You haven't clicked it into its buckle yet. Nor has he, though. "The electrics."

Still. Not. Looking. At. You.

It's not even like it's an important question. You couldn't give a flying fuck about his shitty car's electrics. You just don't like that he's deliberately avoiding answering something so simple, as if you're asking him how old he was when he lost his virginity.

Eventually, he cracks. It's as he's sliding his seatbelt down, the smooth noise of  fabric scruffing against plastic filling the car. He's bargaining - hopes that if he does his belt up, then you will too. 

Then again, he knows that you're difficult, and that you'll probably use it as a bargaining tool. You won't do it up until he gives you an answer.

"Electrician by trade," he says with a little sigh, before turning to face you finally. "Happy?"

You don't want to say yes - but you are. You're smug in the knowledge that you know just as much about him now as he does you.

"By trade?" You push a little further as your buckle clicks into place.

"By trade," he answers, in that annoying way he so often does, not really giving you an answer, just confirming what you already know. "I'm in between jobs at the moment."

"Ah," you smile, finally putting the aux into your phone. The windows are beginning to clear. "That explains why you're always in the garage at such weird hours."

It doesn't. There's an entirely different explanation for that. Not one that he'll give, though.

He hums a response, not wanting to tell more lies. He knocks the car into first, and lets the handbrake down, easing the car into motion as it rolls gently from the curb and into the road. 

It's at this point you realise you're in the car with a near-stranger, and that it's probably the dumbest thing you've done in a while. You're smarter than this. Been raised better.

Jungkook smiles at your statement, though. "You ever stop making assumptions?"

A laugh falters in the back of your throat. "No," you muse. "I don't think I do."

His palm rests on the gear stick, thigh pressing down against his seat as he dips the clutch. There's a simple joy to be found in watching his movements like this, as if you're getting to see something reserved for very few people. He's smiling as he knocks it into second gear. Smiles a lot around you, actually. 

Perhaps he's just like this all the time. Naturally light natured, despite the dark clothes and even darker eyes.

"Tell me mine," he says as the car moves from the slightly beat up side road, towards the main street that leads up to the bridge. There's a change in pressure beneath the tyres, the new road far smoother, far easier, than the one you'd been on previously. "Your assumptions. I wanna hear them."

"I can't," you reply, as if they're some closely guarded secret. In a way, they are. You've built up this idea of Jungkook; of who he is, who he associates with, what he does in the dark.

If he confirms or denies a single one of these assumptions, then it could all be in tatters.

"Can't? Or don't want to?"

You watch his hands as he flicks on an indicator. There's no one else on the road. Seems redundant. It's interesting, though, how he seems to care about the rules of the road now that you're in the passenger seat.

"Why can't it be both?"

And just like that, you're going round in circles again. Always talking, but never quite saying anything. It's a strange little dance you like to do, one that you don't know the steps to, but seem to get right anyway.

He uses the palm of his hand to turn the wheel, back on the bridge now. It's less icy today, but you find your heart resting in your chest just like it did the first time you were here with him. He glances over to you, but you keep your eyes straight ahead.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly. "About that time. When we were here, yanno?"

You nod. It's a weird thing to think about. You could have died. Came pretty fucking close to it - and yet all that really lingers in your mind from that night is the way he stared you down.

"Mhmm," you press your lips together, and cross your legs.

He doesn't like it. The way your body sort of angles away from his. It's cold. Cruel, almost.

So he lifts his hand from the gear stick and taps your knee. A request, not a demand. He's gentle as he nudges, encouraging your legs to unhook, until they're back in their original position. You just kind of let him. Neither of you say anything, but there's an awareness that he doesn't want you to close off from him.

Your arms move instead, without much thought, crossing over themselves.

"Don't."

The silence is so loud you think the windows might shatter.

"Please," he follows it up, then decides that he needs something to fill the void that you're leaving in the conversation. "Put some music on," he says, before backtracking on his earlier statement. "I don't mind if it's shit."

It earns a small smile from you, an exhale from your nose letting him know that you find humour in his words.

You unlock your phone and head to spotify, confronted with more playlists than you know what to do with, and settle on the one you use when Yoongi lets you control the music in his car. It's pretty inoffensive, you think. Nothing too shit. No noughties classics, at least, though there are a couple from the 80's. If he complains, you'll just remind him of how old his car is.

"So what's the deal?"

The fact you only start talking as he exits the bridge isn't lost on Jungkook.

"No deal," he replies just as casually as you asked.

"Well you aren't taking me home," you muse, glancing over to him. There's a smile on his face. Dimples present. "And I'm hoping that you're not chauffeuring me to a date with the Grim Reaper - so where are we going?"

"We-" He turns to face you, now. Just briefly. Just a glance with a smile that has a chime sounding in your tummy again. "-are heading into town. I don't think the Grim Reaper's gonna be there, but you never know with that dude. Always showing up at the worst of times."

"Mm," you agree with a small laugh. "His social skills are atrocious."

"You give him a run for his money, yanno," Jungkook teases you.

It's reflex, more than anything, that has you swatting at his shoulder. The fabric of his shirt is soft, and there's a waft of his aftershave as you draw your hand back to your lap. Oaky. Mature. Probably more than he seems to be.

"My social skills are fine. You're just shitty company."

"Me?!" He sounds affronted now, but there's a grin plastered all over his pretty little face. "Sorry, little miss clutch control. Forgot you were queen of making casual conversation."

"Uh-huh," you say as you shift in your seat, body angled towards his. The smile on his face grows. There's one on yours too. A pretty fuckin' big one, at that. "That's why they hired me. Could see I'd be great with the customers."

He snorts, crown of his head tipping against the back of his seat. "Oh, yeah?"

You hum an affirmation, and Jungkook looks towards you briefly, chin lifted, eyes narrow, curious of what you'll say next. 

"Well, I seem to have done alright with one of the customers, at least."

His teeth begin to show as he looks towards the road again. "Poor fucker. I'd hate to be him."

And then you're both laughing. 

It's how it remains for the rest of the evening. 

You're laughing when he parks in the furthest corner of the lot, just to make sure no one scrapes his paintwork. You're laughing when he can't figure out the QR code for the automatic parking fee, and you're laughing when he tells you to fuck off for laughing. 

But he's laughing too. 

Laughs when you can't figure out the apron in the dakgalbi place off the side of the main shopping street, and laughs when the middle-aged lady running the shop comes to help you out. Jungkook had refused. He was enjoying the struggle too much.

See, your cheeks go all red when you get flustered. He's never seen that look on you before. You get a similar look once you realise the spice of the galbi is a little hotter than what you're used to, and you get it again after you've had a few shots of soju.

He matches you, shot for shot, but also makes sure to keep filling up your stainless steel water cup. In fact, he fills it more than he fills his own.

Unlike you, and your perceived ability to judge characters, Jungkook actually can read people pretty well. He knows his limits, and he's guessing at yours, but doing a good job doing so.

It's not until Jungkook's paying that you realise just how many bottles the pair of you have gotten through. You're steady on your feet, but you can feel the alcohol in your system, and know that he must be the same.

"How we getting home?" You ask, as the chime of the door rings behind you. Within seconds you're pulling your arms over your chest, trying to preserve heat. You fucking hate January.

"C'mon," he mumbles, looping his arm around your shoulders, rubbing at the side of it quickly to build up some heat. He's all hunched up too, clearly feeling the cold. "Taxi? I can pick my car up in the morning."

It's gone twelve on a week night. You both know there's no way in hell you'll be able to score a taxi, not without a 45 minute wait, at least. The curse of downtown Daegu. Should have just gone to eat in your neighbourhood, but Jungkook felt like he had a point to prove. He wanted to make it up to you. Properly.

You drop Yoongi a text as you load up your taxi app, just checking in, letting him know that you're all good. He replies pretty much instantly, but you're distracted by Jungkook letting you know that his app says no cabs are available.

"Shit," you hiss, bouncing around on the balls of your feet, trying to keep warm.

Jungkook weighs up his options. On the one hand, he knows he needs to get you home. On the other, you're hopping around like a fucking bunny. It's borderline cruel to keep you out in the cold like this. Especially when his place is only a ten minute walk away, in the heart of town, compared to your hour long trek back to the outskirts.

"My place isn't too far."

The suggestion is out of his mouth before he knows any better. He's getting himself in too deep already. All it's taken is a couple weeks of awkward flirting across a gas station kiosk and exactly one (1) shared dakgalbi. Maybe the 6 bottles of soju didn't help.

"You can wait it out in the warm for a taxi, at least," he adds on, before realising that you're both as tipsy as one another. Both hovering a little too close to one another. Both feeling that weird pull, of which he's telling himself to ignore, but he just can't seem to help himself.

He's a simple man, of simple pleasures - and sex is the most simple of them all.

If he wants it, then you probably do, too.

Might do, he corrects himself. Best not to make assumptions about things like these.

"Wait it out," you nod, a little grin resting on your lips. They're a little plumper than normal, partially thanks to the galbi spice, but also thanks to the you've been biting down on them all evening. It's okay, though. Jungkook's lips are just as bad. All plump and pretty and - fuck. You know you're staring but it's kind of hard not to.

He knocks his head to the side and holds out his hand for you to take. "C'mon. I'm this way."

And so you do take it. Fingers neatly linking between his, hooking on and holding close as if it isn't the first time that it's happening. It's been so long since you did this with another person that you're almost not sure you're doing it right. His grip adjusts, and then his other hand reaches behind your shoulders to prop the hood of your jacket over your hair.

"For the wind," he says. 

Definitely not so that the pair of you are a little more incognito. 

It's why he puts his hood up, too... For the wind. 

After all, he's not hiding behind his mask like he was earlier. Not hiding from you. 

But he's hiding from something.

And you should be, too.

────────────

minors dni // posted to wp late 2021 // series masterlist

#jungkook fanfiction #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook ff #jk ff #jungkook masterlist #jungkook fic #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook x oc #jeon jungkook smut #bts fanfic #boxer!jungkook #mafia!jungkook #throttle #byholly #jungkook fluff #angst #smut #jungkook x y/n

[tahliafox]

You need me

Natasha Romanoff x Reader.

Summary: you don't need Natasha.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, mean!nat, mommy!nat, choking, slapping, degrading

Word count: 960

You tapped your pen on the wooden surface of your desk, listening to the hum of the air conditioning flowing through your train of thought. Unbeknownst to you, Natasha had been intently watching you for the previous 25 minutes from the soft couch in the corner of the room. 

“Princess.” Natasha called your attention. You immediately turned your head and smiled at her. “Why don’t you have a break from studying? You’ve been distracted for ages, my love.” 

Your frown dissipated, soft layers of hair fell out from behind your ear as you shook your head. “Can’t, Natty. Have exams soon, and I have to study.” you whined. History was seriously kicking your ass. 

Natasha stretched her arms above her head, the sleeves of her burgundy jumper slipped to the mid of her forearm. The muscles flexed and you salvated a little, staring. Calloused hands pushed the sleeves up further, to stay above her elbows, whilst she stood up. You took in a sharp breath through your nose and closed your eyes tightly, trying to re-focus on your paper. 

Natasha stood, watching you with a disappointed look on her tilted head. You stopped rhythmically tapping your pen and traced the lines in your book, trying to make sense of the words.

“Stop studying. Pay me some attention, angel. Please.” 

In the midst of trying to read, Natasha had walked so she was standing with her stomach resting against the back of your office chair, her hands massaging through your shoulders. She leaned down so her plump lips were resting against your ear.

Soft kisses began to trail along the length of your neck. You swallowed and kept tracing the words. 

“Natasha, I need to study.” You said, voice cracking from butterflies erupting in your stomach.

Natasha moaned and sucked a hickey into your shoulder. “Mommy needs you. Take a break.”

A jolting feeling coursed its way through you like electricity. You shrugged your shoulders to get Natasha’s mouth away from your skin. “Well I don't need mommy, I need to study. I have a paper tomorrow.” Your voice came out stern.

For a moment, you thought you won. Natasha seemed to pull away and go silent.

“Do you want to say that again?” Her voice was tauntingly dark. You froze. Natasha hummed and spun the leather chair so you were facing her. Your eyes drifted straight to the floor. “You don't need me? Is that what you said?”

You shook your head in denial.

Natasha raised her voice. “No. Fucking say it.” 

You shook your head again.

“All your silly confidence gone now? Can’t you look your own mommy in the eyes? Tell me you don't need me, go on.” her hand roughly gripped your chin, forcing your face up so you had to look into her piercing eyes.  “Say it, I dare you.”

You stayed silent.

Wrong choice. 

Natasha hoisted you up from under your arms and carelessly pushed you across the room. You stumbled on your feet and fell over, but Natasha just rolled her eyes and picked you back up- placing you on the couch. She laid you down and crawled on top of you.

Her breath was heavy and forearms were gripping at the velvet material beside your head. For a second she just stared, but then unexpectedly smirked and crashed her lips against yours. You tried to kiss back but her mouth dominated yours, sucking your tongue into her mouth and biting at your lips. 

Rough hands gripped at your neck, cutting your supply of oxygen. Your slender, weak fingers went to hold her wrist, trying to get it off but she just laughed against your lips and gripped harder.

Starting to see stars, you coughed and sputtered against Natasha’s mouth. She released her hold on your neck and you gasped for air. Throbbing with need, Natasha smacked her hand against the crotch of your little shorts. Your body jolted at the touch and you moaned.

“Fucking whore, saying you dont need me.” she grumbled against your neck. Her hand shoved its way into your underwear and smeared your arousal all over your pussy. “Show me you don't need me.

You opened your eyes and looked confused. Thin shorts were ripped from your legs, along with your underwear and cold air hit your cunt.

“Show me you don't need me. Touch yourself.”

You hesitated, confused and Natasha smacked you. “Fucking do it.” She snarled. 

You whimpered and brought a hand down to your own cunt, rubbing at your clit gently. Natasha stared intently at you.

“That's how you touch yourself? Got you cant even fuck yourself right.”

Rubbing faster, you brought the other hand to grope your own tits, pinching at your nipples. It wasn't enough.

“Please, mommy.” you moaned, pressing down against the bundle of nerves.

“Tell me you need me.” she groaned.

“I need you, mommy. Need you so bad. Please.” 

Her hand came down at your pussy, shoving two fingers into you. Fucking you ruthlessly, she bit at your neck. 

“Look at you, you fuckin’ whore. Just a slut for mommy's fingers, isn’t that right.”

You nodded your head and arched into her fingers, the coil in your stomach tightening. “Yes, mommy. Need you so bad.”

“Yeah? Show me baby, come on my fingers like a good girl.”

Your breaths came in whining and short. “Please, please.” You begged. Natasha brought her other hand to your clit and started rubbing it, fastly. “Oh god, yes.” you moaned. The coil in your stomach snapped and you screamed.

“Just like that, angel. Good job.”

Natasha didnt slow down her movements, fucking you as intensley as before. 

“Wait-” you moaned, overstimulated.

“Oh, honey. You need mommy a little more than that. Let me show you.”

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff smut #older!nat #natasha romanoff fluff #mommy natasha #mommy!nat #mommy natasha romanoff #tahliesfics

[gabessquishytum]

Hob is a fanfic writer, and Dream is a fanart artist. They get paired together in a fandom Big Bang (I haven't a clue as to what fandom), which leads to them eventually meeting in person.

I tend to think of Hob and Dream being genderfluid and wearing fabulous clothes when they meet... and fabulous underthings.

Aakajajajah since we recently had the centennial husbands big bang, this feels very appropriate! (Reminder to check out all the wonderful art and fics is you haven't already done so!)

I'm tempted to say that Dream and Hob would both be in the Good Omens fandom. I think ineffable husbands would definitely appeal to both of them, and it's rather funny to imagine Neil's characters reading about... Neil's characters. Anyway, they're paired up for a bang and find out that they live in the same city (London) - not only that, they're in the same borough. It seems only logical to meet up at a local park - there's a nice pub nearby, and it's a public area with plenty of people around. Dream can hear his sister's voice saying "don't meet up with a random Internet weirdo!" in his head, but he goes along anyway.

Hob is dress in a long brown skirt with pleats and ruffles, a burgundy knitted jumper, and big sturdy walking boots. He's also covered in gold jewelry, and has several piercings (maybe more, under the clothes...). Dream is immediately in love. He's wearing his own cute ensemble of fishnets, tiny denim shorts, a huge oversized black hoodie, and so much eyeliner. The vibes between them are immaculate.

Later in the pub's bathroom, Hob hitches up his skirt and lets Dream touch the garter strapped around his thigh. If he's very good, he'll get to touch much more when they get home. They've got a big bang to work on, and Hob wants to gather as much real world experience with Dream as he can before he writes the smut scene...

#the sandman #dreamling #nsft

[reaurelynios]

[ID first image: there are 5 digital drawings of moon in various poses and retro-styled outfits. in the top left he is wearing a white shirt tucked into blue jeans and a blue jacket with red, white, and blue stripes. to the right, he is wearing a white button-up shirt, a red sweater vest, and burgundy trousers. in the bottom left moon is wearing a black turtleneck with a dark-blue striped jumper on top, tucked into white jeans. to the right and in the middle moon is wearing a black shirt with red and blue stripes and blue jean shorts. in the far right moon is wearing a black vest top with a blue, pink, and purple open button-up shirt and loose dark green trousers. the background is a dark blue with a cool-gray outline around all of the characters.

second image: there are 5 digital drawings of sun in various poses and retro-styled outfits. on the left sun is wearing a black shirt with yellow geometric patterns, tucked into black slacks. in the middle top sun is wearing a white shirt tucked into red jean shorts. he also wears a yellow, pink, purple and blue jacket. to the right sun is wearing a white button-up shirt with red and blue patterns which is tucked into blue jean shorts. below this is sun from the chest-up, he is wearing a sort of varsity jacket in red, green and yellow. to the left sun is wearing a red, yellow and blue striped button-up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows and yellow jeans. the background is dark red with a warm-gray outline around the characters. end ID]

more outfits for the boys because they're so fun to draw

#reart #image described #fnaf sun #fnaf moon #fnaf dca #sundrop #moondrop #someone in the tags of the last outfits post #said that their outfits looked very 80s-like #so i took that idea and ran with it

[choke-me-joey]

Just spotted your hoe-vember event. I'm wondering if I could request prompt 4 with Joe please. Also, love your work! ❤

Ahhhh omg thank you so much 🥹 I hope I've done your request justice!!!

4. You're so tight, fuck!

Joseph Quinn x reader

Content warning: 18+ content minors DNI, rpf (don't like don't read), first time sex (but neither are virgins), oral (f receiving), protected sex, nothing too crazy tbh

Hoe-vember/Dick-cember masterlist

"Have you had a good time tonight, love?" Joe asks, you smile and lean your head on his shoulder as the Underground train starts to move.

"Mm, dinner was lovely, and the film was good, yeah." You link your arm through his, looking up at him. "Thank you."

"Don't have to thank me, Y/N, I wanted to take you out." Joe pecks the top of your head and you continue your journey in a comfortable silence. Once the train reaches your stop, you and Joe walk hand in hand back to his flat.

You'd been on several dates over the last 3 months after meeting through mutual friends and hitting it off right away. You were both smitten, that was obvious to see, but Joe's hectic work schedule meant that things had not....progressed as quickly as it normally would have by now.

Meaning, you hadn't had sex yet.

In fact, because of said hectic schedule, the most you'd had time for was a handjob on your sofa, or a quick ride of his thigh in his kitchen that one time, nothing more.

But tonight, a night where Joe didn't have to get up and leave for the airport at 3am the next morning, it was happening. He'd asked if you wanted to stay over at his place as you'd had too many late nights not wanting to be apart. You'd said yes without hesitation.

That was 2 weeks ago, so you had plenty of time to lingerie shop and panic.

You'd settled on a very racy black lingerie set, which provided a stark contrast to how simple your date outfit for tonight was - a burgundy roll neck jumper, black skinny jeans, heeled ankle boots and your leather jacket. Casual but not too casual, just like Joe with his jeans and endless collection of pinstriped shirts.

As you get inside the building and up the stairs to his flat, your heart starts beating faster. Your grip on his hand must have tightened as he stops, looking at you with a concerned frown.

"Alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, just...nervous, I guess." Nervous. You sounded like a bloody teenager before their very first time. You winced at how pathetic you sounded. Joe smiles softly at you, squeezing your hand.

"It's just me, Y/N. We don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with. I didn't ask you to stay tonight expecting anything, you know. I just wanted to spend more than a few hours with you before I have to leave next week." Putting his keys in the door, he turns to give you a little reassuring hug. You hug him back, feeling yourself calm down a little. He kisses your head again before opening the door and letting you inside.

You take off your shoes and get settled on the sofa, Joe heading to the kitchen to open a bottle of wine. He returns a few moments later with two glasses of white and joins you on the sofa. He pats his lap and you pop your legs there, and he rests his hand on your thigh.

"You okay?" He asks softly and you nod, smiling at him over the rim of your glass. You both sit and sip your wine, chatting about anything and everything. It was so easy with Joe, that was one of the things you really liked about him. When your glasses were both empty, Joe gestured for you to cuddle up against him, which you did, your head resting on his chest as he absent mindedly played with your fingers. "You know, you have really nice hands."

"Do I?" You giggle, looking up at him with a smile.

"Yeah, you do. And really pretty eyes, too."

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were trying to flirt with me."

Joe grins. "Is it working?"

"Oh yeah, definitely." You return his grin and pull him into a kiss, the wine helping to fuel your confidence a little bit. You and Joe had kissed plenty before, with countless makeout sessions under your belts, but this time it was different; this was leading to something more and you both knew it.

You moan softly as Joe's tongue finds yours, and he lets you pull him on top of you as you sink into the sofa, wrapping your legs around his waist. Your fingers skate over his back, feeling the muscles under his shirt tensing as he holds himself over you. You shift your hips, brushing against hips and he groans against your mouth as you move over the bulge in his trousers. He presses his crotch to yours, making you gasp into his mouth.

"Bedroom?" He whispers and you nod eagerly. "Sure?"

"You're sweet, but if you don't take me into that bedroom and fuck me, your shower head is going to be my date for the evening." You quip, with a cheeky smirk. Joe chuckles, pulling you up off the sofa and leading you into his bedroom.

Once he shuts the door behind him, Joe's mouth is on yours again, this time more desperate and fiery. Your fingers find the buttons on his shirt and miraculously you manage to undo them whilst your lips are still attached to his. Once it's undone, you break away for a second to push it off his shoulders and gently rake your nails down his chest and stomach, teasingly stopping where the trail of hair disappears into his trousers. He shivers slightly before finding your mouth again, his hands coming to the bottom of your jumper.

"Can I?" He asks softly, and you nod, smiling. He pecks your lips reassuringly before pulling the jumper up and over your head. "Fucking hell." Joe groans, his eyes going straight to your tits in the black lace. His eyes then flick up to yours. "Trying to finish me off?"

"Depends, there might be matching underwear too." You laugh as Joe closes his eyes, resting his forehead on your shoulder and groaning loudly. "Wanna find out?"

"Fucking...yes, yes I bloody do. Lie down for me?"

You obey, lying on the end of his bed with your legs hanging off so he can unbutton your jeans and slide them down. Once they're off and flung somewhere, Joe stares down at you. At first you feel a little self conscious, but once you see the look in his eyes, the flush of arousal over him and the bulge in his trousers threatening to burst out, you relax. "Jesus, you're fucking perfect Y/N."

"I wouldn't go that far," you blush, sitting up and pulling him towards you by the belt loops of his trousers, which you quickly unbutton and unzip, purposefully ghosting your hand over his cock. "Oops." You smile coyly, glancing up at him.

"Tease. Scooch up, love." Joe steps out of his trousers and removes his socks as you move up the bed, resting your head on his pillows. You're surrounded by the scent of him and it just adds to the dampness in your underwear. You watch him as he crawls up the bed, hovering over you and you open your legs allowing his body to slot in between them. You glance down, biting your lip at the sizeable tent in his boxers. "You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, just...been a while." You admit, and Joe tucks some of your hair behind your ear.

"We can go slow, baby."

Baby. That was new. And it made your pussy clench. You really wanted this man to rail your brains out here and now. You decide to be bold, and reach between you, squeezing his cock through his boxers.

"I don't want to go slow." You say, eyes meeting his. "Want you to fuck me, Joe."

"Shit, don't....don't say that whilst you're touching my dick," Joe huffs out a laugh, his head dropping down. "Trying to bring my A-game tonight, if you make me cum in my pants that's going to be pretty embarrassing."

"Yeah, a little." You tease, making him laugh and kiss you again, his body pressed against yours, and you're able to feel every little kick and twitch of his cock through his boxers and through your barely there lace thong.

"Can I...Can I taste you?" Joe asks, trailing kisses down your neck and nipping at your collarbone making you gasp and your back arch slightly. You nod.

"Do I get to taste you?"

Joe swallows, hard.

"Fuck love, as much as I want that, as soon as that pretty mouth of yours gets near me it's going to be game over. Let me take care of you tonight, yeah?"

You nod again, making a mental note to wake him up with a blowie tomorrow morning.

Joe leans down once more, kissing you slow and deep, his hand resting tentatively on your stomach. You take it and place it on your boob, and he grunts, gently squeezing, teasing your nipple through the lace. You shudder. "You can take it off."

Joe nods, reaching behind you and expertly undoing the clasp. "Would like to see this again though." He shoots you a cheeky smile as he throws it across the room. He glances down at your bare tits, moving so he's sat on his knees and can cup your breasts in his hands, thumbs giving your nipples an experimental brush. You whine as they stiffen, a bolt of pleasure shooting through you. "Oh, sensitive, are we?"

"Joe..." You whine again. "Don't tease me, please..."

"Alright, baby, I got you." Joe says softly, then dips his head to your chest, taking one of your nipples into his mouth, alternating between sucking and licking, whilst he rolls your other nipple between his fingers. You let out a loud moan, immediately trying to silence yourself. Joe pulls off your nipple with a soft 'pop'. "Hey, don't keep those noises to yourself, baby, you're so sexy. Plus, it's a massive ego boost for me."

"Shut up," you giggle, playfully swatting at him. Joe laughs again, gently biting your nipple playfully. He then kisses down your stomach and across your hip bones, before plucking at the string of your underwear. You get the message and raise your hips up so he can remove the lace garment, throwing it to join the matching bra somewhere. You instinctively close your legs, but Joe shakes his head at your slowly prying them open and gazing down at your glistening pussy.

"Fucking hell. Do you have any idea how beautiful you are? Shit, you're incredible." Joe settles invetween your thighs, swiping a finger through your lips and gathering some of your arousal. You breathe in sharply, the pulsing of your clit and pussy almost becoming unbearable now. "You're so wet, babe."

Babe. Again, him experimenting with new pet names had you shivering.

Joe dips a finger into your awaiting hole, making you grip the duvet in tight fists.

"So fucking pretty." Joe coos, before removing his finger and licking from your hole to your clit. Your mouth drops open and your hand flies to his hair, tugging on it slightly. This makes him groan against your puss, both at the taste of you and from you pulling his hair. You quickly release your grip on his hair and he pulls away from your cunt, making you whimper at the loss.

"M'sorry," you tremble with the need for contact, flushing at your boldness of assuming he'd like his hair being pulled as he was eating you out.

"You can fucking pull my hair all you want baby, you taste so good, feels so good." Joe practically growls, his voice deep with arousal. "Wanna make you cum on my face, okay?"

"Y-yeah, god, yes please." You whine, hips bucking as Joe attaches his mouth to your clit, sucking and licking, much like he did on your nipple. You should have taken that as an indication for how good this was going to feel, but honestly nothing could have prepared you for it. "Shit, oh my god, Joe, fuck yes!"

Joe moans in response, pushing his finger back into your pussy, quickly adding a second one. He curls his fingers upwards and quickly finds your gspot. "Oh my fucking god, there, there!" You cry out, and Joe responds by repeatedly curling his fingers over it whilst his tongue works your clit. It's not long before you feel the familiar coil in your stomach tightening. "Joe, Joe, I'm gonna cum, please, I'm so fucking close-"

Joa groans again, grinding his crotch into the mattress below him for some relief on his aching cock, and his free hand presses down on your lower stomach. You fall over the edge with a sharp wail, pussy fluttering around Joe's fingers. You cum so hard it knocks the wind out of you; the man is a pussy eating god.

"Fuck, that was a big one, huh?" Joe can't hide his smugness as he crawls up next to toy, lying beside you on the bed. You grab him and kiss him fiercely, tasting yourself on his tongue. He grins when you break apart. "That good?"

"That good. But I really want you inside me now." You answer, boldly reaching over and pulling down the front of his boxers, stroking his cock. You weren't ever going to get over how perfect his dick was. A decent length, thick and slightly curved. You knew the stretch alone would be euphoric.

"Fuck, yes, yeah, hang on-" Joe lifts his hips and together you remove his boxers. Now you're both fully naked, you take a moment to get close, skin on skin, and share a slow, deep kiss as you continue to stroke his cock slowly. "Lemme get a condom."

He reaches over into his bedside drawer, pulling out the small foil packet, which he rips open with his teeth and together you roll the condom down his length. Joe repositions himself on top of you. "Still okay?"

You let out a little chuckle. "Joe, I'm fine."

He positions his cock at your entrance, leaning down to kiss you as he pushes in, the stretch and slight burn making you dig your nails into his back.

"Relax, baby, I've got you" Joe says softly, his own body trembling. He continues to push in, agonisingly slow, until he's fully inside you.

"Fuck, Joe," you gasp; you're so full, so deliciously full, you swear you can feel him in the back of your goddamn throat.

"You're so tight, fuck!" Joe hisses, slowly pulling out and pushing back in. "Gonna make me cum way too quick."

"I don't care, you feel so good, fuck me, harder, please, I need it." You whine, wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him in even deeper if that was possible.

"God, yeah, okay-" he starts moving faster, his arms either side of your head shaking with the effort of holding himself up. His cock hits your cervix on every thrust, sending a bolt of pleasure through you with each movement. His pubic bone drags over your swollen clit, and you start to feel your orgasm building again. "Shit, baby, so fucking good."

You moan out loud at his words of praise, cunt clenching around his cock. "Y/N, god, you have no fucking idea how perfect you are-"

"Not as perfect as you," you whisper, and Joe takes your hands in his, his body pressing more against yours. The kiss you share is more panting into each others mouths and heavy breathing than a kiss, but it's so fucking hot you don't care. "I'm gonna cum again, don't stop."

"Yeah? Do it, baby, wanna feel you cum on my cock." Joe grunts, licking his thumb and then reaching between you to rub circles into your swollen clit.

It only takes a few circles before you're coming, calling out Joe's name as your pussy grips his cock like a vice. He curses, thrusting once, twice and very shakey third time before he unloads into the condom, his mouth finding yours as he pants and groans. His body relaxes on top of yours and you lie there for a few minutes, kissing and touching each other, until he rests his forehead against yours.

"Consider your A game brought, Quinn." You giggle, and he chuckles, his cheeks flushing. "That was..."

"Fucking amazing." Sighing contentedly, Joe rolls off of you, removing the condom and throwing it into the bin. He pulls you into his chest and you wrap your arms around his naked torso, pressing your face into his chest. "Is this a good time to make this...official?" Joe's voice rumbles through his chest. You grin and lift your head up.

"Wanna be normal and just ask me to be your girlfriend?" You laugh and he feigns an offended face, frowning at you.

"Oi, cheeky." He kisses your head. "Fine, would you, Y/N Y/L/N, do me the honour of becoming my girlfriend?"

You laugh at his over the top delivery, even bollock naked he was such a fucking goof.

"Yeah, go on then."

#joseph quinn x you #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn fanfiction #joseph quinn smut #joseph quinn fanfic #joseph quinn imagine #kats hoevember event #kats dickcember event #joseph quinn x y/n

[stagefoureddiediaz]

Costume Meta 6x15

At first I thought this was going to be an ok length meta this week, having already written two mini metas based on bts pictures and then we didn’t get the download for a million hours and then just to add to the fun - Tumblr decided that I wasn’t allowed to type into a post wehre i’d added photos and then loading photos into a post wasn’t an option so this is the 4th version of this post I’ve had to create but I got there in the end, so I’m sorry its so much later that i would’ve like it to be - I just hope my insane ramblings are worth the wait!

There weren’t actually that many costumes this week but the guest cast had very interesting costumes and there are a million things going on with Buck, Eddie and Christopher so this week’s meta is very heavily skewed towards them! 

No Hen this week as she’s only seen in uniform - there was also very little Bobby - just the one costume!

Bobby

Bobby in navy blue actually doesn’t mean much this week - the choice of colour for his shirt is purely there to continue to parallel Bathena and Buddie from the last couple of episodes with the Burgundy and blue we’ve seen. Thank you as always for reading  - it really does mean the world to me that you're interested in the costuming of our wee woo show and I love reading your thoughts in the tags and notes!!! I’ll shut up now and let you have your lives back.

Athena

Burgundy ribbed top - stylistically it is in keeping with the other tops we’ve seen her wearing this season. Burgundy isn’t a colour we see on her very often (the last time was in 5x10 at the christmas party and there are only two previous costumes before that), so there was definitely intention to keep the burgundy and blue theme running into this weeks episode. The ribbing is disjointed on this top over the left shoulder, it hints at the idea of Athena not being comfortable with Dominic dying in the back of her police car - its that feeling of something lurking over your shoulder.

The other interesting thing it’s the return of the anchor necklace. We haven’t seen Athena in this necklace since 5x07. This necklace was very heavily connected to family and the idea of family anchoring her and giving her stability while she was in uncertain waters. It was a play on the idea that even when things were turbulent (Michael coming out, the divorce, Jeffery Hudson etc) her family was and is her anchor. The interesting thing about its reappearance here is that we don’t see her with any family aside from Bobby - for a necklace that has been so heavily tied to her extended family their absence in its presence is telling. It could mean some foreshadowing of choppy waters ahead (perhaps to do with Bobby in the finale) alongside her disquiet over this incident.

The leather leather jacket is the same one as we saw her wearing in 6x12 and I spoke in the 6x12 meta how it was very similar to the one we see Athena wear when investigating Eddies shooting and how it, along with Tamara wearing an echo of Bucks outfit in that episode. We have a similar parallel happening in this episode with Christopher’s jumper at Shannon’s grave. To have it reappearing for this scene specifically is telling me to link the scenes - ergo link to the shooting. 

For me that link surrounds the idea of mistaken or hidden identities because all three investigations include an element of this theme. The shooting - Ethan covers his tracks so that the police go for his ex partner and we see Athena hiding her identity by dressing as a firefighter to go to Bobbys rescue. In 6x12 Athena and May go undercover (with hidden identities) to try and find out what happened to Wendell, Wendell himself hides his identity to try and help Tamara and the Walshes tried to hide his identity when they set his body on fire. And now we have a case where Dominic tries to escape conviction through a body switch and hiding his identity. I haven’t quite pieced together what exactly this is saying about Bobby and Athena’s overall arc, but there is clearly something at play here.

Chimney

Chim is paralleling Bobby in the dark blue this episode. The Navy shirt help establish the red/blue theme for Madney in the same way Bobby’s polo does for Bathena. It is designed to do the same thing it does for Bobby - shift focus away from him and onto the one in the brighter colour. It is telling us that Maddie is the one we should be focusing on in the scene rather than Chimney and I’ll explain a bit more of that when we get to Maddies section.

The check shirt Chim wears to the IRS appointment clearly fits into check theory very nicely - not only in terms of the appointment itself, but it is part of a bigger piece of foreshadowing for Chimney more generally which appears to be connected to his family because we have seen him in a lot of check pattern this season and it feels like they’re building the tension with it - it is clearly leading to whatever happens to hi in the finale. 

This shirt is the same one he wears when he finds Maddie giving Jee-Yun a bath after they all return home from Boston. and because of this it feels like there is something specific connected to this shirt around the idea of finding happiness in the place you’re in - not needing more in the moment than what you have - not pushing for more. 

But there is also something connected to the idea of communication - that happiness is found when you communicate with your partner - the moment with Jee in the bath could only happen because Chimney and Maddie communicated which enabled her to return home and start rebuilding her family. The moment at the IRS was a clear indication of Madney not talking in advance, but ultimately coming out of the meeting in a better place - having communicated and reached a mutually happy decision. To me at least this speaks a lot about the marriage arc they are setting up for Madney - that we’re seeing them fail to communicate again, but they will eventually communicate and end up in the right place for them and will find happiness as a result.

Maddie

Maddie’s bright red top pulls our attention - it is far far brighter than Chimneys navy blue shirt and that is intentional - it is mean to make us think of a red flag and highlight to us that Maddie is where our focus should be for this episode. It is signposting us to the fact that in their relationship Maddie is the one who will ahve had dealing s with the IRS before when it comes to being in a relationship - Chimney won’t have had to do it as we’ve never seen him in this type of relationship. Maddie however would’ve had to file jointly when Married to Doug, so her having hangups about the fact the IRS have got in touch probably goes deeper than it just being the IRS getting in touch. It all connects into the theme of their arc for the episode. 

It is also important to note the difference in shades of red and blue that Madney are wearing - especially in relation to Bathena. Bathena’s are much closer together in terms of brightness and contrast. Athenas is slightly brighter becasue she is the focus, but it is closer to Bobby than Maddie and Chimneys are. This is a deliberate choice - it highlights the fact that Bathena are essentially on the same page - they are at the same level and in sync. Madney however are not in sync, they are in different places and we see that play out as the episode airs and we see Chimney searching for a ring at the end of the episode - back in his navy blue tee - we should note however that while he is doing that, Maddie is in her uniform - the maroon of her shirt bringing her closer into line with Chimney, but her uniform still provides a barrier - a safety net for her - in much the same way I described her scene with Buck in 6x12 when she is loading up his fridge.

Ok the check blazer is all kinds of fascinating to me. the three different types of tweed check, the denim jacket placket making it look like a jacket over a denim jacket, the fact that Maddie is wearing a jacket - in complete opposition to Chimney who is in just a shirt. 

There is something about Maddie wearing yet another jacket that is multi layered. This one looks like a blazer with a denim jacket underneath. This has been a recurring theme for her the season where we’ve seen her wearing blazers with false insert hoodies. We only really see her in these outside of her home environment, and there is something in that which suggests Maddie is feeling insecure in someway whilst outside the comfort of her home. 

The false fronts suggest that Maddy is putting up some sort of front as a way of protection outside of the home, that she is hiding here self from the outside world in some way - projecting something false. The general idea of layering is also about protection too so it’s a multilayered (forgive the pun) theme I haven’t figured out exactly what this means yet, but I think the fact that the season is culminating in an engagement arc for Madney suggests to me that her insecurities lie, perhaps, in how she feels the world views her as an unmarried mother and her trauma surrounding that - the wider arc of her PPD is still in play here because her own trauma extends beyond the PPD itself. Maddie is still battling demons in relation to Daniel as well as the demons we know she struggles with in relation to her previous marriage and the trauma she suffered at the hands of Doug

There is something about the idea of her going out into the world fully suited up to defend the fact she isn’t married to Chim, to defend the choices she has made to protect herself and to allow her to continue to heal and her fears that society will judge her for those choices -something that the IRS has (in her mind) proven to be correct. 

So you know how we’ve talked about the blue green theming being connected to break ups - Eddie and Ana, Buck and Taylor, well I don’t want to alarm anyone but we saw Madney in the same blue and green colour way!! 

I actually don’t think this is going to be about a break up - I think its more connected to a couple of other times we’ve seen these especially dark yet bright shades of  green and blue - the scene in 5x09 (with the pink washing up gloves) as well as the scene when Buck tells Taylor about kissing Lucy - and those two scenes connect to the keeping of secrets and the revealing of secrets, the trying to keep things hidden but them ultimately coming out anyway. It is one of the themes of the episode - keeping secrets, and misunderstanding things and struggling with the reality of moving on and forward. We also saw a similar theme at play when Maddie wore that shirt in the 6x13 - her ‘neighbour’ was hiding their identity. So fear not all the Madney shippers, we’re all good - they just need to communicate and sort through a few things - for Maddie it is very much her hang ups about getting married again - she needs to move on from this last piece of Doug’s hold over her and her life and those shirts are helping with that. 

Dominic

Dominic was wearing a very similar jacket to Eddies jacket from 5x10  and 6x08. it is not the same jacket, but it is close enough to draw the parallel.

Ok this is a bit hard to explain, but go with me. At first I thought the wardrobe department were just reusing a costume, however some dots have connected and I think there is a larger metaphor at play here. We have to remember that Athena is wearing a jacket that closely resembles the one she wore to investigate the shooting and that the theme of mistaken identities is at play in both storylines as well.

In 5x10 Eddie is talking to Carla about Christophers obsession over having a perfect Christmas then Chris wakes up from a nightmare about his mother. 

The second time we see the jacket, in 6x08, it is as Eddie watches Chris make his way into his school dance and talks about being different and fantasy becoming reality. 

 It’s therefore an interesting choice to have a very similar jacket on a guest character who is trying to hide, to hide his identity and hide the money he embezzled from an organisation with dream in its name all of this is telling me to connect his plot to Eddies. 

So if we look at Dominics storyline things make further sense in relation to what happens in this episode for Eddie. We have to place Eddie as Dominic, Natalia as the second body (whose name we eventually find out is Seth Davis, but not much more) and Buck as the coroner.

We get told a couple of useful things by the coroner (side note what is it with coroners in US tv programes contaminating their morgues by eating their lunch in them?!!!!) 

‘looking at a body doesn’t tell us much. Our answers are usually found under the skin.’ 

It is a pointed line and is the one that helps us to place Buck in the role of coroner - when he is at Maries grave with Eddie he talks about playing a role for everyone else, but he also talks about Natalia seeing him better than he sees himself. Buck hasn’t actually looked deeply at himself (because Buck is scared to - he is so very traumatised) but the coroners job is to look more deeply at others - to look below the surface of the skin and see what has happened, what is going on.  

Obviously in this case there are answers that can be found on the surface here - that it is the wrong person - the wrong body. The right body was there initially then it got swapped when no one was looking. So the body is labelled as the Dominic and the coroner has no reason to question the information they have (ergo Buck has no reason to question things about Natalia)it is only by twist of fate that the swap is discovered - you don’t have to look beyond the surface for the answers. Second time around it is definitely the right body because it is Dominic (who interestingly enough dies of a heart attack after taking too much of a medication designed to lower blood pressure - heart metaphor anyone?!) and the answers will only be found below the surface. Autopsies will be carried out on both bodies and in both cases it is likely that answers will be found - the cause of the Heart attack for Dominic and whatever it was that killed Seth Davis. This suggests to me that we will see Buck (the coroner) find his answers  that he’ll see into Eddies heart in some way at some point and also see whatever it is he needs to see below the surface in Natalia as well, but it won’t give him the answers he seeks (if they gave us the outcomes of the two autopsies - which we won’t get but thats fine - I would put money on cause of death being  completely unconnected with the heart)

Kelly - the speaker at Marie’s living funeral

I wouldn’t normally include a character like Kelly in my costume meta but there is something interesting happening with chains being increasingly connected to Buck through his girlfirends in some way so Kelly gets a look in. This is going to sound a bit off the wall but I promise it makes sense!!!

To start with I need to point out that there were several references to Charles Dickens in this episode. Kelly was giving  a speech about advice she had received from her Aunt and as soon as I saw the blouse she was wearing my brain connected dots to A Christmas Carol. This ties in so perfectly with the Victorian concept of a good death - which ties into Natalia as well. The chains connect to the ghost of Jacob Marley, who comes to warn Scrooge of what awaits him if he continues his current path. 

So as I mentioned - Scrooge, a miser who is set in his ways is visited by the ghost of his partner - Jacob Marley. Marley appears in chains - the chains of his fate - basically he created these through his own poor choices and stinginess.

Marley tells Scrooge he can avoid the same fate if he changes his ways while he’s still on earth and that 3 ghosts will visit him. This concept - the idea of being visited in some way by someone dead who was connected to you in real life and them giving you advice connects into Buck through Bobby in Bucks coma dream - we have a Bobby chained to the things he was addicted to in life; the pills and alcohol - but a Bobby who gives Buck a vital piece of advice (which is also heavily connected into his current arc) 

‘If what matters to you most is how other people see you, then you haven’t learned a damn thing.’

This sets Bobby up as the Marley character. Scrooge is then visited by the three ghosts in turn who show him his past, things that are happening in the present and the what could be the future if he continues is path. If Buck is Scrooge then his arc is going to involve him ‘being visited by’ three ‘ghost’s to show him the way. 

We have some bts (thanks @911bts for all your hard work) that suggests we may be seeing Taylor Kelly make a reappearance (side note choosing to call Maries niece Kelly will be a very nice touch if this plays out!) and she would be the ghost of Christmas past for Buck - showing him in some way aspects of his past that have led him to where he is now. 

I haven’t figured out who the ghost of Christmas present is although I wonder if it could perhaps be Lucy?! This would make Natalia the ghost of Christmas yet to come.  In the novel the ghost of Christmas yet to come is the ghost that most closely resembles the traditional image of death (but isn’t death) this is the ghost that convinces Scrooge to change his ways and to learn.

Obviously Scrooge does change his ways and we see him become someone who treats everyone with kindness, generosity and compassion, the embodiment of the spirit of Christmas.

But the concept of chains binding you to your past - to who you were and the mistakes you made etc is an interesting one in relation to Buck - the idea that death doesn’t free you from them and that second chances should be taken - but only if you learn the errors of your past mistakes - it all feels like it applies too well to where Buck is at and when we add the additional layer of Eddie and Christopher who fit into the roles of Bob Cratchit (who Scrooge helps and supports after his visitations) and Tiny Tim (a child who is disabled and whom Bob is devoted to). Dickens describes Scrooge as becoming like a second father to Tiny Tim at the end of the novel and we have been watching Buck become a second father to Christopher.

I leave you to decide whether or not I’ve completely lost my marbles!!!

Natalia

The handkerchief does in fact have blue roses on it. I wrote in the mini meta before the episode aired; roses in general terms mean love - red for romantic, yellow for friendship etc. Blue roses mean unattainable love (because they do not occur naturally - only through artificial means) - so that would suggest that both love is unattainable for both Natalia and Buck but also that any feelings etc are not real - they can only be achieved through synthetic or artificial means - suggesting that any attempt at a relationship is going to be forced. Blue roses can also mean (especially the lighter shades of blue) emotions - specifically the finding of hope peace and tranquility. So with all of this in mind we end up with the concept of Buck finding what he’s looking for and that Natalia will help him get there, but that it isn't love, its the peace, tranquility and happiness that he's been seeking for himself.

The black velvet blazer and black matt dress has a Victorian mourning dress vibe. This is playing into her role as a death doula - the Victorians were obsessed with the idea of a ‘good death.’ This idea stemmed from evangelical beliefs around being with family and making peace with God. In the Victorian period death was a very common occurrence and so having a ‘good’ relationship with it and being in close proximity to the dying was actively encouraged. A good death was considered to be a slow death which gave people time to say goodbye and for the dying person to see all of their family and friends through that process.

Once the person had died mourning was commenced and this too had strict rules. clothing was to be matt plain and black - bombazine, velvet and cottons were the most commonly worn fabrics (depending on wealth and status). Matt fabrics were preferred because they didn’t reflect the light - it represented the depth of the soul and the depth of grief. 

Dressing Natalia in an outfit which mimics Victorian mourning is playing into that concept - it is a physical representation of her job and more than likely her personality as well - she will very literally be all about death all the time in some way.

I stand by what I said in the mini meta I wrote when we got the sneak peeks, but I want to talk about the necklace choice again in light of the fact that it was, once again, buck being pursued (whilst at work) rather than doing the pursuing. the choice to use this necklace to connect Natalia to Taylor, to Veronica and to Ana is a very clear choice. I’m going to write a meta that focus’s on the necklaces we see the various girlfriends wearing, because there are some interesting things going on with them. But the fact remains that the necklace also contributes to telling us that Natalia is headed the same way as all of the others - that she won’t be his endgame romance. She is a representation of death and this necklace is playing into the idea of death having a claim over Buck - of Buck feeling like death has a claim over him and like I said above this plays into the Christmas Carol undertones we’re getting. It all connects to the fact that with these women, Buck keeps on repeating the same mistakes, he needs to break these chains or he will end up like Jacob Marley in the novel.

There is also something in connecting the chains to the water theme we see playing out in Bucks arc - about water finding its level and the chains representing the anchors that give a boat respite to hold it in place when not in port. If Buck is a boat and his water hasn’t yet found its level, the implication is that his waters are at the very least choppy and at worst - tsunami waves and that he needs to pause for a minute on his journey. Buck seems to make most of his progress when fairly newly out of a relationship with a woman - they seem to stall him - hold him in place but his growth is minimal. We saw in the tsunami, the boat anchored off shore where a couple were trying to get married but in the end only succeeding in their nuptial plans when they were on dry land. All of these chains connecting to Bucks girlfriends suggest they are helping to anchor his boat out at sea, while he is on his journey and needs a moment, but that when his water finds its level he won’t need chains or anchors - he will be in the safety of port.

The red dress is a great colour on her. it is a rusty red/orange and now I’ve been able to get a better look at this dress and I’ve seen the actual scene play out I have a few new thoughts. what I thought might be crosses is actually a looser design which looks remarkably like the graphics 911 uses for the incoming emergency calls to dispatch;

This is Bucks emergency - meeting with Natalia is a cry for help, but when you are the emergency service, you cannot call yourself for help! There is also  something in the fact that the other parts of the design on this dress look like keyholes. This is an interesting concept because Buck is looking for a key not a keyhole because he is looking for answers - a way to unlock what is inside him and move on (and through). Natalia is also a keyhole - she is seeking the answers to death - to what comes after and she is interested in Buck for that reason alone - i’m not saying she cannot develop an interest in Buck beyond that but as it stands the show hasn’t shown us her being interested in anything more than the fact that Buck died - she is the one to bring the conversation around to his death, not him.   

Flowers 

We are pausing here to go off on a little side quest into flower land!!! because the little arrangement on the table at the cafe/restaurant made me giggle!!

we have 2 pink carnations what I think is a deep purple chrysanthemum (although it could be a gerbera) sprays of babys breath purple statice

All of these flowers are very commonly associated with funerals and death.  Pink carnations symbolise gratitude while the dark pink one is also variegated with yellow - which means disappointment or disappointed hopes. the purple  chrysanthemum means sickness and is often given to those who are struggling with illness and need encouragement in their recovery and in most of Europe they are so deeply associated with death and funerals that it is considered offensive to give them to people outside of offering condolences. the babys breath means new beginnings while the purple statice means sympathy and remembrance (as an aside it also has a medicinal use - in the treatment of respiratory illnesses!!)

So all the signs both subtle and textual are telling us that Natalia isn’t going to be around for especially long as there is too much death surrounding her - even when in a setting that should be innocuous! 

Buck

The yellow ochre (at the brown end of the spectrum is very definitely a call back to not only his appointment with Dr Copeland - where he talks about hiding his true feelings from others - but it also connects with a broader theme for Buck that I’ve really only figured out because of this scene and his continued insistence on misunderstanding the assignment!!!

I know I’ve spoken at length about yellow being a colour of communication and clear thinking and its brighter shades can be symbols of joy, however I don’t think I’ve spoken enough about some of the more negative traits that can be associated with yellow - which I’ve never really felt fit the narrative before now, however seeing this episode has changed my opinion somewhat, and I am fairly certain that the show has been leaning into the negative traits for yellow ochre far more heavily than it first appeared. 

So yellow is considered the colour of communication, in part, because it is the first colour the cones of the eye can detect and so over time it has become associated with the need to convey information (such as hazzards etc), but it is also associated with communication because it was used heavily in Christian artworks on Judas - to highlight him and his betrayal - in part because it contrasts well with the blues and reds Jesus is often depicted in. If you look up Hans Holbeins ‘The last Supper’ for example you will see Judas as the only one depicted in yellow ochre. As a result yellow ochre can be associated with cowardice and fear. the brown undertones of yellow ochre can also hint at loneliness and isolation as well as stability and foundations for growth. I’ve gone back through my notes and I’ll highlight some of the key scenes where I think the dual meaning of yellow ochre is at play.

4x02 - the counselling scene with Dr Copeland 4x03 - Maddie talks to Buck after he confesses going to therapy 4x04&5 - Buck finds out about Daniel 4x14 - talking to Taylor while packing to go stay at the Diaz house          - At the hospital - the will reveal 5x03 - Buck gets home after the blackout - Taylor is on the TV 5x04 - Buck talks to Chim about Maddie being ok - ‘Its what she does” 5x14 - Equestrian therapy centre 6x11 - His trousers in the coma dream

These are most of the occasions where he has worn yellow ochre, there are a few others, but I’ve highlighted these one specifically because they tie into a key theme. Interestingly there are only two instances before the phone call with Dr Copeland in season 4. All of the ones I’ve highlighted are connected to Bucks mental state in some way and more specifically they are broadly connected with death (and Daniel). 

These are all times when Bucks mental health is in a vulnerable place - the therapy of it all is showing us Buck is not in a good place - we never really get told if covid lockdown played a part in his decision to go to therapy, or indeed how much the return of Abby played into it, but whatever his reasons, there was clearly some form of trigger, I surmise the fact that Abby returned to his life at a moment when death was surrounding them (including her fiancee being in the firing line) and I think it may have played its part. 

Finding out about Daniel is an obvious one - finding out why he’s felt like he wasn’t enough his whole life etc and how he has been walking in the shadow of death his entire life. interestingly we don’t see anymore yellow ochre in the rest of season 4 until Eddie gets shot - Death is back in Bucks life. The will reveal scene is a bit of a double ended sword on the yellow ochre front, not only does it connect to Eddies brush with death, it also links to Bucks own vulnerable mental state as well as being a moment that calls out Bucks passive suicidal tendencies by forcing him to live for someone besides himself. 

The one from 4x13 in his loft and the one from 5x03 both connect to his vulnerability - Taylor takes advantage of it in 4x13 and kisses him while in 5x03 she is absent and Buck is in a position where - after Eddie telling him he is going to take the advice Buck has given him - he is questioning his own relationship and if he is also doing the same thing to Taylor that Eddie has been doing to Ana. I genuinely think that if Maddie and Chimney hadn’t left LA in the next episode, Buck would’ve broken up with Taylor fairly quickly. As it is his support network shrinks very quickly and he clings to the one thing/person who isn’t expecting more from him and who is sticking around - even if he isn’t truly happy. 

Seeing the ochre at the equestrian therapy centre is also a moment of vulnerability for Buck - he is obviously worried about Eddie and his mental health, but it is also the first time they bring up the shooting and say something more than stating the fact that Eddie got shot. the black being dominant on that jacket is a reflection of him trying to cover up that vulnerability so he can be there for his best friend, but it is also us seeing a chink in Bucks armour around Eddie (remember the only time we’ve seen him in that colour with Eddie is in that locker room scene from 5x03).

I’m not going to go into the trousers from the coma dream in great detail, except to say that we are inside Bucks head for the whole time he is wearing those trousers so we are literally walking through all of buck fears and trauma and that may be why the yellow is on his legs rather than his top.

The graveyard scene was both interesting and loud on the costume front. You do not want to know how long I’ve spent trying to work out if this was the same jacket dyed or if it was a new jacket and I can confirm it is a new Jacket. Both Jackets are by Theory - the ochre one from last season the new one from this!!

This jacket continues the green theming we’ve seen in action for Buck this season, it is however a much darker green that we’ve seen yet and also ties in to Eddies army greens very nicely as well. The darkening of the green is actually really interesting because we’ve kind of gone from the very pale greens in 6a to the coma dream bright sagey green to this much darker olive green - its like we’ve skipped a few steps - a few shades of green. 

The army olive green of it is also aloud choice and very much intentional - it not only connects to Eddie very directly because of it being a shade we see most often on him, but it is also a nod towards the military side of things - the idea that Buck is at war (with himself) and that he’s feeling under attack - not from anyone else, but from and with himself - the no longer knowing who he is or what he wants. 

This green is not one we see on Buck very often at all in fact there are only 2 instances - the low key date with Abby in season 1 and on the couch with Chris when the firefam are at Eddies house - the I’m not really a guest scene. I tend to discount season 1′s costumes unless they are the exact same costume, because they used several designers that season and the costuming of Buck in particular was very different from season 2 onwards, so it tends to not have as much relevance. The 3x11 scene however - very telling in relation to what we’ve seen play out this season 

Eddie 

So much going on in Eddies costumes this week and repeat outfits everywhere you look. At Shannons grave we see Eddie in the same Jumper as therapy scene/ coming home to Buck. While there is very much the connection to Buck misunderstanding the assignment and the heart metaphors at play, there is another aspect to this outfit being worn again and that is his therapy session with Frank. the use of the same jumper as we see him wear in therapy is pointing out that Eddie is able to sit here at his dead wife's grave with their son and create a good experience because he has been in therapy.

I pointed it out in my mini meta, but its worth reiterating (this is literally the only vaguely decent shot of it I can get!) and notice how Eddie is very much not wearing his watch - there is no watch to be seen work or home or fancy watch!!! The lack of watch her is connected to Shannon - they have no more time - she is no longer a physical presence in their lives, in Eddies life, she is still present yes, but she no longer has any influence over Eddies time, his lack of time or indeed over Christophers time. Eddie has time, because the clock has stopped. This tells us Eddie has moved on and is at peace with Shannon now and that he has got past his anger etc, that he is in a good place with that aspect of his trauma and can look at things with a happier eye. 

Talking on phone to his mom when we find out about the earth day field trip. we get Eddie wearing the same jacket he wore to Hens leaving the 118 party. Again Eddies watch is prominent here - in fact Eddies watch is prominent in every scene he has except for the two scenes at the graves of Shannon and Marie. 

Having him in the same jacket as this one;

while putting him in a black shirt that connects him to Shannons death is a choice!! 

I have spent a lot of time while writing this meta trying to figure out why this shirt looks so familiar to me - I haven’t succeeded - it isn’t one we’ve seen Eddie wear before, but it is an interesting choice for him. its this greenish grey colour and has echoes of some of the clothes we saw him in during 5b, but it also has echoes of Buck in 5b - wearing a lot of grey with black. This is relevant because we saw Buck supporting Eddie during his recovery and this scene at Maries grave would appear to be the opening overtures of Eddie providing the same for Buck - now that he has seen more deeply into what is going on with Buck. in the same way that the Kitchen scene in 6x12 echoed the kitchen scene in 5x11 when Buck saw that Eddie wasn’t actually happy or in a good place, this scene in the graveyard has echoes of Buck being there in the immediate aftermath of Eddies breakdown.

Its not the exact same jacket, but I think its close enough that we can draw a comparison between the scenes because the black leather jacket Eddie wears here when Buck talks about Natalia seeing him is incredibly similar to the one Eddie wears to Bobbys in 5x18 - when he tells Bobby that he saved bot hEddie and Chris. That bobby saw him and provided Eddie what he needed, even if Eddie wasn’t necessarily welcoming it with open arms at the time - implying that Eddie will potentially do the same for Buck now - Buck may not be completely open to Bucks help in this moment - distracted as he is thinking Natalia has the answers, but that Eddie will provide support etc anyway.

The jacket is in fact the very same one Eddie wears when we see him at Bucks bedside for the one and only time - it is his widows weeds suede jacket. the moment we see how broken Eddie is over Bucks death and resurrection. The same jacket being worn a couple of episodes later when we have them at a grave side talking about dying alone and being seen by people is a really interesting parallel to draw. there is something in the fact that we see it here in this scene - when Buck is talking about being seen and when coma Buck didn’t see Eddie - in his coma dream or at his bedside in the land of the living. Buck felt/saw everyone else’s presence during his coma - he knew about Bobbys rosary beads and we hear Athenas voice from the real world echo in the coma as well as Christophers voice guiding Buck to the hospital. 

But Eddie was missing from it all - in Bucks eyes and mind. We the audience of course know that Eddie was present and that he was broken over it, we know that his lack of presence was far louder than if he had been more present in the episode. Bucks subconscious however doesn’t know that. He knows that Eddie cares for him, that he is his best friend etc but Buck exploring why Eddie wasn’t there in the dream beyond a conversation with Hen and Chim about what happened to him without Bucks presence is not something he is ready to look at yet. so we have a deeply traumatised Buck searching for answers without the tools to do so and therefore looking in the wrong places while we have an Eddie realising that Buck is different, but that he himself is also different and needing to mourn the fact that things have changed. 

This isn’t about him having his heart broken in a romantic sense, this is him having an epiphany about time and making the most of it. It is about him needing to mourn the fact that he has been changed by Bucks death and reconcile with himself so that he can move forward, so that he can be there fore Buck as Buck was for him. 

I will be forever obsessed with the choice to have Eddie wear the exact same henley in this episode as in 6x07 and 6x13. A scene showing Eddie missing his family and choosing to make time and go home to Texas to see them in the aftermath of seeing Buck make another self destructive choice which will probably end in failure. Connected to a scene where Eddie is talking about his Abuela being taken advantage of to the point of losing almost everything and to a scene where we can not only see the Buckley-Diaz family in full swing, but also see Christopher trying to take advantage of Bucks math skills and failing and the foreshadowing for the poker hustle which also isn’t as successful as Eddie had planned, and which he mentions in the previous scene at Maries grave - choices were made! 

Chris

At Shannon’s grave we get a rare sighting of Chris in a jacket!! The denim jacket is both a connection with Texas and with Eddie, but it is also a connection with Shannon and Shannon‘s death.  Thanks @theladyyavilee  for pointing this out to me, but Chris is wearing a denim shirt of a similar colour when Eddie told Christopher that Shannon had died. 

Denim jackets are culturally tied to westerns, cowboys and to Texas. Christopher wearing one here would appear to be a visual way of tying him to the childhood he had with his mother - backing up the conversation about making s'mores with her when he was younger. The fact that Chris is wearing a denim jacket connected to Shannon and her death over the top of a jumper which is connected to Buck and the moment Buck saved his father is an interesting connection and piece of layering to me.

The hoodie is white and grey striped - the horizontal version of Buck shirt from the shooting. this is suggesting two things to me - one it is connecting Chris directly to the fact he nearly lost both parents - sitting at the grave of one parent while wearing something that echoes an outfit from the moment he could've lost a second parent. I also think there is something in the connection to Buck specifically in this - its directly connected to the will and that Chris has a third parent - I can't wait to see if I'm just clowning hard, or if the change the stripes Chris is wearing are foreshadowing some connection to the will! 

We can't not talk about the fact the striped hoodie actually plays on several fronts not just the Buck connection! Stripes according to my theory are all about change incoming - the theory hasn't yet been disproven by the wardrobe department and I get the feeling that here is no different. The idea that a change is coming in Christophers life is one that has been hovering around for the whole season and the narrowing of the stripes would suggest that change is getting closer. The stripes have been telling us, but so it would appear are the little surfing skeletons on his tee at the end of the previous episode along with a proliferation of water and surf theming surrounding Christopher. I’m at the point now where I think Bucks water might find its level when Chris is in danger - it will be the wake up he needs to sort himself out and get his head out of his ass!!

Then we are onto the shoes. I know its almost impossible to see from the scene, but I am nothing if not determined so after a lot of zooming and messing around with the image levels and a bit of googling, I am pretty sure that these are the shoes Christopher is wearing;

If they aren’t foreshadowing Chris in danger in connection with water after all of the other water and surfing related clothing we’ve seen him in recently I don’t know what to tell you. 

Space theme surrounding Chris retuning to me from the wilderness in the form of a backpack - you have no idea how happy this made me. We haven’t seen Chris wearing anything space themed since 4x08 - in the scene with Buck when he ran away from home after Eddie told him about Ana. We have seen a backpack - a Star wars backpack in season 5 however we never actually see him holding it, it is always Eddie - and the space theme remains in his bedroom (the little we’ve seen of it). To me the star wars backpack was connected to Eddies mental health because he was at war with himself which is why we never see Chris in contact with that bag. The space theming is so closely entwined with Buck and Eddie, no one else and because there is so much blue in Bucks costume choices this season, to have Chris holding a space themed backpack that is blue is an interesting choice. The back pack is one that shows galaxies and very much represents the universe, but we have also seen Buck to be very entwined in Christophers school life this season - helping with homework, baking cookies etc. so it really isn’t that much of a leap to connect the backpack to Buck - giving him a presence in a scene that is connected to Christopher heading out for some school activity it is continuing the universe theme and continuing to Connect Buck to the Diaz boys - in a subtle way which gives him presence in their lives even in his absence. In an episode that is so strongly connected to Shannon, her continued presence in their lives even in her eternal absence, its a clear choice. 

The jumper with its three bands of colour is also intriguing me. there is something in the idea that it connects into the 3 theme we’ve had all season, but there is also something in the idea that the three bands represent the three people who are having the most influence on who Christopher is growing up to be  - Shannon - white as she is not of this world any longer and was the first parent Chris spent time with - Buck - Blue - in part becasue of the blue theming around him tis season, but also because it is next to the white - and therefore suggests the idea of the batton being handed over  - Eddie - the yellow ochre which is much closer to the brown we see Eddie in so much - Eddie is the earth from which Chris grows, it its the brightest colour on the jumper and suggests the brightest and biggest presence in his life.

The jumper in these colours also suggests the three elements of earth water and air, themes we’ve seen in play throughout this season - the blimp being the air (and an episode coming up called love is in the air), Buck being in the air when he gets hit by the lightning, the water theme has been there all season long in various forms, not least the pictures on the Diaz house walls and all the water connected themes on Christophers clothes, and there have been several episodes that have shown us Buck and Eddie digging - the slingshot tree call and the father hit by lightning in the sand are the two main ones. 

Chris sleeping away on the sofa in his stripey top while covered in a check pattern blanket just continues the theme of Chris and change incoming, as well as the threat of danger. For me the fact that we seem to see so much of Christopher in stripes in connection with Buck in some way - implies that the change that is coming is in relation to Buck and the fact that these stripes are being worn on the sofa where we have Chris mimicking Bucks sleeping position on the couch wearing a shade of sea-foam green (which means revitalisation and enlightenment) that also seems to be connecting to Buck - after we saw him in a striped top that echoed Bucks white striped shirt - its all making my eyes stand out on stalks. 

Honestly if you have made it to the end of this epic then I don’t know what to say other than I love you form the bottom of my heart. Its a bit of a beast. Will this show and its wardrobe department ever give me a minute to breathe?? Probably not and thats why we love it!! I’m off to sleep for a million years and send some prayers to the tumblr gods that next weeks meta is n’t such a challenge to upload!

As always, tag list below! Until the next episode! 💜💜💜

@mistmarauder @theladyyavilee  @leothil @girldadbuddie @kitkatpancakestack  @buckscurls @lemotmo @trashendence @elishareads  @clipboardsandstethoscopes @comfortbuddie @fiona-fififi  @callanee @calyssmarviss @pbandjeremiah @batgrldes  @spotsandsocks @livingwherethesidewalkends  @idontshitpostbuttheolympicpark @diazboysbuckley @sweettsubaki @shortsighted-owl @sherlocking-out-loud @wh0re-behavi0r  @favouritealias @hearteyesdiaz​  @ktinastrikesback  @princesschez75​ @bucksbuddie​ @oneawkwardcookie​  @leatherati​ @moniquekatie​ @wanderingwomanwondering​  @trickster-archangel​  @asharadaine​ @ajunerose  @talespinner230​ @pop-kam​ @swiftiebuckleys​ @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx​ @butchjerry​ @mandzuking17​ @yelenasbuddie​ @copyninjabuckley​ @name-code-black-widow @rogerzsteven​ @bi-moonlight​ @usercowboy​ @inthecarwithaboy​ @inandoutoffocus-blog​ @toboldlynerd​

#kym costume meta #911 costume meta #911 costumes #911 on fox #911 fo #costume meta #911 colour theory #so much going on! #911 meta #Eddie diaz #buck #evan buckley #Christopher diaz #athena grant #bobby nash #Maddie buckley #chimney han #Natalia the death doula #911 6x15 #6x15 costume meta

[bobbie-robron]

So get your head down, get yourself in a proper routine and time will pass. You’ll see.

Aaron’s right. It’s not exactly like you’re going anywhere, are ya?

Original post (episode 1 & 2 combined)

19-Apr-2018, episode 2

#robron #robert sugden #aaron dingle #the lads visiting liv #watching a box set of prison break? #no tearing chunks out of each other please #stop stressing #when he’d get so boring? #burgundy jumper #final appearance in april for that year #next up on 20180502 #20180419 #episode 2 #robron episodes 2018

[aldenarmy]

#brogue shop #alden #5zp army boot #jumper boot #burgundy calf #trubalance last

[allyeardepression]

@jegulus-microfic | april 19 class | words: 461

hiii! i feel like i neglected this au for too long so im back with another part; enjoy <3

part one | previous part

James

what time your classes end?

Reg

Why are you asking?

James

just curious :)

Reg

…

In an hour

James

good for you

James had a plan. He wanted to surprise Regulus by picking him up and taking him out for dinner. It wouldn’t be their first time, but he was nervous anyway, because this time it was supposed to be different.

After the art show, they met a few times to take a walk with Gigi together or for a casual coffee. Nothing special, really, but with every meeting, James felt the butterflies in his stomach getting wilder and wilder. So he decided today he would take Regulus on a real date. If he agrees, of course.

In the hour he had before meeting Regulus, James took a quick shower, put on a cosy, burgundy jumper, that matched his converse, and completed the look with some gold jewellery. Looking in the mirror for the last time, he grabbed the car keys and went out.

Regulus’ academy wasn’t far from his flat; it was only a fifteen-minute ride, so when he got there, he still had some time left.

When the class ended and a sea of students appeared on the school grounds, James started scanning the crowd to find those pretty, raven curls. As soon as he spotted who he was looking for, he took out his phone.

James

look to your right

He could see Regulus taking out his own mobile and looking up almost immediately. He found James after a few seconds, and his eyes went wide. He started walking in his direction, one eyebrow raised.

“Hi, Little Star,” James greeted him when Regulus reached his car.

“Hi James. Care to explain what you’re doing here?” Regulus asked. He looked more confused than annoyed, so it wasn’t that bad.

After clearing his throat, James started. “So, I was thinking—“

“Good for you,” Regulus cut in, winking at the other man. James just chuckled nervously at that.

“Yeah, I guess. Anyway, I was thinking—would you like to go on a date? With me?” The other man froze, awkward silence falling between them, and James suddenly felt like he crossed some invisible line. “You know, it’s stupid; I’m sorry I asked.”

Regulus blinked at him several times before saying, “You want to take me out? Like, kind of romantically?” Now James was blinking, surprised by the question.

“Yes?” he said hesitantly. That’s when Regulus cheeks turned this pretty, pink colour, his lips curling up.

“Okay,” he replied, biting on his lower lip, still smiling.

“Really?” James couldn’t believe it; he just had to make sure.

Regulus rolled his eyes before saying, “Yes, really, James. Now, get in the car; I’m starving,” and James couldn’t help but grin widely at that answer.

#jegulus #dead gay wizards #starchaser #sunseeker #james potter #james x regulus #regulus black #jegulus microfic #the marauders #modern au #500 words or less #by: allyeardepression

[wellpresseddaisy]

The Head of House Therapy Circle and Needlework Club

Severus slipped into the staff room after dinner. He clutched his work bag in cold hands—would he be welcome? He’d refused the invitation for years, preferring to spend the evening with Charity or with his Slytherins. He should make an effort to integrate with the other house heads, he supposed.

But…

Steeling himself, he crossed the room to the circle of chairs around the fire. No matter how strange it felt walking into the Senior Staff Lounge, he had as much a right to be there as anyone else.

“Oh, Severus, you joined us!” Pomona exclaimed, setting down her embroidery and bustling to him. “Come, come and sit. We have a place right be the fire for you—those dungeons are so perishingly cold these days. And Minerva even braved…er, what was it again?”

“Tesco.” McGonagall replied so drily that Severus had to bite his lip.

“Oh yes, such names they have in the non-magical world. Well, she brought several packets of the most interesting biscuits and we have some lovely hot tea. Filius was just telling us about some horrendous editor he’s been forced to work with on his latest monograph.” Pomona prattled him to a comfortable chair.

McGonagall, who sat just across from him, gave him an incredibly droll look from behind Pomona at the ‘most interesting biscuits’ remark. He forgot, sometimes, that she’d lived in the non-magical world. He never wanted to be the sort who forgot where he came from.

He let their conversation wash over him as he sorted out his projects. Da’s would be easy—he could do that kind of cable work in his sleep. Likewise the scarf Da asked him to make for his mate Tom. He’d been a good friend to the family since they met so many years ago. Severus pulled that one out, thick and warm as anything in burgundy wool. It wasn’t a difficult pattern as knitting went.

Nan’s Christmas jumper would have to wait until he returned to his rooms. He’d finally found a pattern for a copy of that ‘I’m a luxury few can afford’ jumper that Nan loved so much on Princess Diana.

“Editors,” Pomona picked up the conversation as if it hadn’t been interrupted. “Are perfect ghouls. Did I tell you about the one that wanted the entire section on the propagation of the Bounding Spike Shrub gone? Said it would only encourage people to try. They should try. The bloody thing is about to disappear from our moors.”

“Er, yes, Pomona. I believe we heard about it at the time,” Filius replied gently. “Mine feels that an entire monograph on Cheering Charms is too limited in scope. They simply won’t understand that that’s the whole point. No one has done work just on Cheering Charms in nearly two hundred years! We’re woefully out of date.”

“Are these freelance editors or with particular houses?” Severus ventured, never looking up from his stitching.

“Mine’s a submissions editor with Draycott House. A shame, really, as they’re so well-regarded in academic publishing and Oxford and Cambridge won’t touch a ‘schoolteacher’s manuscript’,” Filius sighed over the last.

“I was with Halston’s. They do the Herbology journals,” Pomona added.

“Have we ever looked at setting up a publishing house out of Hogwarts?” he asked hesitantly.

“A…Severus, that’s a brilliant idea!” Filius nearly jabbed himself with a tapestry needle.

“It would be doable, I suppose.” McGonagall spoke slowly. “If we work with freelance editors and go about it carefully.”

“There are quite a few researchers I know who haven’t the full credentials who are doing really interesting work. And it might be a good way to introduce that sort of academic work to our NEWT students. A student journal would be just the thing!” Pomona set her embroidery down carefully.

“I thought…” Severus trailed off when he realized everyone had stopped to look at him.

“Yes?” McGonagall prompted.

“It’s something I’ve been thinking about for a while now. We could even publish our own teaching materials. I know most of us set a text and use it mostly as reference.”

“That has long been my own experience,” McGonagall agreed. “The Transfiguration books on the market are useful guides, but they haven’t been updated or weren’t really meant as textbooks. Foundational learning as scattered notes from lectures is not the same as an authoritative text one can reference.”

“It would be lovely to have properly illustrated texts for Herbology. Filius, would you be able to see how much a binding press might cost? I saw one of them at work on holiday last year. We needn’t get a very large one yet. Freelance editing is really quite affordable.” Pomona produced a notebook and scribbled something down. “One of my former Hufflepuffs runs a paper mill. I’ve made a note to inquire about appropriate paper and potential costs.”

Severus stared at the ruthless efficiency of Pomona Sprout.

“I’ll write for a catalog,” Filius promised. “I think I know of a manufacturer. A Ravenclaw with a real passion for mechanical things.”

McGonagall caught Severus’ eye and smiled thinly.

“You get used to them,” she promised, sotto voce. “Organizing everything is how they have fun. Biscuit? I got the chocolate caramel digestives and Hob Nobs.”

Severus took a Hob Nob, still feeling a bit unsettled at how quickly that went.

“Now, we’re all dying to know what Mayhew is after with those pamphlets he’s spreading everywhere.”

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “He’s trying to bring back the Protectorate and Puritan rule. It has caused no end of disruption in the SCR since he refuses to room with ‘filthy papists’ and ‘heathens’. I’ve had to give him his own room lest he comes to a sticky end. He’s managed to alienate every other student in the House.”

The other three stared at him.

“And here I thought my Ravenclaws’ experiments were difficult to handle!” Filius chuckled.

“At least he has a purpose in life,” McGonagall laughed. “Have another biscuit, Severus. I think you need them more than we do.”

McGonagall, Severus thought, wasn’t so terrible when you were her colleague. He took another biscuit.

“This is why we shouldn’t go about naming children Redemption-in-His-Name. What on earth is the matter with John or Charles or Vikram or something normal?” Pomona shook her head and took up her embroidery again. “You’ll have to keep us updated on his progress.”

“I…er, yes,” Severus answered.

“Who has a galleon on Moore—the Ravenclaw one in fifth year—making it to the end of the year without having a breakdown and who has a galleon on a breakdown?” Pomona asked cheerfully.

Severus looked to his knitting and willed his heart to stop pounding so. He’d done it. He’d had an actually pleasant conversation with the other house heads and no one disagreed with him or behaved rudely.

Perhaps he really could make a place for himself here.

#snolidays2023 #snolidays woolen #severus snape #Severus isn't quite certain he belongs yet #set somewhere in 1985 or 1986

[tanith-rhea]

hi!! first i wanted to say that i love your writing soooo much you're really amazing

so i was thinking if you could make larissa x femreader where reader is tired and really overwhelmed with her job and feeling a little insecure, then larissa gives support and tell all the things she loves about reader, just really fluffly! thank you sooo much

You are amazing, my love

Hello, darling! Sorry for the wait, I’m trying to keep from overworking myself bc of burnout, but I loved writing this one and I genuinely hope you like it too. Thank you very much for your words and your patience.

In this one reader is a teacher at Nevermore, helping organize the Rave’N while mediating the writing club discussions at their meetings and covering for a pregnant teacher for some time. They feel exhausted but won’t talk to anyone about it until Larissa catches them ugly crying in their classroom. Comfort ensues.

Word count: <1k

Everything was fine. Really, you could do it. The Rave'N was at the next weekend, the writing club had two meetings until then to discuss the portrayal of obsession in dark academia culture and come up with a short story exemplifying their points, and you had three extra periods a day to supervise math class while Desdemona was on maternity leave.

You could do it! And you would.

That was until you couldn't anymore and suddenly you had three more days to go til the Rave'N and you hadn't graded the last projects your students turned in, or wrote your semiannual review, or compiled your student's results to show Larissa, or bought a dress.

You had thirty minutes until seven; maybe you could lean on the desk and rest a bit. But you didn't lean on it. Instead, you turned into a ball in your uncomfortable chair, hugging your knees and trying with all you had not to panic, or worse, cry. You were in your classroom, chances were that someone could listen.

In the end, you didn't have much of a choice, really. The tension had to go somewhere because your body physically could not handle it anymore. Your cry wasn't elegant, you had no capacity of being graceful about it; not when you bottled it up for so long, as you usually did. You were loud and ugly, and your sobs could probably be heard from the corridor, but now it started you weren't able to stop. You thought you would probably not be done by the time you had to leave for dinner.

After a few minutes, maybe fifteen or twenty, someone knocked at the door. You choked and coughed trying to stop before they'd enter, cleaning the tears and water licking from your nose in the sleeves of your burgundy jumper.

"Dear? Is everything alright?" it was Larissa, her soft, concerned voice filling the poorly lit room.

You didn't respond, worried your voice would betray you, but the silence didn't help much as well.

Larissa walked up to your desk and saw your reddened puffy face, your hair could not be looking good as well and you just wanted to disappear.

"I don't think I'll be able to turn in the test results until Monday," you said in a flat tone, not emotionally capable of conveying anything in your speech.

"Oh, my love, what happened?" she completely ignored your comment and went to hug you in the chair.

You were still gripping your legs to your chest, but she covered you anyway, her mouth resting atop your head while she breathed you in. You felt pathetic for the peace it brought you.

She didn't ask anything more for a while, simply rubbing your back and kissing your hair and forehead. When you felt sedated enough not to cry again, you spoke.

"I think I took on too much"

"Really? Do you think that?" she asked with good humour, but it wasn't insensitive, she sounded exasperatingly caring.

"I just really love the kids in the writing club, and I couldn't let Des down…" you buried your face in her chest, letting your legs fall "And we had discussed the Rave'N at the beginning of the term, I didn't want to disappoint you."

She laughed softly, kneeling beside you to look at your face.

"You would not disappoint me for taking care of yourself. I shouldn't have let you continue with all the things you were doing"

"I just wanted to be good" you averted your gaze towards your hands in your lap, toying with your fingers for something to do.

"I think you are amazing just for trying," Larissa's hands came to rest atop yours, urging you to calm "And the fact that you failed is inconsequential. You did wonderfully at everything and you did it alone, but now it's time for some help. I'll ask Vlad to cover for Desdemona and the Titania Hall girls to help with the Rave'N's decorations. How does that sound?"

"Sounds good…" you dipped timidly without looking at her.

"Then it's done, my sweet little doll" she reached for your face to kiss you chastely "Now how about we eat dinner in my room?"

You only nodded, brushing your noses together. She was so close you couldn't help but feel safe. Then she stood up, holding your hands to encourage you up with her, and you left quietly.

#larissa weems x reader #larissa weems #principal weems #female reader #fluff #hurt/comfort #angst #teacher!reader #answered request

[aemonds-wifey]

A Stolen Kiss Over Wine

Chapter 1

Summary: After a painful break up , your best friend Aegon is there to help you get over your heartache …

“Wha…do you mean…?” You asked with confusion.

You sat on the couch, alone in your loft apartment talking to your boyfriend Jacob. You had been together for about four months, he was lovely , bookish but something was missing from his interactions with you…after every kiss or hug you needed more. In the bedroom he was…nothing to boast about but more than satisfactory. You had met him through work, you had landed your dream job as a proof reader for a publishing house- reading books for a living. Amazingly you had the loft apartment you dreamed of, High windows and ceilings, rustic kitchen , open spaces and a master bedroom with an en suite and walk in wardrobe. You considered yourself very lucky. Meeting Jacob was the cherry on the cake.

And yet a mere 16 weeks later here he is…breaking up with you over the phone.

“So that’s it…Jesus Jacob this couldn’t have waited? I was suppose to see you in an hour!?” You were angry, hurt and incredibly mystified.

“Go to hell Jacob . Just go to hell!” You shouted throwing the phone across onto the large lounge chair.

You laid back on the couch and felt your heel kick the cushion breath your feet. You then groaned as the door knocked twice. You got up and opened the door, your best and oldest friend Aegon stood there looking chipper as always, he wore a dark green coat with grey jumper and solid blue jeans he looked very chilled. His hair slightly ruffled.

The smile on Aegon’s face faded as he saw your annoyed expression “Bad Time?” He said - looking at your attire. Perfect. You thought. Your hair was half up in a messy bun, wearing your old Bowie t shirt and your ladies burgundy boxers.

Aegon smirked as you failed to answer “Jacob not up for it ?”

You shrugged “No he…we broke up.”

He immediately stepped in and closed the door behind him, he wrapped you in a hug

“Ahhhh Y/N I’m sorry.”

His familiar musky scent strangely reassured you as you felt calmer. He placed his hands on your shoulders and looked at you “Forget him.” He reached inside his coat pocket and produced a bottle of red wine.

“Aegon wha…” you said as you watched him go to the kitchen , you followed him “Please tell me you don’t just carry one of those around ?” He removed his coat and tossed it onto the back of the couch.

He reached up the top shelf above the sink and brought down two wine glasses , as he opened the bottle he looked at you “If I tell you my reasoning …you’ll hate me”

As he picked up the glasses and the bottle you folded your arms “Aegon if anybody around here is gonna be truthful you know it’s you.”

You and Aegon had been friends since the first years of school, you rarely argued and were the very definition of best friends. You admitted he has grown up into an attractive man, and he occasionally complimented on how you had blossomed into a beautiful young woman. But he was your best friend and the idea of being with him had never crossed your mind.

He chuckled as you both strolled to the couch he put the glasses down on the table and held onto the bottle , you kept your eyes on him as you sat down

“Jacob was a looser …you were too good for him. I knew…if you came to your senses or worst case scenario he’d be an idiot and dump you then…” he said wriggling the bottle in his hands.

You sighed “I …thanks. You always have the answer….”

He shrugged “I know how to look after you .”

You nodded “ Still sucks getting dumped.”

He sat down putting the bottle on the table , he lightly patted your knee , your legs were smooth and he picked up on that... As his hand did not move. He squeezed it slightly before folding his arms against his chest.

“I must have missed Jacob on my way up- don’t tell me he took the lift?”

Aegon asked

You cleared your throat “He ..rang me. Ended things over the phone.” You said

Aegons smile faded “He what?”

You shrugged, reassuring the fact that Jacob had in fact ended things with you over the phone. “Legit two minutes before you knocked.”

“What a dickhead.” Aegon said leaning forward and pouring the wine into your glasses.

He held up his glass with a cheeky grin “Here’s to you Y/N. Free of that idiot….and here is hoping the next man you hook up treats you right.”

You chuckled and clinked your glass with his “Cheers.”

That first bottle of wine did not see the next hour, you had ordered pizza to share to help soak up the alcohol, it did not help.

Much though as you felt slightly tipsy as the night continued to see you and Aegon sat in the living room

Drinking your sorrows away. Aegon had switched on some music, streaming his playlist consisting of a mixture of his favourite tunes as well as his own compositions.

You were sat on the floor in front of the table , Aegon remained on the couch looking so cozy and relaxed.

As you leaned over to top up your glasses you noticed the bottle was empty , you jumped to your feet slightly unsteadily to which Aegon laughed “You be careful…I’m not first aid trained!” He giggled.

“You’re a music teacher shouldn’t that be a thing?” You pointed out.

He laughed “The most chilled of subjects to teach.” You chuckled as You wondered over to your bookshelf , moving a few books and grabbing something.

“Where are you going ?” He asked

You returned holding a bottle of Johnnie Walker

“Oh …why not .” He held up

His glass and you clumsily poured some in his and in your own.

“Do you remember when we went to the Johnnie Walker experience in Edinburgh?” He asked leaning forward towards the table.

You nodded giggling slightly “that was a good couple of days…we should go back there soon.”

“Round Two Y/N?” He said picking up his glass and inhaling the Smokey whisky scent.

You raised your glass “Yes! Let’s go there again!” You took a sip and felt your inhibitions getting looser. Aegon too was slightly tipsy as he almost missed the table putting his glass down “Bad influence you are.” He said as you poured more into his glass. You didn’t respond, only laughing a little.

“You trying to get me drunk?” He asked smiling

“Doesn’t need s lot of trying Aegon your such a light weight.” You chuckled

“Pot kettle black.” He grinned.

You playfully patted him on the shoulder before returning to the floor opposite him. “Come on cheer me up…how’s Zoe?”

He didn’t nod with huge excitement but he smiled only slightly “Yeah she’s…great.” Aegon had been dating this girl Zoe whom you only met a few times, she seemed nice but she wasn’t very warm to you.

You tilted your head slightly taking a sip of wine “Oh? Trouble in paradise?”

He took a drink of wine and swirled the glass in his hand “I like her and she’s nice ….but I don’t know…” his voice trailed off as he bit his lip upon reflection, you were drawn to it and quickly masked your expression by taking another drink.

“You’ve only been…going out what? A month?” You asked “Still early days Mate.”

He nodded “I suppose.” He smiled over his glass.

He suddenly sprung to his feet, standing near you to lean down and reach for a slice of pizza. He picked one up but dropped it when the next song came on.

“Ohhh yes come on this song!” He said excitingly. “We need to dance!” He suggested.

You felt too comfy on the floor , your legs crossed you shook your head

“I’m Not…oh hey come on…” you mumbled .

He held his out “dance with me.”

You took his hand, in one almost effortless swift move he had got you to your feet , he pulled you in close.

The song changed and it happened to be one of your favourites , he leaned over and turned it up.

“You love this song…” he said with a giggle

Heaven by Chris Rea was one of your most cherished songs, you nodded as Aegon held you close and began to sway you slowly in rhythm to the music . You felt so at ease dancing together , Aegon dipped you - not taking your eyes off him , your arms looped around his neck as he brought you back up. His hands rested on your hips as the song started to slow, suddenly your foreheads were resting against each other

“This is nice…” he whispered

“Mmm…feels good…” you responded very quietly.

Your eyes met, the setting sun beams were unable to bridge a gap between you as you blinked once , Aegons head turned slightly and you felt his wine soaked lips met yours slowly but firmly. The sensation was tingling up your nerves, you opened your lips a little and felt his tongue crawl in your mouth- exploring every corner as your hands cupped his neck. You moaned at this touch, you wanted , no needed more. He squeezed your hips as the kiss deepened, you felt his hand move up to your hand and his fringes brush though your hair before settling it holding the back of your neck . Your tongues now battling for dominance - he also let out a slight moan as one of your hands palmed against his chest.

Reality pulled you both back slowly as the kiss broke, you looked at each other , lips mere inches apart. Still pressed against each other you whispered “Aegon…”

He nervously bit his lip briefly “Yeah…?” He replied just as quietly .

“I think…Tha…” the alcohol had got the better of you, your head started to spin as a result of the intoxicating elixirs and the rush of kissing Aegon. Your eye lids fell too heavy to stay awake, before you knew it you were drifting away into sleep.

He held onto you as you failed to stay awake ,

“Whoah Whoah steady.” He said with concern. Your head fell into the crook of his neck and he smiled warmly.

“Y\N? You okay?” He said as he shook you once gently to check if you were awake. He laughed once. He managed to walk you to your bed and gently lower you down, pulling the cover over you - before quickly fetching a bucket and placing it by your bedside table. He took one look at you and rested his fingers on his lips for s moment, before retreating to the door, leaving your room

But not taking his eyes off you as he left the door only open slightly. He made his way to the couch , collapsing onto it in a drunken haze, before finally letting his eyes close and drift off into slumber.

☀️

As you woke the next morning your head aches with a crunching headache that stung, you fluttered your eyes awake properly trying to piece together the evens of last night. You remembered talking to Jacob and then Aegon showing up…you slowly moved your hand up to your face, your fingers ghosted of your lips, you could still taste the bittersweet red wine on them…when you wet your lips with your tongue it hit you. You remembered …you kissed your best friend last night.

Chapter 2

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