#he was in the bike lane but right by the white line

[florida3exclamationpoints]

There was a turtle on the side of the road on the way home and my mom told me not to stop bc he'll probably be fine but what if he gets hit by a car. Should I go back

[skipper19]

Imagine this...

It was purely a coincidence when Toji pulled up right next to your car at the red light.

God, he hates traffic. It was the bane of his existence. On the highway people just drove like fucking idiots, and Toji was never one to back away from a challenge. You want to flip him the bird? He will flip you two. You want to try and race him? He will gladly leave you in the dust. It didn't help that he rode on his motorcycle more than his truck. It was as if people felt the need to anger him more when he was on his bike.

So yeah, he was already in a grumpy mood when he pulled up to that red light. He groaned as he leaned back in his seat and interlocked his fingers, popping them with a slightl stretch. His knuckles had been white on the handles ever since that old lady flipped him off a few minutes earlier. God, he hated old people, too.

But the moment he slows to a stop next to a familiar looking car and finally glances to his right, he has to double take. Of course, he just had to run into you. You've been his girlfriend for three years now, and he's admittedly grown obsessed with you. But at the moment, Toji was growing even angrier.

Sure, he has a temper, but it felt justified this time.

You told him you were staying home today, so did you lie, or did something come up? Tojis mind just happened to settle on the worst.

He continued to stare at you for a few seconds, but you were too preoccupied with whoever you were on the phone with. You looked concerned, maybe a little panicked, but he could tell you were mostly angry.

Finally, you glanced to your left, and thinking your eyes deceived you, you took another look. The confusion in your eyes shifted to shock as you registered who you were looking at. Toji, in his black leather and that shiny black helmet, sitting on his bike right next to you.

You apologized and hung up on whoever you were talking to before putting your phone away. You nervously smile as Toji crosses his arms over his chest. The "What the hell do you think you're doing?" Radiating off of him. If you hadn't known him for so long, you would be even more intimidated than you were, but at the moment, you felt more anxious than anything.

Toji flipped his visor up, and the heated glare he was shooting at you was enough to get your knees weak. But not in the good way. "Toji-," you attempted to say, but you were cut off by the sound of the backseat window rolling down. Tojis eyes widened in shock when he saw 12 year old Megumi sitting in the back, cuts lining his cheek, his busted lip and the bruise under his eye, as the boy stared at his dad with a deadpan expression. Tojis eyes shot back to you, and you swallowed your spit nervously.

Before Toji could even attempt to speak, a car behind you both honked, startling him. You flinched and faced the rode, shielding your face from Toji as you sped away. Toji only caught a glimpse of Megumi sticking his tongue out at him before you were off. Toji, normally the road rager he is, ignores the honking car and hits the acceleration.

It takes seconds before Toji has caught up with your vehicle, but he swerves into the lane behind you, tailing your rear. Toji didn't give a fuck about the car he just cut off, his mind was elsewhere.

Why the fuck was Megumi beat up for? Did he get into a fight at school? Did he win?

You, on the other hand, avoided looking into the rear view mirror. The look of Tojis helmet was enough to make you nervous, but you could tell he was angry. And as his girlfriend, you knew he was worried as well, even if he would never show it as Megumis strong dad. You could only prepare yourself for the scolding, the questions, the worry, the everything Toji was once you both got home.

Exactly how angry was he? Did he already know about Megumis fight, is that why he was coincidentally there at the light? Will he be proud that Megumi won?

-------------------------------------------------♤

It was a tense atmosphere around you three. You sat at the kitchen counter as Megumi stood by your side, and Toji was on the opposite end of the kitchen island, just staring. He hadn't said a word to you or the little boy as you both parked your vehicles. And you could see the intensity in Tojis eyes.

"Care to tell me what the hell is goin' on?" His voice was deep and gravely. You glanced at Megumi, almost as if you expected the boy to speak up and save the whole situation. Of course, the raven haired boy only stood there calmly. Your fingers itched to dab at the bruise under Megumis eye, you wanted to heal him so bad it hurt.

But you weren't a sorcerer. You couldn't use any sort of technique on your boy. As if he needed it. For a kid his age, he's certainly tough.

You looked back at Toji with a timid smile. "Well.. Megumi got into a fight at school today." You started softly. Toji cut in, "No shit Sherlock." And you glared at him in response. He wanted to be mad? Fine. But you refused to have all this attitude from him. Fortunately, Megumi spoke up before you could throw an attitude right back at him.

"Some kid said something about mom..so I punched him in the face." Megumi said it so casually. Every time he would call you his mother, your heart would do leaps in your chest.

Toji scoffed and crossed his arms. He stared at Megumi for a few seconds before looking back to you. "This true?" He said, bringing his thumb to his mouth, probing his nail to his teeth. You couldn't help but soften at his obvious worry, but you also couldn't stop yourself from rolling your eyes. "Yes Toji, the principal said that Megumi started a fight with another boy. It took two teachers to get Megumi off that kid." You further explained.

You looked back at Megumi with a soft smile before gently rubbing your palm down his cheek. "Even though I wish you wouldn't have gotten yourself hurt." You mumbled, a slight scold forming on your tongue. Megumi shyly tilted his head away from your touch with a scowl. "Yeah, well.. he should have kept his mouth shut." Megumi retorted. Toji sighed and rubbed the pads of his thumb and pointer finger against his eyes.

"Does it hurt, kid?" The question was soft and hesitant. Toji has never been good at comforting others. Megumi shrugged casually and mimicked his father's pose, arms crossed over his chest. "It burns a little, but I can handle it." It sounded like a challenge from Megumi. As if he was saying, "doubt me, I dare you." And Toji only nodded. "Go to your room for a few minutes then.. I need to talk to your ma." Toji mumbled, eyes locking with yours.

Megumi silently looked between you both before nodding and walking to his room. You nervously look down at your fingers, fiddling with the cuticles around your nails. "Toji, I'm sorry -" You started to say. But Toji had begun to make his way around the kitchen island. He stood in front of you and pulled your head to his chest.

You were surprised, to say the least, but that didn't stop you from melting into his chest. "Thank you for taking care of Megs. You're a good mom." He mumbled, his breath fanning over the top of your head. Tears welded up in your eyes, and your shoulders sagged in releif.

Toji always knew what to say and what you were thinking.

"You're not mad?" You questioned timidly, wrapping your arms around his waist. Toji only hummed as he shook his head no. "No.. it's not your fault there's some asshole kids at Megumis school. And it's definitely not your fault that Megs had to defend your name." Tojis words sounded like pure sugar to your ears, with a bit of spice. "But he's hurt -" "He's a tough kid, like his daddy. Some douchebag kids can't hurt our son." Toji reassured you.

His confirmations were all you needed. You had been stressing ever since you picked up Megumi early for school. You couldn't help but feel guilty and ashamed, like it was your fault Megumi got into trouble. Not only that, but he was actually hurt. Maybe he didn't fuss about the pain, but you certainly would.

Toji could feel your tears soak his shirt and let out an amused huff. He kneeled down so he was eye level with you, and he gently swiped his thumb under your eye. "Stop your crying, will ya? Megs is fine, and no one is mad at you for anything. You're a good mom, even if it's not biologically." Tojis, not so normally soft, voice rang through your head like a mantra. A deep breath entered your lungs, and you exhaled it after a few seconds. He was right, after all. Megumi was fine, a little bruised, but okay. And as long as Toji wasn't mad at you, your heart finally gave peace to the whole situation.

"Now.. how about I go up to Megs' school and have a chat with the principal?" God bless the poor soul.

[irisintheafterglow]

*runs out of my cave* I can not be silenced any longer. So like... best friend biker satoru... the campus heart throb.. wearing jeans, a white T and a black leather jacket, picking you up from class and he's right there leaning on his bike or doing the thing where they sleep/lie down on top of the bike with his legs crossed at the ankles while he waits for you and he hands you a spare helmet, takes you out on an impromptu date cause you've been studying too much (according to him) and after that he takes you back home, parks his bike for a bit and walks you to your door and before you go in he cups your face and he- oh my time's up *gets dragged back into the cave* //this brainworm has been in my head for FAR too long feel free to do what you want with it babes 🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️

james dean, daydream look in your eye

wc: 1.5k

cw/tags: best friends to lovers, swearing, mutual pining but reader is in denial, so fluffy you can sleep on it like a pillow

note: *drags you back out from the cave* LET THEM COOK and GUESS WHAT i'm bringing back law student!gojo. hope you enjoy!!

likes, reblogs, and replies are always appreciated :))

“Now, what the hell is Greased Lightnin’ doing outside my building?”

“I was going for Rebel Without a Cause, but I’ll be whatever you want me to be,” he replies without missing a beat. You roll your eyes and his grin only gets wider as he hands you the spare helmet from the storage box. “What, not digging the look?”

“You look like you’re gonna cut someone with a switchblade. Also, workshop that last line; it’s a little too pretentious.” His jaw hangs open in exaggerated shock at your blunt criticism of his pickup lines. You’re a little shrewder than usual after a group-turned-solo assignment irritated you beyond belief, and it was easier to mess with Satoru than to acknowledge how good he looked in his stupid leather jacket. The leather jacket, you noted, that he bought while thrifting with you last week and the same jacket he’d turned his nose up to thinking it was “not his style.” Though Suguru was practically tackling Satoru to get his hands on it, the latter had ultimately decided to buy it after you made an off-hand comment about how it’d fit nicely with his bike. 

“You wound me. I personally thought it was a great line,” he laments, stuffing your bag in the back container of the bike while you slip on the helmet. When he’s done locking up the box, his legs effortlessly stretch over the motorcycle and you climb on behind him, snaking your arms delicately around his waist. “Just for that, I’m kidnapping you.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. I’m starting the bike now, so you better hold on tighter than that if you don’t wanna fall off,” he says and you can hear the smirk in his voice. Begrudgingly, you obey his suggestion and shimmy closer to him until his back is against your chest and your arms are wound tightly around his torso. You thank every deity you can think of for creating your helmet so your best friend can’t see the warmth rising to your face when you feel the pure muscle cut into his abdomen. “We’re getting dinner and you can’t stop me!”

“You’re a menace to society!” 

“And yet, your fine ass is still on the seat!” With a jerk of the key, he starts the bike before you can spit out a retort. It hums beneath your bodies and your feet leave the ground on instinct when Satoru gives the kickstand a firm strike, cutting a dangerously risky turn that has you cursing his name over the sound of the engine. His laugh reverberates against your forearms and you rest your chin on his shoulder, relishing in his natural body heat that helped stave off the chilly wind as you passed car after car. The cacophony of noises are familiar to you by now, finally unbothered by roaring vehicles, sputtering engines, and snippets of blasted radios. 

“I think you need to pick a lane and stay in it, Satoru,” you managed to verbalize after he opened the ginormous doors of his garage, effectively unveiling his newest impulse purchase that was sure to tank his dad’s credit score for the fourteenth time. It was pretty, you had to admit, and very Satoru. He definitely ordered a custom paint job on it for it to be such a deep shade of black and the subtle purple lightning accents running down the hardware were a nice touch. His helmet had the same design scheme and he was very excited to show you your helmet, matching his but with bright blue bolts instead. To match his eyes, you figured. 

“The whole point of this thing is so I can go between lanes, silly.” His fingers lightly flick your forehead as he enters the garage, running his hand over the new leather like it was a prized racehorse. “Haven’t you seen those bikers on the highways? They’re in all the lanes, all the time.”

“You know what I mean,” you say. “I don’t know how many clients are gonna take you seriously if they see their lawyer rolling up on two wheels instead of four. You’re not really helping the ‘rich boy whose dad paid for his entire tuition’ allegations.” 

“That’s why I’m going into entertainment law, so I can kick legal ass and look hot at the same time. Also, I really couldn’t give a shit about my tuition or my dad or school in general. I’m only here because you are.” 

“That’s the biggest lie I’ve ever heard,” you scoff and he quirked an eyebrow at your blunt dismissal of his reasoning. “Admit it, you’re only going to law school so you can pick up the hot girls in mini skirts.”

“They’re a bonus, yeah,” he admits and you shake your head in disbelief, too exasperated to ask if he’s joking or not. Part of you died a tiny bit every time he talked about a new girl he was talking to or told you about how many people asked him out. You commended them for doing what you never had the courage to do for fear of ruining your friendship with him. For now, you just laughed off his trial attempts at flirting and looked away when he stared at you a little too tenderly for comfort. “Wanna take her on her maiden voyage with me?”

“That’s what you say about ships, Satoru, but sure.”

“Maybe I want this ship to sail, then,” he says suggestively and you resist the urge to hit him in the head with your new helmet. Rides with Satoru became much more frequent after you finally agreed to let him pick you up from class despite only living a few minutes away. Often, he decided to make an unplanned detour at your favorite fast food place or a random grocery store as an excuse to spend more time with you. Maybe it was selfish or maybe it was more, but you didn’t mind his hand finding your thigh when you were stopped at a red light or his lingering gaze when you took off your helmet. You forced yourself not to think anything of it, but found it pretty hard to ignore him this time when he parked his bike on the curb and walked you to your door. 

“I should probably give this back; thank you for letting me borrow it,” you say quietly, attempting to shrug off his jacket from your shoulders when his hands are suddenly there to keep it in place. He wordlessly draped it over your shoulders when he came back from the bathroom at dinner, noting the goosebumps on your exposed skin and the way you crossed your arms to conserve warmth. As if Fate could get any crueler, he looked even better in just his jeans and his white tee-shirt, all charming and tempting and everything that you never could have. 

“Just keep it for now and give it back to me tomorrow, yeah?” He was looking at you in that way again, the one that made your knees turn into putty and had your heart racing as fast as the bike down a straightaway. It was a gentleness that he only reserved for you, or at least you hoped he did. 

“Okay, I’ll give it back after my 9:00 A.M. Is that okay?”

“Keep it however long you need it. It suits you.” His voice was too soft, too fond, too loving. The way his hair reflected the warm glow of your porchlight wasn’t helping, either.

“Thanks, ‘toru, for the jacket and for the impromptu dinner date.”

“Of course, gorgeous. Anything for you.” He turns to leave you alone again and the thought fills you with so much dread that you want to throw up. 

Fuck it. 

Before you have time to think, your hand is on his arm and spinning him around, your other hand grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and pulling his face down to you. He’s kissing you back within a microsecond, as if he was waiting for you to stop him and make a move. It’s as natural as blinking, pulling him close until your back hits the door and feeling him grip your waist. He sighs into your mouth when your fingers find the hair on the back of his neck and you’re barely able to pull away before he’s chasing you down again, kissing you like he’s starving. When you’re both breathing a little heavier and your foreheads rest against each other, his hand gently cups your cheek and he runs his thumb over your skin. 

“You stole my thunder,” he murmurs, your fingers still carding through his hair. “I was gonna spin around and kiss you, but you beat me to it.”

“I got impatient,” you state simply, pressing another kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Can I still keep your jacket?” He chuckles under his breath, nudging his nose against yours.

“Baby, you can keep all of my jackets.”

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[writersmorgue]

You know all those time travel fics where little Izuku meets Pro Hero Deku? Last chapter got me feeling some things.. like.. his little self looks up at him, all gleaming eyes and boyish wonder and Pride and Hope, asking if he's a quirkless hero. And what is he supposed to say?? If he just says yes, then will that change his first meeting with All Might? Even if he still meets him the same way and saves Kacchan, will he just decline when offered a quirk?? What will that do to the timeline? Will All For One still be defeated? Will more people die? Even if Mirio can manage it as second place successor, having One For All all but guarantees an early grave for anyone who isn't quirkless.. and what will that mean for him? He only has all the support gear and public support to be a quirkless hero because he HAD a quirk and lost it saving the world, and Kacchan led the efforts to lift him up after.. but if he just says "no, sorry, you need a quirk" what will that change?? What will happen if his hope is killed too early? What will happen if he gets his hopes UP too early? Is it too much to tell him he gets a quirk eventually? Is it too much to tell him he gets it from All Might? Could he tell him more than that? What would his younger self do if he learned he would get a quirk and then lose it?? Is it more heartbreaking if he knows how it ends or if he goes in blind?

He stays silent so long just thinking that little Izuku gets nervous and says nevermind he's sure it's too complicated and dangerous to reveal information about the future and Deku just starts flashing through every traumatic memory he has knowing his little self is gonna go through every one...

my take on this! (read on ao3)

(warning: manga spoilers)

-

The road Izuku's on looks familiar. Asphalt cracked and faded Izuku remembers the particularly well hidden speed bump that he ate shit on when running late to school one day.

He remembers in his 2nd year at UA when they re-did the entire thing and added a bike lane with fresh white lines.

The kid standing in front of Izuku, with heavy scabs on his legs because after he fell off his bike he didn't stop picking at the wounds for months and ended up with a huge scar-

The kid standing in front of Izuku, with wiley green hair, wide eyes, dark freckles from a childhood spent exploring outside, and a healing split lip.

The kid's bright yellow backpack slides off his limp arm.

"I- What-"

Izuku knows this must look strange. He knows the kid is smart, knows he's figured out by now that they are one and the same. Of course it's hard to accept when this older version of you is much taller, much stronger, somehow even more covered in scars.

His nose is crooked from when Kacchan got a good hit, and Izuku was too embarrassed to go to Recovery Girl. His suit is wrinkled but new, his work shoes feel sharp on his feet. He still hasn't gotten used to wearing them.

His tame green curls, tired eyes, and dull freckles from hours spent in front of a screen.

His bright yellow backpack hangs on his shoulder.

"Hey," He says smiling at the kid.

"Are you- are you me?! I mean-" The kid's eyes are almost bugging out of his skull, "I'm you?"

Izuku nods.

"You're... older. Are you going to work?"

Even though Izuku will concede that he's older than this literal child, he can't help but be slightly offended.

"I'd say about eleven years in your future."

The kid makes an alarmed sound, jerking his chin back subconsciously like he does when he's trying to keep his mumbles in.

"What do you do... for work?"

Izuku considers telling him, but honestly he doesn't know what kind of effects it will have on his life. And he doesn't want to explain how he failed at being a hero, so now he teaches new ones instead.

"Sorry, I probably shouldn't tell you. I don't know how this quirk works." He smiles sheepishly, watching the kid's face fall.

"Oh, right," He scuffs his sneaker on the ground. "I just thought maybe you could give me-" a reason to keep going "-some good news."

Izuku smiles, "I know. Trust me, I have a good life. I'm happy." Sometimes.

"I have friends," That I never see.

"-and I like my job." I'm lucky to have one.

The kid nods, unsatisfied but not willing to push it. "Good, that's good."

This conversation feels more like one he'd have with his estranged cousin than his younger self. Christ.

He can see the words rolling around on the kid's tongue, liable to spill at any moment.

"Can I be a hero without a quirk?"

Izuku pauses, considering his options. If he tells him yes, will it throw off his entire future? All Might had told him no originally, so maybe he should do that, but even though he loved All Might like a father it would be different coming from himself. It would undoubtedly hurt more, knowing that Izuku knew for sure.

But truthfully, Izuku couldn't be a hero without a quirk.

It's not because quirkless people are weak, no Aizawa-sensei kept his underground job even after he lost an eye and a leg. The issue lies in Izuku himself.

As soon as he lost OFA, he knew his dream of being a hero was over.

He didn't have what it took to keep going.

So instead he lives vicariously through his teenage students as the run through the halls. The ones that had to be rebuilt after Izuku's battle with Shigaraki.

Yeah, Izuku was a hero. That's what everyone says.

But now he's not.

The kid is going to start crying if he doesn't answer soon, Izuku can see the tears welling in his eyes, but he doesn't know what to say.

Fuck, he wishes he were anywhere else.

"I-"

'I' what, what are you going to tell him?-

"I don't know."

I'm sorry.

[sentanixiv]

The One To Call (wc: 2,068) Spent my lunch break today scratching out this modern AU test-write based on a exes-to-lovers prompt:

They are still each other's emergency contact. Which becomes apparent when one of them ends up in the hospital.

Morston, modern AU; reference to injuries sustained, but no details or visuals. John reacting to being the one called when Arthur turns up at the hospital, beat to shit and no one knows how. Plenty of vague/inaccurate medical terms because I am bone-tired and braindead.

Streetlights stretch and streak overhead, a blurred mirror to the dotted lines demarking the lanes on the freeway. Recently refreshed, the paint burns bright under the headlamp, waits for the grease and dirt of the daily grind to dull it into the same muted hues of the cityscape's south end. Rush hour's petered out, though plenty of vehicles still cut between lanes, seeking to make the small gains that'll save them thirty seconds on their commute home. Their pace is sedate in comparison to the streak of copper-and-chrome that routes through without care nor caution.

Wind whips at the hem of his jeans, tangling with threads worn loose from the denim weave. Arms half-bared make targets for bug bodies to strike, stinging as they collide and crash away from the lone motorcycle rider. Ducked low, making the best of his bike's swift profile, John shifts the gear and lets go the clutch. Uneven, the frame jerks beneath him before the tires grab at asphalt and rip him forward faster.

 The steady, streaking lights count out a tempo that matches the beating of his heart, but it can't hope to catch the racing of his thoughts. He drives on instinct and reflex, tearing through the narrow spaces between cars, earning hollers and honks that curse his lineage back to the beginning, but he ignores them. Lets muscle memory guide as he counts the miles and urges the speedometer to edge just a little bit further beyond its max.

 Internally, there's a litany of thoughts that demand he go faster, be there sooner, and a dizzying spiral of questions to why him, what's happening, and who's responsible. Two he can't answer, but the first has the audacity to make sense.  'Why him' is because he's named on the file - the only name - and it's best he comes to talk with the doctor per the voice what'd called him.

 Green highway signs with white lettering catches his attention and he gears down, crosses three lanes and leans to balance the curve as he takes the ramp at an ungodly speed. The red light at the intersection exists as an afterthought, traffic slower here, with fewer cars to obstruct him and he takes full advantage to push the limits.

 Too long still passes before the backlight sign emblazoned with The Blackwater-McCourt Memorial Hospital zips overhead. There's an anthem of sirens accompanied by flashing lights that surrounds the area, but there's no blue to slow him and so he don't. Rides straight up onto the concrete walk and kicks down the stand, kills the engine and grabs the keys before he's through the front doors. Ignores the unhelpful call of a bystander telling him he can't park there, focus intent on the front desk.  A sleepy-eyed volunteer sits there, turning the yellowed pages of a bodice-ripper romance. She blinks and looks up when he stops there and demands the room number.

 "I'm sorry, I couldn't quite hear you," she says, apologetic as she dog-ears the page and leans forward with a helpful smile.  "The, ah. The helmet doesn't help."

 Right.  He loosens the latched belting and pulls it off, dragging a gloved hand back through his sweat-streaked hair.  "I said: Got me a call about an 'Arthur Morgan' being here?" he repeats, breathing slow and steady against the rising anxiety that hospitals bring about.  "Whereabouts should I-"

 The name stills her, the rosy hue of her complex fades brief before she shakes it off and smiles wanly.  "I'll call the doctor," she says, hand automatically lifting the phone from its cradle. An older model, push-tone and connected to a landline, she manipulates it smoothly, whispers into the mouthpiece and nods at what she hears.

 John sets his helmet down on the counter, fingers tapping erratic beats against it. His leg twitches, foot bouncing as he holds down the need to move, to do something, to get answers without asking half so nicely.

 "Doctor Roberts is on the way," the young woman tells him, an interruption to his reverie and John swears.

 "You gotta be kiddin' me," he mutters.

 The lady - Mary-Beth, by the volunteer's tag she wears - looks up at him with wide, serious eyes. "She won't be more than a moment."

 "No, I bet she won't," he grumbles, dragging his helmet off the counter. John paces, walks the five steps across the hall and back again at least a dozen times before an exasperated noise jars him out of the motion.

 "You meanin' to wear a hole in my floor?"

 Doctor Abigail Roberts walks up and near past him, grabbing his elbow to pull him along as she nods to Mary-Beth.  "I got this from here," she says sharply and there's no fight against it. Mary-Beth sinks back into her chair, novel absent from her attentions as she digs out a phone. Whatever's gone on, it's about to hit the shitfan of social media and that makes him groan.

 "Ain't you gonna stop her?" he asks Abigail, wrenching his arm free. John keeps pace with her, lets her maintain the half step lead needed to guide them both.

 Abigail shakes her head and points down the hall that'll route them past trauma care. Her hair's pulled back, messy wisps plastered along her temple; sign that she's been in the OR, not long done. They were together for a while, once upon a darker time; one of them whirlwind romances what happened when she was the trauma care doctor and he was the trauma-suffering fool that'd needed care.  John knew her well, knew she liked to look at least a bit composed before starting her rounds, so knew this hectic break from habit meant something real and something that weren't apt to be good.

 "You know as good as I that there ain't no point," she reminds him. True, there ain't. Mary-Beth is no doubt connected to the same network that most of them are and won't be long for her to rouse the rest of the gang now that John's been dragged into it.  "Let it happen, John. It'll make things easier."

 "Nothing's gonna be easy here, Abigail," he tells her flat out. "You know I ain't been 'round Arthur for three years now, so why's I the one that got the call?"

 Crisp steps on smooth linoleum and Abigail does not look at him, only holds her head high and keeps her eyes forward. There's a clarity to them, the sort of shine that comes on when she's feeling something fierce and that makes his gut clench because the thing they're talking about, the man Arthur Morgan?  Well, he's means something to a lot of people, and it sets a poor stage to have that mist about her eyes before they get into the meat of it.

 "Arthur ain't never updated his emergency contacts," she says quickly, checks the chart she's been carrying.  Taller than her, John can make out details on the patient's file and sees his name listed there, like she's just said. "There weren't no one else I could call."

 "That ain't telling me why I'm here."  Why he got a call; don't matter to him if Arthur took his name off his file or not. They'd had a good run and ruined it, but it ain't so easy to change all the records, all the details to strike the other from their lives. Hell, he'd found out week before last that Arthur's name still sat on the lease when he went to renew it, had to explain to the landlord that weren't no one but John there no more. Had to endure the lamenting that Arthur'd been the best thing to happen to him and John never disagreed, but that ain't changed that Arthur'd done the best thing for himself by ending it.

 "Well, John," Abigail begins, taking a breath, "that's 'cause it ain't good."

 John reaches out, grips her arm to stall them both and turn her towards him. "What's that mean?" he asks, eyes seeking to pry something from her gaze that'd answer that. "I been told that already, but it don't mean shit without more. You know that."

 "It means that it ain't good," she replies, unflinching under the stop, under the inspection.  "I done what I could and he's stable now, but..."

The words don't trail off so much as his grip tightens. All these words, this dance around it, tells him more than he wants to know already.  "What happened?"

 Abigail pulls herself free and gestures him ahead, pointing to the left hall. "We ain't sure and I don't got details, but Sadie came by not long after he showed up, says he went missing a week ago, maybe more."  She shrugs, leaves out the why of Sadie being there, but the woman ain't family, so must've been present for function. That meant the police were getting involved, sending her out to get a bead on it.

They slow up outside a door closed, lights dimmed in the hall and the profile of a police guard half hidden in the shadows. John didn't recognize him, didn't much care to because Abigail stopped with her back to the door, keeping him from crossing the threshold. Beyond it comes the muffled melody of medical equipment, monitoring the someone there what'd been hurt. "All I know's that he walked up to ER looking a right mess," she explains, fingers pale in their grip on the chart. "Blood and bruising and, well.  You know Arthur. Anyone else'd not be able to walk, but he managed it.  Said something about gettin' away, keepin' folk safe before we lost him."

 John feels the jerk in his chest, his heart threatening to up and stop on him. "Lost?"

 Abigail shows a flicker of annoyance, smacks one hand against his chest. "Not like that, y'fool!" she hisses. "Charles got him breathing again, Tilly and Karen got him stable, Sean processed him while Lenny paged me."  It's a report, a buffer to give him a chance to breathe again before she provides more details.  "I spent seven hours working on him," she adds, shaking her head.  "Ain't much that weren't busted or broke; looks to me like he got worked over real good. Shoulder torn up, ribs broke, couple fingers were twisted up bad.  I ain't sure all what's wrong. Seven hours to step the bleeding, pull the mess of debris from his shoulder, and cut out the infection, John.  Could be worse, but I won't know more 'til diagnostics gets me the details. And I ain't sure it'll be smart to put him on the table again too soon."

 The flicker of panicked fear calms at the assurance the man's alive, but the small spark of it feeds the fires of his temper at whomever attacked Arthur. Once he knows the extent of it, John will find them - ain't no point denying it, not when the heat of his anger near as burns in him.  John'll find them and revisit it on them, but first-

 "I talked to him some in Recovery, but weren't long," Abigail says, stepping away from the door, up closer to John where she can drop her voice and give an air of privacy. "Arthur said somethin' about Colm O'Driscoll."

 Everything hones in on the name, the target of what'd been a man and was now, in John's eyes, a dead man walking. He jerks back, makes to leave, but Abigail stops him with a hold on his arm.

 "Not yet."  Her voice is insistent, a steady pressure to keep him from leaping off into the dark void wherein the violence beckoned to him.  "I ain't had you called to mess with no stupid vengeance," she tells him, nails pressing against his skin where it's pockmarked with the remains of bugs that crossed his motorcycle's path.

 "Then why's I even here?" he demands. "Arthur and I ain't nothing, no matter what no file says. You know that well as I do."

 Abigail hesitates, the sharp edges of her softening, her expression one she'd used when trying to calm him. "He asked for you," she says quietly.  "Fevered and dying and barely nothing, but as he was coming out in Recovery, weren't no name but yours on his lips. Weren't awake long, weren't real coherent, but you're the one he wanted here."

[unknownfrom34]

The Drifter and The Neon-lit Jungle

Another one for @zoanluen's Dance With The Dead AU and this time, it's only now Drifter. I have ideas here but I have to write up to see where it goes.

Enjoy!

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The way air was rushing by is filling his ears, neon colors shining and blurry white that was surrounded by them as goggles rested neatly over his eyes as short cyan blue hair flowed wildly with the winds as motorbike ran as far as it carried him. Seemingly like he has somewhere to be than on the road with other grounded vehicles in the slum part of the city.

Hover cars are considered the property of the rich of the higher class above as he spotted something to his left, he turned the bike by the handles and soon he was on a truck with the back haphazardly lowered to nearly touching the asphalt, it acted as a makeshift ramp as he jumped over the lane that was being crowded by other cars and there could be no room for a motorbike to squeeze through if he haven't thought quite quickly.

One destination is on his mind right now. He doesn't have a name long since he lost the right to have one after a mother and brother of his were killed off by the High Heaven Council due to his mother's "treason" against the Law. He knew since as a child, she was speaking out the proposed genocide of the slum for population control because she was a human rights activist but it was sin that broke the Law in their eyes.

Reason why he was the only one left alive is because a man of the Lower class had managed to stunk him out of family home and found refuge in an underground society: People of both higher and lower that doesn't have very good words to say about the council who were formed by the First King after the Malaise outbreak had broken out. And since then, it was corrupt to him and the Resistance but pure in the eyes of the People. He was given a word that he cannot count as a name but will be referred to as.

The Drifter.

The Drifter does not want to spare time to recall the death of his family that took away his childhood or the very recent death of one of their own and body disposed off somewhere far away from this shithole of a City. All he desire is going to the place where he will make a dent to the High Heavenly Council but he had been warned that there might be an obscure in the way.

A few guards here and there but they will inform the Righteous Hand of the Father if they spotted something out of the ordinary. He had looked on the blueprints of the building he was going for and after a few hours of research, he had came up with a way to get inside without being seen.

The sewers. the building is connected to the sewers, Many of this city thought that building was a waste station for trash or, most likely being used as a disposal to destroy the bodies ridden with an aggressive, mutated form of the Malaise virus but he knows the opposite use of it.

The Drifter then made a sudden turned into an alleyway and then stopping once he got to the end of the line. Right where a sewer lid is.

He pulled the dark hot pink goggles off of his eyes, looking at the lid, this has come up to this. He needs to know why there is an mutated version of the Malaise virus that had been going around recently.

[tyler-lawson]

DUI - 01

Memorial Day weekend always saw a spike in stupid behavior. Which was great for me. The state always had grant money available for paying overtime to volunteers that gave up their holiday to go out and get arrests. And it always helped boost my arrest numbers for the month. Not that I usually was lacking, but always good to throw in a few more to make the numbers look great.

I had a few spots I liked to set up at, and just watch traffic. They had great sight lines and I could see the telltale signs of drunk drivers from quite far away. Tonight I was on the road leading away from downtown, headed to one of the residential areas. A very common route for impaired drivers heading home from a night of drinking.

2 AM rolled around and I saw a set of headlights slowly drifting back and forth in their lanes. I got in my cruiser, and pulled in behind the car as it blew past me at 14 over. The driver probably recognized the light bar on top or the spotlight, as he immediately slammed on the brakes to bring it down under the speed limit. As he did, he swerved out of his lane a little bit.

“17-Charlie. I have a possible DUI. Driver is struggling to maintain his lane and driving erratically. I clocked him at 14 over before he recognized me. I am going to stop him and check it out.” I called over the radio as I hit my lights.

“Copy 17-Charlie. I have you in service.” The dispatcher responded.

The red and blue lights and bright white spotlight suddenly lit up the dark street, playing off the houses on both sides. I blipped the siren twice, trying to not disturb the sleeping civilians around us.

As the lights came in, he again braked hard, swerving more as he struggled to control his vehicle. It seemed like he was maybe contemplating running, but after a few tense seconds he yielded, pulling his car over into the side bike lane along the edge of the road and stopping. Amusingly, the rear passenger-side tire was up on the curb, giving distinctly disheveled look to the scene.

I turned the spotlight to brightly illuminate the cabin, shining through the rear window and letting me quickly see the silhouettes of the occupants. The only occupant was the driver, and he was appearing agitated already, bobbing around in his seat.

I stepped out of the cruiser, pulled out my flashlight, and carefully approached the vehicle. The window was already rolled down as I approached, stopping just behind the A-pillar.

“What the hell do you want?” He yelled as I approached.

“Good evening sir. Where are we headed tonight?” I asked, needing to flip control of the conversation. As I passed the rear doors, I shone my light in, confirming there were no other occupants.

“That is none of your fucking business.” He spit back. “I know my rights.”

I rolled my eyes, knowing the encounter was only going to get better from here. “Sir, I am going to need to see your license, registration, and proof of insurance.” Starting to switch from polite to commanding.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He said reaching over to the glove box and shuffling around. As he turned, I bent down and shone my light in the window, keeping an eye on both of his hands as he retrieved his documents. He was blinded by the bright light as he turned back, throwing up a hand to cover his eyes. “You mind getting that thing out of my face?” He whined.

I turned the flashlight slightly, down and to the left. As he dropped his hands, I could see that his eyes were red and bloodshot. He tried to shove the documents at me, managing to drop one into the footwell as he did. He bent down to retrieve his license, and accidentally hit the steering wheel with his head. The manages to trigger to horn, causing him to jolt back in his seat as looked around for what had caused the noise. It took him a couple of clicks before he figured out what had happened. He bent down again more carefully this time, grabbing his license and jamming it out the window to me.

I took his collected documents, starting to glance through them. “Alright Scott.” I said, reading his name and info off his license. “Do you know why I pulled you over tonight?”

“Cause you liked my bumper stickers?” He stated, a smirk on his face.

“No, that is not why I stopped you tonight. Can you tell me what the speed limit is on this road?”

“Yeah, I think it is not quite enough to catch air as you go over the bump back there.” I responded, clearly not interested in cooperating at all.

“Look, Scott. This attitude is not going to get you very far in life. And certainly not with me. Sit tight, I will be back.” I said, straightening up and starting to walk back to the cruiser.

I heard a wolf-whistle as I did. “Ow ow! Nice ass, Officer.” He called after me. “Strut that stuff!”

I sat back in the cruiser, typing in his information and pulling up his record. As the computer processed, I took a look at the bumper stickers on his car.

“No Donuts Are left In This Vehicle Overnight”

“I eat bacon for breakfast.” With a picture of a pig wearing a police hat.

“Master to a public servant.” With a man with a whip and a pair of handcuffs standing over a cop kneeling on all fours.

I chuckled to myself at the performatively belligerent bumper stickers. His record was relatively uninteresting. A handful of traffic tickets, a citation for minor in possession and public intoxication, presumably from college. Enough contact with the police to, I guess, justify his clear disdain, but nothing particularly interesting.

I returned to his window, with my written citations for speeding and unsafe breaking, just in case the next step ended differently than expected, somehow.

“Scott. Where you are coming from tonight?” I asked, leaning back down to his window and sticking my face close to his, smelling for alcohol on his breath.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Anything to drink tonight?”

“Why, you have something for me to slurp, you fucking pig?”

“That’s it. Step out of the vehicle, now!” I ordered, straightening up. The smell of alcohol was unmistakable on his breath, his eyes were glassy and bloodshot, his speech slurred slightly. I had more than enough evidence to warrant road-side sobriety check. But, his attitude was the real reason I was pulling him out of the car now.

“Nah, I’m good.” He said, folding his arms across his chest and turning his head away from me in a childish show of defiance.

I tried the door handle, glad to find that when out the vehicle in park, the car mush have automatically unlocked the doors. I pulled the door open and reached in, grabbing his arms. He was a bit shocked when the door started opening, but he continued to sit there petulantly. I reached across and unbuckled his seatbelt, grabbing his arm and leg and dragging him out of the seat.

His arms and legs flailed as he was suddenly falling toward the ground. He landed on his butt, but his fall was lessened a bit as he grabbed the seatbelt with his right arm and used it to slightly hold himself up. “What the hell was that for?” He asked as he tried to collect himself.

I grabbed him by the shoulders, pulling him to his feet and slamming him against the car. He cushioned himself a bit with his arms, but his chest still hit hard. “Oof. Fuck off, man!” He snapped. His arms were bent at the elbow, from cushioning the slam. He turned to look at me over his right shoulder, and slammed his right elbow back, aiming for my head.

I ducked back away from it, and stepped back and to the left. His swing spun him around so he was facing towards me. As I squared up with him, he followed up with a left hook, stumbling forward slightly as he reached for me. I ducked back again, stepping to my right this time, letting the swing pass by me again, guiding it past my head with my left hand.

As I guided, I grabbed onto the wrist. My right hand came in behind the elbow. I pulled with the left and pushed with the right, hyperextending his elbow and pushing his shoulder away from me and towards the ground. He was already off balance from throwing the haymaker, and this just accelerated things as he stumbled trying to catch his balance again. He landed hard on his left knee.

I held onto his outstretched left arm, pulling it hard to the left and spinning him down to the ground. His chest landed hard, sliding against the asphalt. His right arm had helped slightly catch him as he went down, but was now being pulled straight. I landed next to him, kneeling at his side, tucked up against and pointing toward his outstretched left arm. I pulled my knees up, putting them on his wrist and elbow, pinning him down as I fetched the cuffs off my belt.

He struggled, trying to push himself up with his right arm as his left was trapped under me. I grabbed his wrist again, pulling it up away from the pavement again hyperextending his elbow. He collapsed back down, as he cried out in pain. With his wrist elevated, I could snap the cuff around his wrist. I held onto the cuffs as rolled his arm forward toward his head, then used my knee to force his elbow to bend as I started rotating his arm behind his back. He continued crying out, cursing at me between cries of pain.

“Get off me! Let me go you fucking asshole! Ow! Fuck! That hurts!”

I ignored him as I pulled his left arm fully behind his back, using my knee to push it up high behind his back. He tried to flail his right arm a bit then pulled it under his chest.

“Give me your other hand behind your back.” I ordered, holding the cuffed wrist with my hand and knee and pushing it up further.

“Fuck off, get the hell off me. I didn’t fucking do anything. Why are you doing this to me?” He replied back.

I dug my arm in between his right arm and his side, sliding it up into his armpit and forcing his elbow out from underneath him. I slid my arm down along his arm to his elbow, and wrenched it back behind his back. I finally slid down to his wrist, grabbing it and twisting it back behind his back. I slammed it into the remaining cuff, and relaxed slightly.

(Special thanks to @readysetgoworld for the inspiration for this story! Hope you enjoy!)

[sbknews]

Masterful Hickman gives Faye Ho silver lining.

After stubborn mist moved away action began several hours late at TT 2023. The solo warm up lap was significant because it allowed Peter Hickman to complete a lap on his Supertwin Yamaha and thereby qualify for the evening’s first race for the class. Mike Browne was out on his Stocker, to test changes made in response to handling so bad that he made an unscheduled stop in the Superbike race. The Sidecar warm up allowed Dave Molyneux /Dan Sayle to test the troublesome KTM on track. The warm-up lap made the riders aware of a small patch of cement dust on the approach to White Gates. Normal weather service had been restored when Davo Johnson led the Superstock away on their 3 lap race. The riders were obliged to have a pit stop at the end of lap 1. Michael Dunlop’s crew chief set out what most were expected to do and that was simply top up the tank and clean the screen and rider’s visor. Starting this race pulled Michael Rutter level with his father Tony on 83. For Josh Brookes the race was over before he reached St Ninian’s on the FHO BMW. Peter Hickman had no such problem; the machine was ready to go after just four laps of practice; this allowed him more time to try to tame the unruly Superbike. Michael Dunlop’s MD Racing Honda machine had similarly been ready to go early in Practice Week. When the Glen Helen was reached, Dean Harrison (DAO Kawasaki) was right behind Davo Johnson (Jackson Honda) and passed him on the Cronk y Voddy straight; Dean remained the pigeon scarer for the remainder of the race. Behind them, Dunlop had nearly closed the starting interval on James Hillier (OMG Yamaha).  Passing slower riders did cause some minor delays for the podium riders but tended to even out and did not affect the result. The times at Glen Helen showed that this was going to be a race with close battles throughout the field of 46 riders left in the contest. Michael Dunlop had been the fastest of all over the first 9 miles; he led by 0.65s from Peter Hickman, with Dean Harrison 1.69s down in third; in what was becoming a recurring theme. Davey Todd (Milenco Padgett Honda), Conor Cummins (Milenco Padgett Honda); heroically back on track three days after being on drip in hospital; James Hillier and Jamie Coward (Steadplan Honda) were the top 7. Just 3.6s covered the four riders. On Sunday Dunlop set the fastest ever sector time from Glen Helen to Ballaugh; today Hickman returned serve with the fastest ever Superstock sector time. This gave him a lead of 2.26s as they hopped over the famous bridge. Harrison was third, but 4s down on Dunlop. Todd, Cummins and Coward completed the top 6. May Hill in Ramsey is a good vantage point; with the bikes powering out of Cruickshank’s Corner and coming close to the low kerb on the left side of the track. The sound of the machines on full gas echoes back from the house walls. Dean Harrison was first, and he was trying; using all of the road. Davo Johnson was next; followed almost immediately by the rejuvenated John McGuinness. Jamie Coward has settled onto the Honda superbly, and he was wringing its neck as he went past. Michael Dunlop has been using all of the road; but he is never out of shape; yet again he was very fast, but very stable. Hicky was rapid and holding a tighter line than most of the top runners; apart from James Hillier. As they started the mountain climb, Hickman had a lead of 3.4s from Dunlop. Harrison was third, 6.74s down on Dunlop. Todd, Cummins and Coward completed the top 6; Hillier was 7th just 0.141s down on Coward. Hickman is normally the fastest over the mountain; but today Dunlop was, and cut the lead to 2.7s as they came into the pits for the mandatory stop.  The pits stops saw Hickman and Harrison gain over 1.5s on Dunlop. Dom Herbertson; 11th at the time, missed the pit lane and had to come in via the return road. After some words were exchanged with the stewards, he was allowed to continue, despite his off track activity. Back on track Hickman’s lead was 5.3s as he powered the big BMW up Creg Willey’s Hill for the second time. Dunlop had increased his advantage over Harrison to 10.8s. Todd, Coward and Cummins completed the top 6; with Hillier just 0.2s behind Cummins. Hickman continued to set the best sector times; he led by 9.1s as swept out of Cruickshank’s in fine style; the front wheel pawing the air as he powered through. Coward; Hillier and Cummins were covered by 1.5s in their exciting battle for the final leader board places. With the best time for each sector over the mountain Hickman had a comfortable lead of 15.7s as he headed off for the final lap; the lap that would be the fastest of the race. Dunlop had 10.1s in hand over Harrison. Todd remained under pressure from Coward; but Conor Cummins was starting to lose time; no doubt exhausted after his illness. John McGuinness was riding a fine race in 8th; Johnson was 9th and Herbertson 10th in spite of his pit stop faux pas. Hickman was on outright lap record pace for part of the lap; but lost some time behind slower riders and then eased back over the last two sectors; but still set the best lap of the race at 134.311mph; to seal a 23.17s victory over Michael Dunlop. This win moved into double figures. Harrison; Todd, Hillier and Coward all lapped at over 132mph on the last lap. Conor Cummins took 7th; John McGuinness went out at Guthrie’s handing 8th to Davo Johnson; he lapped at over 130mph on the final lap. The excellent form of Mike Browne and Shaun Anderson continued; they finished 9th and 10th respectively. This was a race of the highest quality and Hickman’s win repaid team owner Faye Ho for her support. The second race should be at least as good; weather permitting. I can’t help thinking that four laps would have been even better. Read the full article

[unterwaesche]

From an insurance standpoint (I've dealt a lot with car insurance in my field but I'm not actually an adjuster) I would think 50/50 for the first bike, 100% on the second bike.

One lane is divided into three parts for a motorcycle and you adjust accordingly depending on road conditions. Traffic on either side means staying in the middle section, on one side means staying on the furthermost section opposite where the traffic is. The first biker shouldn't have been that far to the right in his lane. He was very clearly intending to weave between the gray and white cars in front of the black car, or he wouldn't have been going that fast in the first place.

BUT, black car very clearly checked his mirrors but not his blind spot, or he would have seen the biker. Biker was definitely sitting entirely in the blind spot. When you're changing lanes from being stopped or entering traffic after being parked on the side of the road you're expected to check your blind spot and a lot of people don't.

Eh, 80/20. That was a really dumb maneuver on the bike's part. I don't think it can be 100% on the first biker though because black car was over the line when the crash happened. But he wasn't where he was supposed to be, wasn't doing what he was supposed to be doing, and could have avoided impact if he were.

[haledamage]

“We can share the bed. If that’s not weird.” For your choice, bc it’s good for too many of them

Marii and Theron ended up claiming this one 😁 before Rishi but after the Forged Alliances stuff, during the nebulous “looking for more information” portion in between. Marii desperately wanted to have some proper Spy Jedi shenanigans, so what should have been a thousand words of awkward pre-ship yearning instead became a whole Thing

---

Theron Shan was not a Jedi.

This was an indisputable fact, one that had in many ways defined the man he’d become. It had shaped the trajectory of his life, for good or ill.

That didn’t stop him from driving like one.

Marii had been told several times that she, and most other Jedi, drove like they took the “there is no death” line from the Code as a personal challenge. Theron drove the same way, heedless of both the speed and the danger, as if he could sense trouble coming before it arrived and had the reflexes to avoid it, if only narrowly. He barely even watched where he was going, attention split between the traffic they were weaving through, his wrist comm, and shooting back at their pursuers.

He took a sharp right, his speeder drifting around the corner hard enough to make the stabilizers whine in protest and missing the side of a building by millimeters before they shot off in their new direction. Marii barely reacted beyond steadying herself on the back of the seat she was kneeling in; her focus was on the four speeders chasing them, redirecting the steady hail of blaster bolts directed at them to keep them from hitting their mark - or hitting any of the nearby commuters.

“This would be a lot easier if you knew how to use a blaster,” Theron yelled to be heard over the wind rushing past them.

“I told you to let me drive!” It would be a hot day on Hoth before he let anyone else drive his speeder, no matter how much more sense it would’ve made; it was one of the first things Marii had learned about him, and also something she and Kira teased him about endlessly. “How do you want to do this?”

“Quiet didn’t work.” He aimed his blaster over his shoulder, firing blindly. There was a crack of shattering glass as the bolt hit the windshield of one of the speeders chasing them. It swerved wildly, nearly taking out the one next to it before righting itself. “Let’s go loud.”

That’s exactly what she’d been hoping he would say, and her wild grin told him as much. “Get me an empty lane. I can’t do anything with so many people around us.”

“Might want to hold on to something.” That was the only warning Theron gave before they dropped out of the sky.

Marii grabbed the edge of the seat, trying to ignore the thrill of temporary weightlessness and keep an eye on their pursuers.

They’d miscounted. There were six, not four. Two speeder bikes joined the others as they followed their descent at a little more sedate pace.

“Theron.”

“I see them.” He hit a few buttons on the dashboard, and they somehow picked up even more speed.

It still wasn’t enough to outrun blaster bolts. One slipped past her guard and grazed the driver’s side mirror, sending a shower of sparks at Theron.

“Marii!”

“On it.”

As soon as they leveled out, Marii climbed out of her seat, trusting in the Force - and Theron’s driving - to keep her feet planted to the back of the speeder as she drew her lightsabers. They activated with a hiss, the twin white blades making her a very obvious target in the neon-lit dusk of Nar Shaddaa. Predictably, the incoming blasterfire all started targeting her exclusively; none of it could get past her blades.

Now that they didn't have to worry about hurting civilians, their job was a lot easier. The first speeder was neatly bisected by a thrown lightsaber. With Marii there to shield him, Theron could take a few extra seconds to aim, and a well-placed shot sent one bike careening into the other, taking them both out. The fourth took a turn too wide and ended up embedded in an office building. The fifth one…

"Is that a rocket launcher?"

Theron dropped his blaster to the passenger-side floorboards and grabbed Marii’s ankle instead, keeping her from losing her balance as she deflected the first rocket that headed their way. She managed to knock the second one away too, barely; it exploded close enough to send the speeder veering off course. 

A third rocket didn’t come immediately, but it was probably only a matter of time. They wouldn’t be able to dodge them forever, no matter how good of a pilot he was.

On some unspoken signal, Theron released her ankle and slammed on the brakes, letting the remaining pursuers close the gap. As soon as they were close enough, Marii leapt toward the speeder with the rocket launcher. She landed hard on the hood, making it drop a couple meters before it righted itself. Three people stared back at her with identical expressions of confused shock at her sudden arrival.

The last remaining speeder zipped past them, heading straight for Theron, and Marii had to push away the worry that shivered up her spine. He was a grown man, and one who’d been doing this even longer than she had. He didn’t need a Jedi playing righteous defender; he could protect himself. She trusted him to do so, and kept her eyes on the rocket man.

He lifted the launcher, intending to blow her up at point blank range. Stupid for many reasons, but most of all because he was well within range of her lightsabers. She cut the launcher in half, the pieces of it - and the live and whole rockets inside them - falling into the back seat. Rocket Man swore and reached for the blaster at his hip.

One of the other two passengers grabbed Marii’s arm, attempting to either throw her off the side or grapple her long enough for Rocket Man to shoot her. A flourish of her blade removed the offending grip, as well as the offending hand, and a quick push with the Force knocked both her attacker and his partner out of the speeder. She turned back to Rocket Man and dispatched him with an almost careless swing of her sword.

And then there was only her, in a pilotless vehicle full of rockets.

Marii leapt from the wayward speeder as it careened toward an intersection, dragging one saber through the fuel tank as she fell past it. Better to blow it up now than let it wander off and injure someone. 

She scanned the buildings on either side as she descended, looking for a place to land. She’d probably survive a fall all the way to the planet’s surface - she’d survived worse, certainly, and the Force had always been her ally in this way specifically - but it would still hurt like hell.

She was saved the trouble as a familiar speeder swooped up underneath her and scooped her out of the air. She landed with an oof, half in Theron’s lap and half in the seat next to him. Her saber hilts joined his blaster on the floor as she slumped against him in relief.

Theron looked unbearably smug, but he deserved to be. “Need a lift?”

She let out a breathless laugh and pressed her face to his shoulder in silent gratitude. Thank the stars that she’d found the only spy in SIS as stupidly reckless as she was. “Well, that’s one way to pick up women.”

“It may not be subtle, but it has a hundred percent success rate.” He wound his arm around her waist, sort of a hug and sort of just making sure she stayed in place while he drove around a corner into a labyrinth of narrow alleyways. “You okay?”

She nodded. “A little banged up, but nothing serious, thanks to you. How’re you?”

“Just bruises,” he shrugged. “That could’ve gone a lot worse. Did we get what we needed?”

Marii activated her earpiece while she scrambled back into her seat. “Kira, what’s your status?”

“Do you want the good news or the bad news?” Kira kept talking without waiting for an answer. “Good news is, your distraction worked. Teeseven got your bug planted and it’s already transmitting. Bad news, your nest of Revanites is on high alert, and they’re on the lookout for two people who look a lot like you and spy boy.”

“Of course they are,” Marii said dryly.

“Still glad you took this job, boss?”

She glanced over at Theron, only to find he was already looking her way. He gave her a lopsided smile, the one he used when he was trying to look disarming. It didn't really work, but she still found it distractingly attractive, even with a split lip and rapidly darkening black eye - gifts from his fight with the last speeder, presumably. "Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to," she muttered to her former padawan.

“You two might wanna lay low for a little while and let this blow over,” Kira continued like Marii hadn’t said anything, but she could hear the smirk in her voice. “Take the rest of the night off, order in, maybe watch a movie. Find somewhere safe until morning and we’ll meet up then.”

"Kira…" It wouldn’t be the first time Kira had tried some convoluted scheme to get Marii and Theron to spend some time together outside of work, though a high-speed chase across Nar Shaddaa was a little much even for her. 

"What? No ulterior motives this time, I swear," she replied, as sweetly as she could. "See you at breakfast."

The call ended and Marii sighed.

“Let me guess.” They emerged from the alleyway and back into busy streets, merging into the flow of traffic and slowing to match the speed of everyone around them. “Our favorite cultists are sending more people our way?”

“More or less.”

He was quiet for a few minutes while he thought, before finally announcing, “We should probably find a hotel for the night or something. Wouldn't want to lead them back to the safehouse if they manage to track us down.”

By the stars, Marii hated when Kira was right. She could almost feel her gloating from across the city. “Okay. I’ll follow your lead. I’m a little out of my depth.”

“You’re doing great,” he told her sincerely. “Really.”

It was a struggle to stifle the proud grin that his casual praise brought about, and she wasn’t entirely successful. Something about the offhand compliments Theron liked to give her made her feel the same thrill that racing across the city at top speed had, the same kind of weightless joy.

The city flew past in a stream of gold and neon. It wasn’t an area Marii was familiar with from her admittedly limited experiences on Nar Shaddaa, but Theron seemed as confident as ever, so she let herself sit back and enjoy the ride. Now that the fight was over, pain and exhaustion started to settle in, and the idea of a bed - even an unfamiliar one in some cheap hotel - was sounding better every minute.

She stayed quiet as Theron gave the receptionist a fake name, an even faker story, and a charming enough smile and large enough pile of credits that they wouldn’t ask questions. They took the lift in companionable silence.

They both stopped in the doorway of their room and stared. The room was so gaudy it would make a Hutt palace look understated. It looked like a fabric store had exploded, but only the velvet and silk departments had landed here. It looked like someone had tried to build a circus tent out of burgundy velvet and was storing it here for the winter. The bed was massive and completely circular, directly in the middle of the room, and off to one corner was something that looked an awful lot like a jacuzzi tub.

Marii regretted not listening closer when Theron was booking the room. What cover had he given that had landed them in the honeymoon suite?

Oh well. At least it was clean, and big enough for two people as tall as they were to move around comfortably. She shrugged and stepped inside, heading to the bathroom. She considered the giant clawfoot tub, wondering how much he’d judge her for taking advantage of the circumstances, but ultimately decided to just hop into the refresher to wash off the worst of the soot and dirt from their day.

When she came back out, Theron was on his datapad, sitting on an ostentatious, overstuffed loveseat in front of the holo-fireplace. It didn’t surprise her in the slightest; in the months they’d been working together like this, she’d gotten used to his work habits. She was fairly certain at least one of his implants was so he could keep working while he slept--but he slept so rarely that she couldn’t say for sure.

Force help her, she thought it was cute. Frustrating on occasion, but cute.

She sat down next to him and carefully touched the bruise over his eye, making sure nothing was broken underneath it. His eyes drifted closed at her touch, work temporarily forgotten. “How’s your head?”

“Nothing that can’t be fixed with some painkillers and a good night’s sleep.” He winced when she touched a sensitive spot and she pulled her hand away. “Too bad we won’t find either of those here.”

“I don’t think this room is meant for… sleep.” She cringed, but it just made him laugh. “You should take the bed. A bad night’s sleep is better than none at all.”

“No way,” he said immediately. “I’m not gonna make you sleep on the floor.”

“I’m a Jedi. I’ll meditate or something.” It still wouldn’t be the worst sleep she’d ever gotten, but she didn’t say as much. “It’ll be fine.”

“Or… we could share the bed. If that wouldn’t be weird.” He stood up from the loveseat and paced across the room, as if he couldn’t look at her while making the suggestion. “It would be weird, wouldn’t it? Forget I said anything. Next time I’ll make sure to get a double room.”

“Maybe we should work on our cover,” she teased, kneeling on the loveseat so she could turn around and watch him pace. “Find one that doesn't land us in the honeymoon suite. Or at least in a better honeymoon suite.”

“Sorry, I panicked.” He rubbed the back of his neck and gave her that crooked boyish grin again. Her traitorous heart skipped a beat. “I’m still not used to this whole teamwork thing.”

“It’s okay. I don’t mind,” she assured. “The cover story or sharing the bed.”

“Oh.” That got him to stop pacing, at least. He finally came back over to the loveseat, propping a hip against the back of it so they were relatively close to eye-to-eye. “Okay. Good.”

“Just… do me a favor?”

“Anything,” Theron vowed without hesitation.

Oh. Oh. Marii had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep a ridiculous smile off her face. “Don't tell Kira. I'll never hear the end of it.”

He scoffed a laugh. “Trust me, I’m already learning that the less she knows the better.”

Getting ready for bed was somehow both more and less awkward than Marii would have expected. She was very aware of Theron’s presence in the room, but that wasn’t altogether new. They’d been spending a lot of time together, early mornings and late nights and hours at a console sharing a pot of caf and speaking in half-formed thoughts. Familiarity had only made her more conscious of him.

But at the safehouse, they all had their own rooms (except Teeseven and Teethree, who chose to be roommates), and the knowledge that they were sharing this room made even the act of removing her gloves and boots feel salacious. Watching Theron remove his jacket felt even moreso, though she couldn’t put a finger on why; she’d seen him without it plenty of times.

Marii laid down on her back, as far away from Theron as the weird circular bed allowed. Her own face stared down at her from the ceiling, where a gilded-framed mirror hung. It must’ve been concealed by all the draped fabric, because she hadn’t noticed it until she was directly under it.

“This is karking ridiculous,” Theron grumbled. “What the hell kind of people stay in a room like this deliberately?”

“Are you telling me you didn’t plan this, Agent Shan?” She couldn’t keep the laughter out of her voice, but she tried to keep a straight face. “I’m disappointed.”

“Hey.” He managed to sound genuinely offended, but the corner of his mouth twitched with the effort to conceal a smile. “Give me a little credit.”

When she met his eyes in his reflection in the mirror, she couldn’t hold back anymore and dissolved into giggles. She had to roll over to muffle her laughter in her pillow, on the off chance that the walls were thin enough that her amusement would wake the rest of the hotel. But then Theron joined her and she stopped caring; she could draw the wrath of everyone in the building and it would be worth it.

When they’d finally calmed down, Marii’s sides and cheeks ached in the best way, and the air was clear of the awkwardness that had tried so hard to settle over them. Theron laid much closer now, only a handful of centimeters of ludicrous red silk sheets between them, his head propped up on one hand as he stared down at her with amusement still dancing in his eyes.

“Anything I should know?” he asked in a loud whisper, like they were at risk of being caught up past curfew. “Do you snore? Talk in your sleep?”

“I’ve never had any complaints.” Granted, the only sources she would’ve had were her bunkmates as a youngling and Kira in the early days on the Wayfaring Stranger when the ship felt too empty with just them and Teeseven. Semantics. “You?”

“I hog the blankets.”

She poked him lightly in the chest, pushing just enough to make him lean slightly on his one-armed perch. “I’d like to see you try, spy boy.”

He rocked back toward her, a tiny bit closer than before, and all the humor abruptly drained from his face. Her first instinct was that she'd accidentally hurt him, or that he simply didn't want to be touched. She started to apologize, but the words died on her lips at the look he gave her as soon as she opened her mouth.

It wasn’t the first time he’d looked at her like that, quiet and intense with something akin to hunger darkening his eyes. No doubt her expression was similar. It didn’t happen often enough that she’d gotten up the nerve to address it, but often enough that it was clearly more than incidental. That it meant something.

Normally this was when Kira would call, or an urgent message from Lana or Major Jorgan would arrive. But they weren’t here now to interrupt.

And, it turned out, they didn’t have to be. Among Theron’s many talents, one of them was apparently self-sabotage. Marii could see his adam's apple bob as he swallowed hard, then he forced a smile and leaned back to put a little distance between them. It didn’t really help. “We should, uh, we should probably get some sleep. Before the next disaster arrives.”

We don’t have to. The words wouldn’t make it past the lump in her throat. There was a line there, the width of a lightsaber and shaped suspiciously like his family name, that she wasn’t ready to cross. Yet. Instead, she said, “I guess so.” She was thankful her disappointment wasn’t audible in her voice. “Good night, Theron.”

“Good night, Marii.”

The bed was still too big and too soft, the silk sheets clinging to her clothes, but Marii felt safe here, somehow. That, combined with the exhaustion of the day, dragged her into unconsciousness faster than she would’ve normally expected. She slept deep and dreamless, and awoke the next morning a few minutes before their alarm went off.

Theron hadn’t stolen the blankets in the night, but he had stolen half of her pillow, sprawled carelessly across the bed while somehow managing not to crowd her. His hair was a mess, spiked up at odd angles, and in the morning light (such as it was on Nar Shaddaa) the bruise over his eye was the same burgundy as the sheets.

Her stomach did a funny little flip at the sight. He was without a doubt the most beautiful man she’d ever seen, even like this. Maybe especially like this.

A shrill beep from Theron’s datapad signaled that it was time to get up. He groaned and fumbled with his wrist comm until the noise stopped, then buried his face in the pillow. Marii watched with undisguised amusement as it slowly dawned on him where he was and that he wasn’t alone.

He finally rolled over enough to look her way, squinting as if the bit of light they had was still too bright. He gave her a lazy grin. “Hey.”

“Good morning.”

He groaned again and rolled over onto his back. “How’s my hair?” he asked, as if there wasn’t a mirror directly overhead that he could consult about it.

“Never better.” She brushed her hand over the remnants of his mohawk, attempting to either flatten it the rest of the way or tidy it up. It refused to do either. “No, really. It’s cute.”

“I don’t believe you, but I’ll take it.”

As quickly as possible, they got dressed and snuck out of the hotel. They didn’t talk much on the drive back, keeping a wary eye out for anyone following them. It looked like they’d managed to escape reinforcements, at least for now.

They parted ways as soon as they stepped into the familiar confines of the safehouse, Theron heading for the workstation to check on their Revanite trackers and Marii heading to the kitchen to scrounge up something for breakfast. 

She started the caf pot with a wave of her hand, then dug through the fridge to find something she could eat. Doc must’ve stopped by and dropped off groceries - a passive-aggressive effort to make them all stop only eating junk food and takeout - so she grabbed the carton of eggs and an armful of vegetables that wouldn’t require too much chopping and took them over to the counter.

Kira leaned against the cabinets next to her, a knowing smirk on her face as she watched her muddle her way through cooking. “How was the honeymoon suite, boss?” 

Marii tried to stifle her reaction, but she knew it was futile; her partner would be able to feel her alarm through their bond. She chose not to say anything and just scowled at her half-cooked omelet.

Kira’s face lit with a delighted grin. “Are you serious? That’s a smoother move than I would’ve expected from him. Good on you, spy boy.” Theron was thankfully both too far away and too distracted by work to hear her.

Marii glanced over her shoulder anyway, just in case he’d moved into the kitchen and she hadn’t noticed. “Nothing happened,” she muttered.

“His loss.” Kira stared toward the living room where Theron was having a conversation with the droids - or possibly being yelled at by them, if the indignant beeping was any indication. “Want me to get some more Revanites to chase you around town? Maybe second time’s the charm.”

“I feel like there’s got to be an easier way.” Like talking to him about it, but thankfully that wasn’t the kind of suggestion Kira would make. Too obvious, and she knew she wouldn’t be allowed to eavesdrop. “But thanks for the support.”

She shrugged. “What’re friends for?” 

Kira didn’t say anything else as Marii finished cooking, but she could tell she wanted to. Only when the omelets were done (a little brown in places, but serviceable) and plated did she grab her by the elbow and pull her down closer to her height so she could talk quietly. “As a fellow Jedi, I’m required to remind you that romantic attachment is against the rules. But as your friend…” she glanced over Marii’s shoulder pointedly, and there was no doubt who she was looking at, “don’t let him get away, Mar.”

Theron stepped into the kitchen before she could reply, closing a holocall on his wrist comm as he approached them.

“Hey.” He looked like he was about to say more, but he stopped, glancing back and forth between the two Jedi suspiciously. “What’d I miss?”

Kira just laughed and walked away with her breakfast.

Marii handed him a cup of caf and an omelet. She nudged his shoulder with hers as she walked past him to the dining table. “I’ll tell you later.”

[quirklessidiot]

Title: filthy rich [1/3] Pairing: millionare!sakusa kiyoomi x y/n [filthy capitalist au] Genre: romance, major angst ahead ,fluff, yandere!au-ish 

Synopsis: Your luck had just run out when you realized that you flirted with danger. [400 followers special]

Warnings: language and none...yet….[although i will put a trigger warning that is a controlling, abusive, and kind of a yandere relationship] Notes: 

Happy 460 followers i- look, i know i promised a long kita fanfic but i got more inspired to finish this and write this one because djjdjdjd ,,, anyways this was originally a kpop fanfic i wrote years ago and i switched it up to an omi fanfic. I don’t condone this type of relationship, if ya see this shit on your partner, please run (i beg of you)

also eheh the remaining two requests will be posted soon so uwu

next  ||  series masterlist || taglist 

“Hey Y/N.”

You look up from your medical textbook to find your aunt standing there with an expensive freshly pressed suit on her hand wrapped in plastic, you had been living with her along with her two younger kids in Tokyo after your parents decided to become humanitarian doctors. Wanting to explore and get out of your comfort zone, you ended up living in the big city along with your mother’s closest friend.

“Oh, hey obaasan.” you greeted, “What’s up?”

“Ah, you see, Shoyo is out now and no one will be able to deliver the suit to Sakusa-san, would you mind doing me a favor and delivering it for me?”

You shut your textbook and stood up from your chair, “Sure, uh- could I have his address?” you ask as you took the suit in plastic carefully from her hands, not wanting to damage something that cost as expensive as your tuition in med school. After saying goodbye to your aunt and carefully placing the suit at the back of your car, you drove your way to the upstate part of the city.

Your second hand car stood out like a sore thumb in the lane of expensive and flashy cars, you wanted to waltz in and out of here quickly. Following your aunt’s instruction’s, you march up to the front desk to hand the suit over to the receptionist, “I’m here to drop the laundry for Sakusa-sa-”

Before you could even finish your sentence, she snatched it away from your grasp. You narrow your eyes at her rather uncouth attitude, “Oh, cool...thanks…” you murmur, not wanting to cause a scene or pick a fight with the rude woman, you made a b-line towards the exit. Away from the judging and prying eyes of the people who were very much above you in terms of class and wealth.

The moment you step out though, you watch in horror as your car is being towed away, “Hey!” you exclaimed, hurriedly going to the worker who was writing something down on his clipboard, “Hey, wait! Please, excuse me?”

The worker turned to you with a questioning gaze as you immediately started to explain that you were in and out of the place and that you were just delivering some laundry but all you got was a shake in the head and the words, “It’s not up to me, that guy called us in.” He points his ballpen towards the man in a suit and paired with a surgical white mask on the phone, “...The parking here is for residents only and clearly you’re not one of them.” 

Your eyes almost widened at his explanation, just what was wrong with people who lived here?

You fumingly grab the piece of paper he hands to you and stuff it in your pocket as you march up to the stranger on the phone, “Hey, excuse me!” you proclaimed, there were a few on-lookers but you ignored them, you were seeing red with the treatment you’ve been receiving here. The raven-haired stranger ignores you, still on his phone so you call him out again and when you do, the darkest pair of obsidian eyes are on you.

You clenched your fists tightly as the quote ‘eat the rich’ comes into your head.

“There must be some mistake.” You began slowly, trying to put your anger at bay because you didn’t want the whole thing to escalate in public, “I’m in and out here, all i did was deliver and I didn't know-”

“Your ignorance doesn’t excuse you.”

“Excuse me?”

“Ignorance of the law excuses no one.” He simply states, “Also the car was on the way in my space and not even a parking spot.”

You let out a loud, sardonic laugh, “I’d be gone in two minutes if you waited.”

“You would’ve wasted my two minutes.” 

You clenched your fist tightly and as you were about to bite back on his snide remark, the receptionist from before intervenes, “Excuse me, he’s right. You aren’t allowed to park here.” she tries to look professional but you know she’s just siding with this idiot since he had the money.

“Right.” you nod, “You know what, fuck it, this blows. All I did was my job and I have to be shitted on because I don’t have money like Mr.fancy-pants over here.” You bellowed,your glare was intense as you turned around, stomping away before you would do anything you’d regret.

The stranger’s eyes towards you do not waver though, how interesting, he thought.

You never wanted to return to that place again, not only did you lose a lot of money to pay your toll fee for your car but you needed to buy a bunch of new books for the new semester. You groan out loud as you also realize that you needed to do a grocery run since all you had were empty packets of instant Ramen and water in your apartment.

Chunking the cue cards to the side, you made your way to the convenience store, the city was definitely alive tonight and amidst that, you look absolutely dead tired. Your eye bags were getting thicker, a few zits had popped out, and you had grown thin in an unhealthy way because of your food consumption.

Man, being in med school and being dumb wasn’t a very good combination.

Your thoughts are interrupted when your aunt calls you again and says you have to do deliveries tonight, “You remember Sakusa-san?” your aunt says on the other line.

You couldn’t help but grimace at the mention of the man and the memories of where he lived.

Man, did this Sakusa-san needed new neighbors.

“What does he need a suit for in this unholy hour?” You mentally groaned.

“He needs it for laundry, you can have the money when you pick it up.”

Your ears immediately perk up at the mention of cash, you decided to take public transportation since you didn’t want to risk getting your car toll away by that Sakusa guy’s wretched fancy-pants neighbor. Grocery shopping could wait another time, “Stupid rich people.” You muttered under your breath as you pushed open the entrance to find the same man who you despised, sitting there with a laundry basket next to him.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” You mumbled, sucking in a deep breath, you say, “Sakusa-san?”

“So I was right.” he says, pulling down his mask to reveal his sharp features, “You were the one who delivered my suit that day. It’s usually a young boy with a bike.”

Boy, this man was definitely at his prime, he was probably a good few years older than you and you bet he had the ladies swinging left and right with that face. Too bad he had a shitty attitude though.

“Well, that doesn’t give you an excuse to tow my car away.” you deadpan.

“How much do I owe you for the unfortunate accident then?” his tone was rich and low but you detected no remorse in it, it was as if waving huge chunks of money would help tremendously. The asshole couldn’t even properly say sorry to you because of the hard time you had to go through that time.

“None,” you scoffed, “Just hand me your laundry and pay the fee, we’ll call it even.”

The raven-haired man tilts his head and carefully hands you the laundry bag along with a wad of cash, your eyes immediately widen out of character, “Woah, wait-”

“For the troubles.” He simply replies, “Goodnight.”

You later found out that his full name was Sakusa Kiyoomi and not only was he rich, he was filthy rich. The man used to be a big volleyball player back or something when he was in high school and college but instead of becoming a pro player, he had inherited the family business.

“Huh, so he was a capitalist.” You stare at his picture at the morning paper which was coincidentally an article about him. You decided to forget about it, expecting to not see him after that night since Hinata had no classes or practices these upcoming weeks yet weirdly enough, he started to ask for you to pick up his laundry instead.

So you both fell into a strange routine, you’d pick up his laundry and return it the next day. He was also there to pick up his things and you no longer needed to talk to the rude receptionist. You were suspicious of him yet you decided to just overlook it, he gave good tips and he wasn’t as rude as the first time you met him, in fact, he made small conversations now and you sort of got to know the man.

You had a weird dynamic but strangely enough, it worked.

“L/N-san.” 

“Good evening,” You greeted per usual, holding out your hand yet his eyes squinted at the bandage on your hand.

“What happened.” the raven-haired man asked, his gaze zeroing on the wound that you got in one of your classes.

“I’m a med student...I cut myself instead of the cadaver in class.” you shrug nonchalantly as you wiggle your fingers, “It’s alright though, I’m not going to stain your suit that you keep putting back to the laundry for some odd reason.”

“You got hurt.”

“Happens to the best of us.”

Sakusa mutters something incoherent under his breath before saying, “I’ll take you to your car.”

“Woah there-”

The man ignores you as he walks ahead of you, this was certainly getting out of character, even for him who always asked for you, “Open it.” He orders as he points to the car door, you begrudgingly obliged and did as he said. He places the laundry inside and turns to you to give you his usual pay, “Take care of yourself next time, L/N-san.”

The very next day, your aunt hands you an expensive package of ointments on your doorstep. Your brows are furrowed together in confusion as she says that they’re from the millionaire himself. You pointedly look at the package in front of you, completely lost as to why someone like him would send something like this to the person who he wasn’t exactly close with.

“Y/N-saaaaan…” Hinata drowns, you snap your gaze from your notes to the young orange-haired boy, “I’ve got news!”

You had stopped working for your aunt since you found a job at your university’s library, not only were the hours more lax but they even minus some of the tuition as long as you worked there. It was definitely a win-win situation for you.

“What’s up, orange?” You asked.

“Remember Sakusa-san?”

You hum a reply, “What about him?”

“I think he likes you.”

You almost choke on your saliva when you heard that, this little brat, why you ought to-

“He looked really disappointed when I said that you didn’t work for us anymore.” Hinata explains, cutting your thoughts short, 

“Right.” You drawl, shaking your head, “Maybe you were just hard to look at, that’s why.”

“Hey!” He clenched his fists together and pouted at your tone, “I don’t even know why he likes you!”

You feel a vein pop in his forehead as you hear his insult,  you proceeded to chunk a pillow to his direction in which he successfully dodged, “Get your facts straight and I assure you, he doesn’t like me.” you grumbled, returning to your books.

Ultimately, you thought that you’d never see Sakusa Kiyoomi ever again. It was fairly obvious that outside your job, someone of high caliber as him was someone you’d never see again yet you're immediately thrown off guard when you find him standing there around your campus.

Your eyes widen in surprise, well what do you know? it was the devil himself.

“Sakusa-san.”

“L/N-san.”

Man, you may not have seen him for a month or two but despite wearing the mask, you could tell that  e still sported the same blank and basic bitch face behind it. Hinata was wrong in all ways, this guy wouldn’t like you, he’d probably deem you too low class for him, “What a surprise, it’s been a while.” You stiffly bowed down.

“You’re acting weird.” 

You raise your gaze to meet his and you could see the glint of amusement in his eyes.

“You’re most likely a guest in the university.” You mumbled, scratching your head, “People might come at me if I treated you as casually as before.”

Sakusa raises his brow, “That’s funny coming from someone who was this close to punching me during our first meeting.”

“You were being a dick that time.”

“How you have guts to say that to my face amazes me every time.”

“Oh yeah?” You chortled, amused by his statement, “I’m starting to think you’ve taken a liking on me.”

“Was it not obvious when I kept asking for you from Hinata-san?”

You immediately choke on the coffee you were sipping, burning your tongue in the process, “Okay what the hell, sakusa-san-” you said in between coughs.

Your freeze up when you look at him dead in the eye, his eyes crinkling, was he smiling behind the mask? No way, the Sakusa Kiyoomi was smiling at you? He pulls down his mask and bends down, making you retract your steps and your cheeks flush to a brightly red color, “You’re turning red.” he points out loud and that makes you turn even redder.

“You’re acting weird.”

“You were getting dense.” 

“How was I supposed to know...to know that…” You try to stutter out, completely embarrassed.

“To know what?” 

“You know what.” You grumbled, standing up a bit straighter and ignoring his teasing tone, “I’m not interested in you.”

“Your red cheeks say otherwise.”

“It’s the cold weather.” You harshly replied, looking away again, trying to avoid his gaze, “I’m not interested in a boyfriend, a flirting partner, or whatever that is. So good day!” 

You immediately stomp away, leaving Sakusa Kiyoomi with an amused smirk. How entertaining and adorable, you looked like a bunny. His cute bunny.

A few days had passed from that little interaction and you wanted to hurl yourself out the window whenever you thought about it. Sakusa Kiyoomi? The filthy rich capitalist Sakusa Kiyoomi? Interested in you? What kind of k-drama was this?

You tried to avoid going out much in the campus, Apparently he was around after he donated half a million to the medicine department.

You immediately groaned out loud at the thought, there was in no way that all this was possible!

“L/N-san.”

You immediately jump on the spot and drop your keys, “Holy fucking-” You pause, biting back your tongue, there he stood sporting a casual attire instead of a business suit and his usual face mask,  “Sakusa-san?”

“Kiyoomi.” He smoothly corrects.

“Nice. Very nice.” You dryly replied, “Heard you donated half a million and some new equipment to our department. Sweet.”

“You don’t look that happy.”

“I mean you basically confessed that you were interested then decided to donate to my department only.” You narrow your eyes suspiciously, “You remind me of a sugar daddy.”

“Well,” He shrugged, “You didn’t exactly deny that you wanted one.”

Your brain immediately short-circuits as you try to stutter out a reply, Sakusa looked like he’d been having a field day. Gone was the fiery girl he met a few months ago, he really knew what to say to reduce you to a stuttering mess.

“I’m kidding, L/N-san.” he deadpanned when he realized that you weren’t giving him a straight answer since your mind was jumbled up, “It was purely coincidental, we’ve been eyeing certain medicine departments and yours was performing top-notch. It doesn’t mean that I’m any less interested in taking you out.”

“You do know I’m poor right…” You sweatdrop, “I could easily take advantage of you-”

“One date, L/N-san…” he says, ignoring your very weak argument, “Just one then I’ll let you go.”

You don’t know why but you ended up saying yes that day.

You didn’t know what to expect on your first date and you had your fingers cross the whole time that he wouldn’t take you to an expensive michelin star restaurant since you didn’t have the clothes for the place.

Thankfully, the date was more casual than you expected, it was in his home and he had  cooked the meal himself.

“You’re looking oddly relieved.”

“I can’t function well in expensive restaurants.” You sweatdrop, covering your awkwardness with a laugh. You’ve never gone on dates before, the idea of being intimate with someone had made you feel awkward and bothered. 

“I’m not a big fan of public areas so I assure you we're not going on those anytime soon.” 

“Well aren’t you getting confident.” You raise a brow, teasing him a bit as you start to pick on the beef with your chopsticks.

“Call it a gut feeling, L/N-san.”

“Y/N.”

“What?”

“You asked me to call you Kiyoomi and well,” you turn red once again, “Well it would be awkward if you were all formal with me.”

You saw the small twinkle in his eyes, “Y/N.” your name rolls out of his tongue smoothly and you feel your heart hammering on your chest, “I like that, Y/N…” 

It was in that little moment that you realized that you liked it when he called your name.

The dinner went by without a hitch, Sakusa Kiyoomi was not the same arrogant man that the media portrayed him to be. He was quiet, understanding, and soft. Completely the opposite of the first day you met him. He urged you to talk more about yourself, saying how boring and open his life was since the media tailed him a lot.

“Why Tokyo?” 

“Why not?” You shrug, swishing the wine before taking a small sip, “It’s a great place, it’s new, and I had someone I knew here. My mom and Obaasan were good friends so I was allowed to move here on my own.”

“Are you coming back to your country if you’re done with your studies?”

You were silent for a moment, “I don’t think so. I wanna be like my parents.”

“A humanitarian doctor, huh?”

“Yeah.” You smile, “A humanitarian doctor. How about you? What’s your story?”

“Nothing interesting.” He glazed, “I’m an open book, Y/N.”

“Open book?” You tilt your head to the side, “You’re usually painted as an asshole by the media…”

“But you don’t believe it.”

“You kinda were when we first met.”

For the first time, you hear his soft chuckle and your heart starts beating fast. You liked that sound, you wanted to hear something like that again, “You always know how to amuse me, Y/N.” he shakes his head, “And for the record, just because I’m not comfortable with touches, public places and whatnot does not make me an asshole...I just am a very private person with interests…”

“What’s your interest now?”

“You.” He replied nonchalantly, making you look away..

“Stop.”

“What?”

“Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Flirting with me with a straight face like you mean it!” You choke out, turning red.

“Because I do mean it, Y/N.” He shrugs. “I am interested in you.”

It seemed like that little date you had turned out more successful than you thought, one date led to another and another. This went on for a few months until he asked you to be his partner one night at a very random place, you usually pictured Sakusa Kiyoomi to be the smooth type     you were, after all, always the stuttering mess between you two     but when he asks you to be his officially, outside the public restroom of all places with his ear tips turning red, your reduced to a heaping pile of giggles.

With men like him, you didn’t exactly expect anything more than the dates.

You should’ve known better that he was too good to be true.

general taglist for the next part is open aye

[bi-turtle-enthusiast]

the people have spoken.

Hualian DMV AU

Part 1: The Driving Test

Xie Lian arrives at the DMV with his cousin Qi Rong. He's here to get a new driver's license after his second suspension. It's taken a very long 80 months, but he's completed his traffic school, finally gotten a complete understanding of bike lanes, and saved up enough money for a new car after his last one got totally trashed in an accident involving a bike lane, a tree, and a really weird biker who was dressed all in white.

Unfortunately, upon arriving at the DMV, a weird raccoon runs past him and he jumps out of the way to avoid it. In the process, he knocks over a motorbike which almost falls on someone else passing by. He hurriedly apologizes, then runs to get in line for his driving test. Unfortunately, the guy he almost knocked over with the motorbike is heading the same way as him. And even worse, it's his childhood best friend, Mu Qing! Can this day get any worse? He sees Mu Qing stride past the line without even looking, and Xie Lian realizes that Mu Qing works at the DMV. He watches as Mu Qing goes over to the corner to talk to.... his other childhood best friend, Feng Xin, who also works at the DMV! They both talk, glancing at Xie Lian. Xie Lian overhears some snippets, and realizes that the motorbike he knocked over belonged to Feng Xin.

He doesn't have time to think about that though, because it's his turn. The employee at the desk sighs and says, "You again?" Xie Lian realizes it's Ling Wen. She was an intern the last time he was at the DMV, but she remembers him.

Xie Lian submits his paperwork and gets ready for his test. He waits in the car with Qi Rong and resists the urge to strangle him. He doesn't understand why he's gotten suspended twice but Qi Rong, who loves driving at 50mph in residential areas, still has his license. Then, he sees his driving test proctor. It's a handsome man, wearing a red shirt and silver earrings. An eye patch covers his right eye. As Qi Rong gets out of the car and the driving instructor gets in, Xie Lian catches a whiff of jasmine. When he moves to fasten his seatbelt, Xie Lian hears his jewelry softly chime.

The test proctor introduces himself as San Lang even though he has a name tag that clearly says "Hua Cheng." Xie Lian doesn't question it. The driving test goes really smoothly. San Lang keeps giving Xie Lian pointers, even though test proctors aren't really supposed to do that.

At the end of the test, San Lang goes over Xie Lian's score. He mentions that Xie Lian was really good at checking the bike lane, but that he needed some more practice with four way stops because he kept letting everyone else go instead of going when it was his turn. Xie Lian thanks him, and says he doesn't really have many opportunities to practice driving. With a smirk and a flirty wink, San Lang offers to give him weekend lessons, and Xie Lian agrees.

Part 2: The Blackwater Arc (ish)

Xie Lian is in need of a job, and he applies for one at the DMV, hoping he can maybe work with that hottie San Lang. He does get hired, but his duties are more aligned with sorting files and managing documents. It's a good thing his adoptive father figure Jun Wu runs that DMV or he might not have gotten hired at all. Jun Wu is an authoritative man who always wears high collars and suits. In his department, he meets the bubbly Shi Qingxuan (uses he/she pronouns and is genderfluid) her best friend Ming Yi.

Xie Lian is going through some employee documents when he finds Shi Qingxuan's birth certificate and proofs of residence. He notices a lot of discrepancies based on what Shi Qingxuan has shared with him, and with a sinking feeling, realizes that Shi Qingxuan's documents are fraudulent. Xie Lian asks Shi Qingxuan about this. Shi Qingxuan vehemently swears that he had no idea about the fraudulent documents, and that his brother was the one who was in charge of all of his documents.

Xie Lian, San Lang, Ming Yi, and Shi Qingxuan confront Shi Wudu, who confesses to everything. Ming Yi gets it all on tape, and reveals that he's the one who put Shi Qingxuan's birth certificate in Xie Lian's pile of documents. He wanted to take Shi Wudu down from the very beginning. Shi Wudu gets arrested and Shi Qingxuan gets fired from the DMV.

San Lang reveals that he knew about Ming Yi's plan to expose Shi Wudu the whole time. Xie Lian is sad, but forgives him.

Part 3: The Final Chapter

Xie Lian is still taking driving lessons from San Lang, except they aren't driving lessons so much as him and San Lang driving somewhere and spending time with each other... kind of like a date. They eventually confess their feelings to each other and start dating! Xie Lian realizes that San Lang is the same kid he saved from a bunch of elementary school bullies in 4th grade.

Alas, things aren't peaceful for long. Xie Lian discovers that his boss, his adoptive father figure, the person he trusts most, Jun Wu, has been selling peoples' private information to 3rd party data brokers!! Xie Lian can't believe that his own boss would commit fraud like this. He also comes to realize that Jun Wu has been orchestrating situations that result in Xie Lian getting his license suspended!! The weird guy dressed in white on a bike? That was Jun Wu! Jun Wu wears high collars to hide a scar on his neck from the accident.

Xie Lian struggles to grapple with this fact, but to his surprise, his 4th grade teacher, Mei Nianqing, comes to the rescue! He was in contact with Mei Nianqing for years because he volunteered at his old elementary school. Mei Nianqing reveals that he has a record of all of Jun Wu's crimes. Feng Xin and Mu Qing decide to help Xie Lian and San Lang bring Jun Wu to trial, and Jun Wu gets arrested for life due to his long list of crimes.

San Lang and Xie Lian get married and work at the DMV forever. The end.

Also Shi Qingxuan moves in with Ming Yi and they don't hate each other and they're in a queerplatonic relationship.

[ve1vetyoongi]

wherever you will go | jjk

Pairing: Jungkook x female reader

Genre: actor!oc, director!jungkook, smut, angst, humour.

Word count: 21k

Summary:  Not much happens when you grow up by the coast. Tourists come and go, the theatre where you work shows the same shows over and over and there’s always sand and salt in the air. Your dreams of making it big in the city are exactly that: dreams. When your hopes of becoming an actress are shattered into a million pieces, you find yourself getting drawn to a captivating up-and-coming movie director by the name of Jeon Jungkook. With his bright eyes and charming smile, he seems determined to glue your pieces back together -- even if it means leaving Ocean City behind for good.

Warnings: themes of loss/grief, mentions of death of a parent, dom!jungkook, dom/sub themes, spanking, squirting, unprotected sex, oral sex (f recieving).

Rating: Mature.

A/N: Hello loves! HAPPY JK DAY!! This fic is a lil celebration of our golden boy Jungkook so I hope you enjoy!! This whole fic is sickeningly fluffy and reads like a pretentious YA novel but ya girl wrote this while she was stuck in quarantine a few weeks ago and I debated not posting this bc I lowkey love it lowkey hate it so pleasedonthateme if it’s bad LOL. Also -- just incase you haven’t read the warnings already there is a running theme that deals with the loss of a parent (a topic very close to my heart, hence why this piece was especially healing to write.) so reader discretion is advised if that is triggering to you in any way shape or form!!!! P.P.S Largely unedited so pls bare with any mistakes!

Prelude.

You're late for your work shift, you note, as you catch sight of your watch face glaring up at you menacingly from the arm clutching the handle bars of your bike. As if your mood couldn't get any more miserable -- the dreary morning drizzle that falls from the sky and drips icily down the back of your nape was bad enough.

Goddamn, you groan to yourself as you will your feet to pedal ever faster. Now my hair is gonna be frizzy.

It's a Saturday and the theatre where you work always opens earlier at the weekends. You promised you'd be on time today, but yet here you are, speeding down the worn in sandy sidewalks of your seaside town a whole block away when you should've been opening up half an hour ago.

It's a habit of yours, being late. And as hard as you try, you just can't change a habit. But it can't be helped you suppose. Continuity is all you've ever known. That's the thing about living in a tiny seaside town. Things never change.

The view from your bedroom window has been the same for as long as you can remember — Ocean City — Aka, block after block of rainbow coloured houses with flaky paint leading up to the harbour where boats bob nonchalantly and fishermen reel in their catches beneath the gull filled sky. Beyond it the beach; greyish rolling waves and upturned pebbles nestled atop of hard sand in the winter and clear water and brightly coloured beach towels and brave surfers in the summer.

Nobody ever leaves, and the tourists that arrive in summer never stay. Life becomes a predictable practice, just each day lived out to the next in an endless cycle of never ending continuity. It's suffocating and endless and sometimes you feel like you're just a pawn on a giant chess board, destined to move one agonising square forward at a time, never diagonally. It's hard to change directions when you've been taught to stick to what you know.

You didn't always live here, in this town of continuity. You lived in the big city for a while, where no day was the same as another. But after your mother died you and your older brother were shipped off to live with your dad, who wouldn't know the definition of adapting if it hit him square in the face. He's always been the same square shouldered, balding dude in his forties who never wanted kids and never quite got over losing your mother to the big buck actor she ran off with when you were two.

So that's how you ended up here. Late for work at your job in the country's most prized vacation spot. And your boring reality.

You roll past the beach huts on the shoreline that alternate between vibrant pink and muted blue, barely paying attention to the boardwalk with its little boat house that stretches out into the horizon like a crooked finger. When it gets dark, you can spot the pier carnival lights flashing in the distance from here as they dance across the reflection of the pale white moon and play among the waves.

Even now, the yellow lights of the ornate street lamps that line the water's front shine like tiger's eyes against the sky just like they always have when you turn down the familiar route that takes you past the winding lanes of trinket shops and the happy hour bars and the carnival that feels strangely empty at such an early hour, not a single rollercoaster ride in operation.

Before long you're skidding to a stop outside of the The Crestmont, the old theatre where you work. It's everything you'd expect from a vintage cinema; pink and blue neon lights and a gold trimmed ticket booth out front with a three-sided marquee that extends from the front of the building like a brightly lit airport runway. You hurry beneath it, grateful for the protection it provides from the rain that has started to come down in lashes now, before heading over to the rack around the back of the building where you can chain your bike.

The Crestmont used to be somewhat of a hotspot back in the day or so your told, but these days it only shows cartoons at a discounted price for the neighbourhood kids and the occasional local production of some worn out musical everyone has seen a hundred times before. It's lost all it's magic, everyone says. But you disagree; you probably spend more time here than anyone, and there's magic in every inch of this place.

From the red velvet curtains to the grand chandelier, The Crestmont is one of a kind. Sometimes you disappear into the theatre by yourself for a while unbeknownst to your manager. You can almost taste the laughter and the tears and the love that has been spilled and shared unapologetically amongst these seats. Pure magic.

Your mom left a piece of herself here, too. If you close your eyes you can hear her laughter spilling out into the theatre, or her lilting singing voice filling every nook and cranny like a haunting siren. She was the Crestmont's star. Ocean City's sweetheart.

There's a wall of fame in the lobby. It's covered in portraits crested with gold frames, all filled with pictures of the Crestmont's greatest performers. You've spent hours there — (turns out it's the perfect hiding spot from your manager) — fingers tracing the plaques beneath each one, all inscribed with names that townsfolk whisper with dreamy looks in their eyes. Some are black and white, some colour, but all of them depict pretty faces with beaming smiles that never seem to fade.

Not even your mom's. Her smile is pearly and bright, right above the plaque with her birthdate. And her death date.

And right there at the end, an empty frame. Your frame. You can feel it. You already know how you'll pose for your picture. Hair over one shoulder, hand on hip, smile so convincing that it'll be like every happiness in your heart is written right across your forehead proudly, and you won't have to dull it any longer.

You finish hooking a chain around the handlebars of your bike, catching sight of your reflection in the darkened windows. Staring back at you is a girl dressed in a maroon v-neck with a preppy dicky bow tied around her collar. You frown. The white shirt itches and the high waisted pants make your crotch look weird but the uniform is compulsory. The only thing uglier is the sour expression on your face, which you try to smooth out with your thumb, experimenting with plastering a sickly smile to your face instead. It might be convincing if your lips didn't strain and your eyes weren't so prone to rolling without your permission.

You need to learn to hide your emotions, your father said. You have your feelings written across your face. Customers don't like that.

It's true; customer's didn't usually like you, your unforgiving face or when you spilled cola down their blouse or spat in their popcorn. One more complaint and you were on the path to being fired once and for all, and although in some ways you would be glad to say goodbye to the stupid slushie machine that always gets stuck and the ungrateful customers and the goddamn uniform, you can't loose this job.

Not when it's your ticket to making it big. Then customers will point to your picture as they pass and clutch their chest with a snide superiority, Oh! Can you believe she served me a cola once? I always knew she was gonna make it! instead of Would it kill you to smile a little, honey?

So you swallow a sigh and make your smile as convincing as possible and march inside of the ornate theatre doors of The Crestmont, hoping that today may be the day where things finally change for once.

Where it begins

"I'm going to work!" You call as you you pull a baseball cap down over your hair to cover it's unbrushed wildness. "I won't be back for a while so don't wait up, okay Taehyung?"

You pause with your hand on the door, listening carefully for a response; the small house you live in pulsates with the bass of some indie rock album your brother and his friends are obsessed with at the moment, and your eyes roll when you peer up the staircase and find Taehyung's bedroom door firmly closed like always.

With a shake of your head you scribble out a message on a sticky note — GONE 2 WORK. — and leave it for him to read when he eventually emerges from his man cave in search of sustenance and finds you gone.

You brush away the funny ache that nestles in your stomach. This is nothing new. You're used to not being heard. Your dad is always gone for trips you suspect involve more play than work, and your older brother pretends he's not broken by hanging around with the neighbourhood cool kids and barraging himself in his room for days on end. Despite living under one roof it feels as though you're miles apart, an invisible barrier separating you indefinitely.

You weren't always like this; distant, always stepping on eggshells around each other. You were a family once. A happy one. But since the accident there's been an absence in this house, and nothing has been the same since.

Still, you know that beneath Taehyung's standoffish persona, he's still your big brother. He worries about you. So you tack the note to the fridge and make your way outside.

The lawn is already brown despite it only being late May, and summer is shaping up to be hot and sticky, though you live two blocks away from the beach so the coolness of the ocean still thankfully pervades against your perspiring skin, the gulls already calling you with their high pitched squaks from down at the shoreline.

You've barely made it to the end of the drive before there's the sound of knuckles rapping against glass. You look up and your heart jumps into your mouth. Staring back at you is a pair of dark eyes from behind the upstairs windowpane. Even from this distance you can see how they shine, deep and dark like a cup of black coffee, and you'd recognise the annoyingly cute smirk that matches them anywhere.

Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook. Taehyung's best friend, and, unfortunately, your crush for as long as you knew what the word love meant.

"Hey, Y/N!" Your heart sinks when the window slides open and a messy head of brown hair sticks out through the gap and points at you with a pout. "You're leaving already? Without me?"

Oh; another thing about Jeon Jungkook. He's also your co-worker, which means you spend 16 hours a week in his company, much to the glee of your heart and the dismay of your conscience.

You weren't exactly surprised when you turned up to the Crestmont theatre for your first shift and were left in the capable hands of none other than Jungkook to teach you the ins and the outs of the popcorn machine and the ticket booth.

For as long as you've known him he's been somewhat of a film buff. He practically grew up holding a camera. You always used watch him and your brother making home movies in the backyard, fit with ketchup sachets for blood and endless costumes from your mom's closet. And the one time you stayed at his house when your dad went away for a while after the accident, you saw all the classic movie posters on his bedroom wall; Casablanca, Singing in the Rain, Jaws. So it made total sense for Jungkook to be at the Crestmont. In fact, you couldn't imagine him anywhere else.

That day you were mostly just surprised that he knew who you were at all. While you had spent years watching him from your bedroom window while he kicked a ball around with Taehyung or avoiding his eyes at the table when he stayed for dinner, he had never so much as glanced in your direction.

Deep down you think the reason he was so quick to take you under his wing is because he knew first hand how hard the accident hit your family. You suppose he feels he owes it to Taehyung to keep you in high spirits.

Although if you weren't you and he wasn't him, you'd swear Jungkook's attentions had become almost flirtatious as of late. He always goes the extra mile to spend time with you, and you even though you know it'll end up with you getting hurt you can't bring yourself to stop him.

You see, Jungkook has a gift for subtle charm. Like how he always sneaks you sodas out back on your lunch break, never forgetting the extra syrup — tooth rottingly sweet just how you like it — slipping one of his own dollars into the cash register to avoid a telling off from your manager. Or how he insists on helping you clean up after the theatre is empty, showing you the best secret places like down the back off seats to find misplaced trinkets and the creaky floorboard where your manager hides his cigarettes. How he insists on walking you home after the evening shift, even if he says he's going this way to see Taehyung anyway.

You've spent countless hours pondering over whether his sweet talking words mean as much to him as they do to you. And as much as you know it's unlikely for someone like Jeon Jungkook to ever have feelings for you, you can't help the way your heart speeds up every time he shoots you one of his signature bunny smiles that light up his whole face like he's happiness personified. And you can't bring yourself to hate him for it.

"I did call," you respond matter of factly, finally sucking in a breath of courage to turn around and squint up at him through the afternoon sun with a shrug. "But that trash you're listening too was too loud for you guys to hear me."

Jungkook's eyes widen as he fumbles around beneath the windowsill and pops up again holding up a shiny vinyl record sleeve. You recognise it instantly; it's from his favourite film — Submarine. He hardly ever shuts up about it.

"This is not trash. This is, like, the best movie soundtrack ever made!" He shakes his head as he takes the needle off of Taehyung's vintage record player, music ceasing with a scratch, and slips it into the sleeve with a grin. "Good thing I have it downloaded so we can listen to it on the way to work, hm?"

You roll your eyes and tap your foot impatiently, and at that, Taehyung appears behind him.

"You're leaving already?" He frowns, words directed at Jungkook even as he glances through narrowed eyes at you stood awkwardly on the front lawn.

"Yup. My shift starts in twenty." Jungkook shrugs, disappearing into the room for a second before he emerges again with a backpack slung over his shoulder. "Sorry dude. I can come back afterwards though, if you want?"

Taehyung purses his lips. Even from here you can see the stress lines embedded in his forehead that make him look older than his humble age of nineteen, somehow weak unlike how you always saw him as a kid. Big and strong; untouchable; your brother.

His blunt eyes never quite meet Jungkook's as he shakes his head softly. "'S good. I was gonna try and sleep, anyway, before the sun goes down. Didn't get much shut eye last night. Not with the..."

Nightmares. Taehyung trails off, but you know that's what he's alluding to. The nightmares that turn your big strong brother into a sniffling mess in the dead of night, kicking around mercilessly until you sneak into his bed and whisper to him until he slips into slumber again. Not that you ever acknowledge it in the morning over your bowls of cereal and vacant good morning's.

"Okay." Jungkook's face momentarily falls; a rare occurrence from the boy who seems to be perpetually cheerful. He pats Taehyung on the shoulder gently. "Take care of yourself, okay man?"

Taehyung just nods, letting out a yawn as he rolls into a stretch. "See ya tomorrow."

You're jolted from your thoughts when Jungkook throws his left leg out of the window, then the other, arms bulging in just the right way where they poke out of the sleeves of his plain white tee as he climbs down the drainpipe and lands with a thump on the soles of his high top sneakers.

"Hey kiddo." He grins as he wipes the palms of his hands on the thighs of his ripped jeans, before messing up your hair despite your groan of protest.

"Don't call me that. You're only a year older than me."

You're startled when you meet the pair of warm eyes that glint golden brown in the summer evening light, chest contracting as you look away and break into a fast walk towards the street.

"And you know you can just use the front door right?"

You hear him snort behind you, neglecting to use the front gate and instead launching over the fence so he lands directly in front of you on the sidewalk.

"How am I supposed to impress my best friends little sister if I can't show off my guns?" He flexes his arm, but you just brush past him with a roll of your eyes.

"You're an idiot."

You hear the clunk of his bike chain unhooking from the gate, before a set of wheels pedal up on the sidewalk beside you. "Hey! Where are you going?"

"Uh, to work?" You offer bluntly, squinting at him through the sun. "You should be too, we start in fifteen minutes."

"I mean why are you walking? What happened to your bike?"

You roll your eyes. "Some tourist kids slashed the wheels at the beach."

"Shit. Really?" Jungkook tuts, but you don't miss the glint in his eye as he nods towards the pegs on the back of his bike that were made for carrying a passenger."Then I guess it's my lucky day. Hop on, we can ride together."

You come to a standstill, arms crossed tightly. "I'd rather walk."

"Oh come on!" He wiggles his eyebrows. "It'll take double the time if we go on foot, and I recall it being you who got a final late warning last week."

"If we go on foot?" You laugh breathily, determined to stand your ground. "Just go on ahead, I'm good here."

"Well, I'm not exactly going to leave you here alone on the side of the road now am I? So I'll be forced to walk with you. And I'm older than you remember? Look, I'm already out of breath! My legs aren't what they used to be, y'know."

"Fine!" With a pout you take the helmet resting in his front basket and hook it underneath your chin, biting your lip to stop a smile from gracing your lips at the excitement that lights up Jungkook's features. "But only because I want you to shut up."

"Your wish is my command." He says with a pat to your head. "Hold on tight, okay?"

And as you wrap your arms around his waist, you're sure his ears heat up a deep shade of red, even it could just be the evening light playing tricks on you.

The theatre at the Crestmont feels eerily quiet when its empty.

You know that because even though your shift was supposed to end at 5, you offered to stick around to help clean up after today's performance. Phantom of the Opera.

"Jesus," You groan as you pick up another sticky soda cup that someone had kindly spilled all over the ground for you to clean up, dropping the offender into a black trash bag. "Doesn't anyone around here know how to use a trash can?"

You fall into one of the theatre seats with a sigh and run your fingers over the scarlet velvet, worn yet plush, the texture soothing you instantly. You tilt your head back and let the silence engulf you. No orchestra, no musical numbers, no stage crew shouting directions. No whirring cotton candy machine. Just you and the stage.

From here you can see every detail on the high ceiling littered with renaissance-style paintings of mermaids and babies armed with heart shaped bow and arrows. Your mom was an actress. When you were a kid you used to spent hours staring at them while she rehearsed. You were convinced they came alive once the theatre closed up for the night, their cheeky smiles evidence of a secret only you knew.

A trail of rainbows is cast by the grand chandelier hung in the center, and it draws your attention all the way down the aisles and up to the stage.

The Crestmont is only small, fitting perhaps 200 people at most. It's hardly Broadway. But the fire in your chest ignites as you glance side to side before sidling up the creaking wooden steps that wind up to the Crestmont's center stage. Your favourite part of the whole theatre.

It's not the first time you've done this. You often like to come up here after everyone has gone home, even though you technically aren't supposed to. There's a certain magic about being alone up here as you collect the lone roses that were thrown on stage by tonight's audience. Breathing in the musty smell of butter popcorn that lingers on the velvet curtains, feel the warmth of the bright stage lights glazing your skin. Something about it feels like home.

The first time you ever saw the Crestmont stage was on tv, watching a grainy camera shakily capture your mom in the very same spot you find yourself right now.

Your mom used to have a cardboard box filled with her old audition tapes. Everything from Hamlet to A Streetcar Named Desire, she'd starred in it, and you spent hours together in front of the television set trying to memorise the way she spoke your favourite lines and listening to her lilting voice recite backstage anecdotes about her rendezvous with foreign directors who dined on her in Paris or underground parties with celebrities you had never even heard of as she stroked your hair.

It wasn't until you got a little older that you realised that, just like you, your mom was a dreamer. Sure, she'd visited a couple different states and starred in some makeup commercials once, and that was enough to make her a celebrity in a town as small as this.

But really? She was just a small town actress with dreams larger than herself and way larger than the Crestmont where she made her name. And suddenly the gaps in time where she would disappear for weeks — sometimes months — on end no longer made sense to you. If she wasn't drinking cocktails with the prince of Monaco or clubbing in London, then where was she?

"Down town with those no good roadies," Taehyung told you once. "They made all these empty promises. Told her she'd make it big if she just did what they said. But look how that turned out."

That was the day you realised your mom was a better actress than you ever knew.

She always thought that her dreams would come true. She believed it so hard that you believed it too, naively. But who knows? Maybe they would have if she didn't get into an accident on her way to New York for her big break.

It's easy to imagine how your mom felt up here. She always looked so alive and free in those VHS tapes as she danced effortlessly across the stage with an ethereal weightlessness, the theatre silent except for the melodic sweetness of her monologues that drew tears to the eyes of those who listened eagerly.

If you close your eyes you can hear the roar of the crowd, hands clapping furiously. The orchestra tuning their brass in the pit, bows melodic against strings. Flowers landing at your feet. The deep breath of satisfaction as you take your final bow and the curtain closes.

Just like that you're moving across the stage, reciting the lines you know so well...

"You're gonna be a star like me some day," A voice whispers against your ear, soft and gentle. A memory. Your mom. "Just like me."

And just like that, she's there. In the audience, clapping. For you. And you feel invincible.

The sound of applause breaks you out of your trance. Real applause. You find yourself stood center stage, broom in hand, staring out at row after row of empty seats that gape with the same emptiness that was here when you arrived.

Except one of the velvet lined seats is filled now. Right at the front.

"Encore!" Jungkook whistles, the harsh thwacks of his palms clapping together clanging inside your ears. "Do it again! That was amazing!"

Your chest seizes painfully, a sudden bout of panic turning your blood cold. You feel the colour leave your face. How long has he been here? How long has he been watching?

Jungkook is watching you attentively, eyes soft at the edges with wonder. It makes bile rise in your throat. You can't be up here. Not when there's a pair of eyes looking at you, judging.

"I..." You begin, but the words get caught in your throat.

"I can't do this."

The way Jungkook's eyes widen and he lurches forward to catch you is the last thing you see before your vision goes black.

The boardwalk is strangely quiet for a summer evening. It's happy hour so you suppose most vacationers are already in the bars in their I LOVE OCEAN CITY T-shirts drinking cocktails or whatever. Not that you're complaining.

The smell of hotdogs and vinegar from the vans that line the strip still fill the air, snatches of conversations from children begging their parents to let them go on the waltzer one last time barely audible above the tinkling bells of the carousel. The ride operators drink soda's as they fan themselves with rolled up newspapers, grateful for the gentle hubbub on such a sticky evening, and then there's you, caught up in the middle of it all.

The wooden boards of the pier are warm against he backs of your thighs. You're sat with your legs dangling through the peeling guard rail that lines the strip. It was painted pastel blue at some point but years of sea spray and grubby hands made it fade to a sickly green tinge that matches the ocean.

Speaking of, the ocean would usually be directly below your feet, murky and wild, but today the tide has receded right back to reveal a large strip of sand. The stands suspending the pier rest on top of it so that you could walk right under and around them if you wanted to. You and Taehyung used to do that all the time when you were kids. Searching for barnacles. Exploring the dark places.

"Here. Eat up. You totally passed out on me back there. You could probably do with some sugar."

The soft voice beside you is the only thing loud enough to permeate your daydreams. You don't have look up to know who it belongs to. Jungkook.

He peers down at you, sun beating down against his back. He's holding two vanilla ice cream cones, double scooped, and he thrusts one into your hands before mirroring your position at the edge of the boardwalk.

The walk down here from the Crestmont was more or less silent, and your stomach twists now you realise Jungkook wants to talk.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing." You lie. The ice cream is cold and sweet and covers the bitterness. "I just think it's funny."

Jungkook's tongue sneaks out to lick up the melted cream dribbling down his cone. "What is?"

"How this place stays the same but I feel so different." You were born here, raised here. This place was your whole life once, with it's salty air and bustling casino's. But since the accident, something's been bubbling inside you, swelling and crashing like the ocean below that taunts you and you've never felt farther from home in your life as you do now, looking out over the town that just won't budge, just like the funny ache in your chest. "Forget I said it. I don't know why I'm even telling you this."

Jungkook fidgets beside you and runs a hand through his hair with a sigh."It's okay, y'know. To miss her."

Your mom. You know that's who he means. Just the mention of her stings.

"Mhm." You snort. "Tell that to my family. If we all carried on missing mom then we'd be in pretty hot shit by now."

"If it's Taehyung you're worried about, then don't be. He's stronger than he looks."

"Until he's not anymore. And we lose him again just like—" You pause. You hate how you can hear the pain in your voice so you smooth it out. "Just like before. And I can't let that happen. I won't."

Jungkook shifts. As Taehyung's oldest friend he was there for everything in the aftermath of the accident. He was there when you put on a brave face for the sake of your family. He was there when Taehyung couldn't be any more.

"That doesn't mean you have to be strong all the time. Think about it this way. The ocean isn't always this calm right?" He gazes wistfully out over the ocean that swells and crashes against the shore, fingers twirling the gold chain around his neck. "Last winter when we had that huge storm, the waves were so big they smashed right through the pier support beams."

You furrow your brows. "What about it?"

"The ocean was just too much for the pier to bare and it would've come crashing down forever if half the neighborhood didn't come down to the beach in the dead of night, despite the rain, and hold it together until the storm calmed and the emergency repair boats could get to shore."

It's true. You remember how unforgiving the rain was as it pelted down against your back and froze you through to the bone that night as each and every familiar face from your neighborhood came down to the seafront to lend a hand, your family included.

Jungkook was there too. He was the one who knocked on your door in the early hours to spread the word. He got given free churros for life by one of the pier stall owners as a reward.

"What I'm trying to say Y/N, is that Taehyung has you to lean on, right? So who do you have?" Jungkook says, staring at you head on now. His sincerity almost makes you blush.

You bite your lip. Deep down you know that your beams are just as broken as Taehyung's and it's only a matter of time before they come crashing down into the water, and this time there'll be nobody to hold the pieces together.

"I don't need anyone. I'm just fine on my own. I can handle my ocean."

Jungkook brushes your hand. You flinch, so he pulls it back into his lap. "Well if you ever need a life boat, then you know where I am okay?"

You don't believe him, but he's staring at you so expectantly that you just tell him what he wants to hear. You're good at that.

"Okay." You whisper. "Okay."

Children's laughter bubbles up from the beach. You watch their distant silhouettes dancing among the waves. It's Jungkook who breaks the silence before it settles between you and becomes uncomfortable.

"Anyway, what were you doing up there on the stage today?" He smiles, like he's trying to lighten the mood. "You looked like you were having the time of your life before—"

You feel your cheeks start to burn. How long had Jungkook been watching you at the Crestmont? Had he seen the whole thing?

"It was nothing. I was just being dumb."

"Nothing?" Jungkook cocks his head to the side and punches you playfully. "It didn't seem like nothing."

"It just...it makes me feel close to my mom when I'm on the stage." You admit. "I loved watching her when I was a kid. She was always larger than life in my eyes. She had this way of making you really believe she was someone else. It was like she wasn't just acting -- she was becoming. Sometimes...sometimes I think I liked her better when she was in character."

You shake your head with a small smile. "I like me better when I'm in character. I used to dream about going to New York one day and becoming an actress just like she wanted to. Small town girl making it big in the city and all that." You scoff. "But I'm nothing like her. It's just fun to pretend sometimes."

"You're good. At performing. Like, really good." Jungkook's eyes are wide. When he places a hand on your forearm you don't shake it off this time. "You take after her. Everyone says it."

It's true. There's one photo of your mom in the house. It's in Taehyung's room. When you were younger you thought it was your face staring back at you from behind the glass. Sometimes you'll be walking down the boardwalk or serving soda's at work and you'll hear the whispers. See their heads turn. Is it her?

"Pfft. Looks mean nothing." You scoff. "She was fearless. I can't even speak in front of one person without passing out, let alone a crowd."

Realisation crosses Jungkook's face. "Oh. So that's what happened back there? Stage fright?"

"Uh huh." You roll your eyes. "So don't give me the follow your dreams spiel or whatever."

"Hmm." Jungkook uses his arms as a makeshift pillow so he can lay back against the ground. You mirror him, peering through your fingers to watch how the golden rays of the sun swallow his frame. "Remember that play they made us do in middle school?"

"The Nativity?" You raise your eyebrow. It was the first theatre production you were in, before the accident and way before you had stage fright.

"Yeah." He grins. "I was the sheep. Taehyung made fun of me for months afterwards because of that stupid costume my grandma made."

"Yeah." You snort. "You did look sorta dumb."

Jungkook bumps your arm with a playful pout that makes you giggle. "And do you remember how I forgot my lines on stage and nearly pissed myself with stage fright? God, I still remember how mad my dad looked in the front row. We'd practiced that part for weeks. I don't know why it happened. I just froze—" A small smile forms on his lips. "But you didn't. Next thing I know there's a kid in a gold star of Bethlehem costume running on stage to recite my lines for me. You stole the show, remember that? Everyone loved you."

"That was then." You murmur, but you can't suppress the smile tugging at the corners or your mouth. "I'm not the same person."

"You were a year younger than the rest of my class but you auditioned anyway, because you knew that you were the only person who could play the star. Because you were a star."

Jungkook turns so that his head rests on his elbow and you're suddenly so close you can feel his breath ghost across your cheek. Your heart pumps in your ears as you gaze dips down to his rosy lips and back up to his sparkling eyes which bore into yours.

"You still are a star."

The words echo in your ears, soft and sincere. His tongue snakes out to wet his lips. You lose your breath. And then you jump away, placing a safe distance between your bodies before you can do something you regret.

"And what about you. Are you still a sheep?" You tease, turning your face so he can't see how it burns rosy red.

"Nah. Figured out pretty quickly after that that I was better off behind the camera." He chuckles.

"Oh right. You still have that thing?" You nod to the camera in his lap. It's one of those old ones that looks like the type that needs a film reel and a projector, but it's been modified so there's a little viewfinder at the side to check the footage instead. "Can I see?"

"What?" Jungkook blinks.

"Some of the stuff you've filmed?"

"Oh! Right!" It's his turn to flush now, scratching the back of his neck as he anxiously thrusts the camera into your hands and pays close attention to the hangnail at the edge of his thumb as you watch the footage.

Your eyes widen when a familiar scene rolls out on the tiny screen. You, on stage at the Crestmont. Jungkook filmed you.

"This is..."

"You." He rushes."Yeah, I know. Sorry if this is awkward—"

"No. Not at all. I just—" You watch in awe as the you inside the camera moves across the stage with an effortless grace. How the lights make your eyes shine and your skin brighter than you remember it being in the mirror this morning. "How did you do that?"

Jungkook's forehead creases. "Do what?"

"Make me look like...that."

"I didn't do anything." Jungkook shrugs. "That's just how I see you."

You could listen to him say that all day, but you stop yourself mid swoon.

"Don't say things you don't mean."

"I do mean it. And I'll show you." He wiggles his eyebrows.

"How?"

He grabs your hand and squeezes it. Tight. "I don't know how yet but I will."

You roll your eyes. "Good luck, Jeon."

"You know I like a challenge." Jungkook laughs, and the melodic sound goes right to your chest. "I'll make you see yourself how I see you. Just wait."

"Since when did you have four wheels?" You call to Jungkook with a quirk of your brow, resting your elbows on the window ledge of the beat up truck he pulls up in outside the Crestmont.

It's a sticky August afternoon and the rusty red vehicle purrs— or more like splutters — in the parking lot as Jungkook untangles your bike from the rack and lifts it into the cargo bed like it's weightless. Just yesterday he came by with his pump and a patch to fix that goddamn slashed tyre, and now he's stealing it?

"Hey! What are you doing with my bike?"

He is clad in nothing but a white vest and board shorts, and you can see perspiration glimmering at his temples as the salty breeze blowing from the beach ruffles the dark curls that flop over his forehead.

"This is my dad's truck," His eyes flash with pride as he hops into the open drivers side door and makes the engine growl. He nods to the empty seat beside him and pushes his dark round sunglasses down the bridge of his nose, fanning his face with his hands. "And you won't be needing your bike today. Now hurry up and get in, loser. I've been waiting ages for your shift to finish and the AC is broken."

You raise a brow. "We're going somewhere?"

"Yeah. Why else would I be waiting for you to get in my truck?"

"I mean, we're going somewhere in this?" You nod towards the truck's worn tires, the fumes that wisp from the exhaust pipe like a lit cigar. "Are you sure it's safe?"

Jungkook notices the way you bite your lip. You don't even have to tell him the worries that are running through your mind. It's as if he can read them like an open book.

"Are you still scared of riding in cars?" He questions, softly.

You nod. That's what an accident does to someone. Makes them scared of something they ordinarily wouldn't even question.

"A little." The breeze ruffles your hair and you hide behind it. "I'm getting better." You add, so he doesn't feel bad because you know he does. His face tells you as much.

"It's a short drive, if that helps." He rushes. "And I asked Taehyung and he said you'd be okay, but if you aren't then I can just walk you home—"

"No." You shake your head firmly. There's a funny fizzing in your stomach that's been there ever since that day on the boardwalk, and it's only growing stronger and stronger now you're inches away from Jungkook and his warm eyes and gentle smile. You don't want it to end just yet. It's enough to outweigh the wriggling fear that's always inside you just a little. "Where are we going?"

Jungkook's face lights up and your heart flips when you realise it's because of you.

"I told you I was gonna make you see what I see, didn't I?"

"Oh that was today?" You tease. "Must have missed it it in the calendar."

"Stop asking questions! Just get in. Please?"

"Fine." You walk around to the passenger door, sliding in beside him and throwing your bag into the back seat. "But I need to be home by midnight or Taehyung will worry."

"No problemo." Jungkook salutes as he switches on the engine and the truck roars to life. You clasp your hands tightly in your lap and breathe through your nose. You're okay. You're safe."Home by midnight. It's a promise."

You gaze out of the window to stop your thoughts from running wild. Jungkook turns left, away from town and the beach and everything familiar. You watch it get smaller and smaller in the mirrors, strangely relieved. Strangely excited.

"Now will you tell me where we're going?" You ask.

"Nope." Jungkook chuckles when you pout. "Just sit back. Relax. Take in the view. Listen to the music."

He leans across the dash, making a point to keep his eyes on the road as he fiddles with the stereo. A familiar string of guitar chords fill the truck. You recognise them, even if vaguely. Probably from Taehyung's vast collection of records.

"The Beatles right?" You ask, resting your chin on your knee as you dare to take a peek at him, blushing when you find him already staring at you.

"Pfft, yeah. Of course it's The Beatles! Only their greatest soundtrack, like, ever."

You shrug. "I've never listened to them before, so I wouldn't know."

"Oh come on? You haven't seen A Hard Day's Night?" His eyes widen when you shake your head. "Super Fly? Pulp Fiction? Purple Rain?"

You stifle a giggle at the look of pure shock he's sending you. "Nope. Should I have?"

"Absolutely!" He splutters. Passion shines in his eyes. "You're missing out on some of the greatest cinematography known to man!"

"I guess you have a lot to fill me in on, then."

"I sure do." His eyes soften. "Open the glove box."

You open it. Inside you find an assortment of cassette tapes, old and new. You send him a curious look.

"Close your eyes and choose one." He nods. "Go on."

You do as he says and shut your lids tightly, feeling around until your fingers curl around a tape you're strangely drawn to. When you open your eyes you find a worn box in your palm, yellow at the edges, and you're momentarily disappointed until Jungkook hums in approval beside you.

"Good choice! Dirty Dancing. A classic." He takes it from you and slides the tape into the stereo. It crackles a little before the music starts. "Trust me, you'll love it."

The stereo tracklist flashes amber. 01: Do You Love Me?

"You broke my heart 'cause I couldn't dance," Jungkook sings along in a deep voice, eyebrows bouncing as you loll your head to the side to send him an eye roll. "And now I'm back to let you know I can really shake 'em down!"

The song starts, all vibrant guitar and drums. It has a funky 60's groove, like it belongs in a swing dancing club instead of on the highway at sunset. It's a happy song and you think it suits Jungkook just right.

Speaking of Jungkook, he starts to bob his head in time with the beat, fingertips tapping in rhythm against the steering wheel. He looks adorably dorky, losing himself to the song, like he's forgotten you're even sat beside him.

"You look like an idiot." You deadpan, though you can't cover the laugh that escapes you as he sings along louder.

"No, I look like I'm having fun!" Jungkook rolls down the window and turns up the music so loud he has to shout for you to hear him. "Don't you ever do this? Just give in to the music for a while? Let your body do what it wants?"

"Uh, no. I prefer to just listen." You shout back. "Besides, your body should be focused on driving this car right now--"

"Oh come on! Just try it."

"Try it?" You blink, stomach suddenly knotting."Like now? In front of you?"

"Well duh. Look. Copy me."

He starts to shake his shoulders from side to side, fingers clicking as he nods for you to do the same.

"I...okay." You start to copy, but you catch yourself in the rear view mirror and you just look stiff compared to how effortlessly Jungkook moves to the rhythm.

"See you're doing it!" Jungkook grins, throwing his head back. "Feels good huh?"

"Kinda..." You have to admit there is something liberating about just letting go. "Like this?"

Your knees volunteer themselves to the beat, and then your arms, and before you know it you've got your eyes closed, hair whipping around your face as you speed down the interstate

"That's it. Feel the music!"

Before you know it, the song ends and you realise all at once that you're laughing. Loud and free, enough to make your belly hurt. Jungkook is too, the sound better than any song you've ever heard, and neither of you can seem to stop.

"Oh my god." You pant, covering your face with your fingers, embarrassed. "Now we both look like idiots."

"Don't hide from me." Jungkook bites his lip. You're suddenly aware of how close he is. His arms grab your wrists, pulling them away from your face, but he doesn't drop the one closest to him. Instead he links your fingers and uses your shared grip to change the gear as he turns down a winding road.

"I'm shy." You say, and you can feel the heat in your cheeks.

"Why? You're beautiful." Jungkook puts the car into park. You realise all at once that you've been driving for ages and you didn't even panic once. "Besides, we've arrived. And you're not gonna wanna miss seeing this."

The destination Jungkook seems so excited about turns out to be a concrete parking lot.

"Where are we, Jungkook?" You ask, looking around but finding nothing but tyre tracks and dirt.

Jungkook has already hopped out of the drivers side, sliding over the hood of the car to tug open your door with a quirk of his brow.

He holds out his palm, upturned and calloused. "Do you trust me?"

You bite your lip, heart pounding. Do you trust him?

Your body speaks for you and you slide your hand into his. His thumb traces your knuckles reassuringly.

"Yes." You breathe. "I trust you."

"Good."

You yelp when an arm wraps around your waist and hoists you out of the car, tightly interlocked fingers blocking your vision like a makeshift blindfold. "Don't open your eyes until I tell you to."

"Okay." You giggle, feet stumbling as you try to find your balance with the help of a sturdy hand beneath your elbow.

Jungkook hums gently beneath his breath as he guides you up a path that turns from concrete to loose rock to dampened grass beneath the soles of your beat up sneakers. There's a voice in the back of your mind that tells you to be nervous; who knows where he could be taking you right now.

But as you breathe in the musty notes of his cologne and feel your heart flutter in your chest when he comes to a stop and rests his chin on your shoulder, just close enough to feel his laugh ghost across your neck, you don't care where in the world you are right now as long as it's beside him.

"Now, open."

The sun is startlingly bright when you open your eyes for the first time and see the vibrant meadow that stretches as far as you can see.

Wait — that's not the sun. It's sunflowers. Clusters of them, cheerfully waving with the breeze from where you stand on the path that continues for a few steps before it disappears among their stems.

The sunflowers are a burst of golden colour against the fading green of the meadow, and the horizon beyond that which boasts the silhouette of beach rock against the soft blue of the ocean at sunset. There's tracks here and there where the uncut grass is trampled, like some children had played hide and seek.

You reach out a hand and brush your fingertips over the velvety petals; breathe in the botanical scent of the fresh sunny blooms that dances through the meadow. It's breathtaking, you think. There's no coordination, just freedom choreographed by the wind as the tall stems sway back and forth in their gentle dance.

Before you know it you've taken off into a run, grinning with childlike glee when the tall grass tickles your nose and the sun whispers against your neck.

"Jungkook, this place is—"

"Beautiful right?" You nod breathlessly, blushing deeply when you come to a stop and find him staring right at you. He squeezes your hand and that's when you notice your fingers are still interlinked. "I come here a lot. When I need to think."

"How did you find this place?"

"Taehyung and I stumbled upon it a few summers ago by accident." He says. "Nobody knows about it. It's our secret."

"It's so beautiful." You whisper. "The whole world needs to see this."

Jungkook kicks at a stone with the toe of his boot. "I kinda like it being a secret. This place...is special to me."

"Then why...." The words get caught in your throat. You swallow and try again. "Why did you bring me here?"

"I wanted to show you the things I find most beautiful. Remember?"

"The sunflowers?"

"Well yeah..." He scratches the back of his neck. Swallows thickly, like he's preparing himself. "But I was thinking of something a little different..."

You close your eyes, a smile appearing on your lips as you let the crisp breeze caress your face. "Then what?"

There's a sharp click of a shutter, and when your lashes flutter open in surprise, Jungkook is shaking a Polaroid picture back and forth, his eyes glinting with something mischievous.

"Hey! Give me that—" You reach for the Polaroid, stomach churning with a sudden shyness that makes you hug your arms.

"Just — don't do that okay?" He holds it out of reach, pleading with his eyes. "Please."

"Do what?"

"Give up on what makes you happy just because you're scared." His palm cups your cheek. "You said it yourself. Being in front of the camera is where you belong. Don't you see that?"

"I'm not scared." You feel the heat rise in your cheeks when Jungkook sends you a knowing look. "Okay maybe I am scared. And so what if I am? You've already given me the face your fears spiel and I told you. I'm perfectly happy avoiding every camera known to man for the rest of my life if it means I never have to face them."

"But you've already faced one of your fears today. You got in my car, remember?" He raises an eyebrow, smug. "Well, two technically, 'cause you're here with me now and I know how nervous you used to get around me--"

"Did not!"

"Do too! Every time we talk outside of work you get all shy and--"

"Shut up."

"See! You're doing it right now!"

You don't know what compels you to do it. Maybe it's the heat rising in the apples of your cheeks or the way your heart quickens when Jungkook closes the gap between you, but before you can stop yourself you're reaching up and grasping his face with both hands.

"Oh just shut up and kiss me, doofus."

The smug smirk on Jungkook's face is replaced with wide eyed surprise, his lips falling still for a moment when yours crash against his. But then his steady hands find your waist and he supports you on your tip toes so he can pull you ever closer, melting into the plush press of your lips.

When you pull back, you're smiling. You can't help it. You've been dreaming of this moment since, like, middle school. And goddamn, he even tastes how you imagined. Like black coffee and toothpaste.

"See." He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. "Happiness suits you."

"Whatever, Jeon." You smirk. "Don't let it go to your head, but it's thanks to you."

Jungkook flashes you the biggest bunny grin you've ever seen, eyes sparkling at your words.

"Wait...stay like that." He reaches for his camcorder in his backpack and points the lens at you. The smile falls from your lips. You place a hand on his arm, grip tighter than you intended.

"Jungkook stop."

"What's wrong? Just keep smiling like that, the shot was perfect—"

"I don't know what to do." You shrug, the lens boring into you like a judgy aunt at Thanksgiving dinner. "The camera makes me nervous."

"Just pretend I'm not here."

You sniff. "I don't want you to not be here..."

"Listen," Jungkook cups your face, thumbs tracing your cheeks fondly. "The reason I brought you here? It's because this place reminds me of you. Beautiful."

"Jungkook--"

"Just like you said, the world needs to see this place. Just like they need to see you."

"I..." Your heart is on the verge of exploding, you would swear it. "Okay." The word rolls off your tongue before you can stop it because somehow you trust him. And deep down, there's still that fizz of excitement mixing in with all the nervousness. The Jungkook Effect. You don't want to lose it to the darkness like everything else.

"I'll try. Just-- don't laugh at me okay?"

"You have my word, sarge." He salutes with a thoughtful grin. "Hold on a sec. I know exactly what you need to get you going."

Jungkook jumps to his feet and you watch with your chin tucked between your knees as he jogs down the rocky path and opens all four of the truck doors, even the trunk, before his head disappears into the vehicle and the same pumping bass from earlier starts blasting into the quiet serene of the sunflower field.

"There," He grins as he returns, out of breath, and sits back down beside you cross legged, holding his camcorder to his eye. "Now do what you were doing before again, but over there. Just pretend you're on stage at the Crestmont, okay?"

You feel the music wash over you and the urge to move hits you like a wave. Jungkook nods encouragingly and there's something in his eyes that flips a switch inside you. And for the first time in a long time, all the passion and spirit and feeling inside you fizzes up to the top and you can't contain it any longer.

"That's it!" Jungkook calls, shutter clicking uncontrollably. "I knew you could do it!"

An oak tree provides sun-flecked shade, a cool sanctuary from the sun that sets on the horizon and splashes the sky's canvas magenta.

Jungkook laid out a checkered blanket from the trunk of his truck which you both lay upon, shoulders pressed together as close as humanly possible, surrounded by your devoured picnic consisting of his mom's fruit punch and bags of snacks he took from the concession stand at the Crestmont when nobody was looking.

"Holy shit, Y/N." He says through a mouthful of popcorn, jabbing his finger at his favourite shot of you in front of the sunflowers. "This is what I've been saying! You're a natural in front of the camera."

"No, you're amazing, Jungkook." You feel for his hand. It's funny how natural it feels already when his pinky links with yours. "Behind the camera."

"You think?" He chews his lip, eyes searching yours for approval.

"I know. You should do something with these. People need to see them."

"I'm thinking of becoming a filmographer, actually"

"Like at the pier?" You think of the tacky photo booth that overlooks the sea in town, fit with all the silly cardboard cut outs that tourists come and take a photo with for a dollar.

"No, I mean a real filmographer." He shrugs, and you're sure there's a trace of a blush on his cheeks. "Y'know. Movies and stuff."

You nod. It makes sense for Jungkook to spend his life with a camera glued to his right hand. You can't imagine Jungkook anywhere else, and you have to ignore the sinking feeling that comes with the realisation that he would eventually leave Ocean City -- and you -- behind for the big screen.

"Well you bet your ass I'll be front row to watch each and every one, Jeon Jungkook."

"My lucky star." Jungkook smiles.

"Always."

He must see the sadness brimming inside you, his body shuffling closer so your knees brush. It's reassuring somewhat.

"Actually...there's something I should tell you."

He shifts under your gaze. The nerves rush back. "What is it?"

"I guess I finished writing my first screenplay..."

"That's like a movie script, right?" You ask eagerly, and he nods. "That's great, Kook!"

"Yeah, it's great it's just --" He pauses, and clutches your hand tighter like he's scared what he says next will make you let go forever. "It's about you."

You pale. "M-me?"

"I mean, it's about you and...and Taehyung! And your mom." Jungkook rushes. "I was inspired by your story at the boardwalk and it just happened! I'm sorry, I know you probably hate me now and think I'm crazy but--"

"Burn it." You deadpan.

Jungkook blinks. "W..what?"

"I said burn it." You pull his hand into your lap and he lets out a sigh of relief. "I don't hate you, Kook. I just think you were right earlier when you said I need to face my fears. And the only way I can do that is by forgetting my past. The last thing I need is a whole freaking movie about it."

He joins in with your strained chuckles. "Sure you aren't mad?"

"Not mad." You assure with a smile.

"Then I'll burn it."

You avoid his gaze shyly. "I'm kinda honoured you wrote about me, though." You admit.

"I guess...I guess I could call you my muse." Jungkook blurts hurriedly. His nose is a deep shade of pink and it makes you want to tease him forever.

"Yeah." You nod to yourself with a smile. "I like that. Your muse."

And then his lips are on yours again, like he can't quite help himself, and you start to forget where yours begin and his end.

This time it's not delicate and sweet. It's slow and languid, hot and heavy. The sunflowers break your fall, Jungkook's lips never leaving yours as he climbs on top of you, one hand tangled in your hair, the other planted beside your head so that his chest hovers above yours. You're almost certain he can feel how hard your heart is pounding in your chest, but you don't care, too lost in the bliss of finally feeling Jungkook's plush lips against your own.

"Come to New York with me." He says breathlessly between kisses, and your heart stops.

"What?" You can hardly drag your lips away from his but you have to be sure you heard him right. New York?

"I mean, in the future. I'm gonna go to New York. Get a job at a film production company or something, I don't know--" He tucks a piece of hair behind your ear. "Come with me."

"I...I can't."

"Why?" He frowns. "Is it me?"

"No! God no."

"Then why? You said it was your dream right?" You nod. "So what's stopping you?"

"I..I have to take care of Taehyung, and my job at the Crestmont and--"

"Okay. Lets pretend none of that exists. It's just you and me." His breath ghosts against your forehead. "Y/N, will you come to New York with me?"

"Yes." It comes out breathless, but you mean it. With every atom and nerve and fiber in your body. "Lets go to New York."

Where things change.

3 years later.

A postcard sits on the Welcome Home! Doormat you and Jungkook bought before you left for New York. You recognise the picture perfect image of Ocean City on the front, and Taehyung's messy scrawl on the back that tells you he's doing fine at his new management job at the Crestmont and he will be sending a housewarming gift imminently.

— Stay smiling, Y/N. Miss you already! Taehyung. :)

With a small smile you tack it onto the bare fridge. It brightens up the empty kitchen somewhat, a little piece of home and a reminder that you don't need to worry about leaving your brother behind to fend for himself so much any more. Since he pulled his life together and got a job at the theatre, it's like he came alive again. Found his purpose.

Speaking of purposes, you suppose that's how you found yourself here. In your very own apartment in a nice complex on the east side. The east side of New York City.

There's a pair of satin curtains hung over the balcony doors, probably left behind by the old tenant as it's the only form of furniture in the whole apartment. They rustle in the morning breeze and you tiptoe across the room barefoot to rip them open, letting your eyes flutter shut when the early morning sun filters through the glass and cascades over your face like a warm embrace.

You press a hand to the glass, studying your reflection; the messy lump of hair atop your head, the soft shadow of your lashes atop your cheeks. And beyond it, New York. Your new normal in all it's familiar glory from your dreams, yet still so deliciously foreign it makes your heart leap whenever a cab horn rings out in the distance or you breathe in the smell of fresh bagels from the shop down the street.

Home. You could finally call it that now. But New York is just a city and this apartment is just a house. The real reason you get to call this place home is because of who you came here with.

Jungkook.

You've been dating for two and a half years by now. He let you borrow one of his old much-too-big t-shirts to sleep in last night. There's a hole in the shoulder and the hem brushes your knees but it's warm and smells like his cologne and your heart expands when you close your eyes and remember this is just the beginning. You have so much to do, so many things to see here in New York. So many things to learn. And there's nobody you would want to explore life with more than Jungkook.

His camera equipment lays in a cardboard box by your feet, and something compels you to take out the old-school camcorder he loves. The leather strap tightens perfectly around your hand and the red RECORD button flashes as you open the doors wide and lift the lens to take in the view. Something tells you you're gonna want to remember this moment forever.

It's not long before a pair of arms wrap around your waist, chin tucked cheekily into your shoulder. "There you are." Jungkook husks, stilly groggy with sleep as his lips ghost across your cheek.

Turning around in his grasp, you find him still shirtless, sweatpants slung low around his hips. He's been working out recently, and you can't deny you don't love how firm his shoulders feel when you brace yourself on them to stand on your tip toes and leave a peck to his lips.

"Morning sleepyhead," you say, running your fingers through the strands of his silky bed hair. It's longer these days, whispering across the nape of his neck and falling across his round eyes sweetly. They flutter closed when you massage his scalp just how he likes it. "I was wondering when you'd finally get out of bed."

"Missed you." His lips turn up when he sees the camera pointed at his face. "Whaddya doing with that?"

"Making memories." You say simply, zooming in on him as he rubs his sleepy eyes. "So we never forget this."

A cheeky smirk appears on his lips as he wraps you in his arms, a surprised giggle leaving you when he spins you around and grabs the camera so he can point it at the both of you, his chin resting on your shoulder now as his bare arm snugly wraps around your waist.

"Hey stop! I just woke up, I look bad!"

"Hello us of the future," Jungkook chuckles, pulling your fingers away from your face when you bury your face in his chest to hide from the lens. "It's our first day in New York and Y/N is being all camera shy--okay, okay fine, lets show them the view instead!"

Jungkook finally flips the lens around so it focuses on the distant silhouettes of tall skyscrapers skimming the blue skyline, before he turns it back onto you guys once more with a mischievous look this time.

"But we have to go now because we have far more interesting business to attend to..." He lowers the camera as his lips start to trail up your collar bone and he smiles when your eyes flutter shut and you gasp at the feeling, but it's quickly replaced by a pout when you wriggle out of his embrace with a stern look.

"Not now. Later."

"Mmf? Why?" He whines, making grabby hands towards you. "You're so warm, jus' wanna cuddle for a bit."

"No time!" You call over your shoulder as you grab him by the hand and drag his heavy feet behind you. "We've got an apartment to decorate."

Before you know it you've enlisted Jungkook's help in laying tarps across the living room floor, two pots of bright white paint plonked in the center. It's not like you could afford a decorator after all. You are two broke twenty-something's trying to make it big in New York, and all that cliche stuff. So you would just have to do it yourselves.

Jungkook's over in the corner, miming along to the guitar solo from some rock song playing from the radio balanced on the windowsill, the paint roller his instrument as he dances around the room with giddy impulse. There's paint all over his butt where he accidentally leaned against one of the wet walls and he's got his hair tied back into a bun at the crown of his head and you watch him out of the corner of your eye while an affectionate smile creeps onto your face no matter how hard you try to curb it.

That's when you notice the camera in his other hand. He zooms in on the stepladder in the corner, the paint spillage in the hall, the heart with Y/N + JUNGKOOK FOREVER written inside it on the back wall. Documenting everything as usual.

He was always filming you, too. Whether you were making coffee in the morning or drying your hair. He'd even slow down beside you on the sidewalk to get the perfect shot.

You find it cute, even though you pretend to hate it. It makes your heart flutter every time you catch him rewinding the footage with a contented smile on his face, like he just captured the whole world with his lens.

It's no surprise when you finish putting the final coat on the wall and step back to admire your handy work that you find him wandering around the apartment with his hand curved around the lens of one of his bigger cameras like it's natural to him. You always joke that thing is like an extra limb, but he looks so calm as he looks through his lens at the room that is now drunk on the afternoon sun pouring through the window, the golden rays like honey on his skin, that it's easy to see that the camera really is a part of him. Passion lies in the soft lines of concentration on his face, in the plump lip tugged between teeth as he fiddles with the settings.

Jungkook sees beauty where others don't, where others can't. It might as well pump through his veins. And it's one of the reasons you love him so much.

You shake your head when you see how a small smile finds his lips when he leans a shoulder against the door frame and lets the camera land on the thing he swears is most beautiful.

"Hey." You warn, shooting a side wards glare at the camera lens you spot Jungkook not so discreetly pointing in your direction. "Stop it."

"Stop what?" He runs a hand through his hair, lips pulling back into a sly bunny smile when you bend down to reach a spot you missed at the bottom of the wall. "I'm not doing anything."

Your upper lip twitches. "Are you zooming in on my ass?"

"What? No!" Jungkook scrunches his nose with wide eyes, a habit you knew meant he was guilty, a pout forming on your lips as he snaps the viewfinder closed and shoves the offending piece of his equipment behind his back.

You narrow your eyes affectionately. "Perv."

"I don't know what you're talking about." He blows a strand of hair out of his face innocently but there's a playful glint in his eyes and you can hardly keep a serious face as you plant your hands on your hips in what you hope is a menacing manner.

"Then lemme see it." You challenge with a nod to the camera behind him.

He feigns indifference, cocking his head to the side like an overgrown puppy. "See what?"

"That's it!" You shake your head, charging towards and him making grabby motions towards the camera. Jungkook looks down at you fondly as he holds it above your head, out of reach, and it only makes you you pout harder. "Hey! Give it!

"Never!" You jump pitifully, fingers grasping around nothing. A melodic chuckle spills from Jungkook's lips when you cross your arms over your chest in defeat and blink up at him crossly. "You have to say the magic word first."

You scoff at the teasing look on his face as he wiggles his eyebrows and waves the camera just above your head, before an idea strikes you and within seconds you're wielding a paintbrush, Jungkook's eyes widening when you point the paint coated bristles at his face.

"Give it up." You hold out your palm with a smug look. "Or the walls are not the only thing getting a fresh coat."

"You wouldn't." He smirks, despite being backed into a corner now.

"Oh yeah?" Without further ado you swipe the brush down the bridge of his nose, swallowing a giggle at the white smudge it leaves behind and his shocked expression beneath it. "You underestimate me, Jeon."

Jungkook pushes his tongue into his cheek, eyes dancing up and down your body before they lock with yours daringly. "You shouldn't have done that."

"Or what?" You taunt playfully, a laugh escaping you, but you quickly bite down on your lip when you see the glint in Jungkook's eyes as he submerges both his hands into the nearby bucket of paint.

You don't run when he steps closer. Instead your breathing quickens, heart doing a funny somersault when he brushes your hair to the side and clamps both of his wet hands on the sides of your jaw to bring your face up to his.

He tastes like coffee and desire when your lips crash together in a delicious tangle of teeth and tongue, all the thoughts racing through your mind dripping away like honey until all that's left is the thump of your heart against your chest and Jungkook's warmth as he backs you up against the wall.

When he pulls away he rubs his paint covered nose against yours, cocking his head and smiling sweetly when he leans back and admires his handy work.

"You have paint on your face." He looks down at his white hands innocently with a shrug. "Whoops?"

His hands trail down to your hips. You reach to your side and grab a fistful of paint, wiping it down the centre of his face and giggling when he groans and scrunches his eyes closed . "So do you."

"Okay, that's it. This means war!" Jungkook growls, strong arms wrapping around your waist, and before you know it you're stumbling over to the mattress in the corner, Jungkook's body hovering over yours.

"You wanna play dirty, huh?" Desire-filled eyes trace your face, travelling down the expanse of your neck before zeroing in on your collar bones. You gasp when Jungkook's lips attach themselves to the sensitive skin, every inch of you set alight when his burning fingers slide beneath the hem of your tshirt and find your thighs. "Always being such a bad girl, huh?"

"So? What're you gonna do about it? Punish me?" You say teasingly, and he stiffens, lips leaving a mark behind on your neck with a pop. Jungkook's narrowed eyes meet yours and you feel your heart speed up with anticipation.

His lips twitch, like they're dying to turn up. "Brat."

With that, you're being flipped over onto your knees with a yelp. Jungkook's hands work quickly and before you know it your tshirt is over your head and the sudden breeze from the open balcony doors against your hardened nipples makes you gasp.

"You love it." You laugh breathily.

"Too much," Jungkook confirms, before his large palm presses you down into the bed firmly between the shoulder blades so that your ass is thrust up in the air. You wiggle is teasingly, though the breath catches in your throat when the first spank lands on your bare skin. Then a second, the sound ringing out through the empty room like an echo and making a damp spot appear on your panties.

"Hey!" You chastise when you remember the paint on his hands that just left two glaring handprints right across your ass.

Jungkook just smirks. "What? Now everyone knows it's mine."

A third slap and you have to bite the blanket to stop from groaning, then a fourth, and a fifth and by then your eyes are watering but in the best way. Calloused hands smooth over the burning area, soothing it.

"Good girl," A raspy voice whispers next to your ear. "Such a good girl for me, taking your punishment. I think you deserve your reward now, hm?"

"Please." You moan as he reaches around to grasp your breast, tweaking your nipples in a way that has you writhing beneath him.

"Don't say I didn't warn you though," Jungkook chuckles as he rips your panties down your legs, gasping at the sight of your dripping slit like it's the first time. He runs a finger down your folds, biting back a groan when it makes your legs fall open a little further, desperate for his touch. "I'm not gonna go easy on you."

"Jungkook, what do you-- oh!." Before you can finish, Jungkook is pushing your face back into the comforter, spreading your cheeks with his palms and licking an agonizingly slow stripe up your throbbing core. His tongue finds your clit easily, toying it with the tip playfully until you're gasping for air.

"Mmf, tastes so good." He murmurs against your folds, the vibrations of his chuckle making you moan so hard your legs start to shake. His tongue finds your hole, swirling around teasingly before it slips inside and you can't handle it anymore.

"Jungkook!" You gasp, reaching behind to grab his hair. "I..I can't-"

"You can." He says, almost a command, mouth leaving your pussy only so he can slide over onto his back and pull you back down onto his face by the hips.

"Oh g-god!" Your hand reaches for the headboard, landing on the wall to steady yourself when you remember you still haven't bought a bed frame yet. Your legs are starting to ache from holding yourself up but you don't care, too lost in the feeling of Jungkook's tongue lapping at your swollen folds as you grind in lazy circles on his face.

"C-close, Kook." You manage to splutter, head thrown back with pleasure when he slides two of his fingers inside you and starts to pump in time with his tongue, the sensation of being filled enough to send you over the edge into a shuddering climax that is unlike anything you've felt before, the only thought on your mind the way your hole clenches around your boyfriend's fingers.

It takes a few moments for your legs to stop shaking, your hearing slowly coming back into focus as you hear both of your heavy breaths intermingled. You look between your legs to find Jungkook staring up at you with a grin, eyes filled with wonder. His chin gleams with your juices, the front of his t-shirt damp as you realise with a gasp what just happened.

"Did I--?"

"Yup."

"Holy fuck." You swing your leg over his shoulder so you're beside him, Jungkook sitting up to look at you, still mesmerised. "I...I'm sorry, that was--"

"The hottest thing you've ever done." Jungkook finishes, grinning at you like he just won the lottery.

You raise a brow, surprised. "Really?"

"Yeah. Can I fuck you now?"

You can't help but laugh at his eager puppy dog eyes, hands practically twitching at his sides to touch you. A quick glance at his crotch confirms the biggest tent in his pants you've ever seen, and you crook a finger towards him with a sultry smile and a nod.

"Let's see if you can make me do that again."

"O-Okay!" Jungkook pulls his shirt over his head eagerly, and then he's on top of you, burning skin meeting burning skin. Your palm runs down his chest, Jungkook's eyes falling shut when it reaches the hem of his sweatpants. You cant help but gasp when your fingers wrap around his length through his boxers, core already throbbing again to be filled. He shivers when your finger circles his tip, admiring the wet patch on his boxers.

"Eager?" You smirk.

"You squirted on my face, Y/N, of course I'm goddamn eager."

"Get these off then." You tug at his pants and he kicks them off without a second telling.

"Your wish is my command."

When he returns to hovering over you, both completely bare now, he pauses. His eyes meet yours, a gentle smile appearing on his lips as he tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear and grips your jaw protectively.

"I love you, y'know."

You close the distance between you, pressing your lips against his but barely able to keep yourself from grinning with the elation swirling in your chest. "I love you too, doofus. Now hurry up or I'm gonna have to fuck myself."

"That sounds kinda awesome--"

"Kook!"

"Okay, okay, on it!"

Palms spread your legs, and you both gasp when Jungkook runs the blunt head of his leaking cock up and down your slit, coating himself in your juices before he lines it up with your entrance.

"Ready?" He checks, thumb tracing circles into your inner thigh.

"As I'll ever be."

And with that, he pushes inside, his head falling into the crook of your neck with a sigh of relief at finally feeling your walls clenching around his throbbing length. The stretch of his girth stings, but it makes you feel so deliciously full, so perfectly whole to be connected to Jungkook like this that all you can get out is another soft I love you that earns a blissful smile from your boyfriend as he starts to move.

Each stroke makes you lose your breath, the tip of his cock hitting your sweet spot just right. It's when Jungkook takes your nipple into his mouth that you feel a second orgasm start to build, one hand gripping the sheets as the other drags scratch marks down his muscular back in blissful agony.

It's not long before Jungkook spills inside you with a deep growl, your own high hitting you as you feel him coat your walls. He collapses onto your chest, breaths deep and exhausted, and wraps you in his arms before you can even catch your breath.

Jungkook pulls the sheets up over your shoulders and places a kiss to the top of your head. He's so warm you feel yourself start to drift off into a blissful sleep, the smile on your lips never faltering.

"I love you too." Is the last thing you hear him say before sleep takes you under, and you're safe wrapped up in each other's arms.

When you open your eyes, the room is warm with sunset's rose tinted blush, and Jungkook's body is no longer beside you. Rubbing your bleary eyes, you sit up on your elbow and find him on the ground in front of the freshly painted wall, intricate petals and stems flowing from the end of the paintbrush he delicately waves across the surface to paint the prettiest sunflower you've ever seen.

"I'm home!" You hear your boyfriend yell out as he shuffles into the apartment, quickly followed by a yelp. "Hey, Gureum, stop trying to lick my face!"

You can't stop the smile that spreads across your features when a ball of white fluff comes bounding into the living room, the puppy that excitedly jumps into your arms tracking a trail of muddy paw prints over the script in your hands.

"Hey Gureum," You coo, scratching him behind the ears where you know his sweet spot is. "You're such a good boy, huh?"

"Don't praise him! He totally ran away from me in Central Park and I had to chase him all the way home!" You can practically hear Jungkook's eye roll, shaking your head fondly at the mock annoyance in his voice. It was Jungkook who begged you to adopt a puppy for months in the first place, and they've been more or less inseparable ever since — the little guy hardly ever leaves his side. It's safe to say Jungkook is definitely Gureum's favourite.

The smell of coffee and fresh bagels wafts through the apartment, a warm sensation settling in your stomach as your boyfriend rounds the corner and waves a brown paper bag.

"Still got us enough coffee to stay up all night learning lines though." Jungkook grins, dumping the contents onto the coffee table and raising his eyebrows when your hands dart straight for the chocolate cookies. "Speaking of learning lines, how is it going, pretty?"

He nods towards the script in your hand. It's worn at the edges and ferociously dog eared from all the nights you have stayed up until sunrise reciting the words littered across the pages over and over, until it's like your lips are moving by muscle memory and the words are a part of you.

After what felt like hundreds of failed auditions, you had started to lose hope. With every letter that landed on the porch with another SORRY or MAYBE NEXT TIME, you felt all the confidence in the dream you worked so hard to uncover start to dwindle.

But Jungkook was always there, by your side no matter what. Encouraging you when you forgot your lines or holding you when you didn't get the callback. Reminding you to eat whenever you were too absorbed in your work to cook or cheering you on from the crowd at your weekly improv performances.

It was Jungkook who cried with you when the director of the small theatre downtown called and gave you the lead part in his upcoming stage production. Your big break. And you were determined to make sure everything ran smoothly at opening night tomorrow, which is how you find yourself snuggled up on the couch rewinding your VHS copy of Dirty Dancing over and over again until you have every word memorised by heart.

"Pretty good." You say as you pop a salted peanut into your mouth while Jungkook slips out of his tweed jacket. He's been trying to dress more New-York-ish these days, or so he says. More dress pants and less sweats. "Final rehearsals start at five."

"Aren't you nervous?" Jungkook squishes into the space beside you, Gureum cuddling up between your bodies.

Tomorrow night's show is sold out, along with every night after that for the next week. You heard there were going to be at least 700 people there each night.

"Terribly." You admit, stomach churning at the thought of 700 pairs of eyes staring right at you. You try to focus on the fizzing excitement that lingers there too, growing stronger and stronger. "But I think I'm more excited".

"I'm excited to see you up there doing what you love." Jungkook smiles, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. "My star."

"Well don't get too excited because I still keep messing up this one goddamn scene," You flip the script to a page covered in bright highlighter scribbles and run your fingers through your hair exasperatedly. "I'm totally gonna mess it up and then I'll never get another job and—"

"Shhh," Jungkook takes the script from your hands and runs his eyes over it quickly. "Don't talk like that. You're gonna be amazing — hold up..." He raises an eyebrow. "Is this...the kiss scene?"

You feel your cheeks redden, voice small. "Yes."

"Then you're in luck because who better to help you practice than the best kisser in all of New York?"

You snort. "Wow, I sure could use some of your expertise Good-Sir-Makes-Out-A-Lot."

"Then you're in the right place..." He runs his finger over the script, jabbing at one line in particular.

[Johnny and Baby kiss.]

"Let's start here, hm? For practice, obviously."

"For practice." Your eyes roll but your heart still beats a little faster as he closes the space between you, hand pressing into the wall so his sturdy body hovers over yours, hands instinctively pulling him closer by the collar.

"Come give me a kiss, m'lady..." Jungkook murmurs, but before he can tilt your chin up towards his lips there's a sudden series of frantic knocks at the front door.

"What the heck?"

You both jump out of your skin, Jungkook's eyes narrowing as he glances over his shoulder at the shadowy figure outside, fist pounding the glass fervently, like they're trying to break it down.

"Okay, damn, I'm coming!" He yells with a roll of his eyes. He wraps the blanket around your shoulders as he hops up from the couch with a sigh. "Probably just some dumb marketer again or something — dude, chill! I said I'm coming! — be right back."

The lock slides open and you hear Jungkook gasp. Your stomach drops. "Who is it?"

"Uh, Y/N..." You hear the door click shut and the sound of squeaky shoes shuffling inside. The anxiety in Jungkook's voice makes your heart skip. "You might wanna come see this."

"Huh?" Your legs feel shaky as you follow him out into the hall, chest seizing when you lay eyes on the dripping wet hair and chattering teeth of the shivering man stood before you, eyes dark and grave like they used to be.

"Taehyung?" You splutter, ripping the blanket from around your shoulders and swaddling him in it as quickly as you can, Jungkook already bounding into the other room to get dry clothes and towels after shooting you a terrified glance.

Taehyung grabs your shoulders and pulls you into a tight embrace. His cheeks are wet against your shoulder, but you can't tell if it's because he's been crying or because he's been out in the freezing cold rain — hold on, did he walk here?

"Y/N," He murmurs frantically, eyes darting back and forth but never quite focusing on anything. You knew this look. This is how he looked that day you found out about the accident. Murky, far far away. Devastatingly sad. Something wasn't right.

"What is it?" You ask, pulling him into the living room and sitting him on the couch before his shaking knees buckle beneath him. "What are you doing here, Tae?"

"It's...it's the Crestmont." He whispers.

"What about the Crestmont?" Jungkook appears behind Taehyung, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, but it's like your brother doesn't even feel it.

"They're tearing it down." He mumbles. "They're tearing down the Crestmont. Forever."

"Okay, now let's start from the beginning."

Jungkook's calm voice lilts from beside Taehyung who, after a warm shower and two cups of cocoa, has stopped shivering and seems to be ready to talk.

A hand reaches across the coffee table to tug on your wrist mid-lift to your mouth, a reminder from Jungkook to stop biting your nails. An old nervous habit you thought you'd left behind in Ocean City but apparently more than just Taehyung showed up here unannounced tonight.

"I...I got a call this morning." Taehyung begins, pausing to take a sip from the mug he cradles in his lap. His hands are shaking so he places it on the coffee table for safe keeping, right beside your discarded script. "It was from a construction company."

"And?" You prod, somewhat impatiently, making Taehyung jump.

"And apparently the owner of the theatre is behind on rent and...and..." He swallows hard. "And they're buying the rights to tear it down and build an apartment complex in its place."

"What?" Both you and Jungkook exclaim at the same time.

Jungkook's fists clench. "I always knew that old man was shady."

Taehyung fumbles in the pocket of the coat he arrived with, retrieving a brochure which he thrusts towards you.

The image on the front is of a metal skyscraper, far too shiny and new to belong in a seaside town like Ocean City. Fusion Apartments — modern living.

Jungkook rakes a hand through his hair, eyes sorrowful as you pass it over to him. "This sucks. Big time." He murmurs. "The Crestmont is the heart of Ocean City. How can they just bulldoze it like it means nothing?"

"That's why..." Taehyung swallows. "That's why I came here. I thought maybe you guys could help me, and we could do something before they—"

"We?" You furrow your brows. "You want us to help stop them from tearing down the Crestmont?"

"I mean yeah, I guess? I figured you guys would understand how important it is—"

You bite your lip. Taehyung flinches when you place a hand on his knee. "Tae. It seems like they've already got it figured out I mean...what can we do about it? The Crestmont has had a long run and maybe it's time for something new in Ocean City..."

"Y/N?" Jungkook warns, but there's a betrayal in his voice. How could you say that? It pains you, but you continue anyway. "What are you saying?"

"I just...I think it's time to let the Crestmont go."

Taehyung stands up so abruptly his mug smashes onto the marble tile.

"How could you?" He roars, but his bottom lip trembles. "The Crestmont is mom's place! It's all we have left of her in that fucking town and you want to just let them burn it to the ground?"

You tut, kneeling to pick up the broken pieces of china with a sharp glance at your brother. "For goodness sake, Taehyung. Mom isn't there anymore. She never was. She was always running off with some roadies and leaving us behind because she thought she was something special."

Taehyung scoffs. "What? Just like you?" He grabs the cocoa sodden script, crumpling it up in his shaking fist. "You are exactly the same as her. Running off to New York and leaving me behind to get your big break."

Jungkook steps forward warily. "Taehyung, you don't mean that—"

"Yes I do! If Y/N had just gotten in the car that day she wouldn't have died. It was all her fault. And now she's just gonna let them take what we have left of her."

"What?" Jungkook blinks.

Your stomach sinks. Is that really what Taehyung thinks? You wouldn't blame him. Deep down, his words strike a nerve. Because you know they're true.

Taehyung's eyes are hazy, unfocused. You reach for him dizzily, but he backs away into the hall.

"I shouldn't have come here." Taehyung whispers. He looks between you and Jungkook one last time before he's grabbing his coat and running down the steps to the first floor.

"Taehyung, wait!" You hear Jungkook's footsteps follow him out into the stairwell, but you're trapped on the ground, heaving for air.

Your hands shake as you pull yourself up to the window pane and watch Taehyung disappear into the gloom of the city, the sorrowful raindrops that lash against the glass mirroring the ones on your cheeks.

YOU: Taehyung??? YOU: [CALL IGNORED] YOU: please Tae YOU: can we at least talk about this? YOU: we're worried about you

It's been nearly 12 hours since you watched Taehyung disappear among the hustle and bustle of New York from your apartment window.

You and Jungkook were out all night searching for him. By the time you gave up the sun was rising and the birds were chirping and Jungkook somehow convinced your shivering form to return home to rest with a Taehyung shaped hole in your heart.

"It'll be okay. He'll be okay. He always is."

A phone call to your dad revealed he hadn't returned home that night; so where did he go exactly?

The weight of that question sits heavy in your chest as you sit backstage at the theatre, staring into your own vacant eyes in the dressing room mirror.

It's opening night. The show is due to start in fifteen minutes. Your lips are painted a deep shade of red, hair backcombed to perfection by one of the makeup artists. Beneath the harsh lights of the exposed bulbs that line the mirror, you look almost unrecognisable.

Confident, strong, successful.

Anyone would say your dreams had come true, or something sappy to that effect. But even as you sit among the hustle and bustle of the costume team and breathe in the fragrance of perfume and powder blush, you couldn't feel further away from the New York version of yourself if you tried.

Staring back at you is a reflection of the shy, terrified girl from Ocean City you worked so hard to forget. Yet here she is, mind whirring with worries for her brother instead of the lines she should be rehearsing to death before curtain call.

This should be your big moment. One which you will remember forever. But all you want to do right now is hold Taehyung close like you used to and tell him you're sorry and that you won't leave him again.

"Y/N!" You're snapped out of your thoughts by a familiar hand on your shoulder. You cover it with your own, instantly eased somewhat when you glance up and lock eyes with Jungkook in the mirror.

"Y/N, I found him."

"What?!" You jump to your feet, chair scraping obscenely. It draws the eyes of the people around you who quickly register Jungkook's polite smile as their cue to shuffle out of the dressing room and leave you two to talk. "Where is he? I need to talk to him—"

"He's not coming."

"What?"

Jungkook sinks into the chair beside you, forehead creased. He runs a hand through his hair and momentarily you catch a glimpse of the old Jungkook. The Jungkook that always took care of his best friend Taehyung.

"I...I gave him a ticket for the show tonight and told him to come. To see how much this really means to you...but—"

Your finger nails press half moons into your palms. "But what, Kook?"

"He was already leaving for Ocean City."

A sob wracks your frame. "Do you think he hates me?"

Jungkook's arms engulf you before the first tear can roll down your cheek, his chin tucking perfectly into the cleft of your shoulder. "Of course not, he's just...he's hurting right now."

"I can't lose him — not like this, Kook..."

"Shh. It'll all be okay."

You jump back and start to pace. "But it's not okay! What he said last night is true!"

Jungkook sucks in a breath. "What?"

Your knees buckle and you crumple. You can hardly breathe, shame washing over you as you admit the truth for the first time.

"I caused the accident! I'm the reason my mom's...she's..."

Jungkook wraps his arm around your shoulder, voice soothing. "What are you talking about?"

"The night of the accident she got a call from some big buck director. She was cast in this huge movie. Her big break." You're speaking to fast, but Jungkook nods to tell you he's listening.

"So she told Taehyung and I we were leaving for New York that night. And we were packing our bags before my dad got home and...and I said I wasn't coming. I didn't wanna leave Ocean City behind."

"I kicked and cried and said I didn't want to go, so her and Taehyung took off by themselves and that's when they got into the crash. She was upset and going too fast. It was all because of me." You start to sob. You've never admitted this to anyone before. Not even yourself. It tears your heart in two to say it out loud. "I'm the reason Taehyung's broken."

"You can't think like that." Jungkook clasps your face in his hands, thumb wiping away a stray tear. He looks scared, but his voice stays calm and convincing. "What happened was an accident. You were a kid. None of this is your fault."

"That's why Taehyung must hate me so much." You choke. "I'm doing what mom always wanted to, but she never had the chance because of me."

"Y/N?" A crew member steps into the room awkwardly with a cough. "I'm sorry to interrupt but the show is about to start. The audience is getting restless."

"Go. I'll take care of Taehyung, okay?" Jungkook pulls you to your feet, engulfing you in a final hug before he pushes you towards the stage entrance at the small of your back. "You're needed out there. Show them what you're made of."

Your eyes widen. This can't be happening. Not now.

"I...I can't."

"You can." Jungkook grabs your face and captures your lips, hard. It tastes salty with tears. "You're my star remember?"

"I love you." You whisper when you pull back, fingers reaching for him weakly as a costume designer hurries you towards the door.

"I love you too." Jungkook calls. His smile is the last thing you see before the door slams shut and there's no going back. "Now go break a leg, pretty!"

Particles of dust float in and out of your vision beneath the blinding stage lights.

Everything feels different from side stage. Your heart races as you press your ear to the velvet curtain separating you from the world, listening to the hubbub of laughing children and chattering adults filtering into the theatre. You imagine them taking their seats, buying icecream from the vendors, alive with anticipation.

The lights dim. You hear the director behind you, shouting something about places please! but it's like you're underwater, limbs weighted as you move like a ghost to your position for the opening number.

Your palms are clammy and you wipe them on your dress.

Show starting in 5...

Your legs turn to jelly. You close your eyes and try to calm your racing thoughts.

4...

Taehyung. Is he okay? Why didn't he come tonight?

3...

Shit! What was your opening line again? Goddamnit, Y/N, think!

2...

Mom. Would she be proud?

1...

You open your eyes.

The curtain is gone, and a pair of hands pushes you out into the harsh white spotlight. You shield your eyes with your fingers, heart dropping when you look up and find hundreds of eyes staring. Staring right at you.

It's like you're on the edge of a cliff, about to dive into the cool water below. Or fall.

Everything starts to blur. You're a teenager again, stood on the stage at the Crestmont. Panic rises like bile in your throat, and you don't know whether to scream or to run.

Run. Run. Run.

Your mouth opens, then closes. There's an awkward cough from the audience. Words run your mind in circles, but none of them are right, and before they can reach your lips they evaporate on your tongue.

Your panicked eyes roam the sea of seats that zoom in and out of focus. Your knees buckle, and you're sure you are going to pass out right here in front of everyone, but then your eyes meet a familiar pair of brown ones that makes the room stop spinning for a moment.

Jungkook. He's smiling at you, fingers crossed in his lap. There's not a trace of nerves in his gaze as he nods for you to go ahead.

I believe in you.

Just then the door to the theatre flies open and every head in the audience turns towards the darkly clothed figure shuffling through the aisles, mumbling sorry's and excuse me's until he reaches the empty seat beside your boyfriend.

He lets down his hood, shakes free a head of blonde hair that's still damp from the rain. He's out of breath, like he ran here.

Taehyung.

Your brother looks up at you, frozen in place, and his eyes soften. He flashes you a thumbs up and his lips curl around the four words you needed to hear.

You can do this.

And just like that, the panic disappears. The words come flooding back, and your body flies into action, moving across the stage

You forget all about the fear, and the anxiety, and Taehyung and the Crestmont. For now it's just you and the stage, together in harmony.

And you've never felt more alive than when you take your final bow and the crowd roars to life, just like you always imagined it would.

Your jaw hurts from smiling, and before you know it you're crying. Because when you squint against the theatre lights, you see Taehyung and Jungkook in the front row, holding each other and shouting your name.

Y/N! Y/N! Y/N!

"Hey! Be careful!"

The bouquet of congratulatory geraniums cradled in your arms gets crushed between your body and your brother's. He practically tackled you as soon as you entered the dressing room, carried on the cheering shoulders of the other cast and crew members.

"Holy shit." Taehyung holds you at arms length. His eyes are ringed red around the edges. "You were amazing, Y/N."

"You really think so?" Tears start to well and you're so happy to see him that you throw your arms around his waist. "I'm so glad you came, Tae."

"Yeah. You were just like her." He smiles. "Just like mom."

You share a small, sad smile. You've heard those words all your life but it feels different when it comes from Taehyung.

Jungkook pops his head into the room. He catches your eye over Taehyung's shoulder, and flashes you a small smile when he sees you cradling him in your arms.

Talk to him. He mouths, and you're suddenly reminded of why Taehyung came here in the first place.

"Hey listen—"

"Taehyung—"

You both start to talk, bursting into easy laughter when the other stops, seemingly hit with the same idea at the same time.

"You go first." You smile, encouragingly.

"Okay." He pulls you over to the couch. "I'm just...I'm sorry for storming out last night. I shouldn't have come here and expected you to help me—"

"No, stop. I'm sorry." You place a hand over his. "I want to help." You hold an arm out to Jungkook, who crosses the room and slides his hand into yours. "We want to help. We want to save the Crestmont."

Taehyung's eyes bulge. His voice drops to a whisper. "Really?"

"You were right. The Crestmont was mom's place."

You think about how it felt to be out there on the stage, in front of a crowd cheering your name. The excitement, the exhilaration. Your first stage.

The Crestmont is your mom's first stage. It's where she felt those same emotions for the first time. You can't let it be demolished. Not for anything.

"She deserves a legacy. We can't let them tear it down. I don't know how yet, but we'll save it."

"Thank you." A tear streaks his cheek, and his arms pull you and Jungkook into a tight bear hug.

"Thank you. For showing me what really matters, Tae." You whisper. "Let's do this together, okay?"

"For mom."

Taehyung holds out his pinky finger, and you link yours with his.

"For mom."

Where things go wrong.

Six months later.

Every second that passes is marked by a deafening tick from the kitchen clock.

Jungkook was supposed to be home 10 minutes ago. You're sat alone at the dinner table, a carefully presented meal for two spread across your mom's old polka dot table cloth. You even lit candles.

With a sigh you drop your chin into your hand, absentmindedly pushing your spaghetti around the dish while your eyes remain trained to the front door that will open any moment.

To be honest, it's been months since you and Jungkook shared a meal together. He spends most of his nights in his office, hunched over his laptop staring at the blinking cursor on some script he'll never finish. And ever since Jungkook's big script got rejected and he fell into a slump of no work, he had to get a job at a local convenience store all day for some spare cash to get you through the month.

You know he hates it. He hates the rude customers and how he can never shower the smell of grease out of his hair.

You know the bickering that turned into arguing that turned into fighting was just a result of his restless aggravation at being shot down too many times. Of watching his dream slip right through his fingers.

But you haven't exactly been as understanding as you should have been. You're overworked too, with the play, and The Crestmont, and you hate how easy it was to accept sleeping apart and missing dinner dates.

So you texted him to tell him you were making dinner tonight. A cease fire of sorts, or maybe just a feeble attempt at glueing back together the cracks that have appeared between you recently with pasta sauce and meatballs.

But he's late. Again.

And it makes you wonder whether there was any point in trying.

"Y/N?"

A gravelly voice jolts you out of your thoughts. Keys jangle onto the counter, shoes are slipped from feet and thrown into the storage cupboard with the creaky door.

"I'm in here." Your voice sounds meek, but you straighten and muster up a smile. To show at least one of you is making an effort.

Jungkook appears in the doorway, clad in his ugly traffic cone orange uniform. His shoulders are slumped, bangs limply stuck to his forehead. He looks tired, exhausted.

"What's all this?" He nods disinterestedly towards your untouched homemade buffet before heading to the sink to fix himself a glass of water.

"Dinner." You cough. He stiffens. "Remember?"

"Oh." He scratches the back of his neck. His eyes flash with something close to guilt momentarily, but then he smoothes it out. "Yeah. Dinner."

"It's okay, you're not too late. We can just heat this up in the microwave—"

"I already ate, Y/N." The glass in his hand slams onto the counter a little too loudly. "At the store."

You can't hide the way your face drops.

"Please." You whisper. "For me?"

Jungkook stares at you for a few seconds, unblinking, before he exhales shakily and pulls out the seat opposite you.

"What's on the menu?" He asks, hands already grabbing for the bottle of red wine in the middle of the table without so much as a glance at the food you worked so hard to prepare.

"Pasta."

"Right."

An uncomfortable silence settles. Jungkook nibbles at a meatball, and you suddenly feel too sick to the stomach to keep anything down.

You jump when Jungkook's fork clatters to the table. He wipes pasta sauce from the corners of his mouth with a napkin and you're sure you can see a slight tremor in his grasp.

"There's something I need to tell you."

His words ring out into the deafening silence that shrouds the apartment. You train your eyes to the candle in the middle of the table that flickers back and forth and carefully place down your own cutlery.

"Should I be worried?"

"No...I mean, I don't know. Maybe." Jungkook waves his hands around and when his eyes meet yours they're distant. Like the table that separates you spans oceans. "Just promise not to freak out."

"I'm not promising anything. Why are you looking at me like that?"

He shifts and the cheap flat pack dining chairs you bought when you moved in creak like they always do. "I...I got a movie deal. They loved the script I told them I've been working on and they want me to direct it."

Your heart fills with something sweet; pride. Even despite your downs recently this is still incredible news. You knew your boyfriend should be ecstatic...so why is he staring intently at the table cloth like it killed his whole family? "That's awesome, Kook. So what's the problem?"

"I gave them a different script."

Something shifts in the air. You hold your breath.

"Huh?"

"The script. The one you told me to burn before we came to New York. The one about you...your life."

Your blood runs cold and it's like your frozen. Just searching through the never ending blackness behind Jungkook's eyes that fails to falter, no matter how hard you pinch your inner thigh and hope you're about to wake up from a bad dream.

"You wouldn't." Your voice sounds strained and Jungkook doesn't even flinch. "You...I don't believe you."

"I'm sorry." He runs an exasperated hand through his hair. "It's just that they hated the first one and I wanted this deal so bad. It's a once in a lifetime chance Y/N, don't you see?"

The boy staring back at you isn't the sweet and sensitive Jungkook from Ocean City or the strong and passionate man from New York. His words get all mixed up in your head as you repeat them over and over and it's as if you don't even know him at all. All you can feel now is betrayal. And just like that all the anger that has been building inside you for months explodes.

"So my life is just a fucking plot for one of your indie movies, Jungkook?"

"It's always your life isn't it? Never mine." He slams his hands on the table hard enough to make your insides shake. "Ever since we came to New York I've supported you, sat back and watched as you achieved all your dreams. And it hurts, Y/N. To come home from my dead end job, and write another goddamn script that nobody wants to even read."

"I came to New York because of you!" You don't even realise you're crying until you taste the hot salty tears that won't seem to stop. "I came here so you could make it big! You're the one who encouraged me to audition for the play in the first place!"

"God, are you really that naive? Don't you see? I came to New York because I saw how much it meant to you." Jungkook lowers his voice, and there's something in his words that makes your heart twist. Pain. His eyes look watery and you long to reach out for him. Like the skin on skin contact will somehow make all of this okay. "And not once have you ever considered how it might feel for me to sit back in your shadow."

"So that's what this is? Jealousy?" You shake your head and get up from the table and turn to leave, but Jungkook grasps your wrist.

"Why can't you be happy for me?"

"I am happy for you Jungkook. And I always will be." Your heart softens and you're reminded of the boyfriend you know. The boyfriend you love. You want to believe he's in there somewhere so you place your hand over his, and for a second he looks hopeful. "But this was never your story to tell. That's what hurts."

He drops your arm, gaze cold and distant. "Then I guess that's it then."

"What?"

The room starts to spin.

"If you can't accept my decision to go ahead with the project then I guess we can't do this anymore."

"This?" You whisper.

"Us."

"Jungkook...Are you saying we're over?"

He drops his head into his hands and lets out a sigh. "Maybe. I don't know."

"You don't know?" You chuckle but it's hollow, empty. "You don't know if you love me any more?"

Jungkook's face drops and he lurches towards you, but you step back.

"No, shit Y/N I didn't mean it like that!" He looks scared. "I was just angry and it slipped out."

"Don't." His arms reach for you again but the brush of his fingertips feels scalding hot, wrong. "Don't fucking touch me."

"I'm sorry..."

"Don't lie to me Jungkook." Your vision is blurred with tears as you rip open the closet and yank out a suitcase. "You're not sorry. I was never your muse. I was just a stepping stool to the top."

"Where are you going?" Jungkook's crying now too. It comes out as a sob.

"Home." You say as you rip open your shared closet door and start throwing your things into the case. "I'm going home. Where I belong."

"I can't lose you like this. Please." He reaches for your wrist again but you're already half way to the door.

"Too late." You say. "I'm going home. And I'm never coming back."

The familiar scent of burned popcorn and candyfloss soothes you as you creep through the backdoor of the Crestmont. It always had a broken hinge which opened just enough for a body to squeeze through. Seems not a lot has changed since you left Ocean City.

It's dark inside. Silent too, without the popcorn machine running and the movie trailers playing on LED screens. You don't know what you expected. It's gone midnight by the time you get back to Ocean City, but you don't want to go home just yet.

Comfort washes over you as you run your fingers over the gilded edges of the counter, and slip beneath the hatch on auto pilot. It feels strange to be back here without the starched shirt and bow tie you used to hate. You've swapped out worn sneakers for heels that click against the tiles and you've performed on stages for crowd's bigger than the Crestmont's but here and now, you feel like yourself. Even though everything in your life has changed, you're still the same small town girl underneath it all.

Without thinking your legs carry you to the wall of fame. The faces smile up at you, like they're saying welcome back.

"Hey mom," You whisper, stopping momentarily in front of her portrait. You stared at it for so long as a kid that you have every detail committed to memory but seeing it up this close makes your breath hitch. "It's me."

With a sigh you force yourself past into the hall. Your hands tremble as you push open the door to the theatre. It's just how you remember it, sparkling gold and red velvet and mystery. But there's yellow tape strung up across all the seats and a sign has been propped up on the stage, red glaring letters burning a hole in your heart as you read them.

DANGER. DUE FOR DEMOLISHMENT. STAY AWAY.

All you can do is let your legs buckle, back sliding down the wall as you hug your knees to your chest and let out a throaty sob that echoes from the high ceiling.

When did everything go so wrong? You must be cursed. Everything you touch gets destroyed.

"Y/N?"

The lights flicker on, bathing the room in a soft golden glow. You wipe your tears, but that doesn't stop them from coming.

"Over here."

Your voice is small but a few seconds later Taehyung's face appears from behind one of the velvet seats. His eyes soften when he sees you curled up in the corner.

"What are you doing down here?" He clambers over the seat to join you, his long legs folded awkwardly in the small space.

"Having a one man party." You snort and point to your tear stained cheeks.

"Are you okay?" His hand covers yours and the contact makes you jump.

"Yes..." You sniff. He raises a brow. "No. Jungkook broke up with me."

Taehyung chokes. "What?!"

"I mean, we fought and then he...he said we were over." Your heart stabs painfully but you shrug. "So I came here. Didn't know where else to go."

He places an encouraging hand on your shoulder. "Listen...I know I haven't always been there for you when I should've. Hell, you always took care of me and I never even asked how you were doing." He offers a small smile. "But I'm here now. And you can tell me anything. If...if you want to."

A few seconds tick by in silence. You try to form a sentence but everything just comes back to the same three words.

"I miss mom." You blurt.

It echoes through the theatre, and you can practically hear the mermaids and the cupids painted on the ceiling gasp. It surprises you too, the combination of grief and relief that washes over you at finally admitting it.

"I know." Taehyung pulls you into his chest, lips whispering against your hair as you let out a sob and it's like all the sadness and denial is rushing out of you like a faucet, filling the whole room up like a water tank. You're terrified of the moment it gets too full, and you stop being able to breathe. "But you're a lot like her, y'know."

"That's exactly the problem!" Your words come out as a yell and it makes you both jump. "Everyone always says I look like her, I talk like her, I act like her. And I hated it for the longest time because I hated her for leaving us!"

"But without even realising it I became her, Tae. I did what I always said I wouldn't and became selfish. I hurt you, and Jungkook and even the Crestmont."

"That's not true."

"It is! And the worst part is I don't even hate her any more. I need her. To hold me, and tell me it's going to be alright. But she isn't here!"

"What does this have to do with Jungkook?"

"Jungkook wrote a script. A long time ago. About mom. And you and I. And everything that happened." You swallow, Taehyung's eyebrow raises though he doesn't look at all surprised by this information, nor as horrified as you that a record of your bleak shortcomings exists for anyone to read. "He got a movie deal. That's why we fought."

Taehyung hums. "You don't want him to make the movie?"

"It's not that I...I want to be happy for him. But I can't." You choke. "It's too painful. Remembering."

Accepting.

"When I said you were a lot like mom, I meant that you are headstrong." Taehyung pauses. "I felt that way once too. Like I hated mom and the goddamn world for taking her too soon. But in the end, the only person I hated was myself. Like however hard I tried I could never get over her, and all the pain I was pushing down into a dark place kept taunting me through the nightmares." He shivers, and you grip his hand tighter. "But one day I realised I don't have to be afraid of that pain any more. That pain is a part of me. But that doesn't mean I have to let it win."

"So what did you do?"

"I let myself feel it . I faced it. The only way I could let mom go was to stop running away." He pats your shoulder. "You need to set the girl in that script free, so you can move on."

And just like that, you're swimming...up, up, up, until you reach the surface of the water tank and you can take a heaving breath for the first time.

You throw your arms around his neck. It feels weird to hug him like this, but it's nice. "I missed you, Tae. Thank you.”

"I didn't do anything." He says. "The strength is inside you, you just need to find it. Just like you need to stop holding on to the past and let the new you shine for once."

You shake your head. "I need to talk to Jungkook. I don't know why I stormed off like that and..." You trail off. "Wait, how did you know I was here?"

Taehyung grins. "I didn't. I got called in to sort some paperwork and I noticed the back door ajar. Good thing it was you and not some crazy with a baseball bat, right?"

"At this time?" You nod to his still pyjama clad state. "Is it important?"

"Y/N," He laughs lightly. There's excitement shining in his eyes. "Someone just bought the Crestmont."

You scramble to your knees. "What?"

"We're staying open, and I get to keep my job."

And then you're hugging again, and laughing and crying because the Crestmont is going to be okay. You're going to be okay.

"That's incredible, Tae! Who is it? Who bought the Crestmont?"

"I don't know, it was an anonymous transaction. But the guy said he would be here...." He glances at his wrist watch, and as he does, the door creaks open. "Around now."

"Hello? Anyone here?" A familiar voice calls out.

"Jungkook?" Both of your jaws drop as you poke up from behind the seats. Sure enough your heart flutters when you see him, all wind swept and out of breath like he ran here.

"I thought you might be here." He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. "Can we talk?"

The car ride to the pier was mostly silent. Jungkook borrowed his dad's old beat up truck -- it was that or his old bike with the pegs on the back -- and it still smelled like leather and petrol like it used to.

Everything about Ocean City is the same as you remember it. The pier stands strong atop the rocky sand, sea air deliciously fresh as it fills your lungs. The rolling waves shimmer like gold dust below the wisps of pink clouds that greet the rising sun. The beach is a peaceful view at this time. No tourists, all of yesterdays sandcastles swallowed by the sea spray. It took a couple hours to work through the paperwork so by now it's early morning — 5:30am according to your phone lockscreen.

It's chilly, and your skin is covered with goose bumps even despite Jungkook's suede jacket wrapped loosely around your shoulders. But you don't mind.

You've missed this. You've missed Ocean City.

"No ice cream, I'm afraid." The breeze ruffles Jungkook's hair as he emerges from the fairground and settles beside you with his legs poking through the rails. He flashes you an apologetic smile. "I guess the parlour doesn't open until 9..."

You feel a pang in your chest. Being here is like a serious case of deja vu. Countless hours spent in this very spot, eating vanilla scoops with rainbow sprinkles beside Jungkook used to be so normal. When did you grow so far apart that you're surprised he even remembers?

"Jungkook..." You swallow hard when you meet his eyes, hands longing to reach out and stroke the stream of sunrise on his cheek that makes his dark eyes sparkle. "We...we need to talk. About everything."

There's a moment of silence filled only by the calls of seagulls greeting the morning before he speaks. "I sold the script."

He sounds nervous. Like he's not quite sure what your reaction will be.

You swallow. "And you used the money to buy the Crestmont?"

"Yeah." He says matter of factly, scratching a phantom itch at his nape. "I guess I did."

"Why?" Your voice is small.

"I can't loose you, Y/N." He murmurs. "Just like you can't loose your mom. The Crestmont was her everything. But you are mine. And loosing the Crestmont would be loosing a piece of you, and I couldn't stand that."

The breeze ruffles his hair as he reaches for your hand and links your fingers and squeezes hard. You don't make any move to stop him. You know what it means, so you squeeze back and return the sentiment. I'm sorry.

Before you can stop yourself you lurch forward, arms curling around his neck and it's like coming home. His hands pull you flush to his chest, hearts beating in sync and you know everything is going to be okay now.

"Thank you." You whisper against his nape. A tear rolls down your cheek and soaks into his collar and before you know it you're blubbering. "Thank you so much, Kook."

"You aren't mad?" His voice is muffled but you can hear the quirk of his brow.

"Mad? No..no..." You lean back and wipe your eyes with your sleeve. "But what about the movie? And your dream to be a director and--"

Jungkook grabs your shoulders. His own eyes are glassy as he tucks a piece of hair behind your ear.

"That was never what mattered to me, Y/N. Not even a little bit. There's one reason I went to New York and it's the same reason I came back to Ocean City tonight. You."

"But--"

"No but's. As long as we're together, I'm already living my dream." His lips turn up into a smile, his eyes tracing your face like it's the first time and he can't get enough. "And I never ever want to wake up."

You shift in your spot to face him properly for the first time, and emotion hits you like a tidal wave. It's like all of a sudden you realize how stupid you've been; to fight with the man before you, a man who only knows kindness, about the trivial when the things that mattered the most were always right here, in front of you. The things that mattered most were always in Ocean City.

You brace your hands on his shoulders and lean up so your lips are inches apart. His eyes fall shut naturally, and you can't help but laugh with what you can only describe as one thing: happiness.

"I love you." You whisper against his lips. A warm palm cups your jaw and closes the distance between them and you're almost too lost in the way Jungkook's kiss takes your breath away to hear his response.

"I love you too."

"Sooo..." You bite your lip with a coy smile when Jungkook pulls away, the blush upon his cheeks scarlet beneath the sun which is rapidly rising. "I take it we're no longer broken up?"

"Well duh," He swats you playfully. "You think I'd do all this just to dump your ass?"

"Hey!" You pout. "I dumped your ass."

Jungkook shakes his head with a laugh.

"Besides," He glances out over the horizon nonchalantly and shrugs. "I'm gonna need help if I'm gonna start my own film company and run the Crestmont."

Your jaw drops. "A what now?"

"A film company." He explains. "A different type of film company, right here in Ocean City. For the outcasts like me who have a vision that even the biggest names in New York can't see yet." He smiles, so big and bright it makes your heart leap. "I'm gonna show them, Y/N. And everything I need to do it is right here in Ocean City."

"I know you will. I never doubted you for a second." You take his hand and link your fingers, squeezing hard. "And you bet your ass I'll be front row to watch each and every one, Jeon Jungkook."

Epilogue.

"Just keep your eyes shut!"

"I already know where we're going, so why can't I look?" You laugh, attempting and failing to tug Jungkook's interlocked fingers away from your eyes.

"Shush, it's a surprise! Just roll with it."

A surprise. That's what Jungkook said earlier too when he woke you up at the crack of dawn by throwing a dress at your head and telling you to meet him outside in the truck in 10 minutes or else.

By the time you pulled up into the familiar parking lot of your not-so-mysterious destination, the sky was already aflame with the glow of morning skimming the horizon, and Jungkook practically leapt out of the truck, palms unusually sweaty as he grasped your hand and pulled you towards the path quicker than your feet could carry you.

"What's the hurry, Kook?" You get out between heavy breaths, quads burning as the path gets steeper beneath your feet.

Come to think of it, your boyfriend has been acting strangely all week. Like hiding things behind his back when you walk into a room or talking in hushed whispers on the phone to Taehyung when he thought you were sleeping.

"You'll see." The path levels out and you stop. Jungkook wraps his arms around your waist, chin tucked into the cleft of your shoulder like a perfect puzzle piece. "Okay. Now you can look."

You round the corner, heart racing when your eyes flutter open and your vision is filled with a sea of yellow flowers. Your place.

The meadow is just how you left it, tall grass and sunny blooms dancing beneath the rays of morning sun peeking out from between the clouds. A warmth spreads through your chest and you both laugh when Gureum lets out an excited yelp, before bounding off between the stems playfully.

"I think the little guy wants us to follow him." Jungkook raises a brow and throws you a knowing shrug.

Excitement flutters in your stomach like a butterfly trapped between cupped palms. "How could I refuse?"

Fingers interlinked, you part the sunflowers and jog after the ball off fluff bouncing across the meadow, the breeze cool and forgiving as it ruffles the strands of hair that billow behind you.

Eventually you reach the clearing, and Gureum wags his tail at you proudly when you stoop down to scratch him behind his ears.

The sun reflects in Jungkook's eyes, turning them a warm golden brown. "Turn around."

You spin on your heels with a questioning glance. "Why?" That's when you see it. The spot where everything began. The tree where Jungkook kissed you all those years ago has bloomed with fragrant blossoms, and twinkle lights glow like tiny stars around it's branches. A blanket is laid out in the sun flecked shade beneath it, littered with feather cushions and lanterns and a trail of sunflower petals that begin at your feet.

"You did this?" You take his chin in your palms, face beaming despite the tears that have started to blur your vision. "Oh, Kook."

"Surprise." He smiles knowingly, grabbing you from behind and spinning you round and round until you both land with a soft thump in the middle of the outdoor cushion fort. "You haven't even seen the best part yet." He says with a nod to his right.

It's then that you notice the white sheet that's strung up a couple meters away between the trunks of two trees, Jungkook's vintage projector set up in front of it.

"What is this?" You ask, bewilderment evident in your voice.

"Gureum, would you do the honours?" Jungkook chuckles, extending a finger to point at a remote that your puppy obediently picks up with his teeth and drops into your lap with a wag of his tail.

Jungkook tucks a piece of hair behind your ear and takes a deep breath, like he's been waiting for this moment for a long time. "Go ahead. Press play and find out."

Your head shakes fondly, but your fingers tremble with anticipation as they find the PLAY button. You press it and the projector starts turning, a light flicking on at the top that makes a grainy image appear on the sheet.

The first scene is you. A teenager, dancing through the sunflower field, laughter spilling from your lips. The first time you hung out. And then it switches. You, again. Cleaning up a spill at the Crestmont, unaware of the camera. You. Paint in your hair as Jungkook chases you around the apartment in New York. You. Tears in your eyes as you hold baby Gureum for the first time. You. Asleep on Jungkook's shoulder on the subway, the camera panning to his face which lights up in a big grin, lips mouthing three words.

I love you.

Tears are hot on your cheeks, laughing as you remember the good moments and the bad, the funny and the sad, all immortalized forever through Jungkook's eyes.

The film fades out, and you throw your arms around your boyfriends neck. He chuckles when you tackle him to the ground, throwing a leg over his lap so that you can lean down and capture his lips between yours in a kiss that says all the words you want to say but you don't know how to. I love you too.

"I take it you liked it, then?" Jungkook says coyly, thumb stroking your cheek.

"It was beautiful Jungkook." You place your hand over his. "Now I know why you're always goddamn filming me."

"What can I say? You're my muse."

"Shut up." You punch him playfully. "You're gonna make me blush."

It's Jungkook's cheeks that flush pink. "Actually..." He starts to sit up, fumbling around in his back pocket. "There's something else."

"Oh?"

He clears his throat. "The first time we came to this place I knew I loved you. Back then, I said I wanted to show you what I found most beautiful. And it was you. It's always been you." He takes your hand, grip tight. "When we met we were just kids with big dreams. We might be older now but heck -- I still don't know what I'm doing. All I know is dreams come and go but you never left. You always stayed by my side. Which is why I want to promise you something."

"What, Kook?" You manage to whisper. Your heart is beating a million miles a minute in your ears. Is this what you think it is?

Jungkook swallows hard, eyes boring into yours.

"That I'll go wherever you go. New York, across oceans, up mountains -- you name it. As long as we're together, everything will be okay. So that's why I wanted to ask..." His fingers tremble as he produces a tiny black box, flicking it open to reveal a ring that sparkles see through in the sun. "Y/N, will you marry me?"

"Oh Jungkook," You throw your arms around his neck, overcome with emotion now as you capture his lips with your own. "Of course I'll marry you. You didn't even have to ask."

He lets out a sigh of relief, and then he's spinning you around in circles until you're both dizzy with love and belly laughter.

"I love you." He whispers, eyes shiny. His hand gently grasps your wrist as he slides the ring onto your finger.

You've heard him say it a hundred times before, but this time it's different. This time it's forever. Your heart flutters.

"I love you too, Kook."

Where there are new beginnings

Ocean City is the same as it always was.

You wake up each morning to the distant crash or waves, and you fall asleep each night to the tinkling fairground music that makes your heart sing. Tourists come and go, flooding the casinos and eating churros on the beach.

The Crestmont is doing better than ever. Once Taehyung took over as owner, the theatre became the heart of the city, attracting visitors from near and far to see the renowned plays directed by none other than Jeon Jungkook, the most sought after playwright and filmographer in all of the East Coast.

And then there's you. Ever since you starred in one of Jungkook's plays, about a girl from a seaside city moving to New York with big dreams, there's been no shortage of movie deals and acting opportunities thrown your way.

But in the end, you always find yourself coming back to Ocean City.

Tonight the Crestmont reopens for business after some much needed renovations. Taehyung is throwing a party, and there will be plenty of big Hollywood faces attending to see the brand new theatre and the updated __.

But one thing will always remain the same. The picture of your mom hung in the gallery. Her big smile is the heart of the Crestmont, greeting each and every visitor with pride.

And in the empty frame at the end of the wall of fame, there's a new picture.

You. Smiling, with your hair over one shoulder, just how you imagined. And beside you is Jungkook, with his arm wrapped around your waist and Taehyung holding Gureum and making a silly peace sign behind your head.

And you wouldn't have it any other way.

Okay so hi if you’re still here!! I decided to put this at the end because I didn’t wanna spoil the ending so please send love to @brekkiejeon​ !! They sent me the request for the ending of this fic all the way back in January and i’m trash and took like 7 months to finish writing it so i hope you enjoyed it even so lovely !!! <3 thank you for the request and sorry for the wait, this one really got me creative lol! 

Also I’d like to dedicate the smut in this fic to @atastefulwonderland​ because I know you love some good ole JK loving!! Hehe, ily~~

Also lemme know if this was bad because I never usually give OC so much backstory because I want it to be as relatable to the reader as poss obvi but these characters wrote themselves lmao like i’m just the writer i had no control okay???? I just do what these mfkers say. LOL.

[pollylynn]

Title: Bad Company WC: 1200 Episode: Dead From New York (7 x 21)

When it comes to Clan Castle, it’s hard to find the line between joining in and interfering. Some days trying to find it feels like a side hustle—a fairly demanding side hustle—she’s taken on for the rest of her life. 

Most days don’t feel like that. Most days, she’s happy to meet that particular challenge with a kind of roller coaster, here-we-go gusto, and they’re delighted by it. They applaud her rough-and-tumble jokes, and they sheepishly do her bidding when she goes a bit schoolmarmish and tells them it’s time to play nice, to kiss and make up, to compromise. They read her moods, and they’re sensitive to them, but they also nudge her more than she’s ever been nudged in her life. They disrupt some of the ways she’s been, the ways she sometimes forgets she doesn’t need or want to be any longer. That’s how it is most days, and she likes to think that, to a lesser degree, she does the same for each of them—as much as a novice member of Clan Castle can anyway. 

But she thinks she might have screwed up with Martha. She thinks that she’s interfered with the surprisingly delicate balance between mother and son. Even if she isn’t guilty of the I word, per se, she’s certainly managed to put her foot in it. She never meant to imply that this is some kind of Situation Meredith, or that she wants to go to hotel to escape the endless repetition of three words. She wasn’t most definitely not going to fill in the blank with annoying when she started down the path of Your mom is just . . . She was going to say upset. That’s what she was going to point out, and furthermore, she wasn’t planning on just dumping that revelation at his feet. She was going to ask for advice on nudging strategies in the time of a three-word conversational repertoire. 

But that’s not at all how the conversation went, and now he’s convinced that she’s irritated—that Martha is a problem that she expects him to fix, and that can’t be good for Martha, not when she’s upset. Except, maybe it’s fine for Martha. Because maybe she’s not just interfering, she’s projecting. 

It’s always struck her as the height of hilarity that he made Nikki Heat an aspiring actress whose dreams of the stage were derailed by her mother’s murder. Or at least it had struck her that way early on, as she privately crowed over proof positive that he knew nothing at all about her. The potential Freudian connotations of it all struck full force, if belatedly, somewhere around the time of the Natalie Rhodes invasion. Nowadays, she mostly shakes her head over it. 

To say she has no desire to do what Martha does for a living is understatement. What Martha does for a living gives her sympathetic heart palpitations and an inconvenient tendency to bear out in a cold sweat, and she can’t decide whether the uncertainty of previews or the no-room-for-error quality of an opening terrifies her more. And, on the one hand, he’s perfectly right that she hasn’t been around for this process before, so maybe she’s way out of her lane here. But on the other, she’s been around a while and surely doing something that is sheer madness cannot be just like riding a bike. 

Their case is not exactly helping her achieve clarity here. She finds herself the unexpected focus of several people’s attention. She has no idea what to make of Liz Bell’s strange vibe, and the reference to her hair, her heels, to footage of her at crime scenes—footage that people not only see, but study, apparently—has her longing for her short, short hair, her minimalist makeup, and her constant rotation of under-the-radar boatneck tops in red, white, and black. 

She’s flummoxed in a different way by Danny Valentine’s brazen flirting, and if it weren’t for the stimulating effects of Castle’s jealousy, she’s pretty sure the bloom would have faded from that particularly rose with record speed. And, of course, Tina Tamino and her Alexander Technique Nosy Parker schtick makes her see the appeal of dangling a so-called performer out of a seventh floor window by her ankles. 

So maybe this isn't about Martha at all. Maybe this about her insecurities and weird, rigid boundaries sending her sprawling over the line between joining in and interfering. The possibility is a miserable little brook babbling in the back of her mind all through the end of the case. 

He joins her at the studio after his Interferer-in-Chief–mandated conversation with Martha, and there’s barely time for him to give her a tight smile in response when she asks how it went. He’s not exactly quiet—he’s rarely exactly quiet—but his mind also isn’t entirely on the case. He’s . . . thoughtful, and she’s convinced that means there was some kind of blow-up or something. 

She’s watching the clock as they zip back and forth between the studio and the precinct with Chad, with spreadsheets in hand, with their sights set not on one of the dozen villains she’s made every one of the center-stage-loving actors and writers out to be, but on the unassuming behind-the-scenes guy. It’s a metaphor that keeps on hitting her right between the eyes. 

She breathes a sigh of relief she is almost certain she has not earned when Martha shows up, champagne and Twitter thread in hand. She throws herself with an over-the-top amount of gusto into the toast, the drink, the general celebration, but there’s still that babbling brook of misery doing its level best to drown all of that out. 

He’s oblivious to it, and that seems fair enough. He’s beaming with unalloyed pride in his mother, and there’s not a hint of the usual back-and-forth snark between the two of them, and she herself is happen enough to ride out the misery as her penance for her unwelcome, off-the-mark pot-stirring. 

She slips off to do just that under the pretense of brewing them a fresh pot to sit around and sip once the champagne is gone. He gives chase, though. He slips up behind her and wraps her in a fierce hug. 

“Thank you,” he whispers into the curve of her neck. He punctuates it with tiny electric kisses. “This wouldn’t have happened if it weren’t for you.” 

“For me?” She spins to face him. It’s a soap opera move so dramatic it’s almost a shame that Martha wasn’t there to offer notes. “What did I do?”

“She was terrified. She was ready to drop out.” His eyes drop to the floor. His spine slumps in shame. “I had no idea. I didn’t see it.” He grabs both her hands tight. “But you did.”

She feels a flush creeping over her skin. It’s pleasant this time, though. It’s a here-we-go thrill. She runs her body right into his. She lands a haphazard kiss right beneath his ear. 

“Beginner’s luck,” she whispers. 

A/N: Stage fright is famously without morphousness. 

images via homeofthenutty

[puppywritings]

fidelium - johnny suh x gender-neutral reader masterlist

⇢   synopsis: you can’t wait to spend the weekend at johnny’s house. your boyfriend was a bad boy, and a motorcycle rider to boot. things were new, thrilling. perhaps more thrilling than you bargained for. you come to learn that it’s a lot more difficult to leave than to stay.

⇢   word count: 6.8k ⇢   trigger warnings: death, guns, toxic relationship involving manipulation, objectification, arguments. sexual elements and implied sex but no explicit scenes. ⇢   warning:  the relationship displayed in this fic is in absolutely no way healthy or ideal. it’s one red flag after another. if somebody disrespects your boundaries, threatens you, objectifies you, manipulates you, or anything of the sort, they’re not a good person to be around and they don’t deserve to stay in your life. the contents of this fic may be upsetting to read.

⇢   a/n: this is my piece for @du0tine​‘s 21 ways to kill your lover collab. intended for 18+ audiences. i also want to say, it’s not my intention to romanticize or glorify toxic, harmful, or abusive relationships - this is purely fiction. this writing also doesn’t reflect the real johnny suh, who i’m sure is a lovely person and would never engage in this sort of behaviour.

taglist: @prettyjaems @ethaeriyeol​ @1-800-seo​ @neonun-au​ (sorry if i forgot anyone i’m super disorganised w my taglists atm)

Johnny Suh didn’t fit your usual dating criteria. With his black leather jacket, heavy lace-up boots, and hulking motorcycle, he was a bit of a bad boy. And there was something exciting in that. You’d met him late one night, in the bar where you worked. You’d served him all night - rum and coke, his drink of choice. He certainly caught your eye, at first. He was handsome, with his brown eyes twinkling and his long blond hair pulled back into a ponytail. But it wasn’t until the two of you started talking that you became interested. It was a quiet night, and Johnny insisted on sitting at the bar in front of you. He was teasing, charming. And when he gave you his number at closing time, you actually tapped the digits into your phone, rather than just discarding it like you usually do. Unlike the rest of your patrons who thrust their contact details upon you, when it came to Johnny the interest was mutual.

So, while it was true that Johnny wasn’t quite the typical man you went after, the relationship had been going well. He’d been nothing short of a gentleman in the duration of your relationship, though he still thrilled you with his affinity for the more reckless things in life; late-night motorcycle rides, drinking just a little too much and partying all night. He took the mundaneness out of your life - he made your life an adventure.

Towards the end of your shift that Friday evening, you found yourself getting jittery; you checked the time every five minutes, and a swarm of butterflies was building in your stomach. Johnny was picking you up after work on his bike, and it was all you could think about. You almost ran out of the establishment, when the clock struck ten, marking the end of your shift. Your heart swelled at the sight of Johnny in the bar’s parking lot, leaning against his motorcycle with his hands in his pockets.

“Hey, angel,” he greeted you, affection glowing in his eyes and his smile.

“Hi,” you beamed, wrapping your arms around his waist and taking in his warmth. He picked you up immediately, holding you tight and spinning you. “Johnny!” you giggled, fingers grasping the cotton of his white t-shirt. 

“You ready to meet my boys?” he asked you, punctuating his question with a kiss on your nose. He was referring to the friends he considered family; he lived with them, in a rather large house on the outskirts of town, from what you’d heard. They were special to him, and you knew it was important to him that you got along with them. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t completely terrified. You knew it’d be okay, though. If they had Johnny’s approval you were sure they’d be good people. Plus, you could never be too scared with Johnny’s hand in your own.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you responded with a smile.

“Hop on,” he instructed you, tossing you a helmet and putting on his own. At the beginning of your relationship, he’d given you his own helmet, forgoing his protection for the sake of yours. You hadn’t liked this - this display of his reckless attitude that surpassed thrilling and sat nicely in the territory of dangerous - and so you’d pestered him until he bought a second helmet.

You secured your rucksack on your back, prepacked with all the clothes and toiletries you required for the weekend you’d be spending with your boyfriend, before climbing onto the large black bike behind him. Johnny had been driving you around on his bike for a number of weeks now, but you still weren’t quite used to it. The mix of fear and exhilaration, both from the wind whipping past your ears and from the sensation of your chest pressed flush against Johnny’s back, your arms tight around his waist. It made your heart race. The feeling you got from riding a motorcycle embodied everything that Johnny was: dark, exciting, intoxicating, addictive.

Johnny hadn’t been lying when he said he lived on the outskirts. The bright lights of the town centre were far behind you, and even the streetlights had begun to die out. You were alone with the moon and starlight now. The neatly paved roads gave way to rough muddy lanes. The built-up urban surroundings gave way to empty fields, then to a dense and seemingly endless forest. The bike’s headlamp shone a path through the trees, guiding Johnny to his home. Though your partner clearly felt familiar here, the environment sent chills down your spine - you could’ve sworn you felt eyes on you, peering out from the darkness. When your journey ended, at a solitary house looming tall against the dark backdrop of the forest, you were thankful.

“Here we are,” Johnny welcomed you, helping you off the bike. The house was bigger than you could’ve expected. The term mansion wouldn’t be amiss.

“So,” you commented, looking up at the structure, illustrated by the silver moonlight. “This is where you and your biker gang live?” You looked along the line of bikes, queued up around the house. They were of different styles and sizes, though (with your limited knowledge on motorcycles) they all looked rather impressive.

“I keep telling you, we’re not a biker gang,” Johnny corrected you, with a lighthearted roll of his eyes. “We’re just a group of friends who live together, and just so happen to ride together too.”

“And if that’s not a biker gang, what is?” you teased.

“Zip it,” Johnny said gently, and you complied. “Here, I’ll take your bag.”

“Ever the gentleman,” you commented, passing it to him. You braced yourself, as he led you into his home.

It was warm inside, much warmer than out in the chilly woodland. From what you could tell by looking at the entranceway, the place was tidy and well-lit. Your boyfriend led you down the hall, into an open-plan kitchen and living area, where Johnny's friends were sitting around the television. 

"We're home, guys," Johnny announced, drawing their attention towards you.

"Hey, look what Johnny brought home!" one of them called out, bringing a blush to your cheeks.

"Watch it," Johnny warned, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you close to him. "Y/N is all mine. You can look, but you can't touch. In fact, you can only look for five seconds at a time."

“These are the boys” Johnny introduced you to them. “This is Jaehyun, Ten, Mark. And that’s Donghyuck. My protege, right kid?” 

“That’s right, John” the boy grinned up at Johnny from where he was sitting.

You gave a shy wave as you looked around at Johnny's friends. Though he had named them all, introducing them, it was a redundant act. You'd asked to see pictures of everybody prior to that night, not wanting to get lost amid a sea of unfamiliar faces. You saw Jaehyun, with his dimples and broad shoulders; Mark, with pronounced cheekbones and a delicate nose; Ten, with a feline-like beauty; and Donghyuck, full cheeks and long eyelashes. 

"I think we're just gonna turn in for the night, right Y/N?" Johnny spoke, looking down at you. "See you boys tomorrow."

You waved at Johnny's friends, with a polite, "Bye." The boys chorused their goodbyes back at you, and Johnny led you away.

You couldn't help but admire the house as Johnny guided you to his bedroom, your hand in his. The place was huge, grand. You weren't sure under what circumstances Johnny and his friends acquired this house, but it can't have been cheap. 

"And this," he led you inside, "Is my room."

The room was a fair size, with several tall windows and a four-poster double bed. The matching furniture looked sturdy and high-quality, a dark antique wood.

"This is impressive," you told him honestly. Johnny beamed in pride; he was always looking for praise, and you were happy to feed his ego.

Johnny lounged on his bed, laying back propped up on his elbows. "Come feel how comfy my bed is," he invited you with a smirk.

"Johnny Suh, you are not smooth. I know that's just an excuse to get me into bed," you said, falling beside him.

"If you knew it was just an excuse," Johnny asked, pausing to plant a kiss on your jawline, "Then why'd you join me?"

"Because," you tell him, "Maybe I want to be in bed with you."

Johnny gave a low chuckle, before kissing you again; a line beginning at your jaw, trailing down to your neck, and ending at your collarbone, making you gasp and lean into his touch.

"Johnny," you purred, your voice full of want.

"Let Johnny take care of you, baby," Johnny hummed. You obliged, submitting to his touch and surrendering to the pleasure.

Coming down from your high, you collapsed against Johnny’s bed, smiling as you looked up at your boyfriend who lay beside you.

“You’re perfect,” Johnny told you, his dark brown eyes gazing deeply into your own. You felt the heat rise to your cheeks, and you looked away, only for Johnny to tilt your chin back up towards him. “It’s true,” he reiterated.

“I’m not perfect,” you denied, wrinkling your nose.

Johnny pecked your lips. “You are. My angel.”

You looked at him, lying beside you in his bed. His sex hair was immaculate, perfectly tousled from rolling around and from your fingers tugging on it. His lips were plump and pink from your kisses, and his collarbones were decorated in pink splotches. He looked beautiful, he was glowing, and you couldn’t help but grin at him.

“Hey,” Johnny says suddenly, sitting up and untangling himself from the blankets. “Let me give you a massage.”

“It’s okay, babe, you don’t have to,” you waved away his offer. He seemed deadset, however, cracking his knuckles in preparation.

“I insist. Roll over.” You obeyed, lying on your front and allowing your boyfriend to straddle your waist. His hands pressed into your skin, rubbing deeply into your muscles. The sensation was pleasant, you had to admit. Mostly, you just enjoyed the proximity between you and Johnny, and the feeling of being taken care of by someone you loved. You closed your eyes, allowing yourself to slip away and ease into the feeling.

You weren’t allowed to slip away for long, however, as your phone began to buzz, startling you. The vibrations against the hardwood of Johnny’s bedside table conjured a harsh screeching noise. You lifted your head, peering at the screen.

You lifted your torso, as much as you could with Johnny’s weight on you. “Oh, it’s my mom. I should-”

“You can call her back later, angel,” Johnny said, pushing you back down onto the bed. The action was gentle, but Johnny didn’t need to use much force to manipulate your body; your boyfriend worked out, and bordered on freakishly strong - at least, in comparison to you. His buff arms held your shoulders down, preventing any movement. "This is my time to pamper you," he explained, resuming the massage.

"Okay," you tentatively agreed. "I'll call her back later." You got the sense that this massage was much more for Johnny's benefit than for yours, but if it kept him happy, then so be it.

“Good morning, angel,” Johnny greeted you. Your eyelids fluttered open, adjusting to the light in his bedroom. With a groan, you stretched your muscles, stiff from sleeping. “I brought you a cup of coffee.”

You looked to your boyfriend, smiling at you as he entered the room, a mug in each hand. You couldn’t be sure how long he’d been awake, or what time it was, but he was dressed already, beige cable-knit sweater and loose jeans, with his hair pulled back in a low ponytail. It was a contrast to his usual greaser bad-boy image, and the sight warmed your heart. He looked cozy, soft. You smiled back at him, sitting up and letting the covers pool around your waist. 

“Morning, Johnny,” you beamed at him, accepting the cup of coffee he handed to you. You took a sip and moaned in delight. Your boyfriend made a mean cup of coffee, perfectly sweet without being overbearing. He sat beside you on the bed, caressing your cheek lightly.

“I was thinking we could go out for a walk,” he suggested, before taking a swig of his own coffee. “It’s a nice morning.”

You nodded. “Okay.”

A while later, fully dressed and hand-in-hand with Johnny, you found yourself venturing through the forest that surrounded the house. There were a few man-made footpaths winding between the trees, but for the most part, you were truly in the middle of nature, an environment completely untouched by humans. Birds flapped their wings, rustling in the trees, and creatures whose species were unknown to you scrambled to run away in your wake, paws pounding on the forest floor. Johnny had been right; it was a nice morning. The sun filtered through branches and leaves, casting light and warmth down upon you, and the air was clean and fresh.

“It’s so nice out here,” you commented, looking around at the greens and browns that encompassed you.

“Yeah,” Johnny agreed. “I’m lucky to live here.”

“You really are. I’d walk through here every morning if I were you.”

“You’re lucky, too,” Johnny acknowledged, squeezing your hand. “You’re dating me. You can walk here whenever you want as well.” You smiled, your heart swelling at his words.

“It really is isolated, huh? Your house?” you remarked, peering around at your surroundings. The nearest road was so far away that you couldn’t even hear the rush of cars from where you stood.

“Yeah,” Johnny confirmed. “It’s not easy to get out of the house.” Why anyone would wish to escape this peaceful surroundings, you had no idea. It felt so far removed from the hustle and bustle of everyday life; your usual troubles felt so distant.

The sun had risen higher in the sky by the time you returned to Johnny’s house, and you realised you hadn’t even brought your phone with you. You hadn’t even thought to check the time once since you woke up. This was so out of the ordinary for you, particularly on a Saturday morning, when you’d usually be lounging in your apartment scrolling through social media.

The house had woken up by the time you stepped through the front door. It had been silent when you left, though now it seemed that the entire household was up and about.

“Where have you been, John?” Ten called out, as the two of you entered the kitchen.

“Just out for a walk,” he explained, taking a seat at the kitchen island, where you joined him.

“By the way, Y/N, it’s nice to meet you,” Ten greeted you, smiling sweetly.

“It’s nice to meet you, too,” you returned, smiling back politely.

Johnny leaned in close, stage-whispering. “It’s really not all that nice to meet him. He’s a pretty lousy guy. Into some real weird stuff. Has probably killed a guy.” Ten gave Johnny a pointed glare as he departed the kitchen, and you giggled at your boyfriend’s antics.

“So,” Donghyuck asked, his voice somewhat muffled as he peered into the open fridge. “What do you guys have planned today?”

“Hmm. Not much,” Johnny answered. “Have some lunch, take it easy.”

“I want to shower first,” you announced, stretching your arms above your head. The physical exertion of your outdoor walk, along with your heated activities the night before, had left you feeling a little less than squeaky clean.

“We should do that together,” Johnny suggested, pressing a lingering kiss to your cheek, which flamed at his proposition. 

“Okay,” you giggled in spite of yourself. Johnny was the only man, since you’d been twelve years of age, who was capable of reducing you to such a blushing, giggling mess.

“Let’s go,” Johnny invited you, smirking as he stood up and held out his hand. You took it, and laughed when Donghyuck fake gagged and Johnny stared at him with daggers in his eyes. You allowed Johnny to lead you, your hand in his, all the way upstairs. After retrieving your toiletries and change of clothes, you joined him in the bathroom, closing the door behind you.

“The lock is funny,” he told you, leaning over you to fiddle with it. “You really have to twist it-” he grunted, “There we go.”

You smiled, bunching up his shirt in your hands and pulling him closer towards you. He looked smug as he leaned in to kiss you, his lips sweet and commanding. Your hands went under his shirt, ghosting over his chiseled abdomen, which tensed delightfully under your touch.

Johnny pulled away, his eyes scanning up and down your body, setting you alight with his gaze. “Why don’t you doll yourself up for lunch, huh? I want to show everyone how beautiful you are.”

“Okay,” you nodded, agreeing to his suggestion. He captured your lips again, and you smiled against his lips. “We need to shower, baby. And no funny business.”

“No promises,” Johnny grinned, his eyes twinkling. When he took his shirt off, however, your request of no funny business went completely out the window.

Sunday morning came all too fast, as your weekend with Johnny came to a close. It had been peaceful, relaxing, a greatly needed recharge, and you weren’t quite ready to return to your regular life. Walks through the city rather than through the woodland, and shifts in the bar all week long.

"I wish you didn't have to leave today," Johnny said, pouting as his fingertip traced shapes along your forearm as you lounged on his bed together.

"I know, babe, me too," you agreed. His eyelashes looked long, fanned across his cheeks as he gazed downwards.

"You should stay," Johnny suggested, a hopeful lilt to his voice. "Just another day or two?"

You shook your head at him. "I'm working all week babe, it's easier if I just go home. I can stay again next weekend." 

Johnny sighs, an irritated huff, retracting his hand from your arm. "You don't wanna stay with me?" he asked, looking up at you with hurt in his eyes.

"It's not that I don't want to, John, it'll just be complicated. You'll have to give me a lift to work, and it's so far that I'll have to wake up a lot earlier."

"You don't even sound like you're going to miss me," he pointed out. His voice had a tinge of anger and it frustrated you in turn. He was acting so petty - you hadn't seen this immature side of him before.

"Of course I'll miss you, Johnny," you assured him with a roll of your eyes. "But we can see each other next weekend, okay?"

"Whatever," Johnny scoffed.

"Whatever?" you asked incredulously. "Johnny, you're acting like a child."

"Sorry. Sorry I'm going to miss my partner because they insist on leaving me." 

You shifted away from Johnny, swinging your legs off the bed and facing away from him. "This is stupid," you muttered.

"I'm stupid?" Johnny exclaimed.

You rubbed your eyes in frustration. "I didn't say that."

"You didn't need to." Johnny jumped up from the bed, swiftly storming past you and exiting the room, complete with exaggerated stomps and a hefty slam of the door.

“God!” you cussed, in irritation and disbelief. You couldn’t believe he was acting like this. This side of Johnny, bitter and bad-tempered - you couldn’t say you enjoyed it. If anything, his outburst had only made you want to leave more. You cursed the complete and utter isolation of the place. You could hardly leave and catch a bus - you’d get lost if you even tried venturing out into the woods. Johnny was your ride home, and you didn’t want to face him. You weren’t even sure if he’d oblige, if you asked him to take you home.

You stood, scanning through your options, and your feet led you out of Johnny’s room. Down the hall, to the room you were sure belonged to Donghyuck. You knocked on the door, two uncertain taps. 

“Yeah?” Donghyuck’s voice called out from within - bingo. You pushed the door open apprehensively. The room was smaller than Johnny’s, though still a decent size. He had a large television mounted on the wall, hooked up to a gaming system that looked rather impressive, to your amateur perspective. 

“Oh, Y/N,” he remarked, sounding surprised and pausing his video game. “What’s up?”

“I’m sorry to bother you,” you prefaced, stepping into his room and closing the door behind you. “Johnny and I… had a bit of an argument. I was wondering if you could give me a ride home?”

“You fought?” Donghyuck asked. “What about?”

You sighed “It’s nothing. Something silly.” You didn’t particularly want to divulge the details to Donghyuck - you didn’t want to end up badmouthing Johnny to his friends. 

“Hey, sit down,” he invites you, patting the space beside him, on the end of his bed. “Come play video games with me. Take a minute to calm down.” You hesitantly joined him, taking a seat on the end of his bed. “Think this through, Y/N, it’s probably not a good idea to storm out.”

You picked up the controller Donghyuck gave you, holding it loosely. “Yeah, you’re probably right. Johnny wouldn’t be happy if I left without saying anything.”

“That guy has a temper,” Donghyuck commented under his voice. You felt inclined to agree, after the way he’d acted that morning.

“How do I play?” you asked, examining the controller in your hands. Donghyuck leaned over, running you through the controls and rules of the game. The other boy pressed play, and you were flung into the game headfirst, forced to learn and adapt to the fast-paced course of the game. You didn’t know how much time passed, but by your fourth round of the game, you were laughing and shouting along with Donghyuck, all thoughts of smothering boyfriends erased from your mind.

“Feeling better, huh?” Donghyuck asked, beaming at you. 

“Yeah,” you confirmed, nodding. “Thanks.”

“One more round?”

“I should probably go talk to Johnny,” you denied apologetically. “But thank you.”

“Any time,” he smiled, holding out his fist for a bump, which you obliged. 

“Bye,” you bid him, before departing his bedroom and moving down the hall. You stood for a moment, outside Johnny’s bedroom door, taking a deep breath and bracing yourself.

When you pushed open the door, you found Johnny already standing in his room. You approached him slowly and with apprehension, speaking in a calm and gentle tone. “Hey, Johnny? I’m sorry for blowing up earlier.”

“It’s okay,” he assured you. His composure surprised you, after the volume of his outburst earlier. He didn’t look at you, nor did he turn around to face you. He stood before his dresser, apparently very focused on something inside it. “Why were you in Donghyuck’s room?”

Your eyes widened a little. He didn’t sound mad, nor did he have the right to be. But something about the situation, or perhaps about his demeanor, made you feel a little jittery. You didn’t know he’d been watching you. “Oh. Um. He was just convincing me to stay.” You cleared your throat, feeling the need to change the subject. “What are you doing?”

“Come look,” he beckoned you. You joined him, peering down into the dresser which he seemed so enthralled by.

You gulped. The open drawer was like something you’d find in a museum; it was lined with crimson velvet, and several vintage-looking pistols were laid out in it. They ranged in size and style, the smallest being the size of your palm and the largest stretching to the length of your forearm. “I… I didn’t know you had guns.” The sight of them made your heart race. If you were being honest, you’d led a rather sheltered life, and had never been in the presence of so many weapons. It made you feel uneasy.

“I don’t use them. They’re only collectibles.” Johnny picked up the smallest gun, and you flinched. He glanced at you, and the look in his eyes was undetectable to you - it wasn’t offence, nor regret, but his eyes definitely glinted with something. The way he handled the gun, you weren’t sure if you bought the ‘collectibles’ line. He handled it with such ease and grace, that it almost seemed like he was born with a gun in his hand. Though it was small, compact, barely the size of your hand - and it appeared even smaller in Johnny’s palm, which dwarfed it - you found yourself stunned and shivery, thinking about the damage it was capable of. Did Johnny collect bullets, too? you found yourself wondering.

You averted your gaze, discomfort taking over, and noticed that your phone lay atop the dresser. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. You weren’t sure where, exactly, you had left your phone, but you were certain you hadn’t laid it there. “Hey - my phone-”

“Oh, right,” Johnny said, placing his gun back in the drawer and closing it sharply, twisting a key which sat in the keyhole, locking it away. “Your boss called. He said you don’t have to work tomorrow. That’s great, right? You can stay the night - you don’t have to leave.”

You nodded, feeling a little sick but faking a smile anyways. “Great.” You were tired, physically and emotionally. You felt bad for even thinking it, but you wanted a break from your boyfriend. You wanted some space. He was making you feel uncomfortable, bordering on unsafe, and you found yourself craving the security you felt in Donghyuck’s room.

“Um, I’m gonna take a shower,” you conjured the excuse for an escape. 

“Okay,” Johnny accepted it easily, smiling widely. He wrapped his arms around your waist, planting a kiss on your forehead. “Don’t be gone too long, alright?”

“Alright,” you nodded, breathing a sigh of relief when he released you. You would stay another night; it wasn’t worth upsetting Johnny over.

You had to admit that you felt a lot better after showering. The warm water had relaxed you, along with the familiar and comforting scent of your shampoo grounding you and bringing your emotions to a calmer, neutral level. You were standing before the bathroom mirror, applying moisturiser to your face, when you heard a click. A turn.

The broken lock.

Before you could act, Donghyuck was before you, staring at you with wide eyes. You let out a yelp, turning around, though most of your skin was hidden beneath your towel.

“Fuck, sorry! I’m so sorry! Don’t tell Johnny about this!” he blurted.

“It’s okay,” you responded, cheeks flushed. You weren’t sure Donghyuck had heard your forgiveness, however; you’d heard him dash away while your back was turned. You laugh awkwardly to yourself at the mishap, before closing the door again and making certain to twist the lock properly. It had only been a silly mistake, you reassured yourself. And he hadn’t seen anything, besides your bare shoulders, which was hardly a great reveal.

You shook your head, before drying and dressing yourself. The poor boy had been so flustered, and you had to admit it was sort of endearing.

“Nice shower?” Johnny asked when you returned to his room, lying on his bed atop the covers.

You nodded, joining him on the bed. “I feel so relaxed now.”

He pulled you close to him, kissing your lips gently. “Jaehyun’s making dinner for everyone, it’ll be ready before long.”

“That’s nice of him,” you murmured, laying your head on Johnny’s shoulder. “Poor Donghyuck, though. We had a really awkward moment in the bathroom, I don’t know if he’ll be ready to face me.”

You felt Johnny tense, his muscles going hard beneath you. “What do you mean?”

“He walked in on me showering. I don’t think he saw much, but-”

Johnny sat up abruptly, causing your head to fall back on the bed. “He fucking what?” Johnny hissed.

“Johnny, it’s fine,” you insisted. “I was wrapped in a towel-”

“I’m going to fucking kill him,” Johnny cursed, standing.

“Johnny,” you spoke firmly, grabbing his arm in a tight grip. “Stop. I said he didn’t see anything.”

“I fucking hope not,” Johnny growled, sitting down once more. He tucked a lock of hair behind your ear, stroking your face lightly. His hand was trembling. “You’re my angel,” he said. “I don’t want anybody else seeing you like that.”

“It won’t happen again, okay? I’m all yours, I promise.” You placed your hand on top of Johnny’s, soothing him with your touch. His temper, flaring again. This wasn’t something you liked much about Johnny, and you hadn’t been all that glad to meet this side of him. But, you bargained, nobody was perfect - you certainly weren’t. Besides, you had been ready this time; your firm tone and gentle touch had helped to calm him.

Johnny stood up, rubbing his face with both of his hands. You heard him release a shaky breath.

“Please calm down, Johnny. I’m sorry.”

“I’m fine,” he said, nodding certainly. “I’m calm.”

“Let’s go get dinner, yeah?” You stood, intertwining your fingers with his.

“Yeah,” he agreed, squeezing your hand a little too tightly.

Johnny’s rather sour mood remained all throughout dinner, as evidenced by his clenched jaw and the protective hand he laid on your thigh. His sullen demeanor made him somewhat of a bore to be around, and you found yourself laughing and joking with his friends; you’d be happy to consider Donghyuck a friend, and Mark was hilarious too. Johnny didn’t seem to like this, however. You spent the last portion of the meal in silence, quietly eating and staying close to Johnny’s side.

Even afterwards, as you watched a movie with the group, Johnny refused to relax and let go of his needless worries. Everybody was laughing at the movie, but you couldn’t help but notice that Johnny hadn’t even cracked a smile the whole time. In fact, you didn’t even think he’d been watching the movie; his eyes hardly left you, flitting between your face and your body. As though if he stopped watching you, something horrible would happen. As though he were keeping guard.

He pulled you closer towards him, though there was very little space between the two of you on the couch beforehand. His lips connected with your cheek, before straying down towards your neck. You felt your skin heat up in embarrassment, although all eyes in the room were still trained on the television. Johnny wrapped his arm around your waist, using his strength to lift you onto his lap. You squeaked at the sudden action, earning inquisitive glances from Johnny’s friends, which only fuelled how flustered you were. He held your body close to his, squeezing you. His breath tickled your neck, sending shivers down your spine, before he sunk his teeth into your skin. You hoped your muffled moan went unnoticed, but your eyes were shut tightly so it was unknown to you. You squirmed in Johnny’s lap, thighs clenching together tightly.

In another show of Johnny’s strength, or perhaps just his relative power in comparison to your apparent weakness, he lifted you swiftly. The abrupt movement surprised you, and you gasped sharply.

“Y/N and I are going upstairs,” Johnny announced to the group, and you silently allowed him to guide you away.

“Because,” he continued as you two left the room, “I can take Y/N any time I want.”

“Johnny!” you scolded him, mouth agape with humiliation as his boys hollered in your wake. He ignored your cries of reprimand, scooping you up off your feet with a grin on his face. 

“C’mon, baby,” he whispered, carrying you away to his bedroom. You sighed in fond exasperation, laying your head against his chest. You condemned his announcement of “I can take Y/N any time I want,” but the fact remained true that he could certainly take you then.

Monday morning. You were growing terribly bored of this big, old house in the middle of nowhere. Spending time with Johnny was nice, when he wasn’t baring his angry possessive side. Although you really liked him, you found yourself wanting some space. And so, when you woke up before Johnny, you left his sleeping form behind, pulled one of his oversized sweaters over your head, and set out to explore the enormous house that had become your confinement.

Nobody else was awake, or so it seemed when you ventured downstairs and poured yourself a glass of juice. You felt itchy, agitated. Even when you settled on the couch, the sense of calm you desired simply refused to fall over you. With an agitated sigh, you advanced throughout the house, exploring the ground floor. You had learned that all the bedrooms were on the first floor, and so you’d been wondering where one specific door led. Off the left of the hallway, aside from the kitchen and living area, and the ground floor bathroom.

The door creaked as you pushed it open, as did the floorboards when you stepped through the threshold. The room was dark, though you identified the furnishings of a study when you squinted your eyes. You moved to the far side of the room, drawing open the heavy red curtains thereby illuminating the space and releasing a cloud of dust at the same time. You waved the cloud away, choking.

There was a sturdy desk, littered with boxes full of clutter, accompanied by a rickety chair that looked like it would fall apart if you put any weight on it. You gasped a silent “wow” as you took in the wall opposite the door, lined with shelves that stretched from floor to ceiling, crammed to the brim with books of every size. You approached the extensive library, examining the titles. You didn’t recognise anything, apart from a few classics, but it was still an impressive collection. You began to wonder whether one of the boys had inherited the property from an older relative - none of them seemed particularly studious or academic, at least not enough to warrant an assortment of books this great. You trailed a finger along the spines, accumulating yet more dust. The books, much like the room in its entirety, had sat untouched for a long time.

“Boo!”

You shrieked, spinning around with your arms raised in defence, only to sigh in relief and clutch your heart. “Donghyuck! You scared me!”

The boy bent in half, in stitches at the fear he’d instilled in you. “I’m sorry! I couldn’t resist!” You couldn’t help but join in with his laughter; it was just so infectious. Even minutes later, you were cackling while wiping tears away from your eyes.

“So,” Donghyuck spoke, as his laughter died down. “What are you doing in here?”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, still smiling. “Just exploring, I guess.”

“I don’t think there’s anything interesting in here,” Donghyuck claimed, looking around at the books.

“Really? It seems like hidden treasure to me.” You peered upwards, at the higher shelves, before standing on your tiptoes and stretching upwards, reaching for an eye-catching book with a golden spine.

“Careful,” Donghyuck murmured, placing a hand on the small of your back to steady you as you strained.

You heard Johnny’s growl, a split second before he entered your field of vision, entering the study and shoving Donghyuck away from you.

“Johnny!” you cried, feeling helpless and out of control as he squared up to the younger man.

Donghyuck had his hands raised in surrender, looking at his friend with concern tainting his expression. “Hey, man, calm down,” he attempted to pacify Johnny.

“Stay away from Y/N,” Johnny yelled, right in Donghyuck’s face

You leapt into action, maneuvering your way in between the pair, palm flat on Johnny’s chest. “Johnny, look at me,” you commanded him firmly. There was a fire in his eyes that you didn’t recognise. It flamed, bright and angry, threatening to burn anything and everything in its path. It scared you, and you resisted strongly against the urge to cower before him.

“Come on, Y/N,” he bit, gripping your forearm tightly. Potentially tight enough to bruise.

“Come on where?” you asked, stumbling as you struggled to keep up. He tugged you out of the room and down the hall, as you tried not to trip over your own feet.

“We’re going for a walk. Put your shoes on,” he demanded, arms crossed, waiting for you to obey.

“I- Johnny- What?” you sputtered. “Can I at least go upstairs and get my coat?”

“No,” he denied flatly. You rolled your eyes, slipping into your shoes. Wasting no time, Johnny pulled you out of the house, slamming the door behind you. You followed after him, your heart pounding with a mixture of uncertainty, anxiety, and speechless anger, as he marched you out into the woods, only stopping when you reached a clearing a good distance away from the house.

“Something’s going on between you and Donghyuck,” Johnny stated with hard certainty, as though it were fact. His face was flushed red, veins prominent along his forehead. He looked at you expectantly, but you had no idea what he wanted in response.

You sighed, rubbing your eyes tiredly. You couldn’t help but yell at him. “Johnny, what are you talking about? You’re my boyfriend. I like you. But not when you act like this, Jesus Christ!”

Johnny advanced, closing the gap between you, and you flinched when he regained his grip on your arm. “You need to stay the fuck away from Donghyuck, okay?”

“This is such a huge overreaction!” You tried to struggle away from his grip, but he was far too strong, his will iron.

Johnny leaned in, impossibly even closer to your face. “I brought you here, as my baby, to show you off to all my friends,” he hissed. “And you let them get their grubby little hands on you? I thought better of you, Y/N. I thought you were fucking faithful.”

Your heart raced, pounding wildly with how badly you wanted to get away from him. You didn’t think you could forgive him for this outburst. You just wanted to leave. “You’re fucking insane,” you shouted at him.

Johnny looked disgusted at your words. “Don’t talk to me like that.”

“Me?” you asked incredulously, finally shrugging out of his grasp. “Me, don’t talk to you like that? Listen, Johnny, I’m not your shiny little toy you can show off to your friends. I’m a human being. And you have no right telling me who I can and can’t talk to.”

“Come here.” Johnny was looking at you, his mouth a straight line, his eyes cold.

“Why?”

“Come here,” he repeated, and you hesitantly took a step forward, afraid to disobey him when he spoke in such an angry, demanding voice. Johnny reached out, gripping you by the arm before spinning you round quickly, pulling you close to him. Your chest was pressed tightly against his back, his arm across your chest, locking you in place. You could feel his heavy, ragged breathing.

“I’m not happy, Y/N,” he jeered, whispering into your ear harshly. “You’re my angel, and you’ve upset me. Maybe you aren’t such an angel after all.” You thrashed, but his grasp on you only tightened. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“Johnny, please,” you begged, your voice nothing but a hoarse whimper.

“Let me talk,” he hissed at you. “You’ve hurt me. And I need to show you - I need to hurt you back.”

“What are you- let me go!” You continued to flail in his hold, kicking out your feet but failing to do any real damage to him.

“Shh, it’ll only last a second,” he hushed you, his lips touching your ear and sending shivers down your spine. You felt him fumble behind you, and found an opportunity for escape, but it was no use. His grip on you was iron-tight, unrelenting. Johnny jabbed you in the chest, slightly to the left of your sternum, directly over your banging heart. You looked down, choking on a sob. 

One of Johnny’s pistols, the so-called collectible item, was pressing into your skin.

“Right in the heart, Y/N. That’s where you hurt me.” 

“Johnny, please!” you cried, struggling in vain. Tears blurred your vision, and spit flew from your mouth as you pleaded with him. “Let me go, Johnny, I’m sorry!”

“Goodnight, angel.”

You heard the gunshot before you felt it. In fact, you hardly even felt it at all. There was a bang, your ears rang, and then nothing. You collapsed, falling limp in Johnny’s arms. His angel.

[dobbiamo-capire]

Carlo Vanzini (italian Sky sport) did a track walk and highlighted some action points and some issues I never heard, so I’ll try to translate it to you (under the cut)

I’m sorry if my English is not the best, translation is not my strongest trait

•first corner, behind Lando Norris. You can try (to overtake) even on the outside line because it means to have the inside there, where’s also the pit lane exit

•pit lane exit. Maybe there are going to be some discussions, because if someone on track exit from turn 2 and goes to the apex of turn 3, he will step on the white line

•the statue of the quarterback Dan Marino

•yatch, sea and F1. Do you want more? Maybe if you want to cool off, you would like to take a dive and end up like this

•”hi Pierre” “hi” “do you like it?” “A lot. So beautiful”

•we go up, a little slope, and then there’s this hook (?) chicane, be careful not be too aggressive on this curb

•we go under the highway, slow left and right

•and there’s max, he’s not using drs now, this part (of the track) will be very very on his side. Meanwhile, he’s doing it on bike

•if there’s going to be wind and rain like yesterday, these trees here could be a problem

•this is a drs zone, who come close to the other driver ahead, this could be a big chance because oh my god it’s so long

• the driver who’s behind need to do a heavy break and be close because there’s the drs detection point for the main straight