#Louder than Life 2021

[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

[landinrris]

In which I keep seeing tweets hyping up Lando and McLaren for this season, so I needed to vent my expectations and bring myself back down to Earth. (1.1k, w/ Carlos popping up at the end) Set during the 2024 championship in which Lando and McLaren come out of the gates swinging.

Lando thought he was prepared for the possibility of getting out of his car as the newly crowned champion. God knows he’s spent enough time talking it through with his team and parents— with Carlos.

As soon as he’s across the line, he’s asking Will about the finishing order, his stomach up in his throat. The sound of Will’s voice, shaken from his usual calm as he tells Lando to hang on while the team checks the finishing positions of his main rivals nearly makes Lando lose his mind. 

The wait is reminiscent of his first pole position a few years ago— how torturously long it felt in the seconds while the few remaining drivers finished their laps. But now they’re in Abu Dhabi three years removed, and Lando needs a points deficit to George of at least three and a deficit of at least one to Charles.

There’s an ocean of distance between him now and September 2021.

When Lando’s radio crackles back to life after about fifteen or so torturous seconds, it’s Andrea whose voice greets him, unsettlingly more manic than Will’s, even though he’s trying to hide it. Then again, anything other than his normal calm makes Lando suspicious.

“Would you like to know the finishing order, Lando?”

“On your own time, I think.” Lando’s voice shakes more than it ever has over the radio, betraying his nonchalant words.

Andrea just chuckles. “P1, Verstappen; P2, Carlos; P3, you; P4, Russell.” The words hang in the air for only a second or two as Lando rounds the corner onto the start-finish straight.

Screams erupt in the background, but all Lando can think about is the basic mental math he’s calculating. “Does that—”

“Lando Norris, it means you’re champion of the world!”

The screams get louder then, becoming deafening behind Andrea as they filter through the open channel. His entire team is screaming, those who ran to climb the fence as he finished making their presence known so close to the pit wall. The goal they’ve been building towards for the entire year— for their entire careers— is theirs.

Lando’s vision blurs on command, his hands coming up to clutch at his visor for a split second before he has to direct the car to the third-place placard. Lando doesn’t know how he manages it once he starts yelling with the rest of the team. He wonders if he causes anyone to yank their headset off and decides he’ll have to apologize later. 

For now, though, this is his moment. This is his.

Lando manages to contain his emotions when Zak gets in on the celebration, but he loses it hearing Will’s voice again. He’s successfully parked the car and already set everything to mode zero, but Will’s voice is in his ear, and the least Lando owes this man is to listen to the rest of his engineer’s words.

“Alright buddy, get out there and celebrate.” 

As soon as Lando’s feet touch the asphalt, his legs buckle out from underneath him, and he collapses by the front left tire. He needs to get up, needs to pull his helmet from his head, and go celebrate in the arms of his team and his family. But here Lando is, his body wracked with sobs while he thanks every possible force in the universe that’s enabled him to get to this point.

The side of his car isn’t as blurry when Lando opens his eyes again and shoves his visor up, his knees not as shaky when he stands, leaning on the body of the car for support. 

Across the way, his team looks like they’re barely holding themselves back from storming the track. Their self-imposed barrier breaks when Lando takes a step in their direction, his car crew rushing him and sweeping him off his feet. He may not be as small as he used to be, but the arms of the guys who have been with him for six years pick him up like he is, and all Lando can do is hold on.

The bone-crushing team hugs Lando has been subject to over the years don’t come close to now— not even on the back of his first podium in Silverstone the year before. But, he supposes, nothing really is quite comparable to actually beating the odds as they have throughout this year. 

Everything from the last few years rushes to the surface— every emotion and catastrophizing thought. Every question he had about resigning or not looking elsewhere at a team that could take him to the top faster. They gave way to the base satisfaction that had come with improvements and with accurate correlations. 

Every thought triggers another swell of emotion, but Lando can’t think about what he looks like in the midst of it.

Later, there will be pictures Lando will probably never want to see again when he takes his helmet off to reveal his already puffy eyes, red from crying, but he doesn’t think of that now. Because now, even with his mind solidly in the present, he can’t stop getting teary-eyed with each new person who comes to congratulate him.

And then Carlos is there, his person, finished with his own team and weigh-in, and it’s a lot. 

Carlos’ eyes look almost as red as Lando’s feel, which is stupid because Carlos shouldn’t be the one crying, right? They’re only about five strides from each other, but Lando takes the distance in two and a half before he launches himself into Carlos’ arms, his legs coming up almost on instinct to wrap around Carlos’ hips.

Carlos seems to expect it thankfully, and they stay upright. Lando’s never felt more protected than he does right now. Strong and warm arms grip and wrap around his back with every ounce of strength Carlos has left after a grueling two hours in the car. They’re out in the middle of everyone with their image likely being broadcast across the world, and yet Lando can’t find it in himself to care about anyone but the way Carlos’ lips press against the side of his face, the barely audible, “You did it. My champion,” above all the noise.

Lando lets himself cry.

Someone breaks them apart eventually so that both of them can give their reactions on the finish to Coulthard, who’s standing a few feet away looking excited. The distance they put between themselves isn’t a lot, one of Carlos’ hands settles on Lando’s shoulders when Lando feels himself getting weak-kneed again while Carlos is talking. He wonders if he looks like he’s going to pass out or if Carlos is just that especially tuned to Lando.

He doesn’t wonder for long though before he’s being pulled to the camera and handed the microphone Carlos had just been holding.

This is the beginning of everything. The beginning of being a champion. The beginning of the rest of his career. Lando knows he’s ready for it.

[invisibleicewands]

Welsh should stand up to attack on culture - Sheen

Actor Michael Sheen says the Welsh public must rise up and defend its cultural institutions to prevent an "unthinkable" end to the Welsh arts sector.

He listed funding cuts at Welsh National Opera, National Theatre Wales and Museum Wales as examples of "an attack on culture" in Wales.

His comments came ahead of the Welsh debut of the play Nye, in which Sheen portrays Welsh politician Aneurin Bevan, the architect of the NHS.

The Welsh government said it has had to take “extremely difficult decisions” to focus funding on core public services, including the NHS.

Sheen, from Port Talbot, said it would "an outrage... terrible" if a continuation of funding cuts meant an end for the Welsh arts sector and insisted the public would not let that happen.

“We are not going to let our country die, are we. We are not going to let it culturally die and wither on the vine," he said.

"We have to do something about it. We’re not going to sit here and let people take everything away from us.”

On taking on the role of Aneurin - or Nye - Bevan, Sheen said he felt an "emotional and passionate connection" to the Tredegar politician, but said it was also "a lot to live up to".

The play was written by Welsh playwright Time Price and is a co-production between Wales Millennium Theatre and the National Theatre in London, where it premiered in April - it will play in Cardiff from 18 May to 1 June.

It tells the story of Nye in a series of flashbacks as a morphine-induced Bevan lies in a hospital bed battling terminal stomach cancer in 1960.

Sheen said it is now time for Wales to tell its own stories - despite the squeeze on public funding.

"Walking in here yesterday, walking onto the stage I got a real excitement about the potential for this space, for plays telling Welsh stories, the story of Wales," he said.

"No one else is doing it. Where is the great play about the Chartists, the Miner’s Strike, our cultural life and history?

"We have to make sure our voices are heard. Even if the opportunities for those voices to be heard are being shut down, then we have to shout louder don't we."

The Welsh government said: “Wales’ culture, art and sports institutions are an integral part of our society and well-being, enriching our communities and inspiring future generations.

"We have acted to mitigate the full scale of the budget pressures on these sectors.

"However, we have been clear our budget is up to £700m less in real terms than when it was set in 2021.

"We have had to take extremely difficult decisions to focus funding on core public services, including the NHS.

"Based on [the UK government's] plans our budget will be lower per person in real terms in 2028/29 than it was in 2022/23.”

[mrchiipchrome]

The Olive Theory

W.C.- 2,5 k

Frida Leonhardsen Maanum. That’s the name of the person you love the most in this universe, and your teammate at Arsenal. The two of you had met at a very unclear point in your lives, as two teenagers going through the hardships of feeling misunderstood you found your clarity in each other.

You two completed each other in a way people never understood and that’s what made you two so perfect for eachother. You didn’t have the need for people to understand what made your relationship work, because it just did. You were like night and day, sun and moon, good and bad, push and pull, love and hate, for and against. It was inexplicable, but that’s what makes it so much more fun.

You had met this ray of sunshine when you were 14 years old, it was at an U17 friendly against Norway and she had caught your eye as soon as she shot you one of her signature shining smiles. Your older national teammates shot you knowing looks as you sent one back, though this was an unusual sight for them only having seen it a handful of times. 

They often joked that your face didn’t encompass the muscles needed for smiling as you always sat there stone faced. This would later be proven untrue when they saw you engaging with the ‘enemy’, who never failed to exercise the 43 muscles that make you smile.

They could always notice when you were thinking about the Norwegian, as the corners of your mouth were upturned more than usual while Frida’s teammates knew through the dreamy and unaware look that appeared in her eyes the second thoughts of your stone cold expression crossed her mind.

After two long years of pining after the other, the two of you finally fessed up after a hard fought draw between the U19 squads of Sweden and Norway. The both of you were now 16 and pursuing a long distance relationship, with you living in your native Sweden and her in Norway. But no matter where you lived you both knew that home wasn’t a place rather a person, your other half.

You were the first person she called when she got called up to the senior team at the age of 17, and she was the first person you called when you got the same news a week later. No one cheered louder than you when she entered the pitch in her debut match against the hosts Netherlands, and her shouts of delight as you scored the goal that sent your team to the quarter finals where you sadly lost bounced around the hotel room she was in and out into the corridors.

You were over the moon when it was announced that Frida would join you at Lindköpings FC, and the two of you moved into a small one bedroom apartment 5 minutes from the training grounds. Your club teammates finally got to witness the loved up version they had heard so much about from your national teammates, so much that they thought it was a fable as they never got to see you without the hard frown situated on your face.

They saw how utterly complete your soul was when you were with her, how in a strange way her optimistic and delightful personality made your ruthless and hard one full.  She was your soulmate and no one could argue anything else, though they were slightly jealous at how you had found your person at such a young age.

When the two of you got a call from your shared agent at the beginning of summer 2021 telling you that you had offers from Arsenal in the WSL, the two of you didn’t hesitate and you began looking for apartments near the London Colney. You bid your longtime teammates goodbye before starting the new chapter in your life.

Now after nearly 2 years at Arsenal, you can proudly say that you hadn’t regretted your decision to move to England. People would think that after 8 years together you would fall out of love but that’s the opposite of what happened, the two of you only falling deeper in love with every second that passes. Everyone around you saw it, how you pulled her back to the ground when her head was too far up in the clouds and how only she could calm you down in your many moments of incredible rage on the pitch.

They could see it in your interactions with each other, how your eyes would follow her every move before she was close enough for you to grab her and pull her onto your lap and how she would look at you with eyes full of adoration whenever you brutally tackle someone on the field. It could be seen in your instagram bio spelling out ‘God is a woman, and her name is Frida Maanum’, while hers was the date when you had confessed to your obvious feelings. The two of you even shared a ‘son’ together, a border collie named Rutger ‘Gus’ Maanum-L/n who you posted about all the time. 

And yet the thing people (your teammates) obsessed over most in your relationship was olives, surprisingly. You utterly ‘despised’ olives, but she loved them. ‘The olive theory’ they call it, having explained it every time they saw you give the olives found in your salad to her. They talk about it like it’s the rule that makes every relationship work, not that you believe them in the slightest.

Like everything else regarding your relationship, it was perfectly balanced. She dislikes raisins, while you basically inhale them. You despise the bitter taste of morning coffee, but as she sits curled up on the couch with a steaming cup of joe every morning you find yourself not wanting to gag as the stark smell of coffee invades your every sense. You perfectly balanced out each other, that’s what made your relationship so great, or so you’ve been told by your overenthusiastically curious teammates.

—

Sitting in your cubicle in the locker room at the Colney, the voices of your loud teammates surrounding your every move. Suddenly, the room goes quiet and you get tunnel vision when your eyes lay upon your ethereal girlfriend. Even with flyaways appearing from her ponytail and a thin layer of sweat covering her face, your girlfriend's beauty could still rival that of Aphrodite.

Feeling eyes on her, Frida turns her gaze upon the usual culprit and she finds herself staring directly into your eyes. She brings her hand up and into a wave directed at you, a wave you replicate before your line of sight is invaded by the aggressive movement of an arm not connected to your girlfriend's body.  

Your gaze changes from love filled to murderous in the span of a millisecond, turning towards the body in which the arm is connected to and seeing Jen Beattie and Katie McCabe. Raising an eyebrow in an unamused expression you see how their larger than life smiles falter slightly before continuing with whatever they were supposed to say.

“We lost you there for a sec, don’t forget that we’re having dinner tonight at that new restaurant.” Jen says after a second of silence.

You stand up, picking your kitbag off the floor before nodding in agreement. You muster up the meanest expression possible before telling them that you would not hesitate to contact their girlfriends if they ever did that again.

Walking over to Frida who had finished her shower and had changed into her everyday clothes, you take her bag from her grasp and sling it over your shoulder while slipping your large hand into hers. You lead her out of the room while she bids everyone a quick goodbye and see you later. As soon as you reach your car and you settle behind the wheel she pulls you in for a sweet kiss by the sides of your unzipped hoodie.

Returning home, you lay down on the couch being exhausted from training and as Frida lays down on top of you with her head perched on your chest right above the placement of your heart, you realize that you’ve reached peak euphoria. If something were to happen to you, you realize that you’d be happy with everything you’ve achieved up to this point in your life and that you would take your last breath feeling complete and happy with the life well spent.

You relax into the couch and the added weight of your girlfriend makes it much easier for your eyes to fall closed. Speaking up you ask her;

“Raring, could you-”

“I put an alarm on as soon as we walked in the door”

The sweetest of smiles takes over the usual barrenness of your face and you press a kiss to the crown of her head before resting your head back on the couch without a care in the world. 

The loud chirping of the alarm ringing for the ninth time has you finally opening your eyes. Frida has now cuddled into your side and you have an arm slung around her shoulders, her eyes closed and her breaths coming out in regular puffs. The sight has you enchanted and you forget about the alarm for a moment, before it brings you back to reality with rude beeps and you turn towards it with a sleepy kind of charm. You fully intend on snoozing it, but as you see the time displayed at the top of the screen you realize that you’d slept through the alarm more than once.

The harsh movement of you sitting up has Frida waking from her seemingly deep sleep, a confused frown on her face as you rush around the living room with your shirt pulled halfway from your torso and pants halfway down your thighs.

“Min kjæreste, what are you doing?” Turning around, you tell her your reasoning for your rush.

“Älskling we have 20 minutes left until we’re supposed to be at dinner with the girls, that's how long the drive there is.”

You watch as her eyes widen in realization and she scrambles up from her place on the couch like you had just moments before, you both thankful for your thinking in advance as you already had matching outfits prepared. You throw on the muted green trousers on before moving onto the off white button up, leaving the top buttons unbuttoned and putting on the matching green blazer. Turning towards your girlfriend once again, you take in the sight of her standing in a light green sundress that just about reaches down to the bottom of her knees. 

You’re frozen in the moment, just staring at her with your jaw fully slack and hanging open slightly. When she sees your expression in the mirror as she’s finishing the last touches to her hair she giggles softly to herself before strutting over to you and pushing your jaw up with her index finger.

“Come on kjæreste, we have to go” You follow her out of your house akin to a lost puppy would its owner. You put the key in the ignition and start driving towards the restaurant on the outskirts of the town. You see her going into her makeup bag out of the corner of your eye and you make a face of disagreement.

“You don’t need any makeup, hjärtat.”

“I’m just putting on some mascara my love”

You nod before turning your attention back onto the road fully. You pull into the parking lot and you put the car in an open parking space before you turn off the engine and get out of the car. Rounding the car you pull on the door handle as you open the car door for her, holding out your hand she puts her own in yours as you assist her out of the car.

You enter the restaurant hand in hand with your girlfriend hearing the whistles and suggestive comments coming from the team at the time when you arrived, being fashionably late. Separating, you sit on opposite sides of the tables but still parallel to each other. You start to engage in conversation with your teammates sitting to the side of you after having ordered your food. As it arrives you notice the olives apparent in the dish and you’re too focused on picking them out of your food to give to your girlfriend to realize Jen pulling up her phone sneakily and filming you as you give them to her.

You eat with your teammates and talk to them simultaneously which means that you are more distracted than usual. You don’t realize that you missed an olive when you had given them all to your girlfriend, but Katie does. She’s just about to warn you but you manage to stuff it into your mouth before she could. Katie watches on, waiting for the visceral reaction but it never comes. She leans in to whisper softly in your ear.

“I thought you hated olives.”

You turn your face towards her with a questioning look on your face before she gestures towards your fork and you realize your mistake. Your face feels warm as you stare back at her and you start to explain in a hushed whisper so that the girl opposite you can’t hear a word of what you say to the Irish woman.

“I don’t hate olives, I never have. I actually love them, but I love her more. Love is all about sacrifices, and this is an easy sacrifice to make for her.” 

Finishing your dinner you stay and mingle for a while before you meet your girlfriend's eyes and 

you see the prominent exhaustion in them. Slapping your thighs, you stand up and catch the attention of the team and you tell them it’s time for you and Frida to return to your homestead. A few of them let out protests but you don’t listen to them, instead taking her hand and walking out to the car and beginning to drive home.

As soon as you return home you notice the incoming flood of notifications from TikTok, most of them tagging you. Taking a seat at the table, under the overhead lamp you pull her to sit on your lap as you press the notification of the video you’ve been tagged in hundreds of times, wanting to watch the video with her. Both your and Fridas eyes are fixated on the screen as you see a video of you giving your olives to her during your rendezvous at the restaurant, it being posted on Jen’s account. Pressing play you are met with soft plucking of a guitar and Ted Mosbys voice flooding out the speaker,

“The olive theory is based on my friends, Marshall and Lily-”

Got an idea, here you go!

[holylottie]

aching bones, aching teeth

masterlist [and warnings!]

PAIRING — Lottie Matthews x afab!reader

CHAPTER SINOPSIS — It's 2021, you try to take a grip of your life just like Lottie the past has taken a grip on your heart.

NOTE — english is not my first language, I apologize for any mistakes you might find. Please go read the tw's first! Thank you for reading :)

Chapter 01 — no spotlight shine as bright as her

2021

1, 2, 3, 4…

Your feet were aching.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, seeing you in a pretty leotard and flowy skirt, your ballet shoes leaking blood, staining your white tights like a sinner walking into heaven.

You were completely focused on the dance, watching every step with so much care that it was almost driving you into madness. You didn’t even blink, and your eyes were already swollen because of the lack of lubrication.

The song was fast, making you spin and spin around, dizzy and almost fainting, but that’s just how you always lived? on almost’s.

Your concentration couldn’t even be broken by the creatures showing up in the mirror. It was almost a copy of yourself, but with no face, a hair so long you couldn't see the end of it and always, always walking slowly, yet screaming louder and louder as she got farther and farther.

The lamuring lady — as you had used to call her (maybe thinking that naming something would give you power over it) — would drop thousands of teeth every time she opened her mouth to scream.

You got used to the sound, to her terrifying looks and behavior, however you could never look directly into her eyes.

They were the same as Lottie’s — and it was long ago since you've seen it.

As you expected it (but hoped it didn’t) everything changed after the rescue. Weirdly enough, you've felt more lost on your way back home than in the woods.

You never used the money. Perhaps it was a way to ensure a good future for yourself, to always have a big amount for emergencies or, perhaps, it was your way of hanging onto a piece of the past, of having a part of it to hold onto. Your fingernails were always bloody from the amount of strength you had to make to hold onto what you liked — so was your tongue, from how much you bit it.

5,6,7,8…

Your leg goes high, your bloody foot very close to your face, then you lower it, jumping in elegant hops around the rehearsal room.

You go to the left, count to three, to the other side, count to three, but when you put your leg to the side and spin, you count to two.

Once you finish it, breathing heavily, panting with your hip injury aching, you make the mistake of looking at the mirror. 

Her eyes, Lottie's eyes, burn your skin and you discover a fifth heel —the one where you cannot look at those orbs eternally, the one you live.

You hated to be alone at your house. 

There wasn't much to it, it wasn't lavish or too eccentric, it was just filled with paint brushes, partitures and broken ballerina shoes on the floor, it was like entering an artist’s mind: I made this and it feels, i made this and I have to bare the anger and godhood of creation.

You always thought you were over it, that you were truly healing  — until you stared at your paintings and your dance routine and you realized every movement you make, either with your foot or brush, was following the same pattern, the same symbol.

You look at your reflection in the mirror and wonder if being perceived by others is less terrifying than being known as one's own. You wish you could take a vacation from your body and mind as you turn the tv on and scroll the channels, looking for something to make you forget your problems for a bit.

Except it only worsens the problem once you see Taissa on the tv.

You stare at the commercial immobilized, like you were just put on hold.

You feel anger, a deep rotten eager to scream at her.

But again, who were you to complain about Taissa on the tv? You were at the stage almost every week, you relished on the importance of the spotlight’s —relished on having the attention, but not being truly seen.

You were nothing but your art, perhaps Tai was the same: nothing but her morals. You would not take that away from her, you had a piece of you stolen once. You wouldn't be the one holding the knife.

When you are on the stage, you don’t feel anything but pure bliss. 

To be seen by so many people in awe was almost as good as being looked at by Lottie, you loved it, to remember the sensation of having the sun itself perceiving you — shining just for you.

You loved all kinds of arts, even if you had a degree in biology. You liked to know how the brain feels, not how it works. Besides, Lottie always enjoyed more art than science.

In small moments, where you weren't the center of attention, you would steal glances of the public — you would pretend she was there, cheering you up, calling your name, simply looking at you with that smile of hers.

You would pretend you haven’t lost it all when they found you.

Too many thoughts would come to your mind when you were on stage. Today, you were thinking about your blood donations from yesterday, you thought that when being cut with the needle and given to another, the receiving end would feel this new blood boiling with the aching, with the need of being seen. 

Will your blood carry your love for Lottie? 

Will they bite their own hands and suck every drop of it in hopes of getting out this thirst for an unknown woman? 

Your soul ached for hers like an earthquake.

Your eyes tear a bit, would God forgive you for your sins? 

You shake your head while spinning, God’s forgiveness didn’t mattered — only her, only her mattered.

You heard a new voice once you reached the backstage.

— I’m Jessica Roberts, from Star Ledger, you know? 

She got her hand out to you, her eyebrows getting higher. You take her hand. She had a tight grip but soft fingers, not really the type of finger that types so much like she claims she does.

— Not really if I’m being honest.

— Well, we work with stories. 

Oh, you see where this is going to go.

— I appreciate your presence, but no. — you needed to get her out of here, so you walked to the door, opening it.

She takes a deep breath, already tired, and you can imagine you're not the first she had seen today. 

— Don’t you wish to take it all out? Once it’s gone, no one will ever bother you anymore.

Or they will bother you more, you think.

— I understand your need for truth, but I don’t want that, I want to just bleed —I’m tired of making red paint out of my wounds.

Jessica looks at you puzzled, but she nods and gets out silently. You knew she would come back.

— But hm, thank you for the flowers!

— What flowers? — she frowns and so do you.

You hide it quickly with a smile.

— Nothing, don't worry, have a nice night!

Once she gets away, you turn around, if those flowers weren’t hers then who sent you? You didn’t have those types of friends and distanced yourself from all your family. 

You get close to the pretty bouquet, taking it onto your hand and opening the letter.

Inside of it there was a postcard.

A postcard with the symbol on it.

[yanderepuck]

Kinktober Day 18

WELCOME BACK SLUTS. It's that time of the year you've been looking forward to. As always, Kinktober is hosted by your local Napoleon simp @xxsycamore

If you would like to read Kinktober 2021 and 2022 they are here

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Day 18 - Breeding | Size Difference Kink

He pushes you against the wall, kissing you hungrily. You start working on getting his coat off while he's trying to get your shirt unbuttoned. It didn't take much to get Jean drunk, and it took you just a little bit more, and now neither of you could keep your hands off each other.

You both did your best not to break the kiss while trying to rip the others clothing off their body. Your skirt is on the floor and you're still working on getting his pants off. Why does he have to wear so many layers?

Jeans hands run up and down your body, feeling every curve, every low point and every high point, then reaching up to grab your boobs, squeezing them. You moan into his mouth and press your body against his, specifically against his erection.

Moving from your boobs he grabs your ass to lift you up, laying you down on the bed. You immediately spread your legs, inviting him in, and he takes it. His tip pressed against you and he leans into you to say something

"I'm going to fill you up until you're leaking," and then he pushed his cock all the way into you. You moaned loudly and held onto him.

Jean was a little sloppy at first, mainly due to the alcohol. But once he found the right pace he stuck with it, moaning as he did.

"Ungh..Jean...harder," you bucked your hips up and as soon as he thrust in harder you dug your fingers into the sheets.

His thrusts started to slow but he stayed just as rough. He put his hand against your belly button and pressed down slightly. "I can feel myself all the way up here."

You gasped as he added the pressure. "And right here is where I'll leave a little gift," the thrusts picked up again once he had a hold on your hips. He wasn't going to let you go anywhere.

Your moans get louder with each thrust, and your inner walls clench around his shaft right before you cum. The added slickness helped him with his thrusts and within moments he filled you with his cum.

You felt your toes curl as you felt yourself getting filled with the hot liquid. Jean stopped thrusting once it was all out and you both looked at each other, panting.

"Th-that felt so good," you breathed out.

Jean pushed himself all the way in you, having you be his little cock warmer for a moment. You could feel him twitching inside of you. He was still so hard.

"And it's going to feel even better," he grabbed one of the pillows on his bed and put it under your hips to raise them. "I told you I want you to be leaking. I want to make sure I put a baby in you."

Once he caught his breath he started to thrust into you again. It didn't take much longer for you to be a moaning mess, overstimulated, gripping onto the bed under you for dear life and Jean pounded into you. You don't know what got into him but you like it, even if all you can do is lay there and moan.

After cumming again and again you feel yourself close to passing out. Jean has filled you up three times and he still doesn't think it's enough, even though he's starting to get tired. He pulls out of you and sees a string of cum connect his tip with your hole. Maybe his last load was more than he thought.

He runs a finger along the cum that's dripping out of you. "I think I have you pretty filled."

You whine and squirm. You couldn't take any more but it feels wrong to be empty now. Though you guess you aren't empty, you're filled with his cum.

Jean relived the pillow from under you and tossed it to the floor, laying beside you, the two of you being moments away from passing out

[elixrr]

Simpy Xiao One-Shot

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Semi-ooc Xiao x GN!Reader

Synopsis... Xiao confesses his love to you. A brainrot that's been rotting my brain, but it's just Xiao trying his best with you to confess, but fails and succeeds in the same time.

Author's note... Xiao has been occupying my brain since 2021. This is not okay, but I'm not complaining bc I love Xiao from the bottom of my idiot heart <3

Warnings... None, really. Just tooth-rotting fluff from stupidly cute brainrots I've had of him (mwahahahahhaa) oh, but also angst if you squint just hard enough that your eyes are quite literally closed. Oh, and a mini argument :')

“Xiao,” he heard you. He heard you— your voice, it rings within his head, from side to side to kiss on both his ears. Your voice was always meaningful to him. He could almost get lost in it, the way the syllables would be spelled out so greatly from you like a—

“Xiao?” You spoke once more, louder and clearer than before. Ah. He got lost in the thought of you again. Swiftly, with a flashy smoke of teal and black, he arrived right by your side, where he wanted to stay.

“You called?” Despite his words, he already knew why you called. It's always for the same reasons. To spend time with him. To do things with him. To be with him.

“Of course I did. What days do I not?”

Xiao tried to recount the days in which you've never even uttered his name. How many years ago was that? It's almost astounding how many years you've been friends with him at this point.

But it's almost as astonishing that he hasn't even confessed his love for you yet.

But never mind that, Xiao cleared his hazy mind full of fond memories with you, who replaces every other memory of his karmic debt, the agonizing presence of death that continues to pry at his sanity each passing day.

But you replenish all of that. His lost dreams, his lost hopes, and his lost world. You returned all of that to him, replenished and renewed. You, it's always you. You, who—

“Xiao, is something the matter?” You tangled his hair around your finger. The closeness had his face flushed with the pink of a peony. “You've been quite out of it lately.”

“I– I'm..?” Fine. Fine is what he wanted to say. But the words died down in his throat. All he could focus on was your features up close. You've been his friend for so long, but it's rare for you to get close to him, let alone come into contact with him. He's nervous, not just because physical contact with him is outright dangerous, but because you're just– just to close to him, and you don't even pay an ounce of attention to that. You're toying with his hair so naturally, as if it's nothing special, like it's nothing out of the ordinary— like you two were dating.

Oh, what a fantasy that would be. Xiao's hand intertwined with yours, laying in a field of grass and blooming flowers, you blabbering on about anything and everything, just like you always do. But this time, maybe you'd hug him. Run a finger or a few through his hair. Maybe you'd even kiss him. Or even do that thing that humans would do on the occasion out in the open, that thing called “cuddling”. Xiao blushes at the thought. You're already so close to him, but if you were even closer, arms wrapped around him, snuggled oh-so close? He could hardly take the thought without feeling weak to the knees.

“You're...? Okay, so, you're clearly not fine, if you were going to say that. So, here. Sit down with me, you can tell me what's happening in that restless life you've got there.” You, with a soft and low voice, whispered into his ear.

“O– Okay.” Xiao sat himself down right next to you, albeit a little closer than he intended, but still close nonetheless. Damnit, he hopes deep down and past his adeptal bones that you don't suspect a thing about him liking you.

“Alright, so something is up. If you're comfortable, you can tell me. I'm all ears.”

“Your invitation is tempting,” Xiao weens with an internal scoff, all while slipping his gaze elsewhere. “But I can't tell you anything.”

“You shouldn't need to know that I...” Ah. He let that part slip out. Albeit in a blushful whisper, but he could only pray to Rex Lapis that you didn't actually hear that.

Oh, but of course you did.

“Well, we've been friends for, like, forever! Or, uh, my forever, but you get the gist of it. Xiao, if something's wrong, you know you could tell me, I—”

“BUT WHAT IF I JUST CAN'T TELL YOU?!”

Xiao bellowed at you, having you flinch at the sudden response. That was unintentional, as told by the way he covered his mouth with his hand and the way his golden wide eyes would stare at you, heavy with guilt.

“Oh. Well, if you can't tell me, then I shouldn't pry on it. Sorry about that.”

“I– no, I should apologize. I didn't... mean to..”

Woah, wait. What's going on?

Xiao got quiet. The words, once more, were killed down his throat. He needed to get out of there quickly. But he couldn't teleport— he couldn't think of where to go at that moment, he envisioned a scornful look on your face when you stared at him. Do you hate him now? Will you suddenly give up on him? He just can't accept that, not after he found out that he was in love. He can't go back now, he realizes. He can't be used to the cold loneliness anymore, you've become a part of his life, a major part, he can't let go now! Why, oh why?! Why did he–

“Hey. Shh. Xiao, hey. I'm not mad, I'm not upset.”

Xiao opened his eyes. Everything was glassy and blurred. He rubbed his eyes— tears stained his gloves. Was he crying? In front of you? He tried to turn away, but then he felt your arms wrap around him delicately, like he was as fragile as glass. How could he escape now? You enveloped him in your arms, and he knows it's obvious that he's calmed down after that.

“Please... Don't go. Don't leave yet, I— I love you too much to let you go.”

He didn't mean for that last part to slip out, but even so, he nearly fell unconscious under your arms, feeling them squeeze around him as he confessed. Still. Of all times, why now? Why, when he's most vulnerable in your arms?

“It's okay, it's okay. You know, I love you too. I always have, but I never guessed those feelings were returned.” You took his hand in yours and smiled, looking into his soft, loving, yet teary eyes.

“Of course they were returned. I loved you for so long, I... didn't even know it.” Xiao's eyes stared back into yours, your tender eyes full of honesty. His hand squeezing yours slightly, a gesture to show that all his words were true. He watched your other hand wipe his remaining tears away, and he smiled.

Xiao smiled for you.

“Then... May I?” Xiao's face flushed a bright rosey red, seeing you inch closer and closer to him, filling in the gap of air that lay between you two.

Xiao stuttered, his heart screamed yes, but his head was going into overdrive and he didn't know what to say. Even if he did, there's no way he could form a sentence now.

But you waited. Your lips, slightly parted, were only centimeters from his own, awaiting his consent.

“P– please. Do so.”

And you crashed your lips into his, and as if roses bloomed beneath you both in place of the Inn's roof, he was dropped into eternal bliss.

Likes, reblogs, and shares are appreciated! <3

[bbgem329]

Things Are Never As They Seem—Chapter Twenty One

Pairings—Sebastian Stan x F!Reader, Sebastian Stan x OFC (PR relationship)

Summary

You and Sebastian Stan have been dating privately for over two years. Everything is perfect until he is coerced into a PR relationship when he signed with a new agency to advance his career. Trouble ensues…

Warnings

MINORS DNI! 18++. Language. Angst. Fluff. Hollywood sucks ass. Mentions of overdose and drug abuse. Daddy issues. Seb is the best bf ever. Implied smut.

Series Masterlist

—————

April 10, 2021

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?”

You lazily rolled your head to the side, following the sound of his voice. Your eyes struggled to adjust to the light as you squinted up at him with a dopey grin, “S’ good.”

Sebastian chuckled, “Yeah?”

You shivered at the feeling of his hand trailing gently up and down your spine, exhaling a content sigh, “I am jelly.”

And that was the only thing you could come up with at the moment. Your mind was completely empty and your body completely lax. All morning your boyfriend had had you in this exact state, from the moment you opened your eyes to find his pretty face between your legs until now, you supposed.

He laughed again, leaning down to press a kiss to your bare shoulder, “Jelly, huh?”

You relaxed back, letting your eyes flutter shut as his nails continued to scratch along your back, “Mhmm.”

“I can tell.” There was a smirk evident in his voice, “I see that massage really got to you. I think you fell asleep not even ten minutes in.” He chuckled, “But hey, can’t say I blame you. Tina does wonders on my back too.”

“Tina is the GOAT.” You mumbled sleepily, “Can we keep her?”

“The GOAT?” He laughed, louder this time, “Nah, sweetheart. But you got me. I give pretty decent massages, don’t I? I’m a goat too, right?”

You lifted your head to look at him, shooting him your best you-better-be-joking glare while struggling to bite back a life.

He pressed a hand to his chest, looking more than a little offended, “Baby, you wound me.”

“I’m kidding.” You giggled, pulling yourself up to sit on the edge of the table, the blanket covering you falling to expose your bare body to the room. “You know I love your messages. You’re a GOAT too. And that means the greatest of all times and you are really, really great to me.”

“I know.” He smirked a little, drawing an oversized, fluffy white robe over your shoulders, “Now move your butt, honey. I have a bath waiting for you and Tina needs to pack up her stuff, she has another client an hour across town.”

“Wait.” You frowned, “You’re not getting one?”

His brows furrowed as he took a hold of your hands, helping you from the table, “Why would I?”

“I just thought…” He cut you off with a soft kiss, wrapping you up tightly in his arms.

“Today is about you.” His nose skimmed along your cheek as he lifted one hand to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, “It’s your special day.”

“Will you at least join me in the bath?”

“No can do, baby.” He connected your lips for one more soft kiss before guiding you back in the direction of the master bathroom, “I have a lot to do and there are too many people coming in out of the house. I don’t want to leave anyone to their own devices.”

You could understand that. Anyone that was brought in, whether it be your home or publically at some restaurant or social outing, were usually pretty well vetted and always, always signed an NDA but it was still uncomfortable and there was always that what if–what if someone accidentally slipped up, what if someone had nothing to lose and didn’t care about the consequences of exposing you.

In the past, it wouldn’t have been the biggest deal if your relationship was exposed but now…

Now there was so much more on the line.

Your careers. Both of your reputations. Your lives.

You were pulled from your thoughts as a familiar older lady reentered the room, wearing a big smile, “How are you feeling, honey?”

You plastered on a matching smile, “I feel amazing, Tina. Thank you so much.”

“Of course,” She waved you off, looking a little bashful, “Happy birthday, darling girl. It was an absolute honor to do this for you.”

You blushed a little, tucking yourself shyly into Sebastian’s side. Sometimes you forgot you were a celebrity. It wasn’t like it was the first time someone had something like that to you and yet you didn’t think you would ever get used to it.

And if you were being honest, it made you uncomfortable.

It wasn’t as if you weren’t flattered. You were. Very much. You just didn’t see yourself as someone with that kind of status and you probably never would.

You weren’t the queen of England, you were just you.

“Thanks again, Tina.” Sebastian spoke up, giving you a comforting squeeze. There wasn’t a doubt he knew exactly what was going on in your head and you were beyond thankful he’d stepped in before things got too awkward. “If you give me one second to get her situated, I’ll help you carry your stuff out to your car.”

“Of course.” She shot you a smirk, wiggling her graying brows, “What a gentleman. You’re a lucky girl.”

You beamed up at your lover, burrowing your body closer to his just as he dipped down to press a kiss to your head, “I am so lucky. The luckiest woman alive.”

You shared one last smile and a little wave goodbye before Sebastian pulled you into the bathroom, closing and locking the door gently behind you. Your jaw practically hit the floor when you took in the space around you.

“Sebastian.” You breathed out, “You did all this?”

The room was mostly dark, the only light coming from the candles scattered around the counter and along the edge of the tub. There was soft, soothing music coming from a speaker and the bathtub was filled with steaming water and a mound of bubbles. It looked so inviting and smelled so good.

“Well, yeah.” He shrugged, like it was no big deal. He was trying to play it off but the blush on his cheeks told you otherwise. He pulled a hand out of his pocket, avoiding your eyes as he waved his hand towards the bath, “I put some epsom salt in the bath. I thought about adding lavender but that just might put you to sleep again. I want you to relax but not-”

You threw yourself into him, arms wrapped tightly over his shoulders and around his neck. “It’s perfect.” You smiled, pausing to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “Everything is perfect, Seb. You’re making this the best birthday ever.”

“Really?” He looked skeptical, “I know you said you wanted it to be just us but I wanted you to have the…” He waved a hand, “The full work up, ya know? I wanted you to be treated like a princess and waited hand-and-foot on today. I mean, ideally we would be on some tropical island—laying out on the beach and drinking margaritas or something. Maybe we can do that next year-”

“We definitely can.” You took his face in your hands, drawing his lips to yours for a soft, drawn out kiss, “Sebastian, this is perfect. I mean it. We could be anywhere in the world, doing anything or nothing, and I would still think it's the best birthday ever as long as I was with you.”

There was a second of silence, eyes searching one anothers before you both burst into a fit of giggles.

“I think that was the cheesiest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

You nodded, cheeks flaming, “It definitely was.”

“You’re so cute.” He smiled, scrunching his nose at you in your favorite way, “And so sweet.” He pecked your lips one last time before giving your butt a tap, “Now get that cute ass in the tub before it gets cold. I need to go help Tina.”

You playfully rolled your eyes at him, failing to suppress your smile as you did as you were told. You made a little show of stripping yourself of your robe before tossing it at him, watching with glee as his hungry eyes trailed your body, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

“Are you sure you don’t want to join me?” You gave your hips an enticing wiggle, eyes hooded as you glanced over your shoulder at him.

“I would if i could, baby.” He approached you then, his eyes shamelessly wandering as he offered you a hand into the tub. “There will be plenty of alone time for us later to do whatever you please with me.”

You jutted your bottom lips out in an exaggerated pout, “Promise?”

“Promise.” He chuckled and with a gentle push on your shoulder, he guided you down into the sudsy hot water. “I’m gonna go help Tina and check in on a few things. I’ll be back in like ten but here is your phone,” He pulled your phone from his pocket, setting it on a towel beside the tub, “If you want to change the song or need something you can text me.”

You let out a content sigh as you sunk back against the back of the tub, submerging yourself deeper in the water, “Thank you so much.”

“Of course.” He blew you a little kiss and shot you one last boyish grin before slipping out of the bathroom, closing the door tightly behind him.

Your eyes fluttered shut, your body relaxing completely and your usually loud mind falling quiet for once.

It really was one of the best birthdays. Especially compared to last year when you were stuck in Seb’s apartment for lockdown. Even that hadn’t been all bad, at least you had been him then too.

No matter what he always managed to make you feel so special on occasions such as these.

Growing up you didn’t really have anyone that would go out of their way to be there in the way that he had for your birthday. You spent a lot of birthdays and holidays alone. More often than not, your very own father would forgot. All you yearned for as you got older was for someone to put the effort in that no one bothered to before—to heal and give that part of you, your inner child, a little extra love.

And Sebastian did that.

Without fail.

You didn’t even have to ask.

He enjoyed doing it just as much as you enjoyed receiving it.

You were ripped from your relaxed state when the music stopped abruptly, cut off by the incessant ringing of your phone. You were so annoyed by the interruption you didn’t even bother to look at the caller ID before bringing it to your ear with a breathless, “Hello?”

All you got was a croak of your name.

Your heart sank in your chest, eyes squeezing shut as you slumped back against the back of the rub.

The last person you expected to hear from anytime soon said your name again, “Are you there?”

“Sorry.” You cleared your throat, fingers pinching the bridge of your nose, “I’m here.”

“Happy birthday, baby girl.”

You rolled your eyes, biting down hard on your lip to suppress a scoff. The fucking audacity of this man. He overdoses, the hospital sends him to rehab, he sobers up for who knows how long this time, calls you because he feels kinda bad–begs for forgiveness, says he’s changed.

It was a repeating cycle.

Wash, rinse, and repeat.

It wouldn’t be too long now until he was back on the streets with something stronger than alcohol or weed running through his veins.

“You there, sweetpea?” His voice absolutely grated your nerves. Has it always been this annoying or were you finally done with this man’s shit? “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for a few days but that boyfriend of yours keeps intercepting my calls. I’m glad I could finally reach you.”

Sebastian had done that?

Now that you think about it, you really hadn’t been on your phone much for the last couple days. It was always set on silent, resting on the nightstand in your bedroom or in Sebastian’s pocket when you were out and about.

It’s definitely possible.

And why did that make your heart want to burst right out of your chest? Why did that have tears welling up in your eyes?

God, you hadn’t even realized. For the past, however many days, he’d been shielding you from your father—protecting your heart.

What the fuck did you deserve this man?

Your name was called again, tone growing more impatient this time. But before you could respond Sebastian appeared in the doorway, balancing a tray holding a plate of chocolate covered strawberries and a huge glass of what you assumed was some sort of smoothie. The smile on his face fell as soon as he saw your expression, eyes flashing to your phone.

“Yeah.”

“That boyfriend of yours sure can be an asshole.” He huffed a little, “I mean I’m glad he’s looking out for you and all but I’m your father! He has no say in who you're talking to, especially when it comes to me.”

“Oh,” You laughed dryly, eyes locked with your lovers as he set the tray on the bathroom counter, “You’re my father now?”

You watched as Sebastian’s entire body stiffened, expression turning to one of complete stone. The flip was instantaneous. You’d only seen him like this a few times throughout the years of knowing him. He had always been slow to anger but once he was there… lets just say you would absolutely hate to be the person on the receiving end of his temper.

“Don’t be like that sweetheart—”

Before you could even blink, your phone was snatched from between your fingers.

You watched with your heart in your throat as your lover brought the phone to his ear, “I thought I told you not to bother her anymore?”

His voice, all low and raspy, sent shivers racing up your spine and butterflies bursting through your belly. This shouldn’t turn you on like it did. The tick in his jaw, the flash of fury in his cerulean eyes, and the clench in his fist shouldn’t get you riled up and hot.

You couldn’t help though. He was standing up for you.

He was protecting you.

“No, you listen to me.” He hissed, steps heavy as he paced from one end of the bathroom to the next, “You’ve put her through enough. She’s given you chance after chance, supported you and encouraged you to get your fucking shit together. She’s spent thousands of dollars to get you the help you need and every single fucking time you turn around and stab her in the fucking back.”

Your jaw was practically on the floor. Sebastian had never spoken to someone like this–not that you'd witnessed anyways. You could hardly believe your ears or your eyes when he paused his listening to pass you the plate of strawberries and the smoothie with a bashful smile.

Who was this man?

You couldn’t help but giggle a little as you sank back in the water with your smoothie in one hand and a strawberry in the other to watch the free show you were getting.

“She will reach out to you when she wants to talk.” He scrubbed a hand down his face, expression hard again, “I sincerely hope you mean that but until we see some real proof—some real change. Don’t reach out.” He waved a hand around, gesturing aminantly, “Don’t call. Don’t text. Don’t try to find her, she’s moved since then. Don’t email. Nothing. If you’re serious about this. If you love her, you’ll do as I say and respect our wishes.”

And with that he hung up. A few taps to your screen and the music started back up, softer now.

“Baby.” He shook his head, steps hesitant as he approached the side of the tub, “I am so sorry. I know I shouldn’t have done that. I should’ve told you when he first called but I couldn’t stand it-,” He sat down on the edge of the tub and you set your drink aside so he could take your hands in his, “The idea of him hurting you. I knew he’d be calling any day now. I’ve been keeping track of where he was and he’s back at the rehab center… Which don’t even worry about anything to do with that, I have it covered—cost and all.” His shoulder slumped slightly as he released a heavy sigh, “I know I should’ve talked to you but you’re doing so good, you’re happy and content.” He shook his head, “I didn’t want him to stir up your life and cause you pain like he always does.”

“Sebastian.” You said softly, rising up on your knees to take his face between your hands. “Thank you so much.” You shook your head, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips, “You have no idea how much that means to me. I had no idea.”

“You’re not mad?”

He looked so much like a kicked puppy at that moment–eyes all soft and big, plump lips pouted, you could hardly handle it.

“I’m not mad.” You lifted yourself higher out of the water, bearing more of your body to his eyes, “I’m the opposite of mad. And if you don’t get in here right this second and kiss me, I’m coming after you.”

Never have you seen a man undress so quick.

And by the time you got out the water was cold and you were once again jelly.

—————

“You can’t be serious.”

“I’m not kidding, baby.” Sebastian huffed, holding a piece a fabric at the ready, “Just fucking indulge me, jeez. Why the fuck are you so stubborn?”

“Me? Stubborn?” There was no holding back a laugh, “Never!”

“Yeah.” He shook his head, rolling his eyes, “Okay. And I was born on mars.”

“You know what, you fucking wish you were born on mars–”

“Oh my God.” He interjected, voice loud but humor evident in his tone. “Turn the fuck around and let me put this fucking blind fold on your goddamn eyes, woman.”

“Jeez.” You covered your mouth with your hand and snickered, “Grumpy.”

He huffed, gripping you gently by the shoulders and spinning you away from him. You didn’t have time to protest any further before the blindfold was yanked over your eyes and he took your hands in his, guiding you outside.

“See.” You could practically hear the smirk in his voice, “Was that so hard?”

“Fuck off.” You practically beamed and he laughed.

You let him lead you further into the backyard.

You had absolutely no day what he had planned, all you knew was he’d been working on whatever was back here on and off all day.

Today had been filled with nothing but surprises from the moment you woke up. Starting with breakfast in bed, followed by the in-home massage, pedicure, and facial, of course, the bath, and then a painting class he’d set up after a nice, light lunch. You did a puzzle together, did some karaoke on a machine he recently bought, and had a nice dinner from your favorite little family owned pizza shop a few blocks over with a few glasses of wine.

You hated everything to do with surprises unless it came from him. He knew you well enough to know what you would like. You trusted him more than you trusted yourself at times.

Everything was perfect.

He was perfect.

There was nothing that could ruin this day now.

“Okay.” Your lover spoke up, “You ready?”

You laughed, feeling a little giddy, “I was born ready, Stan!”

He didn’t respond but instead ripped the fabric from your head.

The moment your eyes adjusted, a gasp tumbled from your lips.

“Holy…” You turned to look at him, tears welling up in your eyes, “Sebastian.”

“Baby?” He reached for you and you let him take your hand, “Don’t cry.”

“What the-”

You took a step towards the canopy he’d set up around a big blow up mattress completely covered in a million different blankets and pillows. On each side of the bed was a little table filled with all different kinds of snacks, drinks, and candy. Positioned at the end of the bed was a huge projector screen with Netflix already pulled up.

“I can’t believe you.” For, what felt like the millionth time today, you turned and launched yourself into his embrace, “This is the best surprise ever.” You grabbed his face between your hands, layering kisses all over his face, “I’m so fucking happy. Thank you. Thank you.”

He laughed, all warm and light, hoisting you up by the back of your thighs before tossing you lightly on the mattress and crawling up over you. “Does that mean I did good?”

You wrapped yourself back around him, tugging him down by the collar of his t-shirt, “It means you did great.”

You dragged him down further, connecting your lips in a hot, needy kiss. He indulged you for a few minutes, lips pressing incessantly against yours, tongues tangling when you opened your mouth for him.

He pulled back with a frustrated groan. “Fuck.” His forehead dropped to yours, “I forgot the popcorn.”

“No.” You whined, making grabby hands as he moved off you, crawling towards the edge of the bed, “Don’t go!”

“I’ll be right back!” He chuckled, pulling himself up to stand, “You get comfy, pick out a movie, and I’ll turn out the back lights and grab the popcorn.” He glanced back over his shoulder at you, shooting you a wink, “I know how much you love it. It’s a must.”

You gave a little hmph as he left but did as told, sliding beneath the comforter after locating the remote and adjusting the many pillows and blankets to your liking. Once comfortable, you started working your way through the many selections Netflix had to offer, trying to find something good to watch.

You were stuck between a romcom or a scary movie so you decided to wait until Sebastian returned.

Minutes ticked by and he still had yet to return.

You gave it a few more minutes.

I mean, how long did it take to make popcorn?

Definitely not this long.

With a huff, you threw the covers off and slid out of the comfy bed and trekked back towards the house. You were going to chew his ass if he was farting around on his phone or something.

“Sebastian.” You practically stomped into the house, through the living room but came to an abrupt halt when you picked up the sound of voices near the front of the house. You took a detour, listening as the voices got louder and more heated with every step.

“You need to leave right fucking now.”

That was Sebastian’s voice. Your heart felt like it was seconds away from crawling up your throat as you finally stepped into the hallway, the doorway in sight.

“I mean it,” His voice was so cold and nasty, “You’re not welcome here tonight. You weren’t supposed to come for at least another week.”

“Plans change.”

Your heart changed directions, dropping to your ass as you took in the sight of a farmilar blonde standing on the front porch with her luggage at her feet.

“Sebastian.”

He spun around, expression softening as soon as he laid eyes on you. “Baby.”

“What are you doing here?” You looked past him, locking eyes with a pair of dark ones.

You didn’t like the look in her eye nor the sly smirk painted across her lips. She knew exactly what she was doing, she knew what today was.

“Coming to see my boyfriend.” She grinned, reaching out to trail her fingers down his arm, fortunately he immediately shrugged her off, “Of course.”

You were wrong.

There was something that could ruin this day.

And that something was Catalina.

You were officially in your own personal hell.

Happy fucking birthday to you, right?

—————

Taglist

@justlovelifeblog @inlovewith3 @buckybarnesandmarvel @sleutherclaw @snugglingbucky @perlaluna @littlewhiterose

@idontwannagomrstarkk @abihaaa14 @eclecticpatrolroadlawyer @sebsgirl71479 @getofffmydick @eccentricnos @barnesml @aira1995 @sweetwritingfanficfriend @dhoruwolfie

[black-arcana]

JINJER Announces Fall 2024 North American Tour With HANABIE And BORN OF OSIRIS

Ukrainian modern metallers JINJER will embark on a North American tour in the fall. Support on the trek will come from fast-rising Japanese metalcore unit HANABIE and progressive metalcore mainstays BORN OF OSIRIS.

As JINJER is currently in the studio recording its fifth studio album, fans can expect to hear a handful of brand new, never-before-heard tracks on the tour.

The 18-date tour will kick off on September 20 at in Sayreville, New Jersey and will include a couple of Canadian shows (in Toronto and Montreal) before wrapping up on October 13 at Sacramento, California's Aftershock festival.

In addition to Aftershock, the tour will also see JINJER performing at festivals such as Metal Injection Festival, Louder Than Life and the return of the mighty Mayhem festival.

Various ticket presales via Citi, Ticketmaster, Live Nation and more begin today, with general public on-sale beginning this Friday, June 14 at 10:00 a.m. local time.

JINJER comments on returning to North America: "It's finally time for some huge announcements: We're stoked to report that this September, JINJER will return to North America with not only two absolutely sick supports: HANABIE and BORN OF OSIRIS! Most importantly, we'll be performing some brand new unreleased songs from our upcoming fifth studio album. [We] just cannot wait to share what we've been working on for the last two years. This will be without a doubt a banger of a tour … We're looking forward to this so much!"

JINJER fall 2024 North American tour dates:

Sep. 20 - Sayreville, NJ @ Starland Ballroom Sep. 21 - Brooklyn, NY @ Metal Injection Fest Sep. 22 - Pittsburgh, PA @ Roxian Theatre Sep. 23 - Toronto, ON @ Danforth Music Hall Sep. 24 - Montreal, QC @ MTELUS Sep. 26 - Harrisburg, PA @ HMAC Sep. 27 - Baltimore, MD @ Baltimore Soundstage Sep. 29 - Louisville, KY @ Louder Than Life Oct. 01 - Charlotte, NC @ The Fillmore Oct. 02 - Atlanta, GA @ Buckhead Theatre Oct. 03 - Lake Buena Vist, FL @ House Of Blues Oct. 04 - North Myrtle Beach, SC @ House Of Blues Oct. 06 - Houston, TX @ House Of Blues Oct. 07 - San Antonio, TX @ The Aztec Theatre Oct. 09 - Denver, CO @ Ogden Theatre Oct. 11 - Las Vegas, NV @ House Of Blues Oct. 12 - San Bernardino, CA @ Mayhem Festival Oct. 13 - Sacramento, CA @ Aftershock Festival

During an appearance on a recent episode of Knotfest's "She's With The Band", the show hosted by Tori Kravitz, JINJER vocalist Tatiana Shmailyuk spoke about the progress of the songwriting sessions for the follow-up to the band's 2021 album "Wallflowers". Tatiana said: "My purpose is just to write lyrics and sing them. I'm so behind right now with the writing lyrics. And I warned my guys. We were at least to get a really rough draft, rough sketch or a demo of one song, like maybe first single from the new album, at least get this, but nope. [Stress and creativity don't] work with me. Well, but when the deadline's coming, and everybody knows that — I've been talking, like, every single time we release a new album, I say that, I say this — deadlines push me. So I just have to write, so I get this stream of consciousness, basically. I write down whatever the bullshit is in my head. And then you build it. At least you have to have bricks to build a poem or whatever it is, just lyrics."

Regarding the musical direction of the new JINJER material, Tatiana said: "It's gonna be different, first of all, because I feel that the music differs a lot. And to my mind, the whole — I won't say how many songs are there; I guess 12 or even 15; let's say 13; I don't remember — but they all have… not all of them, but half of them, at least, they have a similarity in them. They're similar to each other or they remind me. They have this concept within — without any lyrics, they still sound like they belong to one box. They are a set of songs. And I already think about all the… I'm not even thinking about like the lyrics — I think about the topics and stuff, but I think about the booklet or the cover or even the music videos and what I'm gonna wear there. And it has a certain flavor to me that… I feel like it has this flavor of 19th century. It's very romanticism from the 19th century. If you listen to it, you will think, 'Oh.' You know, when you listen to MUSE, you feel he was inspired by a lot of classical composers — obviously. So our new music has this flavor. And I'm so excited."

JINJER released its first official live DVD/Blu-ray, "Live In Los Angeles", on May 17 via Napalm Records. Recorded and filmed on December 22, 2022 at The Wiltern in Los Angeles, this offering is intended to celebrate not only getting through the last few years in one piece, but also the band's 15-year career.

"Live In Los Angeles" was a spontaneous decision by the band, recorded as raw as possible, to emphasize the passion that can come from a live show. This release is an explosive mixture of JINJER's discography — featuring fan favorites like "Sit Stay Roll Over", "Home Back" and the game-changing "Pisces". The live album contains 16 songs in various audio formats, with some strictly limited: the deluxe digipack features not only a DVD, but also two more songs, "Wallflower" and "Disclosure!", recorded in Paris in 2023.

JINJER is:

Tatiana Shmayluk - Vocals Roman Ibramkhalilov - Guitars Eugene Abdukhanov - Bass Vlad Ulasevich - Drums

Photo credit: Lina Glasir

[solaireverie]

🏎️💨 THE FORMULA 1 TAG GAME! 🏎️💨:

tagged by @oscar-fastri 🫶

1. Who or what got you into F1?

my family! i come from one of those european motorsport legacy families where we've followed the sport from day one. both my parents are enthusiasts and i grew up watching f1.

2. Who was the very first F1 driver you supported? Do you support them now? Have your opinions on them differed or stayed the same since then?

the first f1 driver i supported would either be sebastian vettel or lewis hamilton. seb is retired now, but i'm still a lewis girlie through and through. i think my opinions have changed a lot, especially when they switch teams, but in my heart i'm still that kid screaming my heart out as my favorite driver drives past.

3. Who’s your current favourite F1 driver?

max verstappen 🦁 if you'd asked me before feb 1st i'd have included lewis but i'm still reeling from the news

4. Is there a driver pairing or pairings you support? What made you attracted to that pairing in the first place?

hear me out: oscar and fernando. it may be unconventional, but i feel like it'd be epic. it'll probably never happen but the vibes would be incredible omg.

but secretly i'll always want to see seb and lewis in the same team 😭

5. Do your parents, siblings or relatives have a favourite driver?

oh. ohhhh boy.

my mum's favorites are lewis and mick, my dad's are max and pierre, my brother is lecfosi through and through, and my sister is a lando fan. my extended family supports various assorted drivers that i honestly don't bother to keep track of 🤭

6. Do you have any favourite races? Are there any that stand out to you the most?

barcelona 2016 and interlagos 2021 are the ones that come to mind. yes, there are others that have been "better" for my faves, but max's first win (ft. brocedes public divorce proceedings) and lewis' insane comeback hold such special places in my heart.

7. Do you have a favourite circuit? Can be from the past or from the current calendar.

i'm legally obliged to say circuit paul ricard and silverstone, but zandvoort, spa, and suzuka also hold special places in my heart.

8. Have you ever been to an F1 race in real life? Feel free to tell us your experience going to one if you like.

i've been lucky enough to go to quite a few 😜 there's a picture of three-week-old me at the 2005 barcelona grand prix that i keep on my desk lmao

i think my most notable experience is that the cars are a lot louder and faster than they seem online. my favorite gp experience would probably be silverstone but spa and interlagos are really cool too!!

btw monaco is a tourist trap. it's kind of boring and honestly it's more of a social event than a race, so if you want to experience the more technical side of f1, it's better to go to another gp

9. Have you ever met an F1 driver in real life?

my lawyer (my cat) has advised me not to comment on this

(yes but mostly in passing)

10. Do you have a favourite F1 car? If so, what is it?

w11 😌 you will never be forgotten, although rocky (rb19) comes close to stealing my heart

11. Do you have a favourite one win wonder?

meeeeeeh. if i really had to choose it would either be heikki or pastor maldonado but nope, no favorites.

12. Do you have any favourite quotes from the F1 world? This can either be inspirational or hilarious.

"i don't apologise for winning" - sebastian vettel

"enjoy the butterflies" - daniel ricciardo

"no regrets, just memories" - daniel ricciardo

"still i rise" - lewis hamilton

not a quote but i really like the il predestinato nickname for charles :)

tagging @papayatifosi @formulahuh @matchnightt @lorarri @presdestigatto @renarots <33 and anyone else who wants to do this!

[truly-morgan]

[College dormitory life (18+)]

AllCheng | Mo Dao Zu Shi Modern AU 08-06-2021

[#allcheng, college/university dorms] (NSFW)

let's imagine that (somehow) everyone goes to the same school and they all live in the same dorms.

jc is very pretty and everyone wants a piece of him and he doesn't mind giving~

-Wei Wuxian-

they managed to be roommates, as jc was much more comfortable with someone he knew than someone he wasn't familiar with. And familiar with they were.

They actually already had a little /something/ going on already, where they were fooling around a lot behind yzy and jfm backs, hiding from everyone else. They were each other first in many things, usually experimenting with each other.

now having a whole room for themselves only gave them more opportunities to fuck like they want, without needing to make sure no one is around. They can be a bit louder than before, but jc is scared to be caught by others so he tries to keep it down.

-Nie Huaisang-

nhs is actually the first one in the bunch to approach him first. they were already friends from high school so jc was already somewhat at ease with him. Plus nhs may or may not have a slight crush on jc because he is his type, but it's not a serious crush.

they both agreed that it was alright if it never leads to a serious relationship, they are playing around and nhs finds it just fine.

It gives jc the chance to switch a bit. Not that sex with wwx is bad, but he likes to top from time to time and nhs seems more than happy to bottom for him.

they usually try to do it when their roommate isn't there (tho wwx very much knows about it, they don't hide much from each other). If the moment needs it, they will take a hotel room when the horniness is too much to wait for an opening.

-Lan Xichen-

He is the first one of the seniors to approach him. it took a lot of flirting with jc (and seeing jc shyly respond with some flirting too). They usually meet in the library where jc likes to study (it's quieter and wwx doesn't go there much, hence more quietness).

lxc doesn't have the advantage of first really knowing jc, so he takes him on dates to make the other one more comfortable around him. clearly, they like each other and soon jc wonders how it would be to be manhandled by those strong hands (he has felt them on his waist, they are big, warm and very likely strong too).

the first shy jc is the one to kiss him first, trapping him against a shelf of the library, in a deserted corner. lxc took the given opportunity and they kissed a lot that time. they had to finish up with a handjob in the corner.

afterwards, they very much went farther, jc was more than happy to have strong hands on him like that. much like nhs, they try doing it when they have the time and the room are free (tho when lxc is horny, he is more likely to just rent a room for them, which is often).

-Nie Mingjue-

nmj knew about his brother's relationship with jc (of course nhs couldn't escape his brother making sure he got a good bf). They started somewhat hanging out when jc and lxc started being a bit more touchy together (but still not there yet).

They notice they were going to the same gym in the morning before classes and nmj ended up suggesting a drive to jc (he was pretty excited to be on a motorbike) they got closer by training together (nmj is pretty good at helping him work out correctly). The first time they fucked because of the sexual tension just being too much (and jc learning to be a tease) was in the gym shower room when no one was there.

they did it more than once afterwards in the locker room (jc found the trill of someone maybe finding out rather exciting) and when lxc wasn't in their room (it was a fun time when lxc stumbled on them that one time😏).

-Jin Zixuan-

(sorry jyl 😔)

jzx and jc never really planned that anything would happen, they love jyl too much to really do that to her.

but jc did find jxc attractive (but never said it to anyone) and jzx did like jc a bit despite never showing it.

(cw: sex while drunk)

they ended up sleeping together one time when everyone was drunk and people somehow managed to convince jc to crossdress for them. wwx kept saying jc could look more like jyl with makeup and a wig. later they started arguing about some stupid shit jzx did and the next thing they know they were in jzx room and getting at it pretty heavily.

the next morning was very awkward and they were unsure how to tell jyl about it. After all, they couldn't /not/ tell her, they didn't have it in them to not tell.

Sure thing, it was a really awkward meeting when they did so two days later, both young men looking ready to die for the stupid shit they did (as much of an angel as jyl can be, it was a rough couple of months before she got over it fully. they are both people she loves and trust, she never expected them to do that)

not the best experience for jc (even tho the sex was good)

-Lan Wangji-

lwj wanted to know what was so good about jx, since wwx would never shut up about him. Sure, they've known each other in school (just like with nhs), but he really doesn't get it. Isn't jc just a grumpy guy who does nothing but study?

what is his surprise when he learns from his /brother/ that jc isn't as innocent as he seems to be (or as wwx seems to like to claim). But he still doesn't understand why wwx would prefer him over lwj. so he pursues him only to see it for himself. of course, jc doesn't necessarily enjoy the more aggressive way lwj comes at him (isn't he supposed to be a quiet person!! isn't he more like his brother!?).

but he would lie if he said he wasn't curious to see how lwj would perform compared to his brother. Is he as strong? Would he be more gentle or as merciless as lxc can be sometimes?

So they end up hooking up at some point for some vaguely angry sex because of course they too had an argument before that leading to sexual tension.

lwj is surprised at how nice it actually was and he can admit wwx might not be wrong. in a way, lwj still wants to steal wwx hearts, but when jc comes up to him for more he will never say no to him. Maybe he doesn't hate the young man as much as he might do (and jc doesn't seem to hate him like he thought jc did).

-Xue Yang-

jc is seriously unsure sometimes if xy is really a student or not. He never sees him in classes or anything study related but you bet he will see him at parties getting drunk and high, flirting with anyone that catches his eyes.

of course, he becomes one of those targets and xy seems to have quite some fun flirting with him and not discreetly at all.

One night jc is horny so he simply gives in. After all, if xy is so eager to have him why not?

what was supposed to be one-night stand ended up becoming a more regular thing. Jc also learns he might not be as vanilla as he was (well, he /does/ enjoy semi-public sex soo).

-Wen Ning-

wn is one of the rare shy friends wwx has. He's pretty quiet and can be a bit of a doormat sometimes. jc never spoke much with him until once at a party they ended up both outside for a breath (his head was killing him and he needed fresh air).

He ended up disappearing for the rest of the night, leaving the loud party for a 24h coffee shop where he ended up talking with wn and learning about him.

they ended up having more of these little moments where they just sit down and talk for a long time, having more points in common than they thought they might have.

wn ends up developing a crush on him (but doesn't make a move because he's sure jc is either dating wwx or nhs). of course, wwx (the little traitor!) ends up telling jc because he wants his friend to get it too.

jc is a bit surprised that the shy wn has a crush on him, but he doesn't mind, wn is good-looking and also looks strong too.

jc decide to give it a chance, rather amused at how flustered wn gets when he decides to really put his heart into flirting.

at some point wn finally gets it, jc /is/ flirting with him, so he tentatively kisses him one time, nearly running away when jc doesn't respond out of being stunned (a little shy /wen ning/ kissed him first?! damn).

Thing escalates from there because you can be sure jc will get it if wn finally gives in. It's a bit new, since jc has now gotten used to other rough or kinky sex. wn is so gentle with him, as if scared to hurt him. He doesn't hate it, it's nice to have someone caring like this.

although, when they switch, wn does seem to enjoy having it a bit rougher than what he gives (it take a couple of time for wn to finally get assured enough that he won't hurt him if he goes a bit rougher).

Now jc can chuckle and smirk anytime people comment on how wn must be an innocent child who never did anything.

-Wen Chao-

Wc hears rumours about jc and he tries to pursue him because "Ah! of course the great me can get into his pants too".

Yet, his way of doing is even more aggressive than lwj to the point where nmj and lxc end up asking him to fuck off (although lxc is more polite about it in his terrifying way to always be calm, nmj still looks like a bigger treat).

So he gives up (which his brother doesn't stop mocking for a while after all his claiming of it being so easy). He does throw a tantrum when he learns wn got jc ("fucking /Wen Ning/? are we talking about the same cousin here? quiet and shy /Wen Ning/ got jc? how?!?!") so he resumes his tries, but this time he tries to be more gentle and much less aggressive than (which make him allow on thin ice by everyone else protecting jc's ass).

jc eventually allows him after wc got angry again when he refused him. "Oh, so you think you are better than everyone else? I suppose I can judge on that, tho if you fail my expectation you ain't getting more" (which is a slap in the face, because /wn/ checks out?).

So wc makes sure to show all he has. jc has to admit, he isn't bad, but he isn't the greatest either when wx only search for his own pleasure and doesn't really care for jc's one. "You're boring," jc says as he clicks his tongue when wx comes once and he didn't (he can see in wc face that he did not like that comment) "Let me show you".

Cue power bottom jc showing wc how to actually pleasure him. "Come back when you actually learned to make your partner feel good and not just you," he says when they are done, going back to his room.

wc put his heart into actually learning because he cannot let his pride be this hurt by the fact that he sucks and his cousin does well.

-Jin Guangyao-

jgy approached jc when he learned from both his friend that they sleep with jc (but he doesn't know everyone basically knows and everyone is fine with sharing), but also that he caused trouble between jzx and jyl.

he just wants to investigate and make sure his best friends are not sleeping with someone who's just taking advantage of them.

His tentative to scare jc by subtle showing he knows he's sleeping around with basically the whole dormitory at this point doesn't work, as jc just brushes it off ("Sure, tell them").

this is an open secret, but no one mention really knowing about it so jgy thinks everyone is being tricked. he wants to make sure his friend won't be hurt, but he cannot find actual proof because even xy won't help him on this one ("I don't think your er-ge cares").

So he decides that his latest option is sleeping with jc himself! He can sacrifice himself to help his friends.

but it's actually pretty good? better than with any ex he ever had, and jc sure knows what he does when they switch up. he feels somewhat down now that he betrayed his friend and wants/more/.

"You really don't need to worry," jc tells him as they lay next to each other al sweaty, "Everyone knows, but it was fun seeing you trying to expose me".

jgy seems still a bit unsure, but jc basically straight up call his gege and they pretty much confirm on the phone that yeah, they know and are alright with it. cue the three of them having fun together with jc to show jgy that he can keep having fun with jc too.

(I feel like I insulted jgy intelligence, sorry )

[I ran out of people that could be students :') feel free to put suggestions, I might add]

Original

[secrets-of-everwich]

05-2 The Book

[Click]

[Electronic hum underlies the recording]

[This recording keeps glitching out, a lot more frequently than before]

{Callie}

Hello, this is Callie Hewitt, recording on the 11th October 2021, approximately an hour after the last recording. I’m here with Rin and Asher, and…

{Rin}

We were right. Something was wrong with Emilia.

{Callie}

Xavier isn’t here because he’s got work that he’s already super late for, and Emilia isn’t here because she needed to have food, but I have assurances that she’s okay.

{Rin}

Well, she was okay when we left her.

{Rin}

{Ash}

Don’t say that, I’m sure she’s still okay! Why wouldn’t she be?

Ash, she was-

{Callie}

Okay, cutting you off there before you spoil the entire episode. I’m sure my one listener – who’s surprisingly already listened to the last episode! Wow! … Can’t be Xavier then. Sorry, I got sidetacked, I’m sure my one listener wants to keep the suspense! First of all: The book.

[Rustling]

{Rin}

Got it here.

{Callie}

Because that last episode had like- No explanations, and was solely talking, let me talk about the book-

{Ash}

Can I do it? I can definitely talk for a while, and I’m very good at explaining things, or so I’ve been told, plus this detective stuff is so fun, it’s like I’m in my own little piece of theatre!

{Rin}

[Laughing]

This is real life, not theatre. Let Callie do it, this is her thing after all.

{Ash}

Aw, ok.

{Callie}

This is an old book, written by Adam Ives, also known as Rin Ives’ grandfather. It’s a little diary book, with drawings in. How did you come to get this, by the way Rin? You just said your grandfather gave it to you.

{Rin}

He said I may find some entries useful. He’s definitely the eccentric type, I’ve no idea how he went on to be a CEO.

{Ash}

I like your grandfather, he’s funny!

{Callie}

I wonder if he knew about Em somehow… Hm. Anyway, the page we’re looking for is around April 1962, a week or so before Jill was nearly killed. It doesn’t describe what Adam was going through, but explains how he’s discovered something while exploring the Abandoned Manor.

OH, for the record, Everwich Manor was left uninhabited between the early 1910s and 1993, when my parents discovered they’d inherited it due to a familial link to the Greenes. I was gonna explain more about this in last episode but. Obviously that fell through.

[Recording glitches increase in frequency, making this section almost inaudible]

The manor was abandoned, and so a great place for teens to explore. This page explains the creature it found living in the basement.

{Ash}

Wait, show me that drawing-

[Rustling]

That’s what I saw. That’s what X took me to see, when we went into the basement!

[A pause]

{Callie}

{Rin}

What-

That tiny thing? You said it was huge!

{Ash}

No, it wasn’t tiny- Wait, why do you think it’s tiny?

{Callie}

There’s a scale in the corner.

{Ash}

Oh. Well the one I saw wasn’t tiny, it was huge.

{Callie}

Huh. Strange.

[Sounds of a radio being tuned]

[Radio static growing louder]

[Click]

{Voice}

[The voice sounds distorted]

The rest of this recording has been… Lost. Please refrain from listening to the rest of this podcast. History will be repeating itself, if I have anything to say about it.

[Click]

[Sounds of a radio being tuned]

[Radio static growing quieter]

[Click]

[Recording sounds as normal – barely any glitches]

{Callie}

I hope X – or Rin or Ash for that matter – didn’t get hurt by that thing. I’ll have to keep an eye on them. Make sure they’re all okay. There’s definitely more to this story. Like why Emilia was doing some experiments. I want to get a statement from her. Rest assured, I will not be stopping this podcast until I’ve found all the answers. This has been Callie Hewitt. Thank you for listening to this Secret of Everwich.

[Click]

[hella1975]

Hi hella!!!

I feel like i always start these off or end them by saying that these things are going to be incomprehensible in some way, mainly bc i have trouble translating whats going on in my mind into written words so i really dont know how much of my list thingies make sense to you but this one is especially probably going to not make much sense. (also bc i send them a lot when im either very tired or not sober, but i am sober and wide awake rn so this might be a different kind of incomprehensible)

I found one of my old drafts for an ask from around a year ago and it was a follow up response to the last chapter you posted at the time, so im not sure how its going to sound without the context of that specific chapter, but i also mentioned in one of my other asks that i add stuff in last minute and that ask i added a shit ton of stuff so i dont have any of that pretyped out so im going by memory.  But im sending it again bc i havent seen you answer it 

(please do not interpret this as ‘why didnt you answer my ask >:/’ or me rushing you to answer asks or anything like that, but like I said its been a year so im assuming tumblr ate it.  If not and you just havent cleaned out your ask box and you find the original, congratulations you’ll know what i originally said.  Bc idk how accurate this will be)

SO

Theres two different ways that you seem to write metaphors (idk if thats what theyre called im not caught up on my literary terminology)

 (im scrolling through your blog rn looking for my other asks and tumblr really did you dirty in your asks system like i started scrolling and the third one down was from 2021 and im fighting for my life trying to find my tag (thank you for my tag btw its very useful to me))

Anywho, most of your metaphors ( to me) can be split into two categories.  Theres the simple ones and the complex ones.  Now this might seem obvious but im going to explain to you how these have different effects on my brain.  

An example of the ‘simple’ ones is  

““If Nanook’s tone had a note of seriousness, then Zuko’s was the entire orchestra.”” (idk what chapter this is from its been a while)

You have a lot of these kinds of whatever the haick kind of literary technique this is (is this a metaphor i’ve been trying to google it for like ½ an hour and i cant figure it out) BUT these type of things that are simple and easy to process is one of my favorite things about the way you write.  I think this is a very common technique but the way you do it to me is just a lot more unique than the ways ive seen it done before.  Its extremely fluent with the voice of the characters and brings a perfect kind of vibe to the ‘conversation’ (or story, text, whatever) and it paints the picture of what your trying to say perfectly.  I also really like how these types of things arent ever in Zukos pov a lot (sometimes it is, but not nearly as much, I’ve noticed) and its not in the more serious like revelations that you drop these in.  Like I said, it adds to the voice of the characters, bc of the contrast of Zuko constantly having revelations and dramatic archs and stuff, and the other characters just in general being a lot more calm.  Its like when youre listening to a song and you have the lyrics and the like ‘main’ music behind the lyrics, but then when you listen to the song a lot you notice the smaller, like backup music that adds a lot to the song and makes it a lot more enjoyable than if it was just the lyrics and the louder more up front music.  

Then in contrast you have the bigger ‘metaphors’ 

An example of this is ‘You curse in words already invented’ 

THIS IS MY FAVORITE LINE IN THE ENTIRE FIC.  

OF ANY FIC OR BOOK EVER READ

AND THIS IS WHY

When I tell you I could not figure out what this meant for months I am AWFUL with stuff like this and interpreting it my english teachers hate me bc of it.  Id have the question ‘why were the curtains blue’ and my answer would be ‘bc the people who decorated the room like blue maybe theyre interior designers and it goes with the room 😊 and thats so hot of them bc i love blue too’  

But even thought i couldnt figure it out it stayed in my head and i probably thought about it once a day (i mean this literally, i think about that part all the time) and i cant remember the context for that or anything but i do remember that i knew it was a wonderful phrase.  

I’ve mentioned in my other asks how whenever im reading anything at all that you’ve written (whether its tams, or toab, or in the tags of something even if its like 10 words), everything you type comes out so fluidly like a formula or a color wheel or however i put it last time i talked about this.  And this is on the prodigious end of the spectrum of this.  

But phrases like that are another part of the fic, theyre like the lyrics of the song.  Like the phrases that gets all the attention and gets put in fanart and that gets quoted in comment sections because they deserve that recognition and you deserve that recognition and are just a reminder of how incredibly talented you are.  

I mean that in the most sincere way that i know how to express.  

I am constantly in awe of you and your writing style, and i really do think of you as one of the most talented writers of everything ive ever read.  

And something else worth mentioning is that it isnt just your ao3 that portrays that.  Like if I were to just read your ao3 I’d be like ‘oh wow this person is an amazing writer’ But your tumblr persona plays into it a lot more (In my opinion).  Because then you see like more ‘backround’ stuff on ao3.  And more of your system (im not articulating this in the way i mean it very well) and you get privy to the fact that you’re not a 30 year old with a masters in english and that you’ve never had any formal education on writing.  I vaguely remember you talking about a story about a sailor (??? i might be misremembering that) that you wrote when you were a child and thinking ‘oh wow so she’s always been like that’.  And its stuff like that that you dont get on ao3 that kind of reaffirms how incredible of a writer you are.  

And this (to me) makes you a really easy person to admire.  (ik i touched on this in a different ask but i dont remember if it was one of my list asks or not) but as someone who probably isnt going to ever be able to get an education around writing, it kind of reassures me that i dont need that to be great at it.  

(i kind of feel like a lot of the stuff in this ask is too like ‘simple’ or obvious to be given a lot of weight, but this whole thing is about the kinds of things you do that brings me personally joy and the metaphors are one of them so)

Also on an off note when i was looking through your asks to try to find my tag, I noticed that i send you a heavy percentage of your anonymous asks (mainly without my alias) and I thought that was funny.  But also i hope it doesnt come across as obsessive or weird, I swear i do that to a lot of people on here, I’m just a very social person.  .😂

Also Im in your tbos server (lurking in the shadows) and someone pointed out that whenever you do the reaction emojis you always do the white ones, and thats going on the official ‘my favorite things about hella’ list because that was genuinely one of the funniest things ive seen. 

Also the ‘anytime you type its very fluid (im too lazy to scroll up and see how i put it rn) also carrys on to discord.  I think that i could probably block out the user names and be able to figure out that its you talking every time, you have a very distinct way of talking.  

Also i wanted to mention that every time you answer these i read them again and i want to say like 1/3 of what i sasy, i have no recollection of. And i never have any idea what im talking about. so i think thats funny.

LIST ANONNNNNNNNNNNNN BAWLING MY EYES OUT HELLO BABY WELCOME BACK FROM WAR IVE MISSED YOU IM JUST HERE LIKE THIS RN

[x-populuxe]

my year in fic: 2022

Following the format of my 2021 year in fic, here’s everything I wrote this year: ~77K words over 4 stories. (I also wrote ~40K words of a few unpublished WIPs, and I am putting this here for public accountability to finish those early in the new year lol.)

I really loved writing these stories; several of them were things I never would have written if it hadn’t been for various fests/prompts. Thank you again to everyone who continues to organize and participate in them!!

1) “Correspondence” Charles/Erik, 13K words, Charles POV over the course of a single day The third installment in my XMFC canon-divergent series “No Steady State”

Summary: It may be the weekend, but there’s a letter Charles really must reply to before getting ready for their far more enticing evening plans.

2) “What We Inherit” Gen (David & Charles), 20K words, modern/still powered AU & what I’ve been describing as a non-romantic (father-son) slow burn Written for X-Men Rare Pairs 2022

Summary: Ever since David came to live with his father, their relationship has been polite but distant: his father is always working, and David still sort of thinks of him as Charles Xavier, The World’s Most Famous Telepath, a larger-than-life figure he first saw on television five years ago.

But when the grandmother David never knew existed calls and demands to meet her grandson, a harrowing weekend trip reveals how much he and his father don’t know about each other—and alters things between them in ways he never would have predicted.

3) “Unlived Histories (The Double Vision Remix)” Charles/Erik, 18K words, time travel/alternate history A remix of “The Cost of a Good Man” by arcapelago, written for X-Men Remix Madness 2022

Summary: When he was a boy, a man visited Erik and his mother and helped them escape before the war. Years later, Erik finally learns the man’s identity—but the truth is far more complicated than he ever could have imagined.

4) “to put the world between us” Charles/Erik, 25K words, modern/still powered actor AU Written for Secret Mutant Madness 2022

Summary: Erik Lehnsherr is one of the hottest actors in Hollywood: fresh off an Academy Award nomination, he’s about to star in HBO’s most anticipated show of the year. And even though online chatter about his recent string of queer roles keeps getting louder, his personal life remains personal—just as it always has, and just as his manager and publicist continue to advise.

But when he winds up at the same wedding as his college best friend, Charles Xavier—and when they quickly fall into bed together—he’s forced to revisit the past he’s been trying to get away from for years. The pull between them has always been magnetic, but so has the weight of secrecy. Can they keep from repeating the same mistakes, or will the price of the truth be too high?

[didhewinkback]

OMFG I just read something old and MANNNN. You got me feeling all types of ways holy shit. The most I’ve ever felt reading a series holy cow. You are so fucking talented. Wowza. Please continue with the blurbs I feel like they are part of my life now.

Also does the fans know about Y/N and Harry’s current relationship? How did they feel when things were first announced after the wedding was called off and their relationship was exposed for the first time?

omg helllloooo you angel on earth !!! this message is soo lovely and kind and idk what i did to deserve it. i am so grateful that you took the time to write me and that you love the story so much!! i appreciate this message more than you knoow.

sorry this took me ages to answer as an apology i essentially wrote you a blurb pls see below

so per harry and erin's teams' agreement, the public never knew a wedding was supposed to take place. anyone who worked it had signed a pretty ironclad nda & all guests in attendance knew to stay silent about it, though some of erin's friends did try to go to deuxmoi at one point months later but that got shut down pretty quick. when the press release about the engagement ending came out, there was obviously endless speculation about it, discourse, tiktoks etc. people had a lot of feelings about harry and erin's relationship, they either absolutely loved the fashion power couple or they absolutely hated it and it was best to avoid any and all discussions on the matter, made easier by the break up being announced when you were on pause and doing your best to ignore any and all celeb news (though you did do some google searches at 3 am when you couldn't sleep but it immediately made you feel terrible so you avoided it like the plague, knowing if you needed to know something, harry would tell you)

as for your relationship, you both kept it realllly low key and private for the first year, wanting the broken off engagement to become old old news before anything got speculated about the two of you, harry was pretty adamant about ensuring no one connected you to the breakup. it was much easier than it sounds, he can really disappear when he needs to and it was important to both of you to protect what you had, shield it from prying eyes. his relationship with erin had been highly publicized and he had no interest in doing that again and you couldn't agree more, you've got no interest in that world or leaning into the public eye, so that first year was quite lovely, going on dates around london, moving in together around his birthday, 8 months into dating officially but conventional timelines never applied to you both. if you ever were spotted out together by fans, any speculation got shut down pretty quickly, people recognized you as his lifelong childhood friend and had no reason to assume otherwise, which worked in your favor when his tour started up again and there was tiktok upon tiktok about how "yes you've been to more shows than usual but jeff's at every show and no one thinks he's dating harry so why would they think it about you??" you avoided it all but roxy loved to take the piss, sending you screenshots every so often when you would show up on her for you page with a text "cannot seem to escape this bitch" to which you would reply "just how many videos of h's concert were you watching to get this on your algorithm?"

its in december 2021, the start of his few months off before the work craziness resumes, a lazy sunday morning. you're lounging on the couch, half heartedly clicking through netflix when you hear him come back into the house from his coffee run, hearing snippets of the phone call he's having getting louder after he kicks his shoes off and makes his way towards you.

"Yeah, I'll talk to her 'nd get back to you." he says, as he turns the corner, still bundled up with his beanie and hoodie pulled over his head, brow furrowed as he listens to the other end while still balancing the coffees and bag of pastries in his hand. "Yeah, for sure. Okay I'll call you back. Love you bro, bye."

He hangs up the phone, placing the treats on the coffee table before taking out his airpods and shuffling over to you. He hovers over where you lay, resting his hands on the back and arm of the couch before leaning in.

"Hi," he murmurs with a soft smile on his face, leaning in to kiss you.

You shudder when you pull away, the frost from outside having seeped into his face. "You're cold," you say with a small frown to which he immediately rolls his eyes and nudges his cold nose down the side of your face, pressing kisses all along your cheeks, forehead, jawline, until you push him away with a giggle. He smacks one final kiss to your head before pulling away, tugging his hoodie off his head and taking his beanie off to shake out his hair.

He leans back to grab the coffee off the table, handing you your cup while throwing the bag of pastries onto your lap before he grabs his own cup, lifting your legs temporarily before settling on the other side of the couch, placing your ankles over his lap. He leans back, resting his head against the back of the couch and closing his eyes for a minute, taking a deep breath. You assume you're the "her" he mentioned on the phone earlier but you opt to give him time, peeling open the pastry bag to see what he picked up.

"Got something weird to talk to y' about." he says, making you pause in your rifling efforts as you look over at him, finding him in the same position, his eyes still closed.

"Oookay."

He squeezes your ankle once, opening his eyes and rolling his head along the back of the couch to look at you.

"There was a pap yesterday. Last night. On our walk. Don't know how but - here." He pulls his phone out of his sweatshirt pocket, quickly unlocking it before handing it over to you.

You feel an uneasy pit in your stomach as you swipe through the photos, though there's nothing bad or damning or embarrassing about them. Objectively, they're quite lovely. The two of you bundled up through the blustery London night, his arm wrapped around your shoulders with yours around his waist, him pulling you into his chest as you laugh, his chin resting against your head, then pressing a kiss to your hair. You both look happy, really, really happy, completely unaware of any eyes on you. You keep scrolling through and - ah. There's the most revealing one, the two of you smiling up at each other before he pulls you into a kiss with his hands cradling your face.

You can feel his eyes on you, intently watching every emotion that passes over your face, thumb rubbing circles along your ankle. It's so weird, is the thing. To see this intimate moment between you two captured by a complete stranger who you had no idea was watching you. You've somehow managed to avoid this happening up until this point, the combination of lawsuits he has against paps in London and being able to blend in with the crowd having worked in your favor for the last year. It's a bizarre feeling, to feel like you got too complacent in your own life, should've been more aware of your surroundings. But also? Fuck that. You're not going to live your life differently because of what other people are doing or thinking. They're the ones with the issue, not you.

"'m so sorry," he says, 'Had no idea -"

"No no no," you say quickly cutting him off, as you hand him his phone back, sitting up and taking his hand when he offers it. "No need to apologize."

"Daily Mail and a few others got a hold of 'em, that was Jeff earlier. He and Sadie wanted to see if we wanted them to run any kind of interference." he says, small frown on his face as he plays with your palm, fingers drawing mindless patterns. "The photos are getting published regardless but like they could try to keep you as a mystery woman or summat -"

You snort, shaking your head as you rest your forehead on his shoulder, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you close. It takes a second of rearranging your legs before you're sat on his lap, his hand rubbing up and down your back. You pull back to look at him, hands coming up to cradle his face. He leans into the touch, turning to plant a kiss to your palm.

"You okay?" you ask quietly.

He nods. "Just don't like getting caught off guard like that. Don't like that people who don't know us will get to -"

"Yeah."

"And I don't want to fuck things up for you. Like your job or -"

"Everyone at work already knew. And those who didn't met you last week. Most people are barely on the internet there, I'm not stressed. " you say, sliding your hands to rest on his shoulders as he nods, brow furrowed in thought.

"'s gonna be intense for a bit. Might be good to hop on a call with Jeff and Sadie, see what boundaries we can set, control what we can control."

"Yeah, that'd be good," you say, your mind whirling as the reality of the situation sets in, photos of you kissing your boyfriend splashed all over the internet. Christ.

"Hey," he says gently. "Talk to me?"

"Sorry," you say, shaking your head. "I'm good. Just - it's a lot. It's definitely gonna be weird, nothing I can't adjust to but still just. Bizarre."

"Yeah." he says, his hand coming up rest at the back of your neck. "You look really fit in the photos if that helps."

You laugh, watching as the smile grows across his face, his thumb catching on your jawline.

"It does, thanks." you say, smiling back at him.

"'m really sorry this can't be easier. Being with me -"

"Shut up." you say, surprising a laugh out of him. "Please. This is nothing. Easy to ignore at the end of the day. All that matters to me is you."

"Same here," he says, taking a deep breath, lips twitching up. "All that matters to me is me."

"You're so stupid, I knew you were gonna say that -" you say, laughing as you slap him on the chest, trying to twist out of his hold but he pulls you back in.

"'s you, 's you. You know 's you darling, come here." he murmurs, smiling when you press your lips to his, gripping your neck a bit tighter as he kisses you back. You know you have to call back his team, figure out some logistics but that can wait. All you want is right here.

---

so yes, the photos get published, the fans freak out. lots claiming they always always knew, many spending their time trying to piece together the relationship timeline, no one connecting it back to erin thankfully. it helps that she is busy with her new billionaire boyfriend, (you almost clicked on their architectural digest tour the other day before deciding against it). but you both really ignore it all, keep going about your lives, nothing really changes because you don't let it. you both still want to keep your relationship out of the public eye as much as you can, it doesn't stop fans or paps from taking your picture when you're out together but its easy to ignore it, just focus on each other, ignore the noise and the crazy corners of the internet.

he rarely talks about you in interviews, confirming you're together, maybe a brief mention or two of his girlfriend but refusing to go beyond that. it's only in his zane lowe interview in late 2024 that he goes into a little more detail when describing his inspiration for his new album, but at that point he's calling you something entirely different :) :) :)

---

[joycon]

also basically what happened with this dude, because id actually rather be candid about it because i fucked up, and thats not something i wanna hide either. i did fuck up. intensely. if you're familiar with me and previous urls (specifically bìfēy) you may have actually witnessed this

so timeline:

- ive known this dude (went by catboyfleas at the time i believe) since i was 13, which i consider childhood for me as someone who Does Not Remember Their Childhood. we'd had an on and off friendship because he's incredibly abrasive and rude and overall the reviews from anyone whos met him that i still speak to are generally "hes a cunt", and id been pretty vulnerable to this treatment growing up

- roughly 2020-2021 (????) i criticise a person (jen truëfaggōt) who, as far as i was and am aware, is not and was not bisexual and had no right trying to coin flags for a bisexualgender flag in my personal opinion when there were already flags made by bisexuals, especially when this person had a history of biphobia

- he accidentally misgenders this person by using "king" when telling her to stay in her lane, as said person used he/him at the time and identified as gay for men, though also tma. we were not aware that this would go under misgendering as we thought it was the correct gendered term

- this person is very upset which is fair and accuses him of misgendering, and of fucking course instead of apologising he doubles down on the "well i didnt know!" and im working to try and translate dipshit speak into an actual explanation for his actions, as this person accuses him of intentional misgendering which it genuinely wasnt. i cannot stand this dude anymore, and i will throw him under the bus for a myriad of reasons now that hes no longer around to essentially mock and gaslight me for sport. but he didnt do this intentionally.

however the lack of apology is in itself transmisogynistic and me trying to apologise for him and explain things is still transmisogynistic and didnt fix it. i am genuinely and deeply sorry for this. at the time i wanted to explain on behalf of my friend, who for the better part of 10 years id been constantly insulted by and belittled and had to essentially be a pr agent of in many circumstances, and i felt that as i'd been the one to initially interact with that person, it was my responsibility to try and fix the situation. we are no longer and will never be friends again.

it was not my role to apologise for him or explain his actions, and i should have cut him off as people suggested. i was pretty strongly attached to him due to him being one of the only people whod stayed part of my life and defended me when i was being abused by my parents and partners, and i felt i owed it to him to try and fix this. i didnt really have anyone else i knew irl, and i truly did not think he had poor intentions, but actions do speak louder and continuing to make excuses for him contributed to the damage he'd already done.

- the situation later devolves into all of the attention and blame being shifted onto me, as he just logged out essentially after continuing to double down on how he never meant it as misgendering as he couldnt have known - iirc he claimed he wasnt even aware you could be tma and still be mlm in any capacity.

i end up being held accountable for his actions, and i believe this person actually at a point called me a dog? like a lot of it was very very peppered with antiblackness and bimisogyny — something she ALSO had a history of, and i will not back down on that, there was definitely warranted criticism for my actions, but i was treated with far more hostility and bad faith than he was, and after not long at all i was the sole target of criticism (rather than him) until a callout was later posted for the person, revealing she wasnt even transfem, and proving she'd been racefaking as well.

however that callout also ended up being filled with absolute baseless BULLSHIT theorising about other completely uninvolved people being sock puppets of her, and this actively harmed those people. the authors of that callout never apologised and disappeared and i do not associate with them nor do i condone the flimsy and dangerous accusations levelled against uninvolved people.

i did not write the callout but my testimony was involved, and i actively condemn the majority of the callout. it hurt others. i didnt want to hurt other people like that, i cant imagine how much stress they were under after those false accusations of being someone else entirely, and i am so sorry that they were dragged into this and subjected to that.

i wanted that person held accountable for her antiblackness and bimisogyny, as there genuinely is not an excuse for that, i didnt deserve that either. i absolutely deserved criticism for my behaviour and responses and i deserved to be held accountable and still do, but there wasnt an excuse to talk about me like i was some purposefully evil animal and the instigator of all of this and that i was aggressive and cruel. i wasnt. that was never my intention. ever.

i regret not nipping that in the bud and im genuinely sorry for my part in it. i should have listened when warned to cut him off and i should have never tried to speak on his behalf or apologise for it. i kept poor company and thats on me. i believe i have genuinely learned from this and i am remorseful for it, but i also understand anyones skepticism around my intentions or actions. everyone is entitled to that. just because im apologising doesnt mean im entitled to anyones forgiveness, especially not like... tma peoples? but the apology is still important to me. i am sorry. i do regret this. i will do better.

i have worked very hard to do better and Be better and i do hope that reflects. i care a lot about this topic and especially as a black bi woman. its important to me that i work to make sure people feel safe around me.

so. for anyone who was NOT aware of this and has no interest in associating with me further after learning it, i fully understand.

and if you were involved with this and have stumbled across this and were one of the people harmed by it, i am genuinely sorry. id considered reaching out to certain people affected directly but its been made very clear that these people do not want to hear from me or anyone else who'd been even tangentially involved in the callout and ive chosen to respect the right to peace and privacy. but please understand that if given the chance i would like to directly apologise, provided it wouldnt cause further distress.