#so after she passed i firmly believe she helped me find Siren when she showed up at the shelter

[pseudospectre]

[love4buckybarnes]

PROMISES

Summary: Bucky and Y/N we’re married and love. But differences had set them apart. A promise, one of many they had made, was broken, threatening the love between them.

Bucky Barnes x Reader. Warnings: car accident, minor injuries, mention of pregnancy complications, and angst. Happy fluff ending.

A/N: Let me know what you think of this one. The title is a bit questionable so if you have one that you’d like to share, I’ll credit you :).

They were both madly in love. When they first saw each other, the world stood still. Cheesy, but it was true. At least that’s what they would tell everybody of how they met. Their romance story is one you would read from a book or see in a movie. Bucky knew Y/N was the one, so he got on one knee and asked her to marry him. The day he proposed and when they made their vows and promises, were the most memorable moments together. Ones they could never forget.

Time went by and what appeared like the perfect happy couple turned upside down. Around family and friends, they put on a fake persona. Behind closed doors, the endless fighting and tension caused a rift between them. It started when they were trying for a family. Sometimes things aren’t just handed out freely to everyone. Y/N experienced fertility issues. It was stressful for the both of them. Most fights were over something small which would blow up out of proportion. Some nights they made up, and some nights, one would end up on the couch. Sometimes they wondered if they should give up.

Tonight was supposed to be important. Y/N had all of it planned out for the special occasion. She made reservations at their favorite restaurant. Bucky promised he would be there. Despite everything, she still loved him all the same. She wondered if he still loved her .

She sat there alone. The stares and looks of the people around her was unsettling and made her embarrassed. Y/N had been all dressed up and makeup done. Eventually, she had enough of waiting and stormed out.

The door to their apartment swung open. Bucky has been sitting at the table with his face scrunched up in concentration. He couldn’t even bother to look up.

“James Buchanan Barnes,” Y/N spat out each name, crossing her arms. She was furious.

Bucky glanced up. “Hi,” he said quickly, before returning his attention to the computer in front of him.

This made her tick even more. She marched over to where he sat and slammed the laptop shut.

“Hey! What the fuck?!” Bucky exclaimed, standing up. The chair fell backwards to the floor with a loud bang. “Why would you do that? I didn’t save what I was working on.”

“I don’t care,” she snapped. “Do you remember where you were supposed to be tonight?”

Bucky thought for a minute. After remembering and realized his mistake, he cursed. “I’m sorry. I forgot.”

She stepped closer to his face. “You promised you were going to be there.”

“Sam needed me to work on this mission. It’s important. I got wrapped up in it.”

“So this was more important than what we had planned?”

“No, I did not say that. Now you’re just putting words in my mouth,” he fought back.

“Gosh, why can’t you just try to put in a little more effort?” She hadn’t noticed the tears rolling down her face.

“Me try? How about you?” he scoffed, his eyes narrowing. “You have everything to do with this chaos of whatever this is just as much as I do. In fact, it’s all you. It’s all because of you!”

Y/N felt like someone cut into her chest with a blade and ripped her heart out. She always thought it was her fault. And now he blamed her, too. This has been the last straw. “Oh wow, well, thanks for the clarification I needed to know.”

“Where are you going?” he asked in a frantic tone when she headed towards the door.

She paused in her tracks to answer him. “I need to go. I can’t be here. Especially knowing what you really think of me.”

Bucky winced at her words and flinched at the loud thud she made when she left. The palm of his hand brushed over his face. He regretted what he said. He never blamed her. Whether she knew it or not, his love for her has been the same since they have met.

Thunder rumbled, and lightning dashed across the dreary night sky. Y/N stepped out into the pouring rain. She reached the car parked across the street. Before she could get in, Bucky stepped in front of her, blocking her from going any further. He placed his hands on her shoulders.

“Please don’t go,” Bucky begged. “I’m sorry for what I said. I didn’t mean it. I love you.”

Y/N avoided his eyes and yanked away from his grasp. She was so angry, she didn’t know what to believe anymore. “Yeah well, you have a funny way of showing it.” She got in, locking the door. He knocked on the window. Ignoring him, she drove off. Her mind swirled and her eyes hazy with tears. She wasn’t sure when she would come back, or if she would return at all.

Bucky saw it happen right in front of him. He watched her drive off. Turning around to go inside to get out of the rain, he heard the tires from afar screech against the concrete. He looked back just in time to see the vehicle swerving. The slippery road caused the car to skid across the road. It hit a curb, tumbled over and rolled a few feet away.

He could hear his heart pound wildly in his ears, stomach turned in knots. He felt as if his airway were being constricted. Bucky didn’t feel his legs carry him over there, not caring he was soaking wet. All he cared about was her.

Darkness spotted her vision. A blurry figure appeared in front of her. Even through fogged vision, she recognized who it was.

“Baby?” Bucky croaked out, his voice soft, trying to keep himself calm. Inside, he was all but calm. He had to keep the sheer panic under control so he could help her. “Stay with me, okay? I’m going to pull you out.”

“Bucky?” she hissed out in pain.

“I’m here, Doll,” he said reassuringly.

Her eyes fluttered. A loud snap in her ear stirred her back to consciousness.

“Don’t close your eyes, love,” he pleaded. “Just focus on me, okay? Keep them on me.” He watched her fight herself from passing out. His hand reached in to unbuckle the seatbelt that held her to the seat. With ease, he unhinged the door, that was already hanging off the rest of the way. He carefully maneuvered Y/N from the car and set her down on the ground. He trembled as he dialed 911.

When he looked back down, she was unconscious. Blood seeped from the gash on her forehead. He slapped gently on her cheeks to get her to wake up, but she was out cold. Bucky felt like his whole world was shutting down. He couldn’t contain the sobs escaping his throat. He rarely cried. He’s only ever shed tears a couple of times in front of her. Once when they first said I love you and when they said their vows.

Guilt devoured his entire being. The whole time they’ve been together since being married, had been spent with fighting instead of loving each other. All he ever truly wanted was for the both of them to be happy. But he let the blaze consume them.

Hearing sirens wailing in the distance, relief released from Bucky. Flashes of bright blue lights got closer, and soon the EMTs were there to help. They placed a brace to keep her head and neck supported in case there was an injury before putting her on the stretcher. For Bucky, it was all in slow motion. He blocked out the EMT asking him questions, jumping into the back of the ambulance.

At the hospital, he tried following her into the emergency room, but wasn’t allowed to. He paced around outside. His foot tapped on the tile uncontrollably, the nerves wracking his mind. He held his head between his knees to keep himself from having a panic attack.

Couple of hours later, the nurse stepped out to talk to him. “James?” she called out.

He jumped up hearing his name. His jaw clenched as he waited to hear what she had to say.

“Your wife is going to be fine. She has a concussion, a few stitches, and a fracture in her collarbone ,” she started to say. He let out the deep breath he has been holding in. “The baby is also fine.”

Bucky whipped his head up, confused. “The what?!”

“Oh, maybe you didn’t know, but she’s pregnant,” the nurse clarified. “Luckily, the baby doesn’t have a scratch.”

Now he understood. Why it was so important to be there at the restaurant, and why she was so upset about it. The guilt he felt engulfed him more. He needed to figure out how to make it up to her. Bucky swore to himself he would never disappoint her again and to keep all the promises he makes.

Annoying constant beep sounds lulled Y/N out of her sleep. Vivid white blinded her vision as she came to. She groaned at the pounding pain in her head. Her fingers twitched, gripping the sheets. Eyes opened to the ivory room. Her face scrunched up, trying to remember what happened and where she was.

A snore next to her got her attention. Bucky slept in a chair beside her hospital bed, waiting for her to wake up.

“Bucky,” she rasped out, her throat scratchy.

Bucky stirred. When he realized she was conscious, he sprung awake. He called for the nurse to check her over, making sure everything was fine. When she left, he sat back down, taking one of Y/N’s hands in one of his, pressing it to his lips.

“Oh, baby,” he said, ever so softly. He brushed the strands from her face and tucked it behind her ears. “Oh, thank god you’re awake.” Tears brimmed, and he didn’t care, letting them fall. His lips curved into a smile that didn’t fully reach his eyes. He gently left kisses on her cheeks. Calloused thumb brushed the delicate skin.

“What happened?” Y/N asked.

“You got in an accident,” he explained. “Just a concussion, broken collarbone, and a few scratches. And you might be achy from the whiplash.”

Y/N shot up out of bed in dismay, only to be pinned back down.

“Hey, no, you need to stay in bed and rest,” Bucky ordered her, firmly keeping her from moving.

“But the bab-,” she began, but Bucky cut her off.

“I know,” he said sadly, interrupting her. “I know you’re pregnant. The baby is fine, love.”

Y/N felt relieved. “How did you find out?”

The small smile on his face dropped. “When they x-rayed you to check for injuries, they found out you were pregnant.” His lip trembled as he cried harder. “I’m so sorry. That’s what you wanted to tell me. That’s why you wanted me to be there. I should have kept my promise and showed up. If I had, you wouldn’t be here.”

Y/N knew he was being true to his word. She reached up to wipe the tears from under his eyes. He sighed, leaning in to her touch he missed. “I’m sorry too. I was so excited to tell you. Things haven’t been easy for either of us. I couldn’t wait to tell you.”

He shook his head, beating himself. “Don’t apologize, sweetheart. You have nothing to be sorry about. It’s not your fault. None of it is. I’m sorry I made you feel that way. From now on, no more fighting. I just want to be us again.”

“‘I agree, Bucky,” she agreed. “I’m tired of fighting too. You still love me right?”

“Yes of course I still love you,” he said, in disbelief. “I love you so much. I could never stop loving you. And when you left, I was so ashamed. Then I witnessed the wreck. I thought I was going to lose you for good. And now I’m going to be a father. You’re going to be a mother.”

Y/N started to cry too. He kissed away the tears leaking down her face. “We’re going to be what we have always wanted. A family. You won’t lose me. I love you.” She grew weak with exhaustion.

“Sleep, darling,” he whispered in her ear. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

Before he could step aside, she took his hand to stop him. “Lay with me?” she begged.

He smiled, with the usual twinkle in his eyes that she adored. “Of course.”

She scooted over, making room for him. Bucky laid down next to her. Not wanting to hurt her anymore, he cautiously enveloped her in his arms. For once in forever, they both felt harmony. All the worries and differences lost in the past. They knew the rift between them was no longer. What seemed like the perfect couple hidden under the fire, still was. And they both knew their love for each other was now stronger than ever.

[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.

[backtobackbakubabe]

Speak Easy Part 10

Dabi x Reader, Bakugo x Reader

Words : 7142

Masterlist

Reader has a siren quirk and has spent the past several years of her life as a captive being experimented on by “heroes” Now that she’s out she needs protection and safe place to heal. Who will be the one to put her pieces back together?

Words with ‘this’ is dialogue written in her journal rather than said out loud and and words with ~this~ is dialogue said in sign language rather than out loud.

*********************************************************************

“Hold her down! Fuck! How is she still this strong? How much did you give her?”

Your vision was black, and you couldn’t tell if that was because you were blindfolded or just too drugged up to open your eyes. You could hear shuffling as two? No three people moved around you. One was pinning your arms down while another played with the collar that was digging into your neck.

“Listen man, I don’t think we’re supposed to be in here. If they find out we played with their new toy they’ll be pissed!”

There was a new set of hands gently pushing your flimsy medical gown up, “You heard what they were saying right? They said she’s the best sex a man will ever have in their life. It’s like her quirk or something.” You wanted to cry out, but your tongue felt like lead in your mouth. Were you even able to speak? Were you gagged? You couldn’t even tell. “What they don’t know won’t hurt them.” The hand firmly pressed into your hip. “Now hold her down, and make sure she stays quiet.”

You woke with a rush. Your breath beyond labored as you tried to run from the memories that refused to stay hidden for long. A new set of hands circled around your waist. These hands were different though. These hands were rough and callused. These hands were patient. These hands were reassuring.

“You want to talk about it?”

You shook your head before turning into him and burying your face into his chest. “Just another bad memory.”

His fingers trailed through your hair as he repeatedly kissed the top of your head. “Sometimes I wish I could just hop into your head, like you did mine the other night. Then I could see their faces. And I never forget a face…”

You heard the unsaid threat in his words. He wanted to know your demons so he could hunt them down. He was like Bakugo in that way. They both needed to do something…anything to make them feel like they were helping. The only difference is at the end of the day Bakugo’s victims end up in prison and Dabi’s end up six feet under.

The pounding in your head only seemed to increase. The drums of regret beating behind your eyeballs. “God.. why did we drink so much yesterday?” You groaned and curled further into Dabi’s side.

His fingers rubbed at your temples. “I seem to remember it being your idea. And who am I to deny the drinking queen.”

You groaned as you remembered your antics. “I know you’re not exactly known for being a good influence… but you could have tried a little harder to at least get me to drink some water.”

Dabi vibrated with soft chuckles. “Consider your hangover penance for making me play that ridiculous game. Now get off of me and go take a shower. You smell like a bar.”

With a pouting look you sighed, “But I’m still sad.”

Dabi gave your ass a hard slap. “There is no rule that says you can’t be sad and in the shower. Get your ass in there and clean yourself up. You’ll feel better after your clean and fed. I promise.”

With a chorus of dramatic groans and muffled curses you pulled yourself off of him and slowly made your way to his bathroom. You stopped right before you crossed the threshold and turned to give him your poutiest look, “Are you really going to make me do it alone.”

A pillow flew through the air faster than you thought possible and hit you in the face. “You are more than capable of cleaning yourself. I have other things I need to take care of.”

You stuck your bottom lip out, “Just because I can doesn’t mean that I want to.”

Like a man possessed, Dabi slowly got out of bed. He moved so slow, as if he was a predator stalking his prey. You instinctively held your breath in anticipation as he inched closer and closer. His eyes like a dim fire, but focused on you all the same. He invaded your personal space, slamming his hand on the door behind you beside your head. He leaned down until his nose brushed yours and his lips hovered over yours.

You closed your eyes as he leaned closer but right before your lips connected, “I don’t remember asking what you wanted. You need to take a shower, and I need to handle some business. If you’re still this desperate later then I’ll be more than happy to fuck you.” He gripped your chin and bumped your nose with his. “It’s not that I don’t want to. But I don’t want you to fall into a habit of letting me have my way with you every time you have a bad memory. It’s not fair to either of us.” You felt a single tear streak down your cheek as you nodded. “If it’s just a distraction fine, but you need to learn how to confront and deal with this shit on your own. It’ll just be harder later if you don’t. Believe me.”

A few beats of silence passed before he reluctantly backed away from you. His fingers lingering before letting go of you completely. It wasn’t until he was exiting his room you had the nerve to speak up. “You’re not just a distraction.”

There was no telling if he actually heard you or not. If he did, he didn’t react or respond. Your admission caught you surprise, and you almost hoped he hadn’t. You thought about this weird new attachment you were feeling to Dabi lately while you took your shower. You wouldn’t go as far as to call this foreign new feeling love or anything crazy like that. But you were growing quite fond of his presence. You felt comfort in his warmth, and you appreciated the way his hands always knew just wear to touch to ease your anxiety. Sure, he was a certified asshole, but at least he kept you strong. He made sure you took care of yourself. He didn’t take your shit or your excuses. He got you walking, talking, and opening up within weeks.

You went through your routine slowly, taking your time under the hot water. You’d rather not think about the memory that surfaced last night. But Dabi was right. You needed to take time to work things out yourself. His comfort was more of a band aid, a temporary fix. You needed to at least try to heal on your own.

You had no idea when it happened. It seemed like it was pretty early in your captivity. Back when you still had a little fight in you. You didn’t actually remember what happened after that but you can only assume the worst. Your skin crawled at the thought. You hugged yourself as you let the water hit your back. You closed your eyes as you let your heart beat slowly even out. You refused to let this define you. You were more than your trauma. You thought about Dabi again. He had his own scars. Both literally and figuratively. He had to look in the mirror every day and see the evidence of his trauma every day. If he could do that then you could do this.

One look into the mirror showed that your hair was absurdly long. You would need to cut it soon. But for now, you could just braid it. You giggled as you finished, it was like you had a secret weapon. It gave you a childish idea.

Skipping out of the room you made your way to the kitchen where Dabi was currently on the phone. If hero training taught you anything, it was stealth.

Silent as a mouse you tiptoed up to his turned back.

“We’ll be fine. You’re more than welcome to come if you’re that worried, but I promise it’s not a big deal.” You paused right before you pounced on him, curiosity getting the best of you. “I’ll send you the location, as well as updates. Will that make you feel better?” You could hear a rough voice on the other end and you instinctively knew it was Katsuki. “She’s fine, calm down already. She’s behind me right now thinking she’s sneaky would you like to talk to her?” You leapt at him swinging your braid like a whip and hitting him in the chest.

You froze as Dabi’s gaze flipped to you in seconds. “You want to talk to him?”

You silently nodded as you excepted the phone from him. “Hi…”

A relieved sigh, “I was worried you’d still be mad at me.”

You suddenly wished he was physically here so you could reassure him. “It was silly for me to react that way. It’s obviously not your fault. It… it just sucks.”

“I know…”

So many words hovered on the tip of your tongue, but you just couldn’t make yourself say them. “I feel like we need to talk, but I don’t want it to be over the phone.”

Katsuki gave a nervous chuckle, “Well I guess you’re in luck.” The doorbell rang out and you almost dropped Dabi’s phone.

Dabi took his phone back from you before stomping off to open the front door. “I really didn’t think you’d take me seriously when I said you could come.”

Without breaking eye contact with you Katsuki entered the house, “Well you did offer, and I did come. So, quite bitching and deal with it.” He noticed your nervous posture and he softened, which was something you didn’t think he was capable of. “You want to hash it out here, or would you like to talk privately?”

You nodded your head towards the back door, “It’s a nice day. We can sit on the patio.”

Dabi was secretly grateful. You would get the chance to have an honest conversation with Bakugo while also staying where he could see you.

Katsuki followed you out to the garden. He notices how you refused to look at the pool but he didn’t comment on it. “So… are we gonna talk about it?”

You collapsed into your chair and sighed. “I think we need to.” You looked up and your eyes locked with his vermillion ones. “Look, I’m sorry for reacting the way I did. I just… It’s just not fair.” You huffed as you averted your eyes. “That sounds so fucking childish but it’s how I feel. You, Izuku, Shoto, you all got to achieve your dreams. You’re heroes. But the people who did this, who are still doing this to me… they’re technically heroes too.”

His hands squeezed yours, but he made no attempt to cut off your little rant. “They would never do this to you. No one would even believe them if they tried. The public love you guys and you’re damn good at your jobs… and yet there’s nothing you can do to help me…” You could feel his gaze on you and your cheeks reddened. “I just feel helpless and stupid. Stupid for believing so much in the system. Stupid for falling for all their little tricks. Stupid for not seeing the bigger picture. And at the end of the day I can’t even fight it because I did those things… well not all of it, but a good majority. All I can do is lay low and pray no one ever finds me. I’m fucking helpless.”

He grunted and his grip on your hand tightened. “It kills me. You say I’m a hero and I can’t even save you.” You finally looked at him again and all you saw in his eyes now was raw anger. “I’ve never been so confused… so helpless in my life. I don’t know who to trust. I don’t know who’s on what side. Was my whole life a lie? Do real heroes even truly exist? Or are we all just pawns in some fucking bigger game?” His voice began to break under his emotion. “I love you y/n. I’m in love with you. I have been for a very long time. Maybe even since we were kids. And I can’t sleep at night because out of everyone in the world you were the one I couldn’t save. I blame myself every day. I tell myself if I had just fucking manned up and told you how I felt sooner then maybe we would have had a chance… and maybe I would have noticed when shit started going sideways.”

There was a flash of vulnerability in his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by anger once more. “Now you’re with him and it feels like I’ve completely lost you. Not that I’m complaining. If he’s what you need to heal then… whatever, I’ll just have to get over it. But I need you to know that I’ll always be there for you. No matter what. I don’t care who you’re with, who’s after you, I don’t care! You are and will always be my top priority.” You rubbed reassuring circles into his hand with your thumb. “You say it’s not fair and I get it. It’s not. It’s disgusting. You don’t deserve any of this. For the first time in my life it has me questioning what side I’m on.”

Your entire lives the only things Katsuki seemed to care about was becoming the number one hero and beating Izuku. So, to hear him say that he’s now questioning that broke your heart. “Katsuki, please don’t say that. Even if the hero system is fucked up. That’s doesn’t mean all heroes are too. You’re in it for the right reasons. I have no doubt that if all the hero agencies crumble today, tomorrow you’d be right back on those streets defending the people. You don’t need an official rank to be the number one.”

He let out a huge sigh and you could see the tension leave his shoulders. It was like a huge weight had lifted off of him. He gave you one of his trademark smirks, although it was a little softer than usual. “You always seem to know what to say when I’m falling apart.”

You ran a hand through his spiky blonde hair, “I’d like to think I am an expert Katsuki bomb defuser at this point.” He rolled his eyes, but you could see the slight pink blush dusting his cheeks. “I’ve spent most of my life finding ways to calm you down before you explode, and honestly I wouldn’t trade that time for anything.”

“Oh yeah? Even though half the time it ended in scrapped knees and pulled pigtails?”

“Sometimes it ended in shared ice cream and hand holding.” You giggled, “You used to hold my hand all the damn time when we were little. Dragging me from one place to the next, always so impatient.” You gave him a puzzled look, “But then one day you stopped out of nowhere and told me it was gross.”

“Tsk. You have my shitty mother to thank for that. When my quirk started developing, she told me to stop holding your hand because I might blow you up.” He gave you sly smile, “Technically she was right, but it still scared the shit out of me.”

You both talked and giggled for what felt like hours. The weight of the pervious day slowly floating away. You probably would have stayed that way for much longer if his phone hadn’t gone off interrupting the two of you.

He glared at his screen before grunting. “I’ve been here too long. I need to get going.” He stood from his comfortable spot next to you and stretched. He gave you a long look over from you head to your toes and back. “I promise I’ll try to not obsess over what you and staples do when I’m not around, if you promise to not do anything stupid.”

“You know I can’t promise that. Weren’t you the one who used to say stupid was my middle name?” He gave you an unamused look and crossed his arms over his chest in frustration. You cut him off before he could start on a lecture. “I promise to try to behave and stay out of trouble. There feel better?”

A drawn our sigh left his lips. If his expression was any indicator, your promise did absolutely nothing for his nerves. “I guess it’ll have to be good enough.” He leaned over and kissed the top of your head, “I’ll be back to check on you in a few days, alright?”

You nodded as he reluctantly made his way back towards the house. You watched him leave but decided to stay outside a little longer. It really was nice outside, and you wanted some more time to yourself before Dabi grilled you about your conversation with Katsuki.

---

Bakugo stomped back into the house and wasn’t surprised when he was quickly apprehended by the very man that plagued his thoughts. “Oi, whatever it is you want to say, say it quick. I got to get out of here before they notice I left.”

“I know the two of you have a lot of history… So…” He looked uncomfortable for a brief second. “She just looks happy when you visit… so uh… thanks.”

Bakugo had to blink back his surprise. He had been preparing himself for a fight. “Yeah well… you obviously aren’t doing a bad job either… she seems comfortable around you.”

The two men spent the next few moments awkwardly staring at each other before Bakugo cleared his throat. “Listen. I think it’s obvious I have feeling for her. She knows that now. But at the end of the day I just want her to be happy. Maybe if things had gone differently, we would have ended up together, and maybe one day we still will. But she’s gone through enough shit recently, and if… if you’re what she needs right now… Then I wont get in the way.”

Now it was Dabi’s turn to be surprised. Everything he knew about the great Dynamight was his unwavering need to be the best, to win, to conquer all opponents. So to him conceding really showed not only how much he had matured in recent years but also how serious he took his relationship with you.

“I’ll always be there for her. Like you said she likes it when I come to visit, so I’ll keep coming around.”

To this Dabi groaned, “Coming to visit is one thing, but hanging all over her and kissing her in front of me is another. Keep your sweaty hands to yourself.”

Bakugo barked out a laugh, “I kissed the top of her head calm down. Don’t tell me you’re not up for a little competition?” When Dabi’s only answer was to only narrow his eyes Bakugo smiled. “Just because I’m not going to throw a fit about the two of you… doing whatever it is you’re doing… doesn’t mean I’ve completely given up. If you ever mess up, and let’s be honest you probably will… I’m going to be there for her.”

“I’m actually counting on it.”

Bakugo gave him one last glance before nodding and making his way towards the exit.

--

Dabi joined you outside as the soft breeze kissed his always too warm skin. You kept your eyes closed as you heard his heavy feet approaching. “If you’re grumpy about Katsuki I don’t want to hear about it.”

His large form blocked the sun as he hovered over you. “What would I have to be grumpy about? He’s not the one you were begging to fuck you in the shower this morning.” His rough hands ran over your bare legs. “Put some real clothes on we have some errands to run.”

Your eyes snapped open. “Errands? Like we’re leaving the house? I’m going outside?”

“Well technically you go outside all the time, but yes, you will be leaving the property today. Stretch your legs, get some fresh air and all that good stuff. I don’t know if you noticed but we are really low on groceries and there’s only enough ice cream left for one of us and I don’t like you enough to share… So go change.”

You practically sprinted back to your room. You threw on the one dress you had that had come in one of your care packages from Izuku and Shoto. The only other clothes you had were either T-shirts, pajamas, or belonged to Dabi.

You knew you had a pair of shoes somewhere, but you couldn’t remember where you put them. You hadn’t exactly needed them until now. The longer you looked the more your nerves ate at you.

Were you ready to leave? You were safe here. Did you want to leave your little bubble?

You knew Dabi wouldn’t let anything happen to you, but it was still terrifying.

A soft knock broke you from your thoughts. “What’s taking so long?”

“Sorry, can’t find my shoes.”

To this he nodded, “Oh they’re in the garage.”

“How did they get there?”

He shrugged, “You threw them at me once, so I hid them.”

With a dramatic roll of your eyes you made your way over to him. “What you scared or something?”

His hands gripped your waist and pulled you to him, “Oh a shoe? No. Of you throwing said shoe at me? Of course. I would be stupid not to be afraid of you.”

You smiled proudly, “Damn right. And don’t you forget it.”

He gave your hips a squeeze, “I could get used to seeing you in a dress.” His hand snaked around to you lower back finding your long braid and grinned evilly as he grabbed it and wrapped it around his wrist effectively pulling you head back and baring your neck to him. “Oh and this braid is amazing.” His lips brushed over your bare shoulder, then your neck, your cheek, before finally giving you a quick peck on your lips.

You reached up on your tippy toes to ghost your lips over his. “Remember when I wanted to have sex this morning and your promised if I was still desperate later, you’d fuck me?” A fire lit in his eyes as he silently nodded. “You leaned even closer but still kept your lips from fully connecting with his. “Karma’s a bitch.”

“UGH!” His hands left you as he did what you could only assume was his version of pouting. “You fucking brat…Let’s go. The sooner we go, the sooner we can come back and lock ourselves in our room.”

Our room? It was the first time he had said that. You weren’t sure which room he was referring to, but either way, you kind of liked the way it sounded.

You held your hand out to him, “Oh come on now. Don’t be like that. You can hold my hand.”

He glared at you then your hand and then back to you. “No thanks. They probably are still covered in nitroglycerin from your little friend and I’d hate to accidentally look control of my quirk and blow us up.”

You balled up the hand you had offered to him and punched his shoulder, “Who’s the brat now?”

He led you to the garage in silence, noticing the way your shoulders tensed the closer you got. Right before you reached the door, he stopped you. “I know this is probably just as scary as it is exciting so just need you to remember a couple things, okay? One.” He placed his hands on your shoulders and looked you straight in the eye. “I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you. I think we both know I’m not above cremating someone’s fingers off if they even so much as look at you the wrong way. Two. You are way stronger than you feel right now. You may have been through hell, but you came out stronger than you went in.”

His eyes suddenly got very serious. “And most importantly three. Despite number one and two, I need you to be careful and stay close to me. I can’t help you if I can’t get to you, and just because you can take care of yourself doesn’t mean you should have to. It’s just a quick run to a grocery store and back. No reason to get into any trouble.”

You nodded enthusiastically, your excitement starting to overpower your nerves. He looked you up and down and smirked. His fingers came up to pinch your nipple through your dress which had you immediately moaning and pressing closer to him. “I’ll tell you what…one thing we will not being buying today is a bra.” Your teeth pressed into your bottom lip as you held back a whine of pleasure. He gave your nipple one last tug before letting go and backing away. “I love the easy access.”

You took a steadying breath before following him into the garage. You opened the door to the familiar car. The last time you had been in this car, you had been mute, malnourished, and Dabi was digging into you with his knife. You stared at the passenger seat for a moment too long.

“I promise not to stab you again, now hurry up and get in.” You took another moment to appreciate how far you’ve come since the last time you were in this car.

The second your ass was in the seat, Dabi was buckling your seat belt and pulling a hat over your head. “Here put these on too.” He handed you a pair or sunglasses. “We’re going out in disguise.” He smirked, “Well you are, there’s really no way for me to hide this handsome mug.”

“I don’t know. you have white hair now. Match that with some glasses and a bag over your head, and I don’t think anyone would recognize you.”

He reached over you and pulled a pair of sunglasses and a medical mask out of his glove box. “Hmm fresh out of bags. Maybe we should pick some up for later.” He wagged his eyebrows at you.

The wind blew through the open windows as the music surrounded you. For a moment it was easy to close your eyes and pretend this was just a normal day. The past few years didn’t happen, and you were just headed to the store on your day off. You hummed along with the song and even dared to sing a few words.

Dabi suddenly found it hard to concentrate with you singing next to him. He could feel your hum vibrate in his bones. Your words filled his lungs with air while simultaneously making it harder to breath. He’d like to think this was part of your quirk. But something told him it was something else entirely.

Before he could stop himself, his hand found it’s way to your thigh. He had no other intention than just touching you. He just wanted to feel you, feel your skin on his. Your presence filled the car and his hands itched to connect with you in any way they could.

His thumb rubbed absentminded circles as he found himself being hypnotized by your existence. The spell only broken when he pulled into a parking spot. Now reality was crashing back in. He suddenly had the need to rush you back home and lock you away. This world was awful. It didn’t deserve you. “Sorry… Sometimes my singing does that. I didn’t realize I was doing it.” Your hand ran through his hair as if the friction would reboot his thoughts. You could see the confused desire in his eyes start to fade. “I can’t explain it, but just like how my voice can hypnotize, sometimes when I sing it amplifies whatever it is you want in the moment.” You shrugged, “It so rarely happens that I don’t really know what triggers it.”

With a final blink of his eyes his thoughts seemed to clear. The overwhelming desire ebbed but didn’t disappear completely. He was quick to grab your hand as soon as you had both exited the car. “Oh? And what happened to there being too much nitroglycerin on my hands?”

“Shut up.” He yanked your arm rather aggressively as he stormed off into the store.

You weren’t prepared for how ridiculous you would feel. You wish you could take a picture to send to the yourself a few years ago. Here you were with a white haired, former villain Dabi, who had a grocery basket in one hand and your hand in the other. Both of looking totally inconspicuous as the florescent lights reflected off of your sunglasses that he insisted needed to stay on. The borderline elevator music that played in over the speakers just daring you to giggle.

With half of your shopping done you came to the realization that you had been freaking out over nothing. It wasn’t like there was someone hiding behind every corner waiting to drag you back to the lab. Just because it seemed like the world was out to get you didn’t actually mean the world was out to get you.

You were starting to let your guard down just a little bit. You let go of Dabi’s hand for all of ten seconds, which apparently was enough for a lecture. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Your hand hovered over a box of cereal, “Uh… I’m sorry do you not like Lucky Charms? Are you more of a Cinnamon Toast Crunch kinda guy?”

He snagged a box off the shelf before grabbing your hand again. “For my sanity… please don’t let go of my hand.”

“Oh come on I was all of two feet away. What’s going to happen in two feet.”

He lowered his sunglasses so you could see how serious he was. “If we lived in a world where everyone was quirkless… not a lot. But here in this world, where people can do bat shit crazy things… Super speed, portals, explosions, flight, laser beams, do you need me to keep going.”

“Okay I get it. I’m sorry.”

His grip on your hand tightened as he pulled you down the next isle. He was making it really hard to act normal when he insisted on treating you like a child. You gave his hand a tug to get his attention. “Hey look at me.” He hesitated momentarily before turning to look at you and pulling you both to a stop. By the way he was looking at you he knew you were upset, but he looked like the last thing he wanted to do was talk about it. “I get that you’re on edge, but I’m not a child. You gave me this huge speech before we left the house, but now you’re the one freaking out.” You gave him a quick hug. “Out of respect for your paranoia, I promise to stay within arm’s reach. But remember I’m not helpless.”

His shoulders slumped, but he nodded anyways. “Yeah my bad. I think I just underestimated how uncomfortable I’d be.” His shoulder bumped yours. “But until we get back home…I’m going to keep being an overprotective asshole, and you have no choice but to deal with it.” He started his dragging you down isles again. “You may not be a child, but if you pull away from me again, I will literally find a collar and a leash and make you my pet for the day.”

“You’re joking right… right?” He had to be joking. There’s no way he’d follow through with that… right? Part of you knew he honestly would and he’d probably fucking love it.

“Why don’t you keep fucking around and find out?” He smirked which made it even harder to figure out if he was serious or not.

You decided you weren’t going to test him. Not today. Hopefully there would be more trips in your future, and maybe he’d ease up by then. Today he seemed stressed enough to actually snap and follow through with his threat.

He continued to hold the basket for you while he let you reach out and grab whatever you wanted. He wasn’t even really paying attention to the items you were putting in the basket, as his head remained on a swivel, looking for anything suspicious. If he had, he would have noticed it was predominantly junk food. That’s fine. You could stand to gain a few more pounds. He’d make sure to sneak some healthy stuff in there at some point.

You were making your way to check out when he heard a familiar voice calling out to him.

“Dabi? Hey man is that you?” He instinctively placed you behind him as he turned to face his old colleague. “Holy shit it is you! I wasn’t sure because your hair it totally different, but those staples are a dead giveaway. What’s up man? Haven’t seen you in years! What have you been up to?”

You clung to the back of his shirt and you could feel the heat radiating off of him. “I’m doing my own thing now.” His voice was much lower than usual and it sent chills down your spine.

When the mystery man caught on that he wasn’t going to get any more out of him he pressed, “I heard there’s a couple of the guys who’ve been trying to get ahold of you recently. They need help with something. The money’s supposed to be pretty good.”

The man’s eyes shifted to try and get a look at you behind Dabi, but Dabi just shifted to shield you from view. “Not interested. I have enough money.” The man was starting to give him a weird look and it was pissing Dabi off. “Do you have a problem?”

“No, but obviously you do. What crawled up your ass and died? And who’s your new little friend?” He craned his neck to try get a peek at you. “As long as I’ve known you, I never knew you to be the domestic type. She the reason you’ve fallen off the grid?”

Dabi’s hand started to glow with flames. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll mind your fucking business.”

“Oh shit. She must be something special to get the big bad Dabi playing guard dog.” He lifted his hands up in surrender, “But don’t worry about it, man. I’ll get out of your hair.”

Dabi kept his eyes on him until he was out of sight and quickly turned back to the check-out line, “We need to hurry and get the hell out of here. That guy works for the League as a hitman. It’s possible we didn’t see him by accident.” He ushered you through the line and quickly paid for the few groceries you had and was practically sprinting towards the exit.

You made it back to the car and you let go of his hand to quickly make you way around to the passenger side. You had your hand on the door handle when your instincts started screaming. Your eyes cut to the store and then back to Dabi. “I think someone’s i-“

A hand slammed on top of your mouth as you were pulled backwards and in a whirl of wind and disorienting speed you ended up on the other end of the parking and moments later you saw blue fames spurting off in all directions where you had been standing earlier.

“What a temper that guy has.”

You looked up and saw the man from the store. His quirk must have been super speed and you knew you’d never hear the end of this from Dabi.

His hand gripped your chin, “What’s so special about you huh? What could you possibly have that would domesticate that beast of a man?” He pushed you to your knees in front of him.

Your panic was setting in. All the years of training, all the hard work you put in, and the only thing you could think of was running away. You bottom lip trembled. “I’m quirkless… I’m his… his pet.” You hoped you could find a way to stall for time. You had faith Dabi could handle whoever he was currently fighting and then he’d come for you. You just needed to make sure this guy didn’t run off with you again.

The man laughed loudly, “I have to admit I always thought he was a bit of a freak. But having a quirkless little play thing isn’t what I was expecting.” He turned your head to one side and then the other getting a good look at you. “You sure are fucking pretty though… I guess I can see the appeal. Maybe I’ll take you with me.”

Your fight or flight was kicking in, and you knew for a fact there was no outrunning this man. You activated your quirk and locked eyes with him. This was the first time you had used your quirk offensively in a long time. But it was like riding a bike. First you used your voice. “You don’t want to do that. No, you’re a good boy. You want to let me go.”

You watched as his eyes glassed over briefly before he shook his head. “What the fuck! Get out of my head! Quirkless my ass!” His hand left your chin and back handed you. Your head hit a cement parking divider. So maybe it wasn’t like riding a bike.

You needed to focus. No half assing this. Growing up you had learned that your quirk was like a battery. You could either go at full strength for a short period of time or lower strength for a longer period of time. You just needed to up the strength. “I SAID!”

He sprinted away before you could finish talking. You looked around frantically to see where he went but before you could find him he was sprinting by you and kicking you as he passed. His strategy was smart. You wouldn’t be able to get him if he kept moving. He continued his game of sprinting by you and kicking you or hitting you until you were a bloody mess on the ground. Where the fuck was Dabi?

You were pissed. You had had definitely been through worse. You spit out some blood from your split lip. “You hit like a fucking bitch!” You smeared blood and saliva all over your hands and waited. “Fucking fight me you pussy!”

You listened closely for the familiar sound of him approaching. Right before he got to you you rolled over and grabbed his leg as he attempted to kick you. You tackled him to the ground and shoved your hand in his face smearing your blood all over his face, forcing your blood and spit into his mouth.

He sputtered before shoving you off of him and spitting on you. “What the fuck? You’re fucking disgusting!” He tried to stand up to get away from you, but your quirk was starting to work on him. You blood was slowly paralyzing him. You watched as his eyes started to harden inn fear.

“Great keep those open for me.” You locked eyes with him again. “What did you want with Dabi?”

You watched his thoughts as he showed you instructions from Shigaraki. He was supposed to locate Dabi and ask him what his connection was to the people who worked for your hero agency. Apparently, word had gotten out that he had been hunting people and The League wanted to know why.

You heard footsteps rapidly approaching you. You swung around as fast as you throbbing head would let you. Relief flooded over your entire body when you saw it was Dabi. He skidded to a stop when he saw the state you were in. He looked between you and the now paralyzed man on the ground. “I’m going to fucking kill him.”

The man managed a creepy chuckle. “She must be that siren hero everyone’s looking for huh?” You were impressed he could still talk at this point, but it was obvious the rest of his body was frozen. “They said she was dangerous…she didn’t feel that dangerous when my foot was connecting with her face.”

Dabi let out a feral growl and he stalked over to him hands out ready to burn him to ashes.

“Dabi NO!” You coughed as you grabbed your ribs. “Stop… he can’t move. We can just call Katsuki, he’ll come pick him up.”

Dabi turned to look at you, his eyes practically glowing. “No fucking way. He’s seen you, he knows too much.” The flames in his hands got hotter. “Just look at what he fucking did to you! He’s not leaving here alive. So either you let me burn him and scatter the evidence or you take this fucking knife I have in my pocket and kill him yourself. Either way this asshole dies now. I told him to mind his own fucking business… he signed his own death sentence.”

You stood up and squared off with him. “I said no… We don’t have to kill him. We can just turn him in!”

“YOU CANT BE THAT STUPID!” He ran a frustrated hand through his hair leaving black streak of soot in their wake in his white hair. “We turn him in, he gets arrested. The people who are looking for you… the ‘heroes’ will integrate him and find out your with me. Then it’ll only be a matter of time before we’re on the run.” He reached in his pocket and held out a knife to you, “He dies now. End of discussion. What’ll it be.”

You looked at the knife in his hand before crossing your arms over your chest and averting your eyes.

“That’s what I thought.”

You didn’t watch as he incinerated the man who was helpless to stop it, but you could smell the burning flesh and you could hear the brief scream of agony before it was gone.

Dabi waited until his hands had cooled down before he bent over and scooped you up. “It had to be done.” The car was still running with the driver door open from where he had driven over here and hopped out. He tucked you into the font seat and took a look into the back seat, “Fuck… the ice cream is melting.”

Your eyes bulged at him as he gunned it towards the main road, “You just murdered someone with no sympathy, but heaven forbid the ice cream melts!”

“Actually, I just murdered two people. And I would do it again without hesitation. I was looking forward to that ice cream!”

********

Tags: tags: @falling4fandoms @wifunozomi @here-in-never-land @whore-for-anime @klecksstorys @aurorahoneybuns @theunknownrandom @insane-without-delirium @frenchsfryys @officiallydarkgeek @neofixcs @music-is-all-i-need @katsuki-bakubabe@unadulteratedtastemakerpoetry@dabislittlemouse@aimee1602@pinkhatlizzy @kunaigirlx44 @nii-sanfucker@bestgirlb @silver-stardrop@bakubby99

[diyunho]

The Joker X Reader - “Ghost Driver”

When The Joker says you’re his, it means you’re essential to him because he needs your services for his own gain; it literally has zero affectionate connotations. Turbo is The King’s Ghost Driver and although she’s a legend, her life is far from perfect.

Part 2

“Where’s all your stuff?!” Frost asks since the apartment is pretty much empty.

“Gave it to Adam,” you sulk. “He wouldn’t sign the divorce papers so I gave in; I don’t even care… I’m glad he’s out of here.”

Jonny gazes at you in silence, a million words rushing through his mind and The Joker’s henchman can’t articulate anything close to what he would like to vociferate besides foolish small talk:

“How are you holding up?”

“Not sure… I don’t even know what the hell happened to us…It used to be so great and then he started making comments about my weight, gossiping with his friends behind my back, then cheated… I couldn’t handle it,” Y/N confesses although Frost is already acquainted with the dreadful story of her crumbled marriage.

“Not what the hell happened to us,” he decides to underline his personal opinion. “I think the question should be what the hell happened to him: you didn’t do anything wrong. And I believe you look perfect,” he mumbles the last sentence.

“What was that?” you search the fridge for his favorite soda.

“Nothing... nothing…”

“Here you go,” you offer the cold Fanta to a distraught companion.

“Thanks, Y/N. Here’s the money for tonight,” he gives you the envelope. “As usually, half now , half after the job is done.”

“OK,” you accept the terms without issues because it’s how The Clown Prince of Crime pays for your services. “Jonny, why is there an extra thousand dollars in here?!”

“Ummm…” the man tries to find a reasonable explanation yet Y/N can’t accept his strategy.

“Should I text Mister Joker and thank him for the bonus?”

“Nope,” he bites on his lip.

“I appreciate it,” you return the extra cash to Frost. ”I’m fine. Really.”

“Well…” he takes the bills and stashes them in his wallet, “… let me know if you need anything, alright?”

“I promise I will, “ you smile. “I swear on my Turbo honor,” the joke makes him smile also.

“Hey Y/N… I was thinking… maybe one of these days, if you feel like it, we could… and it’s entirely up to you, no pressure… maybe you would want to… ”

Frost’s phone keeps ringing and he retrieves from his suit’s pocket, annoyed about the interruption.

“It’s Audra,” he huffs while declining the call.

“Might be important,” you sort of urge him to answer.

“Meh, I doubt it. She will chew my ears off regarding our relationship that ended 3 months ago. I’m not interested,” he strolls towards the exit due to another pressing matter he has to attend. “I have to go, Mister Joker has a meeting soon; I’ll see you later, Y/N.”

“See you,” you wave and lock the door when your cell alerts of an incoming text from The Joker.

Downloading two pictures… Pictures?!

“Oh…my… God…!” you hold your breath when the first image depicts a totally naked King of Gotham reflected in the mirror at his gym and squeal when the second one shows a close up of his mid-section.

“Oh my God!” you burst out laughing as you admire the unexpected missive. “Heeeelllo Mister Joker,” you mutter and actual phrases pop up on your screen.

“I sent these to the wrong number, Y/N. Ignore and erase them!”

“Of course, sir!” you immediately reply with no intention of doing it for the moment.

Why?

The hilarious error shook you up from apathy and it’s worth saving those pics for a bit longer since you can’t remember the last time something got your attention after the messy divorce.

***************

11:49 PM

The Joker is the first one to get in the car next to you, firmly clutching to his suitcase full of diamonds freshly stolen from “Diamond Emporium” store on Glissan Avenue. You notice the other goons sneaking to the cars deliberately positioned around nearby streets for tonight’s robbery. How come J doesn’t go with them?

The dilemma is simple:

The green haired menace typically arrives with his regular crew when he plans heists but has Y/N pick him up after the job is done.

“Hi Mister Joker,” you greet your employer.

“Hey,” he acknowledges your presence. “Did you delete the pictures?” The Joker gets straight to the point.

“Yes,” you lie and tell the truth in the same time: you erased the whole body image but kept the close up one for future reference.

“Good. What did you think?” the hasty interrogation prompts a careful chosen response.

“You look very…,” and you pause in order to find the correct term since a tiny mistake could set him off. “… Healthy, Mister Joker.”

“I do,” he huffs quite pleased with your statement.

You wish to add more but Frost and the new hire squeeze in the back seat awaiting orders.

“You’re in luck kid,” Jonny places a box filled with precious gems at his feet. “Your first assignment and you get to meet Turbo.”

The young man opens his mouth in amazement as you move the fingers from your right hand in the air instead of a proper introduction.

“You’re Turbo?! I thought you’re a guy!” Nick blurs out and Frost punches him in the head, displeased with the observation.

“Sounds empty,” you growl while The Clown snorts.

“My Ghost Driver A GUY??!! Ha-ha-ha-ha!” the unnerving, screechy noises make the newbie shrivel up. “Turbo, A GUY!” he continues to amuse himself before giving Nick a psychotic glare.

“I’m…I’m so sorry, I meant no disrespect,” he nervously stutters especially since J called you “his”.

The poor bastard’s oblivious about what the label implies in The Clown’s universe: when The Joker says you’re his, it means you’re essential to him because he needs your services for his own gain; it literally has zero affectionate connotations.

“Where the fuck did you find this buffoon?” you chew on your gum, irritated.

“He’s Richard’s nephew,” Jonny sucks on his teeth.

“Uncle Panda is infinitely smarter,” Y/N barks at the revelation.

“I’m truly sorry,” Nick apologizes again and you cut him off.

“Save it!... … I hear sirens,” you slowly inhale and The King calmly articulates:

“I forgot to mention I accidentally triggered the silent alarm.”

Translation: he did it on purpose.

You snicker at the first lights blinking in the distance, excited to have some fun after stressing so much in the past weeks. The vehicles belonging to the gang scatter in different directions as you step on the gas pedal, accelerating towards the numerous police cars answering to the 10-64 code.

“That’s my girl!” J cracks his neck, already hyped at the adrenaline rush burning his veins: The Ghost Driver is perfect to offer him what he craves and she always delivers.

That’s why Turbo is his.

************

4:37 AM

“Hi…Mister…Mister Joker…” you attempt to talk without slurring.

“It’s Ella,” his girlfriend snarls.

“Why…where is he?” you guzzle down half of glass of wine, adamant in having a chat with your boss.

“Well, after you two had a merry time being chased by cops all over town, he came home and now he’s sorting out the diamonds,” the woman bitterly reports.

“I wanna talk to him,” you sniffle and drink some more alcohol.

“You just saw him. I’m sure it can wait until tomorrow.”

“I’m sure it can’t!” you shout. “I just received important information he’d be i…interested in,” you finally make it through the whole sentence.

Ella stomps in the living room, vexed at your behavior.

“It’s Turbo,” she shoves the phone in his fingers. “The bitch is wasted!”

“What did you call me?!” the appalled Y/N is about to burst when The Joker’s deep voice resonates I her ear.  

“Yeah?”

“Sir,” you correct your bitter tone. “I h-have very important news!”

“I’m listening,” J ignores his woman as she cusses you out.

“I have to tell you in person, sir. Let’s go on a date and I’ll reveal the entire shocking...”

“Huh?!”

“I have crucial information…”

“Quit repeating yourself!” The Joker interrupts. “You’re not making any sense. Go to sleep and we’ll catch up after you sober up.”

“But I wanna go on date Mister Joker,” you gulp the rest of the wine and prepare for a fourth round.

“Why, because I look healthy?” J mocks and Ella sighs, not understanding the odd conversation she’s witnessing. “… …. … Hello?”

A loud thud, then dialing tone at the other end of the line.

“I think she passed out,” The King of Gotham concludes, not particularly worried at the sudden halt of your monologue.

***************

3 Days Later

The late meeting is almost done: the buyers already purchased the diamonds J had for sale, among them your ex-husband Adam that has a small crowd gathered next to him; he’s supposedly famous for his crappy attitude enjoyed by jerks sharing the same ludicrous humor.

“You know I’m sensible when it comes to challenges and I couldn’t grasp why she doesn’t want my help in shedding a few pounds. What’s the harm in that?! I love curves but sometimes I don’t, ya’ know?” he winks and the group laughs.

The Joker is arranging money in duffle bags, his concentration diverted by the impromptu comedic performance. What the heck are they yapping about?

Frost is certainly in a foul mood: J can guess his trusted henchman is worked up since the usual chilled Jonny can’t control his anger.

“What’s wrong with being voluptuous, hm?” he addresses Adam and it clicks for The Joker: this is about Y/N.

“Nothing at all,” he smirks and the laughter around the room dies out because not too many dare screwing with Jonny Frost. “I was merely emphasizing that if a woman can’t lose weight, she’s doomed. Y/N lost me, how is she going to get another stud if she…”

“Perhaps she’s not interested in pieces of shit; definitely had her share!” Frost grumbles at the absurd remarks.

The Joker has no clue about what’s going on, yet he won’t deny today’s entertainment is far from boring.

“Give me a break!” Adam scoffs. “Who’d sniff her tail if she refuses to get skinnier? Ooohhh, wait a minute, we might have an admirer,” he arrogantly slides your cell out of his coat. “I was browsing her pictures and what do you know? A gentleman sent Y/N a picture of his junk three days ago. I am deeply sorry, my bad. She does have somebody sniffing her tail. What kind of loser sends images of his dangling goodies to another dude’s wife?!” 

“Ex-wife!” Jonny sneers whilst J’s calculation leads to an easy verdict: you kept one pic.

“Whose junk is this?! Is it yours?” your estranged spouse accuses Frost without any evidence.

“It’s my junk,” The Joker’s serene revelation makes everyone freeze: they have no idea how to react at the puzzling escalation of events.

Is he bluffing?!

“I wasn’t aware I require permission in order to text whatever I desire to whomever I want.”

Awkward silence and Frost approaches Adam, boiling with indignation.

“Why do you have Y/N’s phone?”

Your husband doesn’t have a chance to justify his action: Jonny’s punch throws him to the ground, immediately followed by his unsettling ultimatum.  

“You son of a bitch, what did you do to her?”

Your former husband gets on his elbow ready to attack when The King’s stern inquiry stops his motion:

“WHERE.IS.MY.TURBO?”

****************

After 1 hour

Frost lifts you higher in his arms while you keep wheezing, trying to regain control.

“I’m sorry…I attacked you,” the weakened Y/N whispers. “I thought you were Adam...”

After being abducted and left to starve for the last 3 days, you had one clear purpose: to kill the guy that did it. Adam surely crossed the line with his despicable plan of making you lose weight: he creeped in your apartment, kidnapped you and took you to his home where you were chained in the cellar until Jonny found you. The basement was dark and you couldn’t see, that’s why you used whatever strength you had left in order to attack the individual responsible for your misfortune.

Turned out it was actually a rescue party although Frost is now the proud owner of a beautiful bump courtesy of Y/N.

“No problem,” Jonny takes you to his SUV, carefully laying you down in the passenger’s seat. “How’s your head?” he wipes the dried blood on your cheeks since Adam knocked you out unconscious while you were talking to The Joker after the heist.

“I’m OK,” you start crying, mostly mad at yourself for being such an easy prey, yet you didn’t see it coming.

“You know… It’s OK not to be OK,” Frost opens a bottle of water and gives it to you. “I’ll take you home, you can take a shower and I’ll have the doctor come for an emergency evaluation. Are you hungry?”

“I’m so hungry,” tears stream down your face and Jonny has a great proposal.

“I’ll order some food and if you want me to I can stay with you. After you feel better, we could… and it’s entirely up to you, no pressure… maybe you would want to…”

The Joker rolls his eyes, deciding to emerge from the shadows.

“Wow, this is painful to watch. Frost believes he’s still in high school: basically he’s asking you on a date. There, done. No need to beat around the bush. Jesus!” J scolds about a subject he shouldn’t mess with. “I have a heist next week, you better be good to go by then!” he gestures at the confused duo. “If you’ll excuse me, I have my own date to honor. We’re done here, yes?”

“Yes sir,” Jonny replies for both, unwilling to split hairs with The Joker and his obnoxious aberrations. “Here’s your cell,” he returns the item to you and you snatch it, relieved. You seem to have an outburst of energy as you unlock the secured folder.

“Where’s Adam?”

“I don’t know, we had an altercation at the warehouse then he scrammed,” Frost reports, ogling a strange looking Y/N typing on her phone.

“He won’t be able to hide,” you grin and send the attachment to The Joker.

*************

“We’ll be late for dinner,” Ella kisses The Clown. “I’m not a 100% positive why we had to waste precious time and come for her,” she pouts and drags him after her towards their vehicle.

J’s phone chimes and he stops in his tracks, not expecting a message from you seconds after the encounter.

“Mister Joker, you were very generous to share pictures with me.

Allow me to do the same.

Your Turbo.”

Imagines downloading and he’s not sure what to do when pics appear one by one: frames taken by the private investigator you hired to follow Adam when you suspected he was cheating. The bastard was diligent, but he was eventually caught in the act three days ago.

Who’s the woman he’s with?

The Joker’s Queen.

“What’s wrong?” she frowns at the visible switch in his temper.

The Clown ruthlessly slams Ella against the hood while her cell also receives a text from Y/N:

“Who’s the bitch now?”

 Also read: MASTERLIST

You can also follow me on Wattpad and Ao3 under the same blog name: DiYunho.

[littleredroseonthevalley]

Land of the Blind

Summary: Nathan is caugh on a DUI and is sentenced to comunity service. There, he meets someone who can change his life.

Rating: T - Suitable for teens, 13 years and older, with some violence, minor coarse language, and minor suggestive adult themes.

Words: 5400

Notes: So, Natey-boy again. Who hasn’t gotten over him yet?

בשוק סמייא צווחין לעווירא סגי נהור

In the street of the blind, the one-eyed man is called the Guiding Light

*_*_*_*_*

"Nathan Sterling! Come over here, bro!" Beau Han bellowed, causing several heads in the party to turn, but he remained uncaring, as he went on to wave his bottle of beer as a half-hearted greeting.

Nathan sighed, shaking his head in frustration at the closest thing he could call as best friend. His boorish antics got old fast, and he had to take them for years now. However, it did not keep the young, blond man to slip into the seat next to him and grabbing a bottle of beer.

They had met in college, when they pledged the same fraternity. They both came from privileged upbringings, with the difference that Beau was nouveau riche, while Nathan was a Boston Brahmin. The Asian boy, because of that, submitted himself to be his faithful lapdog, and he did not care for the difference between that and “true friendship”.

"Anything fun going on around here?" Nathan asked, unamused.

Beau gave a casual shrug, before pulling a face. "No hot girls are allowed here, apparently."

He craned his neck then, as if looking for something. Nathan frowned, opening his mouth to question him when Beau beat him to it. "Eh, Nathan? Where's Becca? I thought she was your conquest for the week?"

Nathan flicked his finger dismissively, before downing the bottle of beer. The voluptuous girl was not bad-looking, on the contrary, but she really was just really bossy and nagging, and her name was tarnished since her parents divorced and cut her off, it was no fun.

Not to mention, she wanted commitment, too. She wanted to raise herself from the filth she was thrown in. It was a big no-no for Nathan. He did not, under any circumstances, do commitments. Anytime a girl seemed to imply that, she was out. Especially the social-climbers.

"She's old news already, Beau.” He responded, lazily. “I can't seem to find anyone else up to my standards."

"Your standards must be reaching heaven, my dear friend." Beau shook his head as he chugged his beer, before wiping the corner of his mouth to clean himself of the trail of white booze. "I'm pretty sure dear Katie would be glad to lecture you again."

Nathan sighed, shaking his head. Katie was the exact reason why he is so averse to commitment. She was his cousin’s wife, daughter of a fisherman from down at the harbour, and seemed to think they were a loving family just because they were around the same age. She firmly believed in love and that Tanner was her One and Only.

To him, it all sound either naïve or malicious. She knew he was cheating on her with the Emersons’ slag, Scarlett, but she took it because parting with the Sterling fortune was too much to bear. Not that she will ever really have to, having birthed a daughter already.

He almost scoffed at just the mere idea of fairy-tale love. Pick any marriage on his lineage, from the very day the first member of his family set foot in America hailing from Norway, and they would be a good example that love did not exist. Including Kate and Tanner’s.

“She can’t lecture me if she doesn’t know, and evidence shows it isn’t that hard to hide things from her. She is pretty stupid.”

"Damn, you're bad!" Beau chuckled heartily before pulling Nathan up from his seat, gesturing to the platform set up for the party. "Let's go dance, and maybe pick up some hot girls, yeah?"

The corner of Nathan's mouth lifted slightly. Yes, that was exactly what he needed.

"Yeah, you're on."

*_*_*_*_*

"Nathan, you honestly shouldn't… " Beau stopped in the middle of the sentence, hiccupping for probably the umpteenth time. "Drive the car in such a state. You might get into an accident."

"Shut up, Beau, unless you’d like to walk." Nathan threatened. He was sure that he could handle liquor well, Beau was totally underestimating him. "I'm pretty sure you're the one who needs help getting home. Whose party is this again? Elliott's? I'm sure he'll be glad to drive you home."

"Yes, see that horn over there?" Beau hiccupped again, before chuckling and pointing at the roof of the house. "It’s Elliott's!"

"Damn, Beau, you are drunk." Nathan shook his head. Beau really seem like a stupid teenager at times. He muffled a sigh. “Call yourself an Uber. I know you like to spite your mother.”

"No need. Beau's going home with me." A familiar voice stated from behind the said male's bulky form.

Nathan's eyes widen by the tiniest bit, before he recovered, trying not to laugh. Trying to make him jealous? With Han? How quaint. Too bad it would not work.

"Oh, alright then." Nathan said, grinning as he saw his friend's face morphed into one of horror's, but he paid him no heed. He was apparently still sober enough to realize what he was getting into. "Have a nice night, Claire."

Without another word, he silently washed his hands from Han before he slipped into his Ashton Martin and sped off. The adrenaline was coursing through his veins, most probably a side effect from the consumption of beer. It had actually been a while since he had gone home with a girl, and for this moment, this silence was actually rather nice and peaceful.

He took a deep breath before he relaxed against his comfortable leather seat.

The sirens of police cars suddenly broke him out of his reverie, and he immediately swerved to a stop in an unconscious move.

Ugh, Nathan, you moron! What did you stop for?

He suppressed his grumbles as he rolled down the window of his car to come face-to-face to Officer Silverhawk. He muttered a curse under his breath. Of all people... Of all days...

"Good evening, Officer Silverhawk." He greeted grudgingly.

"Yes, Nathan." She sounded displeased. "What're you doing out here that late at night? Is that alcohol? You reek of it!"

"No, of course not, ma’am." Nathan lied smoothly. "I wouldn't do such a dangerous, reckless thing."

“You certainly would.” She said, unbelieving. “Give me your keys. I’ll pull up your record.”

"Don’t get your panties on a twist, Officer Silverhawk." He muttered.

Officer Silverhawk looked up from scrolling through the records at the mention of her name, but Nathan waved his hand like it was nothing.

"Well, Nathan…" She said, sounding gruff. "It's not the first time you've been caught speeding. In fact, this is the fifteenth time, and there's another few which was after consuming alcohol."

Again, shit.

"Well, I'm afraid you'd have to go to the police with us. Don't worry, you will most likely just have to serve community service if it comes to that." Chief Silverhawk seemed to meant for her to sound reassuring.

However, she seemed smug and Nathan noted irritably that her upper lip seemed to twitch slightly at that comment.

Fuck was the only thought echoing through his mind. His parents were going to kill him.

*_*_*_*_*

“You are a disgrace, Mr. Sterling. You are a smudge on this town prideful tradition, and a shame to your surname.” Judge Rhodes said, sternly, from his bench. “I am very glad that I was able to shield my stepdaughter from the likes of you.”

Nathan used much of his willpower not to roll his eyes at that comment. Judge Rhodes was obsessed with his wife and stepdaughter, to the point it was nauseating.

The man congratulate himself into making a “safe” town for his family to live, as if he would ever be interested in Emily Harper. She was a very creepy character, and he is not alone in thinking that. Yes, she was his neighbour, but they just never interacted anymore.

He could remember that, before Queenie Harper married Dr. Rhodes, before even Evan Harper died of a heart attack, him and Emily would spend a lot of time together. Mrs. Harper would have him on their home to relieve his nannies, and the two kids would spend the Summer afternoons together.

Over Winter, while he was away in New Haven with his parents, however, Mr. Harper passed away and Queenie moved away with Emily to God knows where. They returned years later, when the old bat had already remarried, conveniently, with the new county judge.

Every time he sees her, which was actually quite rare, she would be wearing a long dress and she would be wearing a sunglass with Zigmund Ortega, if he remembered correctly, the felon son of their housemaid, or with either of her parents by her side.

“I would prefer to send you away for a month at the county jail. That ought to straighten you out. However, the laws of the state of Massachusetts do not allow me.” The judge continued, doling out the punishment. “Therefore, I hereby sentence you, Nathan Sterling, III, to ten weeks of community service. I really hope this would be of help to your behaviour."

The gavel went down, he was taken away from the courtroom to where his family was restlessly waiting, no doubt anxious to give him a piece of their mind. He almost wished that Rhodes had locked him away.

“A DUI, Nathan, honestly.” Lois Sterling, his mother, admonishes coldly. “Why don’t you just piss on your great-grandfather’s statue at main square while you’re on it, huh?”

He limits himself to a glare. His mother really knows how to make a bad situation worse just by standing in the room.

His father, in turn, merely sighed, patting Nathan's stiff shoulder. "Learn something there, son."

"Nathan, you're an idiot. I swear, you are!" Katie huffed, looking very much like an angry poodle dog. "But I really feel like something good may come out of this whole mess, so don't go messing things up."

He rolled his eyes. "Whatever you want, Cinderella."

All he got was an answering smack.

*_*_*_*_*

"Well, now what am I supposed to do?" Nathan asked, refraining from groaning as he looked at the peeling layers of wallpaper in the room of the orphanage.

The matron of the establishment narrowed her beady, black eyes at him, as if threatening him, before she pushed the grey bun on her head up higher. He stared at it for a moment, fascinated, before turning to face her. "I'm sorry, Ms..."

"Mrs. Higginbotham." She snapped, her lips twisting to a grimace. "You weren't listening."

"I'm sorry." He shuffled his feet and stared at them for a moment, trying to deceive her into thinking he was feeling guilty, which he obviously was not.

She released a sigh. "It's alright, boy."

Some people just were so easy to deceive. Most people, in fact, were easily thwarted by him. Call it a congenic trait.

The older woman motioned for the wall. "You need to peel of the wallpaper of this entire room before repainting it. A few older children will be coming in to help you out later, so don't worry about the workload."

He nodded.

She mimicked his movements, looking satisfied before leaving him with the appropriate tools.

He sighed, pulling his sleeves up and dreading the loss of a shirt. "Better get to work now, I guess."

"Hello!" A cheery voice disrupted his concentration, and he turned to face her after scraping off the last peeling layer of white from the ceiling.

What he saw was an assorted group of approximately thirteen-year-old teens standing there and looking at him. He fought back a grimace, before he raised his hand in an awkward wave.

"Uh, hi?"

"We heard you were here to serve your sentence." One of the boys blurted out.

The boy beside him smacked him.

"Not a sentence, Nicky. That's such an exaggeration!" He paused, before giving Nathan a curious look. "Or is it?"

"Alright, boys." A girl who was obviously the leader of the group of five stepped out, holding her palms up for silence. "Enough. We are here to help."

The two boys bowed their heads in resignation. "Sorry, Vanessa."

She nodded her head in satisfaction before turning her attention to the gaping Nathan. "What do you need help with, sir?"

"The scraping of wallpaper at the rest of the walls, I guess. I already did the ceiling. Then we can paint this room." He replied after recovering quickly. "And don't call me 'sir', please. It makes me sound old."

Vanessa grinned.

"Okay. Let's get to work then!"

This kid must be something to control them like that. Blonde curly hair, bright blue eyes, clearly a strong-willed kid. Had not been for the crude demeanour of her posture, one would say they were siblings. He found he rather liked her.

A few minutes after they started work, Nicky, if he remembered correctly, suddenly asked. "Brad, aren't you looking forward to the afternoon?"

The boy who smacked Nicky turned, his eyes bright as a cheeky smile surfaced, accidently scratching the wall with his tool in his carelessness, but he paid it no heed.

"Like, duh! Emmy is coming!"

"Emmy?" Nathan could not help himself from asking.

All eyes in the room turned to look at him, looking shocked before exclaiming in unison, "You don't know who's Emmy?"

“No, not really.” He responded.

“Emily Harper.” Vanessa supplied, helpfully. “She’s a voluntary teacher here. The kids that have been here the longest call her Emmy.”

“Oh! She’s my next-door neighbour.” He gasped in recognition. "Um, well, we’ve met, years ago, but we’re not close anymore. She's kind of... I don't know… "

He tried to untangle himself out of the situation, noticing how everyone seemed to stiffen at his words.

"You're one of those creeps who look down on her, right?" Nicky yelled, his face red with anger as he fisted his hands, stepping forward and looking as if he was about to hit him.

"Nicky." Vanessa's soft voice stopped him, and he bit his lip before muttering an apology.

"I'm sorry, Nathan, we're rather protective when it comes to Emily." She managed a smile. "I sure hope you aren't one of those who look down on her. She is a lovely person. She really brightens up our day."

He smiled back, unsure of what reply to give.

After that exchange, the room's atmosphere seemed to escalate to a freezing region, where everyone talked among themselves, occasionally only speaking to Nathan when they need to.

It seemed hours to him before Mrs. Higginbotham came, looking very pleased with their progress. "Well, you are almost done, ain't ya?"

All the teens nodded their heads eagerly, excluding Nathan.

"Well, I suppose you all can go for your break." She turned to leave before she angled her face back to face them once more, a twinkle in her eye. "By the way, Ms. Harper has arrived."

It was a moment after she left, before all the children threw down their tools and dashed out, pushing against each other as they stumbled along the corridor. Nathan blinked once in bewilderment, before he decided not to follow.

He continued working on his part of the room for a few more minutes, before his stomach growled. He bit the inside of his cheeks, before resigning. Now, he would have to find the canteen by himself.

How pathetic. Why did he have to stop his car when Officer Silverhawk signalled him to? Walsh would never let her come after him, anyways. There were so many better ways to spend his precious time, to the point he is willing to go work with his father.

Pulling the towel off his neck, he jumped down from the stool before trudging out of the room. The county orphanage could not be that big; he was sure of it. It should not be too hard to find the canteen.

He yawned, rubbing his eyes. This work really was exhausting.

As he walked down the hallway, commiserating with himself, a beautiful melody drifted to his ears then, and he immediately perked up. Someone was playing the violin, and that person was really good at it, too.

Unknowingly, his feet followed the source of the music, and he stopped in front of a door at last.

Placing his hand on the doorknob, he debated for a while whether he should go in or just leave it be. But the curiosity of knowing who was inside overwhelmed him, and he twisted the knob as softly as he could before he poked his head to the room.

A redhead with long, flowing curly hair tumbling down to her waist was on the middle of a mostly empty room, holding the instrument. She was wearing a white floral dress that reached over her knees. He watched, transfixed as her fingers danced over the strings, her eyes closed and her full lips in a concentrated pout.

"Nathan?" Mrs. Higginbotham's voice broke him out of his entranced stare.

The music abruptly got cut off and the girl turned to face him. His jaw almost fell to the ground.

"E-Emily?" He managed to get out.

She smiled a breath-taking smile, standing up from her seat, her eyes still closed as she tilted her head to the side for a moment.

"Hi, Nathan."

"Hi?" But it sounded more like a question. The beautiful girl playing the violin just now... Was actually Emily Harper? The ghost of Birchport? The bratty child of the county judge?

He swallowed, watching as her long, elegant fingers pressed against her full, red lips, looking embarrassed.

"Did you hear me play?" She asked, a soft stutter on her words.

"I did. It was beautiful." He breathed, still looking utterly entranced, his emerald green eyes lighting up as they stared at her.

Red coloured both her cheeks as she fidgeted even more, seeming to feel the weight of his stare. "Thank you, you’re too kind."

Suddenly, someone coughed in the room, and Nathan realized they were not alone. The entire roomful of teens and children and Mrs. Higginbotham were looking at him, seemingly in amusement and curiosity.

"New brother!" One of the younger kids squealed before clapping his hands together, looking very happy.

Nathan stared at them with a completely bewildered expression.

"Well, Nathan, how nice of you to join us." Mrs. Higginbotham said, motioning for him to take a seat and snapping him out of his thoughts.

"Thank you, Mrs. Higginbotham."

"Sorry, Nathan. I really thought you were one of those creeps who look down on Emmy." Nicky whispered to him from in front and Nathan tilted his head to the side. Why would anyone look down on her? She was beautiful, and she played such beautiful music.

Before he could ask, though, Emily had already picked up her instrument and placed on her neck, measuring the tempo for a new song. She seemed tense now, her fingers stiff. Was it because of his presence?

He wondered about it, before shaking it off. Impossible.

Her first note was slightly shaky, before it was followed by a firmer tone. As she continued on, her confidence began to grow and the music slowly crawled to a crescendo, her fingers flying over the strings.

He could not help but gape. She was the epitome of beauty and class. Maybe she would be deserving to be his next conquest.

"Beautiful, isn't she?" Mrs. Higginbotham murmured from beside him.

He nodded, not speaking, transfixed by the song.

"You can't even tell that she's blind." She said softly and Nathan whirled to face her in shock.

"What?"

"Why, yes, Nathan. She's blind." She said, a little surprised. “I thought you knew. Most people in town do.”

“I… She wasn’t blind back when we were close.” He responded lamely.

Higginbotham tutted, lost in thought. “She did lose her sight, just after her father’s death.”

“How did it happen?” He asked, curiously.

“You’d do better asking her yourself.” She answered with a tone of finality.

That night, as he went out with Kassidy Marquez, his mind was elsewhere; thinking of a certain redhead with a lovely blush.

Soon, he broke off with a shocked and angry Kassidy, because he simply could not stand the heaviness in his heart.

*_*_*_*_*

Emily teaches music to the children at the orphanage, or at least tries to. Their music room was on the bare side, so their lessons are mostly consisted of her playing for them to hear. After every break she plays, she would tell the children the stories of her life, and Nathan would sometimes be one of the characters.

When she was feeling particularly wicked, she would tell some humiliating story of the two of them when they were kids, which would always finish with him red as a tomato and mumbling, “That’s so not what happened…”

She, however, never told them about the time she spent away from Birchport, curiously enough. She never told them how she lost her sigh, nor where she had been or what she had been doing. It was mysterious.

Every day, after clock out, Nathan would go home alone looking dazed, and Katie would be waiting for him on the foyer, just to pester him as always, wondering who the girl was.

She sure was not the only one wondering.

He stopped going out at night, he stopped dating different girls at the time. In a nutshell, he stopped doing everything like he would always do. Instead, he would always go to their library to play the piano when he had any free time.

There was a time he loved playing the piano. His mother had commanded him to chose an instrument, and he took to that. He even had quite a deal of talent, but on his Senior year in high school, Lois barred him from playing and at Hartford was impossible. By the time Summer came and he returned to Birchport, he had long forgot it.

The change of his personality within such a short period of time was shocking, to say the least. It was a pleasant one, though, of course.

He would always look out of his bedroom window, gazing beyond the gardens, wanting to see her, but he would never have the chance to. So, he had to wait every day until he reached the orphanage.

*_*_*_*_*

"Nathan, it's your last day of community service today, right?" Katie declared, over breakfast. "It must have been a long two months and a half."

He shook his head, but refrained from a snarky comment. Nathan had been more patient with his cousin by marriage these days. In fact, he had been more patient and mindful with just about everybody, with the notable exception of his mother.

Happy people want for everybody to be happy too, he reasoned. Since he felt more comfortable in Emily’s company, he stopped to be so cynical about everyone’s angle when talking to him, he became more trusting. He was even beginning to accept that Katie was just a good person, after all.

"It's not long at all." He murmured, the corner of his lips tugging up slightly. "Not long at all."

Nathan, Snr., stared, seeming shocked, but said nothing. An approving smile was on his face. They simply have to meet this miracle-worker.

Lois, in turn, glared at her son. “I hope you’ve learned your lesson, boy. The next time you pull out something like that, you won’t be getting off so easily.”

The young man shrugged and got up to his feet, leaving the house with no further words. He jumped into his car and drove as fast as he could to the orphanage, getting straight into work as soon as he arrived.

He watched her as he ran his errands, during every break of that week, watching the beautiful girl playing music that touched his very soul. He was captivated, he was entranced, and he was completely falling to the grace of it.

Not only to the violin, but to the girl playing it.

The slight furrow between her brows as she contemplated something; how she pressed her fingers against her lips when she was embarrassed; how her hands would wrang together when she was nervous; how she would bite her lip when she was frightened; how...

Fuck, how did he know these things?

He buried his head into the crook of his arm. It was the last day of his community service, and he was actually here, obsessing over a girl. A girl who barely knew him and would certainly hate to.

"Nathan?"

It was then, did he realize that Mrs. Higginbotham has been calling him for some time. She looked rather displeased. Again.

"I'm sorry."

"It's alright." She smiled. "As I was saying, I've seen in your information that you're rather talented in the piano. Why don't you two play a piece together? As a farewell?"

"You're leaving?"

A slight furrow could be seen from his view and he smiled, though he knew she would not see it. She actually looked concerned. He almost laughed at the irony of Judge Rhode's words on his sentence. Well, it certainly backfired.

He nodded slowly, out of habit. "Well, yeah. It's my last day of community service."

“I’ll round up the kids, while you decide on a song.” The matron declared, excusing herself. “I’m sure it will be beautiful.”

A pause.

"So, would you like to play a duet with me?" He asked, his tone velvet and smooth.

He would not talk to her anymore after this. Perhaps he would, they were neighbours, but it did not seem likely. It would not be like it was now, in these hallowed rooms, away from their families and away from the prying eyes of the community.

As he spoke, he took big strides, reaching her quickly. He took her hands that were wrung together on her lap before taking one of them to his lips, pressing his lips against them gently. She blushed deep red.

He felt his crooked smile on his face. His real smile, the one born out of legitimate joy, that he almost forgot he had. He frowned at that thought, dismissing it away quickly.

"A duet, my Lady?"

"Sure…" She stammered, a blush still on her cheeks.

He sat on a bench and stretched his hands to play the old piano that the institution kept and he had tuned earlier that month.

There was a silence as they shifted to make themselves comfortable, before he blurted, “Where were you?”

“What?” She asked softly, in confusion.

“We were friends, Emily. It might have been long ago, but I remember that much. I left for New Haven after Labour Day one year, and when I came back in the Spring, you were gone.” He said, rather feverishly. “Then, as suddenly as you left, you came back, and now you are blind. What happened?”

The girl turned her face away, trying to hide the tint on her cheeks. “It was entirely too sudden. My dad died, and then we moved right away. I didn’t know until I heard the movers come into the house.”

“Why, Emily? What happened?” He insisted.

“My dad, he had a heart attack while driving. He hit a tree and died from the impact. I was on the car with him, and the glass shards from the windshield cut my eyes.” She explained. “The doctors in Boston said I wouldn’t be able to see anymore, so my mother moved us to New York, so I could attend a school for the blind.”

“I see.” He nodded, sober. “And Judge Rhodes?”

“My mother met him in New York. He is a good man, just a little overbearing. He thought it would be better to live in a small town, that it would be safer, so when I got into Boston Conservatory, they decided to relocate to Birchport for me to commute.” She finishes her story with a soft voice, barely perceptible.

“I see. Thank you for telling me.” He responded, a little ashamed of himself. He should not have pressured her that way.

“It’s okay, I’ve been meaning to, actually.” Emily said, smiling again. “I was honestly quite intimidated by you in the beginning. You seemed always so angry and frustrated.”

Nathan chuckled. “It’s because I was.”

“You’ve mellowed out since.” She concludes. “I’m glad. You have a nice voice when you’re happy. I like it.”

“I have a pretty voice…” Nathan teased. "I must be pretty hot, huh?"

She giggled softly. "Yeah. You seem to be, if I remember you right."

"You aren't the only girl who say that."

Her smile melted away then, and Nathan berated himself for saying such a thing.

“You’re very perceptible. I live in a house full of perfectly seeing people, and none of them identify what I think or feel.” He smiled sadly, trying to cover up his slip of the tongue.

“I’m sorry for that, Nathan. You shouldn’t be made feel this way.” She raises her hands to him. He picks them up and cradle them on his. “People are good in hiding emotions in their faces, but not on their voices, not on their bodies. If there is one good thing about being blind is that it is difficult to be lied to.”

They took a minute to enjoy each other’s bodily presence, one that was too soon interrupted by a loud cough from Mrs. Higginbotham. All the older teens behind her stifled their laughter, seeming to know what was going on.

"What piece then?" Nathan questioned, a smile seeming stuck on his face. He just could not stop smiling.

"How about Dvořák?" She offers. “The fourth duet.”

"I like it." He murmured, watching as she fumbled with the stacks of scores for a moment before pulling out the desired one.

"I hope you'd have no problem with it. Um, no, I'm not underestimating you, it's just..."

He laughed. "No worries, Emily. I can cope, and I know you're not."

He could not help the arrogance that slipped through, but it was him, after all. He was not called a piano prodigy for nothing. His thumb brushed her warm cheek casually before they turned to the score before them.

He counted softly under his breath before his fingers swept over the keys in a beautiful, enchanting dance. The soft, soothing melody filled the room, their music interacting beautifully on the dusty air, and a smile would surface on both Nathan's and Emily's face as a surge of electricity run through their veins.

"Beautiful piece, isn't it?" Emily whispered, almost too soft for him to hear as their fingers choreographed a breath-taking dance, without any rehearsals or practice. They felt whole.

"Yes." Nathan murmured, unable to stop the next sentence from slipping out. "More beautiful when it's played with you."

He knew that out of all the girls he had been with, she, Emily Harper, the ghost of Birchport, brought out the best in him. He did not need to look at her to know she was smiling a timid smile.

They struck a final chord and simultaneously turned to face each other; though Emmy could not see him, before breaking out into a joyful laughter. The people in the room started laughing too.

The younger children had no idea what was happening, but they joined in, clapping their hands and squealing, immersing themselves in the happy and light atmosphere.

The fingers that were once dancing over the keys were now interlaced with each other tightly.

He knew it then, as he swept a strand of brown hair away from her closed eyes, a beautiful smile on her face; that he wanted her to love him; that he wanted them to be together.

"Emily." He murmured, cupping her face gently in his hands, before he pressed a soft kiss against her full, pouty ones, watching as a familiar red coloured her cheeks.

"Yes?" She answered breathlessly.

He smiled. "I promise I’ll share my eyes with you, if you promise to always be with me."

He watched a tear escape from the corner of her closed eye, before leaning forward and capturing it with his finger.

“I promise.” She whispered.

The children cheered while Mrs. Higginbotham looked at them with a berating eye-stare, scolding them for the display, but she could not stop a soft smile from spreading across her face, either.

*_*_*_*_*

TF Masterlist

Taglist: @alicars​; @boneandfur​; @catlady0911​; @choicesyouplayandmore​; @choicesficwriterscreations​; @cocomaxley​; @choicesfannatalie​; @emerald-bijou​;  @hellospunkiebrewster​; @liamxs-world​; @lizeboredom​; @mfackenthal​; @moodygrip​; @mrsdrakewalkerblog​; @onesuntowngirl​; @shelivesinthewoods​; @theroyalweisme​; @tornbetween2loves​; @topsyturvy-dream​; @youvileevillittlecockroach​

[itsybitsyspiderling]

if you die (what will i be?)

Warnings: A lot of Irondad angst, swearing, mentions of blood and dying

Summary: It takes Peter almost dying for Tony to start paying more attention to him. But why does he have to almost die for Tony to even care? 

Word Count: 3.3k

It takes Peter almost dying for Tony to start paying more attention to him. It takes a dozen unanswered calls and a stupid blood-crusted suit to convince the billionaire that maybe a sixteen-year-old kid with superpowers is worth more than a side project.

That’s how it feels. 

The embers are still floating around him, and the smoke still hangs in the air. His throat burns like it never has before, but he can hardly find the strength to worry. He asks Karen to call Happy, call Mister Stark, call someone and tell them of what happened––he’s afraid he won’t get the chance to do it himself. The smoldering building has already crisped and collapsed around him. He can’t move, he can’t move, and the world feels a bit darker now.

The worst part is, he doesn’t want to move. The cinder falls like snow around him, and through the clearing smoke, he can see stars. The sky has never looked that beautiful before.

Peter can feel the pain, but he doesn’t care. 

It never occurs to him how severe the injuries might be. He just knows that he can’t feel his legs; he isn’t sure he even has them anymore. His abdomen has been struck with a force so palpable,  so heavy, that he can feel it beneath his flesh. There is something there, and he doesn’t know what. He can’t look. 

It isn’t that he doesn't want to either. He physically can’t. His body lies motionless, pain in every nerve, and all he can do is wait. 

–––– 

Peter usually only sees Tony in passing. As the article, “Spider-Man or Iron Man’s Sidekick?” tears through the tabloids thanks to the Daily Bugle, Peter slowly begins to realize that they’re right. Aside from the little things, like bank robberies and gas station brawls, most of Spider-Man’s big accomplishments are in the lovely company of the man in red and gold. And Peter thought it was cool at first. 

He thought it was so cool to be fighting alongside Iron Man. 

Once the article comes out, suddenly, the novelty wears off. Spider-Man exists in Iron Man’s shadow, but Peter hardly exists to Tony at all. 

It’s clear when Peter asks him to help him out with a school project in late October. Twenty hours of work based around a bullshit hypothesis with unproven results––Peter can barely look at the thing without feeling sick to his stomach. Biochemistry has never been his strong suit, and, granted, it has never been Tony’s either, but he has better luck asking a genius billionaire than relying on his own teenage brain. 

Happy’s text comes through the next morning. 

"I’ll come by and pick up the project after school.”

And Peter nearly smiles. Tony is going to help him. Peter realizes that he’s more excited about the idea of working with his mentor than he was when he first received his suit. 

When Happy meets him at 2:45 PM, the conversation falls short. Tony isn’t there; Peter never expects him to be, but Happy doesn’t want to be there either. He takes the contents of the project, stuffs it in the backseat, and drives off with a wave. Not even an offer for a ride. So, Peter walks home alone. 

The following week, after the school day ends, Happy texts Peter again for the third time since he has known him. 

“Meet me outside.”

Students filter out of classrooms while Peter takes each step carefully. Happy is there. Happy is waiting for him. And maybe Tony is there too. Meanwhile, Peter struggles to differentiate his nerves from his excitement. At the same time, he wonders if it’s full-blown anxiety instead. He’s starting to figure out where he fits in with Tony and Happy—he thinks that he doesn’t fit in at all.

“We’ve gotta swing by the compound to pick it up,” Happy says, tossing his keys in his hand as Peter nears slowly. “I don’t got all day, kid, c’mon. Let’s get your project.” 

Peter lets out a sigh and climbs into the passenger seat. For once, he doesn’t want to go up to the compound. He knows that he made a mistake in asking Tony for help; Tony is always willing to help, but he is never willing to show that he cares. Peter feels like an anomaly, and the compound acts as a reminder that no one thinks he’s is ready. For anything. They only see him as some sixteen-year-old who––to quote May––looks like a teddy bear trying to swear when he gets mad.

Happy hardly speaks a word on the drive up. Little hums and disinterested “wow’s” fill the empty space as Peter rants. Peter doesn’t think the dynamic will ever change, and he never imagines why it would. 

“He left it in your room,” Happy says, referring to the project that Peter can hardly remember. “He’s not here today.”

“My room?” 

Happy looks at Peter strangely. “Yeah. Your room. You still have one, you know.” 

Peter nods. He does have a room. He forgot. He forgot because Tony has never once invited him up to use it. With little direction, Peter wanders the compound alone. The sooner he finds his project, the sooner he could go home, suit-up, and forget that this ever happened. 

“Mister Parker, your shoe is untied.” Tony’s voice rings out down the hall. 

After he collected his project, Peter found himself distracted by the large glass windows in the hallway. The view is impeccably serene. If he had originally accepted Tony’s offer a year ago, then the view would have been his. And maybe Tony would have bothered paying a little bit more attention to the vigilante he took under his wing. 

“Oh,” Peter mumbles, glancing down at his feet. “I didn’t notice.”

Tony hums.

“I-I thought––uh, Happy said you weren’t here.”

“Technically, I’m not,” the older man replies. He’s dressed up to the nines. Like always, it seems. “I’m supposed to be halfway to California right now.” His eyes catch the project sitting in Peter’s hands. “That’s A-plus worthy, by the way. If it’s any less—actually, well, who am I kidding? You’ll get an A-plus. If not, an A.”

“Mister Stark, you didn’t have to finish the project,” Peter says. “We could’ve worked on it togeth—”

Tony waves his hand. He waves Peter off. “Not a problem,” he says. He has already begun to walk away. “I gotta split, kid. See you later.” 

Tony is right. Peter does get an A-plus on the project. But it isn’t rewarding in the slightest.

–––– 

Peter can tell that his breathing pattern has changed. He tries not to overreact, but each passing moment feels like an eternity. He can’t hear sirens, he can’t hear anything. He can’t even hear his heartbeat slowing.

Why can’t he hear anything? 

The autumn chill feels twenty degrees colder than it had, but his skin is still burning from the fire that dwindles around him. He knows he’s not overreacting. He knows he’s dying. 

Doesn’t anyone care that he’s dying?

“K-Karen,” he whimpers out, but it sounds like more like a plead, and the taste of metal floods his tongue. It’s the only sense that overwhelms him. The rest of his body has fallen numb, and it’s not the fault of the cold or the anxiety sparking within him. He can’t tell how much blood he’s losing or if he’s losing any at all. 

“I have not been able to reach Happy Hogan or Tony Stark,” she says calmly. She’s always calm.  “Would you like me to try May Parker?”

Something about the sound of her name strikes a chord within Peter. His torso seizes, and the weight of the rubble on his legs suddenly means nothing as he thinks about May. May. He can’t leave her. He can’t leave May. 

“No, no, ” he whines, eyes squinting shut as he struggles to lift himself up from the ground. “Don’t––don’t call––” His words are drowned out by the pain radiating up his chest. It’s not coming in waves or in dull aches like his normal wounds. Peter doesn’t know pain like this, and there’s not enough air in his lungs to breathe or speak. 

And he thinks he’s crying. It’s not supposed to feel like this.

Death is supposed to be peaceful. He’s supposed to smile and think of loved ones. 

Instead, Peter can’t help but panic. No one is coming for him. No one is hearing his cries––is he crying? He still can’t tell. He can hardly feel his legs, let alone lift his head. He just knows there’s something wrong, and there’s pain. There’s so much pain. 

At that moment, he believes that no one will come to save him. No one will come. No one wants to.

  ––––  

There’s nothing Peter hates more than the idea of disappointing Tony Stark. The fear––quite literally––follows him into his dreams. In those dreams, Tony has an alter ego, one that frames the kid for murder and plasters his face under every article that screams “Spider-Man Wanted on Account of a Double Homicide”. Real Tony isn’t like that. Real Tony is nice.

But disappointed Tony is a person Peter wishes he had never met. He won’t frame him for murder or reveal his identity. Instead, it feels worse. It feels like losing trust or losing a friend. The few times Peter has disappointed Tony, it’s been a sinking, unspeakable guilt. It’s been impalement driving and twisting into his chest while the fire behind his eyes blackens. 

There’s something about disappointing Tony that breaks Peter. And it’s all because of how much he looks up to him.

Sometimes he wishes that he chose someone else to idolize as a kid. He’s been made into a prototype, an acolyte like the rest, but one who is only treated differently because he is different. Peter is only kept around because of Spider-Man.

That’s what he firmly believes. 

And are times when Tony doesn’t even want Spider-Man.

After the ferry incident, Peter worries about the next time he’ll let Tony down. He counts every possible scenario on his fingers and toes, but he and Tony are so similar. They both act rationally in the most irrational way.

Peter thinks that Tony has slowly started to see his old habits in him. 

All it takes is an incident involving HYDRA and a Quinjet. At first, Tony makes his disappointment known with silence. He flies over to a nearby roof without another word, leaving Peter in his dust. And for a moment, Peter considers not chasing after him, but he knows the storm is brewing nevertheless. No matter what day or week it is, he can’t escape it. 

“What did I tell you?” Tony asks, his metal faceplate lifting with as much bite as his tone. 

Peter breathes heavily but stays silent. He tears his mask off. 

“I asked you not to interfere,” Tony continues. “I asked you to distract and retreat. One of us has a bulletproof suit, and that’s not you, got it?”

“I-I just wanted to––”

His jaw clenches as he shakes his head. “No. No more excuses. No more promising that you’ll do better next time. What if there wasn’t going to be a ‘next time’? Huh? What if that blind idiocy you exhibited tonight had gotten you killed? We wouldn’t be here, and I’d be forced to knock on May’s door and tell her that her nephew––”

“Don’t, please.”

“Then do as I say.”

Peter’s heart stutters in his chest. He can feel his own anger boiling in his veins. It feels like the ferry incident again. It feels like every time he’s disappointed Tony, and it’s all because Peter doesn’t know how to keep from making the same mistakes. 

“Why can’t you trust me like you trusted the Avengers?” he hears himself ask, but it’s not as sharp as he imagined it would be. 

The creases in Tony’s forehead smooth over as his expression falls. “You think I don’t trust you––that’s it?” he whispers. “The Avengers relied on mutual trust. Maybe it’s time you start trusting me too, yeah, kid? If you did, then you would have done what I asked.” The faceplate slams shut, and Tony hovers above the roof as he says, “they lost my trust, too. I can’t lose yours.” And then he’s off.

Peter is alone. 

 –––– 

Peter is alone, and the panic has finally subsided. He’s not aware of much, but he can feel the wind against his fingertips. He can still see the embers drifting like buoys in the sea. He thinks about Coney Island. He thinks about metal talons digging into his skin, and he compares it to the large splinters of wood stuck in his torso. 

There is nothing else to focus on but the stars. He doesn’t remember there being so many stars. 

Karen speaks to him in a calm matter. She knows his heartbeat is too slow. She knows he’s having a hard time breathing. She talks and helps him through it, but he can’t hear a word. He doesn’t hear her talking about the missed calls from Tony. He doesn’t hear her mention his name at all. 

When Peter struggles to identify the red lights of distant emergency vehicles, he finally hears something. Metal crashing against concrete. The touchdown of the world’s finest hero. 

“Peter?” Tony’s voice is small, but it’s a sound Peter has been waiting to hear all night.

He tilts his head; it’s all he can do. “Mister Stark?” 

The weight of the rubble on his legs goes missing.

Tony is above him in under a second, cold, metal fingers settling themselves behind Peter’s head to keep it elevated. “Pete,” Tony breathes out. 

Peter has never seen Tony look so pale before. 

“You’re gonna be okay,” he says, placing his other arm under Peter’s legs. “Okay? You’re gonna be fine. We’re gonna get you through this. I’ve got you.”

Peter tries to nod, but his head rolls to the side instead. “You’ve––you’ve got me,” he mumbles. The words float away with the embers. 

Tony’s lips pull into a deep frown, and his eyebrows knot together as he thinks over his next moves. His eyes are dark, but they are warm and soft, and just by looking into them, Peter can tell that Tony is scared. 

As the older man’s lip trembles, Peter realizes that he’s no longer in as much pain as he had been. He feels lighter than air, but he doesn’t feel real. It’s supposed to feel like this. 

Tony starts to lift him into his arms, and for a brief moment, the pain returns. It vocalizes itself as a cry and a scream, and Tony’s worry and fear turn to horror. He doesn’t know what to do. “Y-you’ve gotta bear with me, kiddo. I’ve gotta lift you. Okay? Do you trust me?”

Peter can’t say it back, but he smiles. And that says enough.

“I’m so sorry, Pete.”

–––– 

He awakes in the Medbay. Re-runs of Star Trek are playing on a flatscreen in the corner, and a large vase of red and blue flowers sits beside his bed. The third thing he notices is the ache in his lungs as he takes each breath. The fourth thing is slumped over in a chair across the room, elbows pressed into his knees while soft snores rumble through his chest. He’s not dressed to the nines like Peter usually sees. Instead, he’s in sweatpants and a t-shirt with coffee stains down the front. He looks like he hasn’t moved from his seat in days. 

Peter’s torso is covered in bandages, and his legs are in casts. He knows that, in a matter of a day or two, he’ll be walking again with little to no pain. But right now, he’s afraid to move. 

He’s afraid to speak. 

The first thing he tries to do is reach for the remote, which fails miserably. It slips to the ground, and the clattering plastic seems to wake the slumbering Stark instantly. 

“Pete?” Tony mutters, blinking to adjust to the bright fluorescent lighting. “How long’ve you been up?”

“A minute,” Peter answers hoarsely.

Tony nods and presses his lips together. He doesn’t leap from his chair or cry out of happiness; instead, his eyes speak louder than words. He’s relieved. He’s thankful. He’s trying to fight back his thoughts and emotions instead of dumping them all on Peter. 

“Mister Stark––”

“You’re never gonna hear this from me again, so listen up,” Tony says. He blinks rapidly and sniffs. He continues breathily, “you scared the living shit outta me. I thought you were––I thought you were gonna–– Jesus.” Tony runs his fingers through his hair. “If you were gone before I got t’tell you how proud of you I am, kiddo, I don’t know what I would be doin’ right now.”

Peter bites the inside of his lip to keep from crying. Meanwhile, he can’t believe it. He doesn’t know how to.

“When I discipline you––” Tony says. He can’t look at Peter. “––when I set boundaries and rules, it’s not because I don’t think you can do it. It’s because I’m terrified that one of us is gonna make the wrong move, and suddenly, there’s no turning back. I can’t let it happen. I just can’t, Pete. I can’t lose you.”

Peter wants to swallow down the anger growing in him. But he can’t. He doesn’t know how to believe him. “Then why––why do you i-ignore me?” Peter sputters, trying to contain his emotions, but they come pouring out through his tears. 

“I don’t––”

“You do!” Peter cries out. He doesn’t mean to, but the words all feel like lies. The Tony he knows barely spares a day for Peter. “You make Happy do everything. You don’t contact me. You don’t wanna see me. You pull me along on these missions only to hold me back, and then you berate me for doing something you would do! I’m tired of being a sidekick if I can’t even be your––your  friend .”

Tony rests his head in his hand. “Peter––”

“You say you can’t lose me, but it doesn’t even feel like you want me around.”

Tony nods. He knows it’s true. But he still can’t look at Peter. “Yeah,” Tony whispers. “No, you’re right. I keep myself separated. And it’s not because I don’t want you around. I would make you drop outta school just to keep me company, Pete. I’ll admit my faults. You bring out a different side of me that I’ve never seen before, and it––it made me wanna be someone new. Made me wanna be a father. Some shit like that.” He chuckles dryly “Yeah, I got scared. I was terrified. Suddenly, the only thing I wanted to do was keep you safe. And then I realized, y’know, I’m me. I’m destructive. I thought that keeping you safe, but from afar, would do less damage. I was wrong. And I’m sorry.”

Peter doesn’t speak again for a while. He digests Tony’s words carefully, whether he chooses to believe them or not. The longer he thinks, the more Peter realizes that he has no reason to not believe the man. Tony has kept him alive. Tony has saved his life. Multiple times. Tony does many things wrong, but he has done so many things right.

“Mister Stark?”

Tony glances up, his eyes glassy and hopeful. 

“I trust you.”

[mayquita]

Pictures of Reality  - Prologue

Summary: Emma Swan returns to her birthplace, Storybrooke, in search of a fresh start after a life marked by abandonment and betrayal. After a year there, she finds the stability she needed and also the possibility of learning about one of her passions, photography. Killian Jones, a former British war reporter with a tragic past, establishes himself in the same town as an instructor of photography, following in the footsteps of his best friends, the Nolans. What will happen when their paths cross? Will their common passion for photography help them heal old wounds?

Rating: M (Language, mature themes, implied sex)

Warnings: Alcohol abuse, mentions of the loss of a limb in an armed conflict

Other ships / Characters: Although, obviously, this is a cs fic, Snowing plays a major role here, mainly David. In fact, the story contains three different points of view, those of Emma, Killian and David. Also, Henry appears in the story as Regina's adopted son but he is not Emma's biological son.

Beta: @jarienn972 , thank you so much for all your help, your suggestions and your support throughout these months.

Artist / art: @imagnifika  I can’t wait for everyone to discover the wonderful art that Kate has created for this story. It's amazing how she has been able to capture the essence of this fic. Thank you so much for your effort and for offering your talent to my story. / Art for the prologue

Word count: ~ 5500 (116k total in 16 chapters)

Also on: Ao3 / Ffnet  Tumblr: Prologue Chapter 1

A/N: This is my contribution to the Captain Swan Big Bag Challenge this year. I still can’t believe it but it's finally happening! This story is so important to me on so many levels that I can’t even express it with words. I got the inspiration for this fic more than two years ago and even wrote some sections, but I didn’t continue with it until the CSBB event offered me this opportunity. Writing it has been a complete challenge for me throughout these months and an almost perpetual struggle. Even after the penultimate check-in, when my life turned upside down, I almost gave up. Fortunately, I was able to continue and edit it in time to offer it to all of you. My first complete CS fic, my first complete story ever.

@saraswans , you know better than anyone what all this means to me and. I'd like to express my gratitude to you, my savior. There is part of you here and I'm sure that without your ideas and your continued support and encouragement this wouldn't be happening. THANK YOU! Thanks also to @suwya and @lenfaz for your encouragement an to the moderators for making this possible. It has been totally worth it. And don't forget to check the rest of the amazing csbb stories!

Are you ready for a journey full of angst, love and lots of pictures? Here we go...

PROLOGUE

Killian Jones. A nameless town under an armed conflict. Two years ago

This was the bloody end of the world.

Killian should be used to it already. His camera had captured countless anonymous people, wandering aimlessly through the streets of ravaged villages after so many of these absurd attacks. Their eyes, the reflection of despair, helplessness, and confusion. Why us? What crime we have committed to suffer this punishment? They seemed to ask him without needing to utter words. Being born in the wrong place, he was always tempted to respond. His lips remained sealed, though.

But this? This was hell come to Earth.

He was crammed into one of the shelters set up for the few international journalists who were reckless —or suicidal — enough to stay in a country that was falling apart. The only sound that accompanied them in these long minutes were the bombs falling over the town, destroying everything in their path.

The waiting always became eternal, especially because his thoughts took advantage of those moments of tense silence to torment him, reminding him that at least he was safe, while others - those who remained on the surface - were not so lucky. The pull of such guilt, firmly settled in the pit of his stomach, was a constant in these situations and today wasn't going to be any different. Other equally disturbing thoughts invaded him as well. He didn't stop wondering why he kept accepting to cover these increasingly dangerous missions. Because you have nothing to lose anymore, he thought while bitterness washed over him. Because someone has to be the voice of these innocent people, corrected himself.

After what seemed like hours, though it probably only lasted a few minutes, a shrill siren announced the end of the attack. The danger had passed - for now. However, his colleagues still seemed reluctant to leave the shelter. It was understandable, although all these journalists were fearless people, their reactions to these traumatic events could become unpredictable. This wasn't his case. He had the ability to keep his mind cold, especially because now that the attack was over, it was time to show the world what its consequences had been. So, ignoring the disapproving look of his teammate, he went out into the street, camera in hand.

His courage was challenged the moment he came to the surface. An oppressive atmosphere enveloped him in the form of a thick dust, while the smell of destruction filtered through his nostrils. The sirens of the emergency services, the only sound that reached his ears at the beginning. Gradually, when the villagers began to leave their makeshift shelters, the sound of the sirens was muffled by the screams and desperate cries of people searching for their families among the rubble.

The sensation of hell increased, as did his urge to run away, to seek refuge in his hotel room and take the first flight that would take him away from this damn war.

Killian gripped the camera, feeling his stomach tighten into knots. He could not let himself be carried away by helplessness and fear, not now. He clenched his jaw with determination, ignoring his urge to run. Instead, he started walking, looking for the effects of the destruction.

He spotted the first people a few steps away. A woman held a little baby in her arms, while two other small children clung to her legs with terrified expressions on their little faces. He approached them with tentative steps, making sure his press badge was clearly visible, while raising his hands in peace.

"Are you okay? Do you need something?" He tried to make himself understood, accompanying his words with gestures of his hands. The woman gave him a sad smile while shaking her head. The menacing tentacles of helplessness crept over him, coming dangerously close to his heart. The look that one of the children gave him, the girl who seemed to be the oldest, did nothing to alleviate his uneasiness. It was a look he knew very well - her eyes still hiding vestiges of childhood innocence, and a glimmer of hope that had not yet vanished altogether. He felt the need to do something to maintain that glimmer for a while. "Are you thirsty?" He offered, as he pulled a bottle of water out of his bag. Before accepting, the girl made sure to have her mother's permission.

"We're looking for my father." Killian was surprised to hear the girl answer, speaking in English, after passing the bottle to the other child, her brother, he supposed.

"How can I help you?"

The girl shrugged, while her lips trembled slightly. He offered her his hand, and the girl tentatively accepted it at first and then clung to it with more force. They didn't have to walk much. Luck had not completely abandoned this town or this family, after all, because in a few minutes a man hurried to them while screaming. Only then did the girl release his hand and run to the one Killian assumed was her father. He contemplated for a moment the family reunion, with a mixture of feelings - relieved, because this family was going to have a new opportunity, but impotent at the same time, because maybe tomorrow they would not have so much luck.

The events of the day had managed to drain all his strength and an extreme tiredness seized him, making it almost impossible to keep walking. Just as he was about to turn around in the direction of his hotel, the man approached him and offered his hand with a small bow in gratitude. He swallowed hard, pressing his lips together in a tight line, feeling shame overtake him. How could this man thank him when all he had done was offer a bottle of water and hold the hand of a little girl? As if that were not enough, the man pointed to the camera, asking him with gestures to take a picture. He had no choice but to accept, nodding in silence as he placed his camera in position and immortalized the bittersweet moment, a family celebrating a reunion amid chaos and destruction.

Just as he started to walk, a whistling sound through the air activated his sense of alert. After so many years in the line of fire, he had learned to recognize these sounds as the prelude to an impact. Instinctively, he threw himself to the ground, protecting the camera against his chest, while his body curled into a ball. The last thought that crossed his mind before everything went black, was that he hoped that the family he had just helped had gone far enough. His death would have been in vain otherwise. Then, nothing.

David Nolan. London, two years ago

"You're scaring me, David, what is it? What's wrong?" His wife knew him well. Although he had tried to maintain a neutral expression, Mary Margaret had only needed a glance at his face to know that the call he had just received did not bring good news.

The words repeated in his mind as a continual reminder, digging a hole in his heart and filling it with guilt and frustration. This should not have happened, he should not have allowed him to be part of this suicidal mission. The news, despite being devastating, had not surprised him. Deep down, he feared that something like this would happen sooner or later, but even so, the idea of confessing it to his wife, weighed like a slab on his shoulders.

David gave her a contrite look as he tried to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat. Somehow, she knew it, because when their gazes met her eyes widened in horror as she put a hand to her chest. "It's Killian, isn't it?" She muttered. David could only nod in silence. "Is he... dead?"

"No, he's alive." David hastened to reassure his wife, approaching her and rubbing both her arms to try to give her some comfort. Once the initial shock was over, he forced himself to bury the thoughts that tormented him and instead focused on the most important thing, bringing Killian back home. "He is alive." David repeated it aloud in an attempt to convince himself. "He's been taken to one of the hospitals, he's safe now. We..." He pressed his lips together before continuing, looking for his wife's gaze. He needed her support here. "He only has us. I have to go, Mary Margaret, and make sure I bring him back." A wave of determination washed over him, as his stomach tightened into knots and his hands curled into fists.

"Sure, of course! Go and bring him back home, David." Her voice sounded almost like a plea, which caused his determination to increase. David nodded firmly, while Mary Margaret’s lips curled into a watery smile. They had already lost too many people in their lives that no matter how hard Killian engaged in that self-destructive spiral, they were not going to let him leave them that easily.

Emma Swan. Boston, fourteen months ago

Maybe it was chance. Maybe it was destiny. The truth was that she was not looking for it, but the name appeared, as if calling her, in bold letters in the middle of the newspaper's job offers page. She wasn't even looking for a new job. She was just bored, in a waiting room, waiting to be seen by her doctor at a routine checkup. The newspaper was the first in a pile on the table in front of her. And that's how she found it. Storybrooke.

Personal Assistant of the Mayor of Storybrooke, job description.

We are looking for a master multi-tasker with excellent communication skills and an upbeat attitude. Candidates should be able to assist management and all visitors to the town hall by handling office tasks, providing polite and professional assistance via phone, mail, and e-mail, and generally being a helpful and positive presence in the workplace. In addition, an absolute dedication will be required for any demand from the mayor. In compensation, we will provide you with adequate accommodation in the town, Storybrooke, and economic reward for any event that involves working more hours than stipulated as usual.

Storybrooke. Her birthplace. And one of the few vestiges that she kept of her origin. A place and a knitted blanket with her name embroidered. And a hole in her heart every time she thought about it.

She knew little of the town, having spent only her first hours of life there. According to the records she still kept, Emma was adopted shortly after her birth and moved to Boston, to the residence of the Swans, which would be her home for the next three years. She had a happy life for three years. Or at least that's what she wanted to think. The truth was that when her adoptive parents died, she was still so small or so shocked by the loss, that any memory of that time was removed from her mind. She kept only a few photos from those years, pictures of a happy, smiling little girl, a person she was unable to identify with.

Her ordeal had begun the moment she entered the system after the death of her adoptive parents, with an incessant march of foster parents to group homes, new foster families, new group homes until finally, when she turned seventeen, she got tired and ran away.

She had never felt the need to return to her birthplace, too busy trying to survive first and then rebuilding her life after serving a sentence in prison for a crime she had not committed. At least that was what she told herself. But sometimes she would ask herself questions that she was afraid to know the answer to. Would her parents still live there? What would the house in which her mother spent her months of pregnancy be like? Would she have a sibling walking the streets of the town? Or maybe Storybrooke was just a fluke? A point on the map where her parents had to stop when the time of her birth arrived? Maybe they followed later, moving their lives away from there. Either way, she would never have answers to those questions, because she had no intention of returning there. Never.

That had been her premise for the following years. That name, and with it, her past, hidden in the deepest recesses of her mind, as if that town had never existed. Until just that moment when the word appeared before her eyes, tempting, like the song of a mermaid calling a sailor.

She fell into the net. The old questions, long forgotten, surfaced, while she was unable to look away. Would this be a signal? An indication that the time to return had arrived? A chance to find answers to all those questions?

Her weary mind implored her with silent cries to close the newspaper and leave it on the table again. Her heart, on the other hand, tightened in her chest, while her fingers tingled as they slid through the words.

In the end, her heart was the winner. Despite not possessing any of the required skills — she was just a bail bonds person, looking for people and earning her reward when she found them — she sneakily cut out the newspaper sheet that contained the offer and put it in her purse.

Later, in the shelter of her apartment, Emma forced herself to block any negative thoughts, acting mechanically, while starting a small investigation about Storybrooke, the town hall and its mayor. She also found the job offer on the internet. She only had a brief instant of hesitation, closing her eyes for a moment as her heart pounded hard in her chest. After exhaling deeply, she did not think about it anymore; she filled out the necessary data and almost without realizing it, applied for the job.

After two weeks, when she had almost forgotten about it, she received the call that would change her life. Emma had gotten a job interview. Although she tried to restrain it, a thought settled in her mind - a continual reminder: She was coming home.

Emma Swan. Storybrooke, Present Day - November 4, 2017

The sun was still far from appearing when Emma woke up that Saturday morning, finding her bedroom dimly lit. She snuggled up, seeking shelter between the sheets of her bed as she closed her eyes and let herself be carried away by what the rest of her senses captured.

Cold. The first days of November had brought an almost polar cold, causing her to use two blankets if she wanted to get to sleep. Damn this old building with high ceilings and difficulty to be heated conveniently.

Silence. That was usual in her apartment, since she lived alone. It was also one of the advantages of living in a town as small as Storybrooke. Or maybe that was not so much an advantage as a torture. Under this oppressive silence, her thoughts wandered freely, pressing in an almost constant company.

Because it did not matter where and when, it did not matter that since she returned to Storybrooke, the weight she had always carried over her shoulders had been lightened. Her ghosts from the past were always with her, hovering, as a continual reminder that, no matter how many people were around her, she would always be a lost child. No family or anyone to care about her. You have made friends, her inner voice hastened to remind her. Only acquaintances, no one to trust enough to make the protective walls around her heart disappear. Well, maybe someone, she reminded herself - Ruby, Graham and that little boy, Henry, whom she had clung to as a kind of lifeline that first day here, the day that her life would change.

Emma buried those thoughts in the most hidden corner of her mind. Today was not a day to let her demons torment her. Today was the day when something new and exciting would start. Do not look back, always forward, she repeated her mantra with determination.

Hungry. It was still too early to have breakfast. But the nerves had that effect on her, causing an impulsive craving, a need to ingest any sweet and greasy food. And it was undeniable, Emma was nervous. So freaking nervous.

The nerves had already settled in the pit of her stomach from the moment she had received the camera as a birthday present along with a photography course, although she had managed to keep them at bay by staying as busy as possible during these two weeks. But today, the wait had finished and in a few hours, she would attend the first class of that course so nerves had made their appearance again. She needed a bear claw — or two — and a hot chocolate to try to placate them.

It should not be such a big deal, she tried to convince herself as she crawled out of bed and headed towards the kitchen. It was just a course for amateurs, just a way to learn how to operate the camera and spend an entertaining time every Saturday. She had not even bothered to inquire about the person who would teach that course. According to Ruby, he was a hottie, but considering that Ruby found almost everyone sexy, male or female, that had not worked as motivation.

Who was she kidding? Of course, it was a big deal. Maybe not for others, but for her. For the first time in a long time — ever — she felt that she had the opportunity to learn, to do something that totally motivated her, something she had wanted since she was a little girl and had seen for the first time how a Polaroid camera worked. Photography was the medium she had found to express herself, to shout to the world what she was like - how she felt, how she thought. She believed firmly in the power of the image, in the frozen reality captured in an instant.

Maybe that's why her Instagram account had achieved relative success. Her photos were honest, they showed reality without filters, and also showed everyone who followed her the beauty of the little details. But she needed more. It was as if a pull of creativity wanted to venture outside, but she could not find the channel to express it correctly. That was why this course and the possibilities offered were so important to her. She could not fail, not this time.

Since her social skills were not her most outstanding characteristic, she needed to make at least a good impression on a physical level. After all, despite her numerous insecurities, she could not deny her physical attractiveness and knew how to exploit it in her favor. It had already served her when she worked as a bail bonds person, and although here, in Storybrooke, she no longer needed it, her years of practice were not so easily forgotten. Maybe for that reason she spent more time than necessary in front of the mirror, trying to decide the most appropriate outfit. Finally, she opted for a creamy sweater that fitted perfectly to her curves, tight jeans and her inseparable red leather jacket, her protective shield.

"Dammit!" Emma almost shouted when she realized that she was late, so she hurriedly finished preparing, grabbed her purse and camera and shot out towards the exit, hoping that the traffic, usually quiet in town, did not decide to generate a traffic jam today. Before leaving, though, Emma remembered something.

She placed her camera on the coffee table, making sure that the light was right from that angle, took the phone out of her pocket and, after making the necessary adjustments, she shot.

TheLadySwan I’m starting today a new journey that will take me to know more about this exciting world of photography. During the next twelve weeks I’m going to learn how to use this little gadget. So, what do you say? Join me on this journey?

  Killian Jones. Storybrooke, Present Day - November 4, 2017

Killian woke up the moment the first rays of sun filtered through his window. His years as a war reporter had had that effect on him, his senses were always alert to any change, no matter how subtle it was, he always was prepared to run avoiding danger.

He did not react at first, his mind still dull by the effects of sleep. Little by little, he began to become aware of what awaited him this morning, increasing his desire to go back to sleep and not wake up for at least another five hours. A sigh of frustration escaped his mouth as he run his hand through his hair, mussing it even further. Any motivation to start that bloody course had disappeared almost at the very instant his friend David had suggested the idea.

However, he knew that David was right - he needed to start over. Staying in England kept him too tied to his memories.

Still, he didn’t know if he would be able...

Killian stayed in bed, raising his left arm to look at the scar-covered stump, a continual reminder of how much he lost. Before his world had threatened to collapse once again, he was already aware that most people who lost a limb of their body still continued to feel it for a while. They even suffered real pain caused by the phantom limb. It was not strange to witness these cases when you worked on the battlefield, surrounded by soldiers. But nothing had prepared him to experience it in his own flesh. Even today, two years later, there were times when he felt that strange pain, a continuous reminder of the lost limb that still tormented him in spite of the time elapsed.

To make his situation even more pathetic, he hadn’t yet accepted the prosthesis he was forced to wear - a poor substitute made of metal and plastic, incredibly useless to make him feel anything, his own touch gone forever.

He rubbed his eyes with his right hand in an attempt to eliminate those negative thoughts, or at least keep them under the surface for a while, enough to properly start his new project.

After a deep exhalation, Killian finally decided to get up and start his daily routine, the same one he’d repeated since he arrived at Storybrooke four weeks ago.

Meanwhile, he did not stop thinking about what he might find this morning when he started classes. He knew, from his previous experiences, that most of the students who attended this type of courses did so to learn how to handle a complex camera or simply because they wanted to get the most out of their device to make family portraits or photos of nature. Killian could teach more professional courses, but what really satisfied him was finding a hidden gem in some lost town, someone with as much passion for photography as he had, and who otherwise would not have the ability to exploit or even discover that passion.

He might be the most pessimistic person regarding his own persona, but he did not lose hope in that other regard. He had already found some photographic promise in previous courses and, although he was now in a different country, he was confident to find someone really interested in absorbing all the knowledge that he could offer in this small, almost unknown town on the coast of Maine.

However, as the moment approached, the nervousness began to take hold of him. Killian had barely touched a camera since the attack. In fact, his whole life had been disrupted from that moment on. He was aware that he could continue to take pictures with one hand, especially if he used the prosthesis, but he had always been very demanding with himself, and he felt that his work would not be complete, that something would be always missing, either quickness when handling adjustments or balance to hold the camera or any other situation in which he previously had required the use of both hands. That was why this course was a challenge in terms of being able to transmit to his students what he could no longer do.

The start time of the course was near. Killian took a quick shower hoping that hot water would carry away those negative thoughts.

The shower didn’t work, though, his demons still wandering through his head, so he had to make an effort to try to bury them in the most recondite corner of his brain. That could only be achieved if he kept his mind busy. For that reason, he decided to focus on something as superficial as the clothes he was going to wear, determined to make the best possible impression.

His almost perpetual self-loathe had not yet left him blind, he was aware of his good looks — if he ignored his stump, that is — a resource that he continually exploited to mask his inner turmoil. He decided on tight jeans and a blue henley shirt, matching the color of his eyes. That will work, he thought with ill-concealed vanity.

He kept all the necessary material in his inseparable backpack, his loyal companion, along with his old camera, the two objects that had traveled with him and shared all his experiences of the last few years, vestiges of the past he was not able to detach from.

Before leaving home with his backpack slung over his shoulder, he looked at himself in the hall mirror. He observed his posture and his movements until he got that armor that had worked over the years - the pose of a swaggering and vain dude; a mask of arrogance that hid his inner fears and frustrations. The reflection in the mirror returned a smug smile but at the same time, transmitting the confidence he needed to face this crucial moment. After casting one last glance, he was finally satisfied with his reflection. With a deep breath, he got out his apartment, leaving his inner demons parked and determined, finally, to give opportunity to a fresh start.

Students List

Anna Arendelle

Elsa Arendelle

Tink Bell

Ariel Fisher

Leroy Grump

Archie Hopper

Aurora Prince

Phillip Prince

Will Scarlet

Emma Swan

Robin WoodEleven names. Eleven different people, with different experiences in life. Killian looked again at the list of people who would attend the course while wondering what was behind each of these names. He could have accessed the different files that contained the basic information of each of these people. In fact, Belle, the librarian who would perform the duties of his secretary, had offered him these documents, but he had politely rejected them. He did not want to create any preconceived ideas, preferring that these anonymous people surprised him. But that did not imply that he could not play with their names, assuming the kinship between some of them since some shared the same last name, or guessing their physical appearance, their aspirations... Hopefully, he would be able to put faces to those names shortly, now that the first class was about to start.

Seconds before the door opened, he inhaled deeply, while closing his eyes for a moment, burying any possible negative thought and replacing it instead with determination and the hope of finding a talent hidden among those eleven names. The moment the door opened giving way to the first students, he flashed his most charismatic smile, while his stomach tightened into knots of anticipation.

Unfortunately, his hope was short-lived. Killian only needed a first look at the people sitting in front of him to realize that this time there would be no luck, that no promise of photography would bloom in Storybrooke. At least not in this class. Maybe in the next one, the one with children, he would have more luck.

A sigh of resignation slid between his lips as he forced himself to keep the smile. He got up from the chair and stood in front of them, sitting on the desk, holding the tablet with the list of names with his right hand while leaving the prosthesis resting on the smooth surface, conveniently away from the rest of the eyes. No matter how threatening his inner demons were, Killian always tried to act committed to what he was doing, so, once again he ignored the screams of those demons and focused on his task, making his smile become wider while he displayed all his charm in front of the people who would accompany him every Saturday for the next twelve week

"Hello everyone and welcome to this course. I suppose if all of you signed up, it's because you're interested in photography, so, for the next twelve weeks, we're going to explore that exciting world together." He paused for a moment, making sure that his confident and closed tone managed to keep the attendees' attention. He found some heads nodding - good. "But for that, I need to get to know you, so, what do you think if we make a little introduction?"

His gaze traveled through each of the people, still reluctant to lose hope altogether. He just needed a spark, some hint, however subtle, but he found nothing. Only curious looks, even some boring expression. Still, maybe one of them surprised him with its introduction, although none seemed very willing to start, so to try to make things easier, he introduced himself.

"Oh, but where are my manners? My apologies for not being the first to introduce myself." He made an exaggerated bow, earning some giggles among the female audience. "My name is Killian Jones. I'm a professional photographer and have worked for many years as a press reporter." To his relief, his voice did not even tremble at the mention of his former profession. "Photography is my passion and I hope I can transmit it to you, but for that, I need to know what your aspirations are, so do any of you dare to be the next?"

The students remained silent, looking at each other, something he was already waiting for. He was not going to deny it, in a way, he enjoyed this type of performance, it was as if through the duration of the classes, he was playing a role, putting himself in the shoes of a different character to who he really was. The next step in the representation was to choose a name from the list. "Okay, since I see that you are all so willing to start, I will have to choose." He paused deliberately, looking at the paper as a means to generate even more tension among the nervous students. "Ariel Fisher?"

A redheaded woman, sitting in the front row, raised her hand hesitantly, while the corners of her lips lifted slightly. "Welcome, Ariel." His lips curled into an encouraging smile. "What can you tell us about yourself? Why are you here? What do you hope to achieve in this course?"

For the following minutes, Killian could finally put faces to all those names, while his hopes were fading away. At least they were mostly nice people, so he hoped that the next few weeks would be satisfactory enough on a personal level or at least not just a mere exchange of fake smiles and pretend.

"I like to take pictures of the sea."

"My brothers have forced me to come here."

"We love taking family photos."

"I spend a lot of time in the forest and taking pictures is a way to pass the time."

"I have nothing to do on Saturday mornings"

Those were some of the explanations that he got. Only two of them, the two sisters — Elsa and Anna, seemed to have a minimum of interest. According to their explanation, they worked in an ice cream parlor and wanted to learn how to take photos to create a website for their business. There was no spark, there did not seem to be talent. But it was a beginning.

When he got to the last person on the list, Emma Swan, he looked around, but did not find anyone. This person had not even bothered to appear. Resigned, he was about to cross out the name, when the door suddenly opened, giving way to a swirl of blond curls, a woman who moved with her head bowed while muttering an apology and who sat down quickly in one of the most hidden seats.

Killian cocked his head as he followed all her movements with renewed interest. At least she had brought a good camera with her. That was a good start. The woman, he supposed it would be Emma Swan, held her head down for a few more seconds, until finally, she looked up. His heart skipped a beat when his eyes met with an enigmatic green gaze and, most importantly, with a spark. When she blinked, that spark had vanished but, for a moment, had been there. Not everything was lost after all.

Thanks for reading, let me know what you think. :)

What can we expect for the next chapter? We will learn more about Emma's backstory and we will also know how the first class develops.

[dreadhaus-literature]

{January Collection} #15

Your City’s Oldest Cemetery

Theme: Tender Tuesday

Something wicked this way comes...

“Have I told you lately that I love you?”

Monica resisted the urge to roll her eyes, but she was helpless against the smile that blossomed on her lips. “That’s a song, Dot, not some cutesy line you can use to win me over.”

“The fact that it’s a song doesn’t make it any less meaningful, love, especially if I call every radio station in Gotham and dedicate said song to you.”

“Please don’t do that. I promise I’m not upset at you.”

Monica glanced up at the cemetery’s iron wrought gates as they swung open, heralding her arrival to no one, as waking the dead was only a game children and teens played on Halloween. Considering it was January in Gotham City, the snow made the graveyard even colder than it stood to be on a good day, and made Monica rethink her previous statement.

Of course, she wasn’t actually mad at her girlfriend. This is what you do when you love someone, you do favors for them when they ask--or in Dot’s case, beg, because her girlfriend’s mortuary was teeming with bodies and the Mortician was swamped. Gotham was the seedier sister city of the shining Metropolis and it showed, even if one only took Dot’s Mortuary’s booming business as an indication. “It’s a morbid thing, to brag about our successful business in death,” Dot had once joked at a benefit gala the two had attended. “But hey, if the casket fits.” The casket was fitting a lot of hosts lately, all shapes and sizes, but thankfully Monica wasn’t transporting any bodies, today. Dot usually kept her away from that side of the business--not because Monica couldn’t handle it, but because Dot was overprotective. Even today, the haul was more of the same, and Dot was insistent that would never change.

“You’re Broadway’s biggest star, how could I possibly have you carting bodies around? Your fans would have me killed, and then you’d be transporting my body. No, this is just a simple headstone drop-off and flower deposit. I just need you to supervise the assistants while they do it.”

Monica shifted the phone, glancing around the SUV at the assistants that were currently with her while Dot half-sang the song dedication in her ear. The one across the backseat from her smiled politely at her. They all seemed so business-as-usual but Monica could appreciate that--she also appreciated they all treated her with reverence and respect, and not just because she was the Boss’s Girlfriend, but because she’d more than earned her own merit. Dot hadn’t been exaggerating, even if Monica was too polite to lead with the truth. She was the biggest star on Gotham’s Broadway; her name had been lighting up the street for months now, headlining Royal Truths: Betrayal, which was actually the second installment of the Royal Truths series. Monica had been a breakout star in the original Royal Truths and a natural headliner when the second act was ready to debut. Heralded as Gotham’s “Golden Voiced Siren,” Monica was beloved for her haunting voice and her classic beauty, and her off-stage pin-up look was sweeping Gotham so that fashion magazines were calling her manager all hours of the day trying to get the scoop on what her next new trend would be. It might seem a little beneath her to be managing Mortuary business, but Monica didn’t mind doing favors for her girlfriend, and Dot was always incredibly grateful for the help.

The sun was dipping beneath the horizon but Winter was solely to blame for that, the hour wasn’t late at all. Monica didn’t mind, however; she didn’t have rehearsal tonight and Dot had promised a nice, home-cooked meal in exchange for this little favor. The two rarely were able to eat at home, what with a Mortuary to run and Monica lighting up the night with her 5-star performances, so it was something both women were looking forward to. Really all that stood between Monica and their high-rise penthouse was this final task and it made her that much more eager to get it done and over with. She answered Dot a little absently as the SUV took a slow turn and then coasted to a stop, the driver shifting to park and the assistants immediately began to exit the vehicle.

“Oh, I think we’re here, baby, so I’m going to go, so I can get this done and then meet you at home.”

“Okay! Be safe, please, and text me when you’re on your way. I’ll see you at home.”

Monica smiled as she nodded. “Be safe getting home.”

“Always.”

Monica’s manicured nail tapped to end the call and as she was lowering her phone, she met one of the assistant’s gazes as he opened the back hatch of the SUV.

“We shouldn’t take too long, ma’am. You don’t need to get out of the truck unless you’d like to.”

“Thank you, Orlando,” Monica shifted, but another assistant was already there, opening the door for her. The second SUV in the convoy had arrived and the assistants were already exiting it, beginning their tasks--just as eager to get home as Monica was. “And thank you, Ian,” Monica added with a smile as she stepped from the SUV. Ian pushed the door closed with a smile and a nod, before moving to help Orlando get the floral arrangements out of the truck. “Do you have a lot to do?” Monica came around the side of the truck, watching the two men heft a large floral wreath from the trunk.

“No,” Ian shook his blond head. “Just a few set-ups, it shouldn’t take us more than fifteen minutes?”

“Eh, let’s make it a half hour,” Orlando corrected. “If we rush, Ms. Dreadful will make us come back. And if Ms. Dreadful makes us come back--”

“Ain’t nobody gonna be happy.”

Monica couldn’t help but laugh as every single assistant answered all at the same time, their joint reply all aimed at Orlando. Monica knew him to be one of the senior assistants who had been with the Mortuary for a long time, so he had seniority and rank, but he wasn’t over-bearing about it. He couldn’t even help the good-natured laugh at his own expense.

“Yeah, yeah, so move your asses but do it right, please.”

Monica’s sole role was simply being present to make any managerial decisions in Dot’s place should anything last minute arise, but normally those sorts of emergencies were few and far between, and it didn’t take more than a few minutes of supervising for Monica to tell this was going to be another routine evening. The assistants knew what to do, they were paid well enough to do it right, and Monica went from scrolling through her phone, sitting on the truck’s open back hatch, to glancing around Grimwood Cemetery. Unlike Gotham Cemetery, which was across the city, Grimwood became the resting place for the majority of the population. It was a little classist, sure, but there was an unspoken yet routinely followed rule that anyone of note was buried in Gotham Cemetery--the Wayne family, for example--whereas every day, normal people found themselves in Grimwood. Monica didn’t bat an eye at the difference between the two cemeteries, mostly because she knew she’d cemented herself so firmly in Gotham’s history that she could pick out a plot in Gotham Cemetery now and no one would bat an eye at it.

It was a common misconception that Gotham Cemetery was older than Grimwood, but in reality, bodies had just been relocated out of Grimwood to what is the new Gotham Cemetery. It’s a pretty well-kept secret, that Grimwood was once Gotham Cemetery, but was rebranded a half-century previous, the important bodies all moved, and people began speaking of “Gotham” as Grimwood.

“Gotham Cemetery? Oh, you mean Grimwood. Gotham’s on the other side.”

No, you had it right the first time, but that’s the thing about lies and secrets--you tell them enough, you’ll believe anything. Monica only knew because Dot was “in-the-know”, and Monica had to admit she got a good laugh anytime any of the “new money” of Gotham tried to put on airs about plots in Gotham Cemetery without knowing the truth behind the lie. Yes, Gotham Cemetery is important, now, but the fact of the matter is--

There’s still important, old parts of Grimwood that Monica would argue are worth far more than any plot in Gotham Cemetery. It’s where she found herself out of boredom, designer boots crunching through snow as she wound her way down the path between mausoleums and tombstones, idly wondering at the names etched into marble and stone. The further she went, the more distant the working assistants became, but she didn’t worry too awful much about them. She wasn’t here to baby-sit, after all, and she had her phone if they needed to call her for an emergency. It also spoke for itself that the further she went, the more timeworn and difficult to read the headstones became. The path took a steep curve down and she passed through a fence with no gate, simply an archway, but the grave markers beyond this point seemed kissed by Father Time himself.

This was Old Grimwood, graves from centuries ago, and despite the serenity of the snow, the silence was deafening and the air seemed just a little more crisp, here. Monica was overly aware of the crunch of her boots as she took in the scenery, from the barren, twisted trees curving and winding over her head, to the shadows from the path lights that danced through the twinkling snow banks. Some of the tombstones here were so old they were destroyed, collapsed onto their grave like the dust in the coffins beneath the earth. Graveyards are not known for the living, but Monica truly felt the dead space, here. It was...oddly comforting, the stark silence, the barren banks of snow and dead flora, even the bite of wind. It may seem, to some, a strange place to find inspiration, but Monica was tempted to sing, to harmonize using the quiet air as her orchestra. She quelled the urge, but couldn’t stop herself from humming all the same, reaching out to touch a frozen mausoleum door as she went. Her voice carried on the frozen wind, the dulcet tone a caress that some won’t have felt for centuries.

Not everything is dead in Old Grimwood. Some things just need a reason to rise.

The sound initially sounded, to Monica, like ice cracking. She stopped dead in her tracks, wondering at the echoing sound. It reverberated off the surrounding mausoleums and the solid tree trunks, the wind howling it’s displeasure at the macabre turn of events in a place where everything should be quiet, still, dead. The twilight sky darkened, and for one terrible moment Monica felt a shiver of fear from some unknown source, her instincts sounding warning bells that something was wrong. She held her breath as she glanced to her left and then her right, but there was nothing--the echoing was throwing her, warping her sense of direction and she realized too late the sound was coming from behind her. From the direction she’d come and as she slowly turned to look over her shoulder, she felt the air slam out of her lungs as the earth heaved and rolled a few feet behind her. What was happening?! For the first time in her life, Monica understood why some horror movie heroines stand, frozen in terror, uncertain what to do when faced with something otherwordly for the first time. The earth buckled, then seemed to cave into itself, bowing the headstone that rested at the top of the marked grave.

Cyrus Gold 18??-1895 Born on a Monday.

Monica could barely make out what it said, the stone looked so worn and old, and her terrified gaze was soon ripped from the stone entirely as electricity seemed to skitter across the frozen earth and snow--before a plume of dirt shot skyward. In the quiet of the graveyard it seemed deafening, but the silence that followed was even louder. Monica was rooted to the spot, uncertain what to do in a situation such as this. To get back to where she’d come, to the safety of the assistants and the sanity of normality, she’d have to run past an open grave...that had opened itself.

“What the hell even is Gotham City,” Monica muttered to herself as she folded her arms over her chest “It’s not wonder even my grandfather keeps asking me to move.”

She’d thought talking to herself would break the awful silence and she’d feel comfortable enough to move, but it seemed her voice did something else--it spurred someone else to move, and a guttural groan echoed out of the freshly opened grave. The sound was deep and low, rumbling up Monica’s boots as she took a frightened step back.

Oh...no, there’s absolutely no way in hell...Zombies aren’t real, right? Sure, Monica loved the zombies from horror movies and video games, and she could tout the title Queen of the Zombies like nobody’s business. Her Zombie Pin-Up from last Halloween’s Gala had been the top hash-tag in Gotham City for two weeks. But this? This was real life, this was happening, and she didn’t know how to feel about it.

A hand larger than she’d ever seen shot out of the open grave and slammed down on the frozen snow with such force Monica nearly fell over. She could only watch with wide, terrified eyes as a hulking behemoth of a man dragged himself from the split in the earth. The creature’s suit was in tatters, the white button-up missing entirely, likely rotted away, and revealing a physique and height any normal man would be wise to envy. He didn’t look rotted, but his skin had a disturbing pallor to it all the same. As he struggled to gain control of his motor skills, Monica watched silently as his bones creaked and cracked into place, putting him at over seven feet tall. He was flesh and blood, with the veins and muscle mass to prove it. As he straightened up, his eyes opened and she was greeted with milky white, but for some reason she just knew he could see her. She felt nailed to the ground, rooted to the spot as he sized her up, his silver-white hair neglected and hanging in uneven strands below his prominent brow bone. This...creature’s bone structure was something to envy, all square-cut and masculine, and Monica felt her heart drop into the center of her stomach as he took a single step toward her.

“Speak.”

Monica flinched as if he’d yelled at her, but he hadn’t. She wasn’t prepared for that voice. It was deep and commanding, as if time-tested and unafraid of even death. The creature followed his first step with a second as he waited for her to do what he said. When she didn’t, he raised his voice and tried again.

“Speak!”

“W-What?! What the h-hell are you asking me?” Monica cried, clutching the neck of her jacket defensively, but she’d done what he wanted and his entire body seemed to shudder as her voice washed over him. He actually staggered, but kept upright, and took another step toward her. Monica took one back. “W-What...What a-are you?”

“Solomon Grundy.”

Monica didn’t know if he was actually answering her or if that was just...him talking. Was she actually conversing with...with a real life zombie?

Unbeknownst to her, Monica’s inner turmoil, confusion, and fear was providing exactly what Solomon needed as he willed his new body to move faster, to close the distance between them quickly. He hadn’t been expecting this but when one’s experienced death, one learns to adapt quickly. He’d been sleeping so peacefully, soaking up the nutrients the earth had to offer so that he might one day rise again, but in a single instant the chord from her voice had rejuvenated him in his entirety. Solomon was whole--he didn’t need weeks, months, years in stasis. This woman had done it in an instant. Solomon didn’t understand how or why but he didn’t need to. He was a man of simple things, now, and what he understood, simply, was that she had done it. Had she done it on purpose? He didn’t know. He didn’t care. She’d done it, and that meant something. What did it mean? He didn’t know. He didn’t care. It didn’t matter because a zombie only cares about one thing--

It’s baser instincts and needs.

What he needed was right in front of him. He staggered, lurched toward her like a man grasping at the edges of his grave but Solomon has been there, done that, and it didn’t matter where this beautiful woman went, he was a zombie. Zombies are relentless. He would find her, track her down, and break her for daring to run from him--but she wasn’t running. No, she was staying, standing, staring up at him with fear in her eyes but all Solomon could see was beauty. It was akin to Hades falling for Persephone, the beautiful flower growing in Death’s palm, and he was all too aware of how breakable, how fragile, how small she was. A tiny miracle, a winter rose blooming between the ice cracks. Solomon was a simple man, these days. Zombies only want what they need and Solomon knew in an instant what he needed. A normal man night brood, or question what he was feeling, but Solomon didn’t need to. And he didn’t much care if Monica would need time to come to terms with what he already needed.

Her.

“P-Please, d-don’t,” Monica stammered as the creature drew up before her, realizing far too late she should have run but honestly, would her legs have carried her? She didn’t know; they felt like buckling, now.

Solomon didn’t speak, not at first. He lifted one hand, his palm alone larger than Monica’s face. His muscles seemed to strain with the need to be gentle, but Monica was all too aware of the crushing power behind that giant hand. She flinched as he touched her, made a noise that he felt straight to his curiously beating heart. He was cupping her cheek, his skin like frozen stone against hers.

“Your name.”

Monica swallowed thickly, but couldn’t get past the lump in her throat. She tried to shy away from his hand, but Solomon’s rumbling growl stopped her from moving any further way from him, and he repeated his demand, sharp and heavy like a timeworn stone.

“M-Monica.”

“Monica.”

Solomon tested the name with his tongue and found it sweet; it lingered like wine and reminded him of the warmth of sun upon his dead skin. His eyes actually closed and there was that curious shudder in his hulking frame, as if he couldn’t handle anything to do with her. With Monica.

“Solomon Grundy.” Solomon patted his chest with his other hand, and Monica couldn’t believe she was...having a conversation with a zombie in Gotham’s oldest cemetery.

“N-Nice...to meet you, Solomon.” She didn’t know what else to say, but could tell immediately that disrespecting Solomon wouldn’t be wise. His body posture seemed to both relax and yet tense at her words, as if he loved what she said but couldn’t take how sweet her voice was.

“Again.”

“W-What?”

“Say name again!”

Monica repeated his name, and Solomon’s brutish fingers tightened, crushing the silk of her hair between his dead digits. He hadn’t meant to startle her by raising his voice but he’d grown desperate in that instant, to cling to the feeling of her saying his name. She had such a sweet voice, he could hardly take it, much like an addict craves just one more potent hit. She’d somehow completed him, made him whole, and her voice was the key to his heart, her touch would be what sustained him, her body would be what gave him life. Solomon’s impossibly broad shoulders hunched and blocked out the icy wind as he curved protectively, possessively around his new woman.

“Mine.”

Monica instinctively began to shake her head.

“Monica mine.”

Solomon ground out his demand so close to Monica’s cheek she flinched and tried to shrink away from him but there was nowhere to go. She could only tremble helplessly as Solomon’s arms closed around her, his bone-crushing fingers shaking as he tried to be gentle but she knew, she just knew if she pushed he wouldn’t be.

When Monica fell still in his embrace, Solomon smiled. It was more a baring of teeth, but the Zombie had time to learn how to smile like a man, again. He had a reason, like the sailors of long-lost seas who chased sirens in the dark. Solomon may be a simple man but he’s a man who knows what he wants. What he needs.

Monica.

And she’ll need him back, in time. The Beauty always needs her Beast.

[saras-almanac]

Plotting and Storytelling in the baby storyline on Emmerdale

I am literally just getting into this fandom so take whatever I say with a grain of salt--as in I spent the better part of last week watching Robert and Aaron’s entire story just to get to this point so I could make an informed decision. Now, I might not have watched before this, but I was a fan in the wings of these two for a while now because of people I follow on tumblr. I saw when they got engaged, married, and when Aaron was arrested. I was there when it fell apart when Robert cheated and I was there when it was revealed that Rebecca was pregnant. However, the true siren’s call didn’t arise until the debate over Rebecca’s victimhood and the character 180’s that had been happening on the show started popping up. Like a creature from the swamp I rose from the depths and am now fully immersed in this show and these characters.

I also completely understand where the frustration is among fans over the show’s treatment of Rebecca and how many characters seem to be fluctuating wildly from one extreme to another.

Honestly, this entire debate stems from one thing:  the showrunner’s desire to have Rebecca stick around for as long as possible. Maybe they haven’t said this yet, but it’s so clearly an attempt to embed Rebecca so deeply in Robert’s (and by extension, Aaron’s) story so they can’t get rid of her. (Why they couldn’t think of anything else is beyond me. Though this is the show that has literally everyone cheat on someone else because that’s the only way to have drama in your relationships apparently?)

You might be asking yourself, well how can you know that? I promise you it’s not because I know anyone there or have had conversations with anyone. It’s entirely because of the storytelling so far and how backwards it has been.

They need Rebecca to stay around, how? Get her with Robert. But how can she stick around after that? If she’s pregnant with Robert’s baby. How can we do that? Robert has to cheat but we don’t want Rebecca to come off looking bad. So what if Robert and Aaron have a fight that causes Robert to seek her out. Rebecca can turn him down (halfheartedly) and then immediately go along with having sex with a drunken miserable and sad man (Great choice team! What is consent if not Robert saying yes and immediately passing out anyways?). How do we have this fight be worse than the rest? Aaron cannot come to find him and the fight can’t be about Rebecca. So we need to get Aaron out of the picture--Prison. Obviously. It’s perfect. So while Aaron’s in prison he starts doing drugs and then him and Robert have it out and then Robert leaves and goes to find Rebecca. So far it’s perfect, team. So how does Aaron get in prison? He’s still on a suspended sentence so he attacks someone? After getting into a fight with Robert?

Brilliant team. We figured it all out. We are geniuses.

I’m not saying it happened that way, but it’s exactly how it feels because of how the show has started treating Rebecca and how everyone around her is acting.

First of all, the Saint Rebecca stuff is getting irritating. I’m not here to blame only Rebecca, but the show is consistently treating her like a victim that Robert did something too but that’s not the case. Not really.

From the start, Rebecca was someone who was desperately interested in Robert and wanted him back. She consistently flirted with him and kept trying to lure him away from Aaron, which didn’t work because Robert loves Aaron more than anything. But it didn’t stop her from trying, constantly. Enough that Chas tells her off and Robert tells her off and so does Aaron. But it doesn’t really stop Rebecca; she just changes her tactics by including Robert in all her business deals--like he doesn’t have two other businesses to be worrying about. She kept showing up “last minute” for all these deals and meetings she wasn’t prepared for to beg Robert to help her.

Overall not a horrible strategy because it gave her and Robert time alone and helped fuel Aaron’s insecurity and jealousy because Robert wasn’t allowing anything to happen. (But I firmly believe Rebecca was just sort of lying in wait. It’s her attitude toward Aaron that makes me think that but that’s not what this post is about)

Cut to the night of the Incident where she’s with Ross at the pub. She overhears Adam tell Vic that Robert’s in a state and drinking an entire bottle of whiskey by himself. Rebecca looks like she was already plotting her escape and then Robert’s text comes through and she drops everything to go and be with him. She sees the state he’s in and what he’s done to the room and decides she’s going to “help” Robert.

Yes, initially she rebuffs his advances because even if they are separated, she says that Robert still loves Aaron and says that they’ll work it out. But that resolve lasts all of like three minutes. Maybe five. So it seems like she just said those words to cover her back and making it seem like she had put up an effort against Robert. If she actually believed those words, she wouldn’t have slept with Robert knowing that it would hurt all of them (Aaron, Robert, and herself) in the morning.

On top of all of that is the issue of consent:  Could Robert who drank almost an entire bottle of whiskey (I think it was whiskey. If not, sorry) by himself and admitted to having passed out at some point really consent at all. 

After this moment, Rebecca is The Victim of Robert. And everyone treats her as one. Honestly the only person who actually gives Rebecca a bit of the blame is Chas.

Again, I’m not saying she’s evil, but she clearly knew what she was doing. She wanted Robert badly enough that she had unprotected sex with a married man who was so drunk he passed out during or right after sex. She made a choice and I wish the show would just let her own it.

Yes, Robert “lied” to her and used her, but as Chas said, she let him. My belief is that Robert had already made up his mind to go through with it as a punishment for both himself and Aaron and knew that Rebecca still wanted him and would let it happen. It’s why he drank the bottle before calling her. But that might be a whole other post.

This bleeds into the second part of this post:  how everyone around Rebecca is reacting. It’s completely against Robert. Full disclosure, I love Robert. God he’s done horrible things and has almost the worst judgement and can be so cruel, but I still love him. But I really don’t think it’s fair that everyone in the village, including Robert, keeps treating Rebecca like some innocent victim.

Yes, Robert lied to her. Yes, Robert used her. Yes, he knew what he was doing. But so did she! She went there after hearing how upset Robert was after his visit with Aaron and knowing that he had a whole bottle with him. She went through with it even after seeing how upset and drunk he was. This wasn’t a case of manipulative Robert so much as it was a heartbroken Robert who was desperate to sort of “even the playing field” against Aaron in some way and he had to get completely drunk to do it.

Then there’s Vic who… I don’t know what’s happened to Vic lately. Maybe she changed her personality when her and Adam broke up because this makes like next to no sense? So Vic, who’s been Robert’s support and judge in equal measure has nothing to say about the fact he slept with someone other than Aaron right after she split from her own husband for drunkenly kissing another girl? I know the situations are different, but she hasn’t even said anything at all about it. Not to Robert nor to Aaron, her (ex)husband’s best friend who she also claims to care for.

Not anymore because the only person Vic seems to care about is Rebecca and the baby. To the point that she shows up and tells Aaron that he needs to convince Robert to be apart of the baby’s and the woman-Robert-cheated-on-him-with’s life. That’s a lot to ask of anyone especially someone who’s had insecurity and jealousy issues in the past.

It’s just bizarre to me that no one is making Rebecca take any of the blame at all. But again, that boils down to the showrunner and his desperation to keep Rebecca around bathed in her golden halo. (Literally the only way this could have happened is if Robert was stone-cold sober as he was feeding lies to Rebecca while Aaron wasn’t in jail and not after they’d had a fight because then, yes, Rebecca would have been a victim. Though that’s even less believable than anything else.)

As an aspiring writer, this is a weak plot because you could have done literally anything else. Rebecca gets Robert to sign on with her company full-time which would keep causing Robron drama (not that we really wanted to see more of that). She could have cozied up with Vic and moved in and became a part of that friend-group. She could have convinced Charity to sell her half of the pub or a bit of it and started working there with everyone else to really shake things up--especially if it was before Aaron and Robert moved out. Her and Diane could have started a friendship and started traveling a bit together. The possibilities are endless as ways to keep her around that doesn’t include this garbage storyline that has zero bearing on anything.

The thing that frustrates me the most is how much potential everything had. Aaron’s storyline in prison and his ultimate recovery and reintegration back into his life was all for nothing because we’ll never bring it up again (I assume). Robert’s self-destructive tendency and break-down that we’ll ignore because Robert’s a cheater. Hell, even Rebecca’s goal in the entire thing could have been so much more interesting if she had either gone full soap villain and been like yeah I was waiting for this moment from the beginning, Who do you think convinced Finn calling the police would be a the best thing he could do for Kasim? Or even just played it straight:  You wanted this just as badly as I did that night; you literally called me so it’s not my fault that you messed up your own marriage (This one might a little more difficult to figure out because Robert was drunk). But hopefully you get my point.

This entire storyline feels under-developed because all they ever wanted was to be here, at  this point and in this moment, without any real thought of what happens now or what happened to get up to this point. And maybe I could be wrong about all of this and they have something up their sleeves, but I just...highly doubt it.

[bloodandcream]

Title: as you are Pairing: CastielxMegxRuby Rating: General Wordcount: 2,381 Notes: I cannot find the original tumblr post but this is a complete rip-off of the suggestion that asexuals are immune to sirens and the subsequent rebuke that maybe sirens lure asexuals with songs about food because it’s just about what your heart desires most right, so ya, Ace Cas and Sirens Meg and Ruby Square: Mermaids/Selkies Aus (or sirens? Sirens are good too right… aquatic monster au?)

-

They could feel it in the depths long before it came, disturbing the tides as it steered through the waters. They could feel the slap of oars rippling through the waters and it called them to the surface. Several staid below, to lay in wait, and several breached the churning frothy water that beat around the dangerous rocks of the small island’s eastward cliffs. The scattering of clouds moving across the sky overhead provided erratic shade, but even a little sun was harsh to delicate pale skin.

Tossing matted braids over her shoulder, Meg heaved herself up onto one of the coarse jagged rocks, minding the delicate webbing between her fingers, wrapping her powerful scaled tail around it to lift up onto a perch where she could sprawl, breasts bared to the wind as she turned towards the approaching dot on the horizon.

Men were coming in their long wooden vessels that skimmed over waters they had no business invading.

The sirens next meal was coming.

On the rocks around her, Abaddon and Ruby and Lilith spread themselves like offerings to tempt the sailors. As one voice, their lullaby rose to drift across the winds and pull the men closer by the strings of their hearts.

Meg had been human once, although it was distant now, as if seen through the distortions of thick sea glass. But she remembered some things, she knew what the men heard in their voices. Their siren’s songs were only gentle suggestions, promises that they offered to pluck at what was desired most. Meg knew what men desired of her.

Sirens were born of violent death and the immortality of spite, after all.

As the vessel approached, their voices swelled and grew frenzied, tails beating the white-capped waves crashing against the rocks, hands lifted to reach out to the men and beg them closer.

-

It was a known fact of legend that these waters were infested with mermaids and sirens and selkies and all manner of nasty water monsters eager to lure sailors to their deaths. That is why Castiel was the one chosen to stand watch while the other men plugged their ears with wax and kept their eyes on the oars they worked.

There was wealth in trade and treasure waiting for them, if Castiel could steer the ship through these dangerous waters.

He was confident, and trusted by his men, that the siren song would not affect him. For the tales spread by what few lucky men had escaped disaster - if such tales were to be believed - told of lovely women, bare in the sunlight and clinging to rocks begging for help, who would offer themselves and promises of carnal pleasure, only for the lusts of men to be dashed to pieces against the rocks along with their ships and their bodies.

Castiel was not, however, susceptible to the lures of women, or of anyone for that matter.

It was only the wind, he thought, those first strains of a gentle lullaby, ethereal and sweet that drifted like lazy clouds over the boat. He was merely curious, for there was only a lovely song on the wind. Soon enough, he could see a small island, the curve of a cliff face impossible to approach safely.

Images began to form in his mind, scenes as if from a lively play where he was the only audience in the amphitheatre and the show was entirely for him. It was distracting, certainly, and his natural inclination to sate his curiously was a dangerous thing, but he couldn’t help warily letting the ship drift closer.

The rowers had stopped rowing, listless at their posts. The tides carried the ship forward.

Tearing himself away from the fast approaching sight of uncivil women lain across the rocks, the sharp teeth in their mouths and mossy-dark scales of their tales apparent to Castiel’s gaze as it avoided their bared chests, he moved swiftly from his watch-perch to shake a few rowers from their stupor.

Maybe they were not as clever as they thought, to plug their ears.

-

Meg squinted at the narrow, long ship that drifted towards the cliffs. It did not come in fast and blind, as most did, to crash on the rocks and offer it’s men for meat. There was someone moving frantically on board, and she could just make out rows of men swaying at their oars while the dark haired one ran around trying to call them to action, before he gave up and darted to the front of the ship, hanging off and squinting across the waters at Meg and her sisters.

“What by the skies above is that human doing?”

Abaddon sounded irritated.

“They’re just… drifting.”

Ruby sounded confused.

Meg was both.

She considered diving back into the waters to call the rest of their pod into moving out and tearing the ship apart by their own hands, when a deep voice called out to them.

“You can’t possibly have any lamb stew! Are there even sheep on this island? You’ve got fishes tails instead of legs, you haven’t got any stew!”

The four sirens blinked and looked between them. Meg shrugged her shoulders and slipped into the water, weaving through the currents to the side of the boat. Surging upward, she grabbed the lip of the rail and heaved, hanging half over it and finding a very startled man with eyes as blue as the sky staring at her.

“Stew?” She asked.

“You, you kept promising the best lamb stew I’ve ever tasted, and after so many months at sea with only dried jerky and stale bread, I am not ashamed to admit it was a little tempting.”

He was an attractive man, and Meg certainly wouldn’t mind making a toy of him, before eating him.

“But you could have anything you like of us, you need only come a little closer. My sisters, you see, they cannot swim as well as I. You must come closer, and we will give you more pleasure than you have had in your entire life.”

Lifting up on strong arms, keeping her sharp teeth hidden behind her lips and her tail below the rail, Meg leaned into his space and reached for him.

“I. Uh. No, thank you, that’s very kind of you. But we might have something to trade for food, if you have some?”

“Are you serious?”

“I’m not really interested in… that. That other thing you offered.”

“Is it… men you like? We have brothers, as well, hair like spun gold and mouths that will make you weep, you will want for nothing.”

It was a lie, they had no brothers.

“I, no. Listen, do you have any food or not? This doesn’t seem like a safe place to put in to land, we really should be moving on, I think.”

Meg pouted. She might not get what she wanted out of him, but he was strange and she desired his company. A ‘no’ simply wouldn’t do.

“We can give you fish, and oysters, there are delicious plants that grow in the depths we can offer. Come closer, come let us take care of your men.”

“Oh.” He startled and looked back at the rest of the men, some stirring at their oars and blinking confusedly. “I, that’s right, this isn’t a good idea at all.”

Reaching out to him, Meg grasped his arm and tugged, she’d pull him overboard if she had to. Just one man wouldn’t make a meal for all of them, but she desired him.

“Come with me.”

A hand clapped around her wrist and held her firmly.

“Hold on. Why don’t I take my ship around the island and look for a safe place to land, if you can promise you won’t hurt my men.”

Meg stared at him, mouth open, unable to think of anything at all to say.

“I don’t know if anyone has traded with mermaids before, I’m sure we could both profit from this.”

“We’re sirens, not mermaids.”

“Oh. The tails, I just thought...”

“Why are you immune to our song, anyway? Maybe you are not a man yourself.”

“I am a man! I told you, I simply do not… lust for the things you offer.”

“But you want food from us?”

“Gods above and below, yes.”

---

They could feel it in the depths long before it came, disturbing the tides as it steered through the waters. They could feel the slap of oars rippling through the waters and it called them to the surface.

As Meg breached the surface, she raised a hand to shield her eyes from the sun and peered at the approaching ship. There was a bright white flag hung from it’s rail that fluttered in the wind.

Just on time.

Castiel was a punctual one.

Diving, she called all her sisters to come to the surface. This would not be a fight and feast sort of day. These humans traded. They bartered. If the sirens did not hurt them, then the men were perfectly happy to pass along strange things like sharp forged sticks that were very useful and netted materials that could catch many fish at once, and in exchange the sirens brought them food.

Apparently, it was a long and arduous journey across the waters and food meant much to them.

Swimming around the island to a safer stretch of sandy beaches, the sirens heaved their goods to the shores, some grumbling about the sand getting under their scales, the lack of shade, but Castiel and his men were soon there, bringing shiny baubles and lovely things and dangerous useful things as well as the stammering flirtations some of the men dared to offer.

Meg and Ruby had gathered the tender sweet plants from the depths and the crabs that scuttled in the shallows that they knew Castiel favored, and waited for him a ways from the rest of the group.

“He’s so weird, look at his feet, that must awkward having to walk everywhere like that.” Ruby said.

Meg slapped her tail against the sand, sitting coiled on it in the shallows, sun warmed water lapping up to her belly as the waves rolled.

“It’s funny how their genitals sway between their legs, isn’t it. I liked those tight pants he wore last time.”

Ruby burst into laughter, falling backward across Meg’s lap.

Ruby was her favorite of all their sisters, and although they all shared each other and shared with each other, everyone had favorites.

“Hello.” Was the simple greeting Castiel gave, as he sat down next to them.

Ruby slid off Meg’s lap and curled around Castiel to close him in between them. He didn’t seem to mind at all.

“Here,” Meg dropped the bundle of food in Castiel’s lap, a wet leafy mess.

“Thank you. I have something you might like. Something new.”

“Something new?” Ruby parroted.

Untying a little satchel of goodies, Castiel pulled out a long wooden handle that had many fine teeth.

“Turn around, may I touch your hair?”

Ruby smiled and turned her back to him, leaning against Castiel, sighing with an exaggerated pleasure as he started to work his fingers through her hair, untangling knots and undoing braids. The object he carried looked almost like the bone picks they used to manage their hair, but it was smaller and finer.

Meg watched intently as Castiel worked through the long dark mess of Ruby’s hair, dragging the thing through it again and again and again, then twisted her hair with deft fingers to create a weave of beautiful braids.

“That’s pretty nice handiwork, for a man.” Meg told him.

“Thank you, should I do yours as well?”

“You could get your hands a lot more than my hair if you wanted.”

“Just the hair is fine.”

Twisting around on her tail and leaning against Castiel, Meg closed her eyes to the brightness of the sun and relaxed into the simple, innocent pleasure of Castiel’s fingers and his strange tooth-tool working through her rough hair.

Ruby’s long nails tickled over her belly, and Meg opened her eyes to see her sister draped across Castiel’s lap, tail still twined behind him, bringing her face to rest on the tender spot where skin turned to scale on Meg’s stomach. Ruby had eyes as light and golden as the sun, the better to see with in the deep, shimmering as she pressed a kiss to Meg’s stomach.

“Do we get to keep that pick?” Ruby asked.

“The comb?”

Castiel paused his work, fingers sinking through Meg’s hair to massage her scalp and oh it made the same shivery sensation ripple down her spine into her tail that a fun toy or a good meal could, but he was gentle and sweet and undemanding. How strange.

“It’s called a comb?” Ruby curled an arm around Meg’s waist, Castiel thoroughly trapped between their tails.

“Yes. It’s not a very fancy one, but if you like it, I could bring you more. There are different kinds.”

“Bring me a shiny one,” Meg told him.

It would be seasons before they saw the humans again, but Castiel always held true to his word and brought what was requested.

“I can do that,” he murmured, distracted, tugging at strands of her hair and weaving them into something complicated.

“I wonder if we could find a lamb for you.”

Meg wasn’t entirely sure what a lamb was. She didn’t remember much from being a human, vague emotions and angers, she couldn’t remember what it was like to walk on two legs. Or what, exactly a lamb was. But the contented ease of trust between her, her sister, and Castiel, it felt like something long missing or buried in murky sands.

“Ah, you don’t need to do that. I like the fish you catch.”

“Would a fish stew be good?”

Castiel paused in consideration, “Do you even have anything to cook with?”

Ruby rolled her eyes, “How hard can it be?”

“Don’t worry yourselves about it,” Castiel said, resuming the soothing repetitions of his fingers pulling Meg’s hair this way and that. “I like things just as they are.”

Meg was startled to realize that despite the things she thought she wanted from him, that yes, yes she did like things just as they were.

[wilsonisnotsorry]

Destined

Jake coughed, speckles of red flying past his lips and staining his collar. His body felt heavier, more distant as the only reminder that he was still among the living came in the form of the barrage of arc burns across his back. Saul was there, shouting something as the other Rangers fired from the back of the transport. Everything seemed to slow down, to grow further and further away, while the world faded to black. Jake lidded his eyes, he suddenly felt so very weary ; he remembered the skeletons that had surrounded him in the wreckage when he woke up, would he be another just like them?

This couldn’t be the end, could it?

“I’m out!” cried another ranger, ducking down as another volley of arc bolts battered into the ramshackle armored vehicle, the rusted plates buckling somewhat as the smell of roasting metal filled the air. Saul whipped his head back around to Jake, laid out before him, and noticed that the man had closed his eyes. “Do not die on me brother, not yet.” Saul muttered before he moved to press himself against a barricade, and peak over to unload with his rifle at the Fallen vessels hard in pursuit. The transport rocked wildly to the right, grinding against the canyon wall, sending the remaining eight rangers hard into the floor. Saul sounded off a check, eight voices answered, the only good news the entire day had given him. Above them, Saul could see the brightly painted white sigils of the House of Strife, and Jarath’s personal dropship. They were as far up against the wall as they could get. Saul scrambled to press himself against the back window, sliding it open as the sound of screaming alarms and the slight smell of smoke struck his senses. “Simon! Give me good news bud...” Saul shouted above the chaos, turning to fire off another wild salvo of bullets at the ever oppressive visage of the Fallen ships. “It’s no good Saul! We’re boxed in, canyon leads to a small basin, can’t get the girl up those slopes. If you have some grand plan for getting the Fallen off our asses...now’s the time.” Simon shouted, his beard patchy and balding from the various burns that his station rewarded him with. “I always have a plan, Simon. Just get us to the basin! Try and not crash us!” Simon said, reaching forward to grab the transmitter. “Valen! Valen do you read us? Citadel was a bust, Jake’s with me but we’re being pursued. We could use a little back up here! Valen!?” Simon let go of the transmit, static only rewarding him. “Still got that plan sir?” Simon asked, he tried to hide his grim tone behind a smirk, but his eyes were all wrong. Saul had seen that look many times before in the Badlands. Hopeless. Valen pushed her sparrow’s engine as hard as she could, the sleek dagger like bike gliding across the canyon overlook, making out the shapes of Jarath’s fleet just ahead. She frowned, whistling as her ghost Cipher spoke up. “Yes?” the ghost chirped in her ear, despite being nowhere to be seen. 

“Try and raise Saul on the comms again, tell him we’re coming from behind.” Valen said, her hands squeezing the handles of her sparrow tighter, white knuckling them. “...and then what? “ Cipher inquired, He always was the skeptical one, but for the first time Valen wasn’t annoyed. She wanted him to speak her out of it. She wanted to report back to the City, She wanted to simply wake up from this nightmare and be back in the villages, listening to stories beneath the shadow of the Traveler. However she glanced down at the ghost in her satchel, the luminous pattered white lights and the barely lit eye. It glanced back at her before the ghost’s voice spoke up. “My guardian’s close. I can feel it. Please.” the Ghost pleaded, and Valen turned her gaze back to the carnage ahead. “Then we get back up, Cipher. Just make the call.” Jarath reclined in the Captain’s chair, watching the monitors and their readouts as the transport ahead of them continued to just barely stay out of range. His massive plated gauntlets tented his fingers before him, horned helmet tilting forward in both contemplation and melancholy. Slowly he moved to stand, the Archon at his side slowly backing away as the menacing armored figure approached the monitor. “Why have we not blasted them into ashes, Merassik.” Jarath growled before turning to regard the Archon. “They have speed, but not flight, the chase will continue, until they are trapped. Then you will have your dead.” The Archon hissed out, bowing his head slowly. Dead. Jarath hummed in stoic reaction. He didn’t want more dead supplicants, he had wanted a challenge. Something to ignite the fire inside him again, something to test him. He had thought the blue eyed boy would be that, yet he broke easily. The one they called Jake certainly did not lack courage, simply power. Who after all could match the power of a god? Sirens sounded as the Dregs and Vandals of the ship chattered in their native tongue, moving to various stations as Jarath stared at the monitor, and the end of the track that greeted the transport. “Arrange the ships for bombardment. Tell the Captains to hold their fire until I’ve passed my judgement, then they may do as they please. The Archon nodded, shouting a command to nearby Vandal before the creature turned back to regard Jarath. “You do not wish to hunt by hand?” the Archon barked, Jarath knew enough about the Fallen to know it was some political ploy, a challenge. It was -beneath- him. “Bring me something worthy of your Kell’s personal judgement, and I will lead the hunt. These whelps are mere annoyances. I will make them grovel before they are met with their destiny, like the rest of the herd.” Jarath moved back to his seat, easing back into it while his helmet turned back to watch the monitor. His gauntlets moved, hands squeezing the armrests of his chair slightly. How tiresome life had become, and how disappointing it all seemed. Valen darted across the canyon overlook, drifting below a salvo of Arc bolts before she closed her eyes and shouted. “NOW” She felt the void light envelope her, before she was thrown back into reality. Her body crashing into the bed of the transport as the Rangers all turned their weapons on her. She rolled onto her back, groaning in discomfort before Saul’s voice spoke up. “Weapons down you goons! Calvary’s here.” Saul clambered over, helping Valen up. “I...hope you brought more of you.” Saul muttered quietly before his gaze drifted towards the four ships above, Valen’s gaze joining him. “Hopefully.” Valen admitted, as Fallen speakers blarred above them. It began to ramble off the typical nonsense that Jarath played above Kathmandu about the nature of life, and death, and the purpose of strength. Suddenly her satchel rumbled, the other ghost’s voice chiming in her ear. “Here! I can feel my guardian!” the ghost said, Valen gently scooping the ghost free of the bag. “...I hope so.” Valen then glanced down at Jake and her blood ran cold, the Awoken’s armor tattered and riddled with holes, puckered burn scars of arc bolts pelting his back and torso. She glanced to Saul, who only shook his head. “-Him-.” Then the sky erupted into flames as the vessels fired, drowning all sound, and choking the sky with ash. Streaks of orange raced towards them, and they were helpless to stop it.

He was dreaming again, the ship around him rocking and buckling, the window beside him showing a sea of stars suddenly drowned in orange flames. He felt anxious, his hand darted to the side as the buckling grew more pronounced and rampant. He squeezed at her hand, and turned to the faceless woman. He shouted at her, again and again. “Kelly! I’m right here! We’re going to be ok!” The ship buckled again, the sound of metal tearing, before suddenly a voice echoed back. It seemed so distant, yet suddenly the world began to rush back towards him. The cold void that surrounded his hazed mind flushed away, and suddenly he felt a warmth, radiating forward as the ship was drowned in brilliant white. “I finally found you.”

Jarath lurched forward in his seat as the salvo of missiles struck at the transport, choking it in a sea of smoke and debris. Something felt off however, something had changed. He felt a rush of excitement that drew him to his feet, stalking his way to the monitor. The crew chattered before they all went silent, seeing what Jarath had felt, what he had -known-. Beneath the veil of smoke and raining slag, the dull glow of purple shined through. When the dust began to settle, Jarath could not believe his eyes, or his luck. He grinned with sickly and predatory delight, even as his crew seemed anxious. https://youtu.be/v6btptXqgxM?t=2m18s Valen opened her eyes as the Rangers around her began to exclaim sounds of disbelief. She quickly joined them. Around them the sky was raining the shifting rock and molten rock, however a canopy of void light held the chaos at bay. She slowly turned her head back. Her eyes wide as Jake stood firm, hands outstretched and rigid, feet planted firmly. His luminous blue gaze fixed intently on the ships above them, his face pinched in concentration. Valen could hardly believe what she was witnessing, and before she could speak, the ghost shell she’d found in the ruined temple whirled around, spinning it’s face-plate rapidly in delight. “ I told you we’d find my guardian!” the Ghost exclaimed with delight, before the bright star of the Ghost moved to hover beside Jake’s shoulder. “Valen” Jake said firmly, his hands still holding the barrier steady, gaze never breaking from the ships. “You ready to fight?”

She felt a sudden rush, hands unfastening her rifle’s strap from her shoulder and moving to press the stock against her shoulder. “Always...What’s the plan?”  “Win.”

[shadowbunnydragon]

The Door (Chapter 5)

Here's chapter five you ya! Enjoy!

(The passage is from a poem titled Auguries of Innocence)

"To see a world in a grain of sand, 

and a heaven in a wild flower, 

hold infinity in the palm of your hand, 

and eternity in an hour."

Baily chanted this to himself as he shuffled the deck. Once he was finished shuffling, he started to lay out the cards. He was in a back alley, using a relatively clean cardboard box as a table for his cards. It was almost midnight, and the left side of his face still felt sore. His upper lip had stopped bleeding, but it definitely felt swollen. He finished laying out the cards, and started to read the spread.

"Nothing new in the past...happy days are behind me...once more I am the fool...the chariot? Again?...So I'm about to start a new journey..." Baily mumbled to himself. Most of the time Baily had no one else to talk to, so he just talked to himself. Other times, when people would take the time to speak to him, they would either tell him to get a job, or tell him to get lost.

"Perhaps I just need to move on to somewhere else...?" Baily wondered aloud, trying to discern the meaning of the cards.

CRASH!!!

Baily jumped slightly as he looked back where he had heard the noise come from. Quickly he gathered up all of the cards into the cigar box he kept them in, which he then stuffed into his backpack and started to make his way away from the sound.

He was cautiously limping down an alley when he heard another loud crash, followed by moans.

"Where do you think you're going? Huh?!" he heard a familiar voice shout. Then he started to hear loud thudding sounds, followed by hoots and cheers almost drowning out moans of pain and pleas to stop. Baily started to pick up the pace, trying to get further away from the sounds of violence. He felt a pang of guilt for not trying to help the unfortunate person being beaten right now, but Baily had already had a run in with these punks earlier tonight.

He turned a corner and quickly hid back behind the way he had come. Around the corner were just the people he was trying to avoid. The echoing in the alley having fooled Baily about the origins of the beating. There was a moaning figure on the ground in a tattered series of jackets and a beanie, that they had surrounded and were kicking and beating with bats.

"It's time to clean these streets of all the trash littering it!" the punk leader yelled gleefully as they beat yet another homeless man tonight. Eventually the moaning stopped, and the thuds started to die down.

"That's three down already! Soon the rest of these filthy bums will figure out that we don't want them hanging around here anymore!" the rest of the "pack" laughed loudly at that.

Baily silently started to move slowly back, looking for another alley to duck down as he heard them coming his way. Then he found a narrow space between two buildings, which he quickly took. It was a bit of a tight squeeze, but he was so thin that he managed to barely fit through in just enough time. Baily stopped and stayed motionless while he held his breath when the group of thugs passed by the narrow alley. They didn't seem to notice it as they walked on by. Baily breathed a sigh of relief as he continued down the dark alley. After a few more minutes, he came out onto a street he didn't recognize. A few cars passed, but otherwise it was deserted. Baily hung his head and hoped that the man who had been beaten was okay before he started to limp away.

Eventually he was able to find an oddly clean alley between a bakery and an ice cream shop. Hoping to beg for some day old anything to eat, Baily eased himself down behind a dumpster, pulling a newspaper he had seen peeking out of it out to use as a blanket. He was mindful of his injured leg, and hoped that it would feel at least a little better when he woke up. He used his backpack as a pillow, and was soon snoring. Had he taken the time to try and read the front page of the newspaper, he would have seen New Species Discovered! as the headline.

The next day, back at the hospital...

Eli was sitting up in bed, playing a game of poker with Robbie and Nick, and currently winning.

"Um....is this good?" Eli said as he laid down his cards, showing four aces.

"Come on!" Nick said as he showed his full house, and Robbie a three of a kind. He started to shove the cookies that they were using as betting chips towards Eli, who giggled a little at Nick's display.

"So...is that a yes?" Eli asked, smiling a little as he looked at his large stack of cookies. He brushed some of his light brown hair out of his deep blue eyes, looking at the russet fox and beaver, still hardly believing the world he now found himself in.

"Okay, I'm dealing this time," Nick said while pointedly looking at Robbie.

"Hey don't look at me, this kid's just really lucky!" he said while holding up his paws in surrender.

While Nick grumbled as he started to deal out the cards, there was a quick and excited knock at the door before Judy entered.

"Hey guys! What are you three up to?" she asked.

"Just teaching Eli here how to play poker. Can you believe that he's never played before?" Nick said as he started to deal out the cards.

"Did they have poker on your people's world Eli?" Robbie asked as he pushed a stack of cookies towards the center of the bed.

"Yes, but I never got the chance to play it before," he said as he pushed a stack the same size as Robbie's forward.

"So what's up carrots? You decide to just stop by to check up on Eli here?" Nick asked before he started to mumble under his breath a few choice words about the pair of 2's he had dealt himself.

"Um...well...I actually have some news...something very important that Eli needs to hear..." she trailed off. The three males looked up at that, and Nick and Robbie took the hint.

"You know I got some rounds I gotta be doing real quick," Robbie said as he hurried himself out the door. Nick looked at Judy, then sighed as he went over and told Eli he would be right outside. He closed the door behind him, leaving Eli and Judy alone together. Judy sat on the edge of the bed, and took a moment to find the right words about what she was going to say.

"Am I in trouble?" Eli asked, catching Judy by surprise as she looked up to see worry in the boy's face.

"Of course not sweetie," she said  with a smile while mentally she chastised herself for not thinking out what she had to tell him on the way over.

"There's just something that's really important that we need to talk about. It's about your living arrangements, for when you can leave the hospital in a few days."

"Oh...so...am I going to an orphanage?" he asked a little dejectedly. Hearing the sadness in his voice almost broke Judy's heart.

"Not...if you don't want to..." she said slightly nervously, her ears drooping a little.

"What do you mean?" Eli asked confusedly.

Judy steeled herself, and then spoke. "I have filled out all of the proper paperwork to become your legal guardian." She let what she just said sink in.

"You mean...I could go and stay with you?" he asked, not sure he had heard her correctly.

"Yes...if you would want to. I don't want you to feel pressured to jus-" she was cut off as Eli suddenly hugged her. Surprised, she looked up to see him smiling with tears coming down his closed eyes, his shoulders shaking as he let out a sob. Judy smiled as just hugged him back.

"I told you things were going to be different sweetie, and I meant it," she said as they continued to hug, Eli's tears slowing as he got his breathing under control.

"I really don't have to go to another orphanage or foster home?" he asked, a little fear creeping into his voice.

"Nope!" Judy said perking up immediately. "You're going to be coming home with me!"

"But, Nick said that your apartment was really tiny. Won't I take up a lot of space?" he asked.

"I'm gonna kill Nick," she mumbled under her breath. "Of course not! I actually moved into a much bigger place about a week ago, and I haven't told him yet. And even if I was still living in that apartment with the really thin walls, there would always have been room for you!" She said firmly, making Eli smile.

"Thank you Judy...thank you.," he said, wiping his eyes.

"Now, let's call Nick back in here and see how he reacts. I'll bet you that he's going to be so surprised his tail is going to bush out!" Judy said, lowering her voice in a conspiratorial whisper.

"Really?" Eli said giggling a little at the thought.

"Oh yeah, I'll go call him back in," Judy said, turning to go to the door.

Back in the alley...

Baily had been sleeping for most of the day so far. But now he couldn't sleep through the sounds of traffic and crowds of people any longer. He yawned as she stretched, immediately recoiling in on himself when he felt a sharp pain come from his leg. Inspecting it, he found a series of dark bruises all along it.

At least it's not broken, he thought.

Cautiously, he stood up, limping along to the sidewalk. He hadn't taken three steps when he heard a scream. He turned quickly to see a blonde haired pig woman drop a brown paper bag of groceries as she pointed a hoof at him. Baily was stunned by what he was seeing, and assumed that he was hallucinating from the several head injuries he had sustained last night.

"They're real! The creatures are real!" she screeched as she ran down the street, pointing back at him as she ran.

"What?" he asked himself. Then nervously, he started to quickly limp down in the opposite direction. He was going as fast as he could, which wasn't very fast at all. Soon he heard a siren, and started to search frantically for the small alley he had come out of last night.

"Where is it?! I could've sworn that this is where it was?!" he said to himself as a cruiser pulled up. Baily turned to see a rhino and a wolf of some kind step out, both wearing police uniforms.

"They weren't lying Rams," said the wolf to the rhino, a look of amazement on his face. "It really is another one."

"He looks pretty hurt Packer," the rhino said a little troubled. Then he took a step closer, both massive hands extended forward, in a peaceful manner.

"Hey there, can you understand me?" Officer Rams said in a calm and steady voice.

"Yeah...wh-wh-what's going on?" Baily asked, trying not to panic.

"Well...we're not sure...but I promise you that you're not in any danger. You look like you could use some help. How's about we take you to the hospital, and then we move on from there? Sound good buddy?" the rhino asked, retaining the calm and composed voice.

"Uh...um...okay...I...uh...guess so," Baily said, starting to relax a little.

Rams and Packer both smiled at that, until the sound of screeching tires could be heard. All three looked to see several news vans turn a corner and head straight for them.

"Uh-oh!" Packer said, quickly turning back to Baily. "Look, I know that you're freaked out right now, but we really need to get you to a hospital before those media hounds get here and start to film ya. Come on!" he said jumping into the driver's seat and starting the engine. The rhino sighed as he rubbed his temples.

"Please forgive my partner, but he does have a point. Unless you like the idea of getting plastered all over ZNN," he said as he opened a door to the back seat. Baily mulled it over for a bit.

"This is probably just a hallucination...but just in case, I'll go with you guys," he said. He quickly limped over to the open door and climbed in, buckling his seat-belt as Rams got in.

"Let's get outta here!" he said to the wolf, who nodded before peeling out. The cruiser lurched forward as they took off, lights flashing and siren blaring.

"Still think that this is just in your head?" Rams asked while looking back at Baily, who just shrugged.

"By the way, did all of that happen here?"  he asked while still looking at him.

"All what?" Baily asked confused.

The rhino just motioned to the left side of Baily's face through the plexiglas divider. It suddenly dawned on him what the officer was asking him.

"Oh no, this happened...back where I came from." he said.

"Accident?" Rams asked.

"Nope. Just a group of guys who didn't like to see homeless people in their neighborhood," he said simply. The rhino's massive brow furrowed at that.

"I'm sorry to hear that. Don't worry though, you'll get the help you need here," he said.

"Umm...thanks, sir," Baily said now put off by the treatment he was receiving from this cop. That was something he wasn't used to, the current species of said cop notwithstanding.

"You can call me Arnie, and this is Chaz." he said motioning to the wolf who was too busy weaving through traffic to respond.

"I'm Baily...Baily Longmire..." he said, finding it hard to remember the last time he had told someone his full name. As he was thinking, he remembered what Chaz had said earlier.

"Are there more humans here?" he asked, curious.

"Humans? Is that what species you are?" Arnie asked.

"Y-yes," Baily said.

"There's one...he was found a few days ago. A kid. He was in pretty bad shape. But he's doing much better now, I think." Arnies said.

"Really? Huh." Baily said as he sat back. Soon, a giant white building loomed ahead.

"That must be the hospital," Baily said to himself.

"You betcha!" Chaz said as he spun the car in a full 180 before smoothly parking. Arnie was gripping the dashboard so tightly that his hands left impressions in it.

"How many times have I told you not to do that!" he snapped once the engine had been turned off.

"Sorry, force of habit," Chaz said with a casual shrug. Baily had been too distracted by his thoughts to pay any attention to the wolf's driving. He thanked Chaz who held his door open as he limped up the steps towards the front entrance. The two cops escorted him inside, where a panda doctor was about to walk by when he took one look at Baily and stopped dead in his tracks.

"Nurse! I need a wheelchair here!" he called as he went to Baily without any hesitation. Robbie came jogging around the corner, pushing a wheelchair. "Alright where's the fire...another one?" he said as he took one look at the beaten and bruised face of the second, and much taller, human. The much smaller mammal quickly got over it and moved the chair over for him to sit down in, which he nervously complied.

That's two of these humans now...what's going on? he mentally asked himself as he quickly pushed the new patient down the halls.

In Eli's room...

Judy had left to go speak with Eli's doctors, while Nick stayed behind with him. He was still looking a little sour, what with how amusing Eli and Judy had found his reaction to the news, especially when Judy had pointed to his tail and said "See?! I told you it bushes out when he's surprised."

"Are you mad at me Nick?" Eli asked after a moment. Nick whipped around to look at the boy.

"What makes you think that?" the fox asked.

Eli looked away before answering.

"You just seemed mad, and I thought that maybe I had done something," the boy replied.

Nick smiled at the kid, and rested a paw on his shoulder again.

"Of course you didn't do anything. I was just feeling a little self conscious is all." he explained, hoping Eli would perk up. The boy quickly complied with a smile. Just then, Judy walked in excited.

"Guess what!" she said, barely containing her energy.

"What?" Nick and Eli both asked.

"I just spoke with the doctors, who just submitted their official report. ZPD now has it, and I just spoke with the Chief as well, so everything's squared away! Eli, we can go home together as soon as the doctors examine you one more time tomorrow!" she said before she quickly ran up and hugged Eli, and then Nick.

"Wow! Really?" Eli asked, excited.

"Yup!" Judy said, just before Robbie burst in.

"You guys aren't gonna believe what just happened!" he said.

I truly hope that you also enjoyed this chapter as well! Sorry to keep leaving you guys on such cliffhangers.

[theherblifeblog]

4 Embarrassing/Enlightening/Emotional Lessons I Learned as a Woman in Cannabis in My 20’s

As I sit down to write this essay, I’ve just ended a frenzied five and a half weeks of events, weekly markets, productions days, social media outreach, brand conceptualizing, research and development, and manufacturing crisis management. And you wouldn’t believe me if I told you the stories, but my company is only four people big. I never expected to get here, and now that I’m firmly planted in the throes of small-business “ganjapreneurship”, I can’t believe I’m actually accomplishing anything. But success? I never doubted I would be successful; I saw my success even from the very beginning of my journey into the Cannabis Industry, when options for women in the space were limited to cleaning up, trimming, looking pretty, or belonging to someone else. It seems we were meant to keep everything neat and tidy, and you know what? We really did just that. We held it together. We kept the gears greased. Still, I felt trapped in this neo-colonial, gender-normative hippie spider web that had me spinning from farm to grow to the warehouse and in the end, the money wasn’t satisfying anymore…and there was a lot of money to be made. But I wanted to be the one pulling the strings too. I hit a lot of walls trying to get to the top. I felt defeated; I had my heart broken; I was even homeless for a while. I think every chapter laid a brick in the foundation for what I’m achieving now- a different kind of success. I always wished there was a manual or some kind of preface for those just arriving in the wild west of weed. So on this very special 4/20, I offer you the next best thing: 

Lesson 1- Show up Early, Always Bring Your Own Scissors, Tampons, and Lunch

My second trim job ever…Los Angeles. Downtown. Small room in the back of a busy dispensary, terrible parking situation. A friend of mine invited me to work with her for a guy she’d worked for a few times before. I had trimmed only once prior, after responding to a craigslist ad on a three week visit to the bay area. I worked for a weekend in Eureka and spent the rest of the time crashing on a girlfriend’s couch in Oakland, drinking coffee and chain smoking trim and scissor hash. 

I arrive around nine and realize five other people arrived at six AM and I was already late to the party. Here is where that first part comes in- If you’ve ever worked a trim scene, you know about “cherry picking”. People show up early, start working on the biggest, densest nugs to make fast weight and leave you with the “b” buds and the bottom. Be early! That early bird adage is onto something! Since I came strolling in at nine, my selection of tools was limited as well-Ihad the pleasure of using a pair of left handed scissors…I’m right handed. Bring your own scissors! Bring two pairs and keep one in alcohol while you use the other! Maybe you already knew these tips; maybe I’m not capturing your attention yet. The next part of this story is for you. 

We’re three hours into trim and chill and aunt flo wants in on the fun. Since I’m obviously no girl scout, I did not bring tampons, pads, cups, or anything else I could fashion into a feminine hygiene product. I scanned the room. Dude, dude, dude, dude, dude, dude, my friend. MY FRIEND! Alas, my friend was not a tampon user, merely a “panty liner is enough” kind of lady. I had to take what I could get. Unfortunately, what I could get lasted me about an hour before I had to ask to leave so I could buy some sanitary products. Since I was leaving, I was assigned to get lunch for the crew. It took me about two hours to procure said products and pick up lunch and by the time I got back, I had leaked through my jeans and there was less than a pound left to trim. I wasn’t compensated for my time as assistant so I left that workday with 200 dollars. Everyone else made off with almost triple. Bring your own lunch. Bring your own tampons. Bring anything with you that you might need. Be prepared in any situation and focus on YOUR money, YOUR time, and YOUR success. Don’t volunteer yourself to be the lunch lady.

Lesson 2- Don’t Sleep Your Way to the Top 

Obvious, right? Using your feminine wiles to outsmart your male counterparts is one thing, but giving it up in the name of money is a bit…depreciating. Unfortunately, it’s very easy to get somewhere in the Cannabis Industry with T&A alone. In the end, if you focus on sex to sell yourself, you’re dispensable. I learned the hard way-more than once. I’m not going to share a specific anecdote. I’m going to spare the men involved. But I will say that I’ve been deeply heart broken, physically, emotionally, and mentally abused, sexually harassed, and ripped off by men I got involved with because I wanted to work in Marijuana. I am not saying they are all bad, and there is a fair-share of other women who have hurt me as well on this journey, but I will say, with a lot of conviction, that if you want to become successful in any industry, romantic relationships only serve to complicate and there is no ego in business. If you are just an object of desire, you will be replaced as their success grows and their desires change. You will be taken advantage of if you are vulnerable. Not every time, but most of the time. So be careful. Establish your work separate from your personal relationships and compartmentalize the best you can.  

Lesson 3- Learn, Burn, and Return

When you get to the point in this industry where you move up the ranks, say someone trusts you to run an operation, or you get offered a position to drive or broker, expect mishaps and occasional failure. Don’t give up. Just learn from your mistakes, take a moment to clear your head, and keep going!

A girlfriend of mine told me a tale once from her time as a driver up and down the coast. She was moving hundreds of pounds in a locked truck bed travelling south, when she noticed the lock had malfunctioned and the topper was loose.  Just as she returned her sights to the road, she passed a sheriff’s car. Naturally, when everything can go wrong, it will. He turned on his sirens and began to pull out behind her. She panicked and pulled over and painstakingly waited for him to discover the pot. But he never did, and she felt like she skirted death. She told me she learned something very important that day: The Sh*t will always hit the fan, don’t stand under the fan if you don’t want to get hit with the- you get it.

Don’t expect everything to go right, because when it goes wrong, and it will, you will prematurely panic and give up.

This brings me to my final lesson…

Lesson 4- You Can Do Anything You Want. Don’t Give Up!

Current statistics say that 36% of the Cannabis Industry is owned by women. Only 5.8% of women hold CEO positions at S&P Fortune 500 companies as of April 2017. So you see, the numbers illustrate my point.  The odds are in our favor, especially since 36% is only 15% away from being the majority. For every idea you come up with that you think won’t do well, or has already been done, for every situation that makes you want to run away, there’s an incredible outcome waiting for you further down the road. There’s room at the table for all of us, and you can never be a success without trying first. 

This lesson I only just learned myself, through the process of beginning my company, BathwoRx LA. I’ve figured out that without the experiences leading up to this moment, I wouldn’t have the confidence to try and the gall to persevere, because I know that every challenge is a lesson and with each new opportunity, the work gets easier. As long as you trust your intuition and believe in yourself, the power of the plant will guide you to the place where your dreams come true. So if you are new to this industry, or if you are working your way up to the top, or if you are already at the top and just need to be reminded- take care of yourself, don’t sell yourself short, and be prepared. Don’t expect others to give you a hand out, but ask for help from the people you trust. Work hard. Love yourself. Be true. Eventually, you will be in the place I find myself now, the tipping point between “Was it all worth it?” and “I wouldn’t change a thing”. 

  This essay was written by Stephanie Thompson of BathwoRxLA, an organic infused body care line. Check out the new store here! 

[rickarycolinryan]

Unsuspecting Mess - 1

Rick rubbed his eyes, he’d been at this for hours and the glow of the screen was getting to him.  Four women were dead, four different cases, spread out over the last 2 years.  He’d been over every detail every shred of evidence. He had read every report countless times, and talked to every witness himself.  The cases were similar but not enough to completely link them, and definitely not solve them.  Nothing connected the victims so there were no suspects.  He had to be missing something, or someone.  Something had been over looked.  That was why he kept going over and over everything.

He let out a long sigh. His head bent forward as he rubbed his neck with his fingers his eyes slowly lifted and he looked around the room.  There were a couple of officers at the front who would be here all night, and one detective was at the back making coffee.  There were probably a few others here and there, but most everyone else was gone for the night.  It was late and it had been a quiet day.  Why was he still here?  This seemed to happen to Rick often.  He usually stayed too late.  He quietly stood up, after shutting down the computer and grabbed his suit coat.  He pulled it on covering his holstered weapon as he did.  He headed toward the door.  

“Have a good night, detective Ryan.”

He looked up to see the blond woman at the front desk smiling at him.  Her tone had been a little teasing.  He had known Melissa for years, since high school.  She had been best friends with Rick’s girlfriend back then, and she had even dated Rick’s high school best friend.  He returned her smile.  “Have a good night yourself, Mel.” Giving her a nod and then went right back to walking out of the station.  He knew Melissa had a bit of a crush on him; she had for a long time.  But she worked at the station and there was no way in hell he would ever date someone at work.  

He walked down the street, it was past dusk, the street lights had a low buzz as the hummed with power.   The sound of cars passing and people walking along, the city was alive.  While Rick often delayed his walk home from work, it was still his favorite part of his day.  The morning was a rush, but the evening had a different feel.  This was home.  The smell of the hotdog stand as he walked by, the vender was packing up for the day.  A cab rolled past and splashed the remints of a puddle from an earlier rain storm up onto the side walk, the sound of sirens in the distance, and then honking of cars. Home, the sights, the rhythm, music to his soul, for the moment he let go of the cases he was working on, and he let go of his own problems and he listened to the melody of the world around him.

Before long he was walking up his own street and to the stairs of his very own brownstone.  It was 3 apartments now, though once years ago it had been one big house.  The basement apartment was a widowed woman, Mrs. Jenkins.  She was a bit of a busy body.  She knew everyone in the neighborhood and everything that went on. She was always trying to introduce Rick to one girl or another, wanting to see him settled down with a nice girl. Rick so far had been able to avoid those set ups, much to Mrs. Jenkins disappointment.  The top floor was a young couple.  They kept to themselves.  Rick hardly ever saw them.  But he often heard them through the ceiling.  They’d fight and make up; they’d laugh and talk loudly.  And the sounds of them at night, every night, made Rick feel lonely.  They were in love and it reminded Rick just how far away from love he really was.  

“There you are, Ricky.”

His light eyes dropped to see the older woman looking at him from her window toward the street.  Rick bent down, “Mrs. J…” he nodded and started to move toward the stairs again.

“Hold on there, Ricky. I’ve got something for you.”  

He could hear her rushing for her door and trying to hurry to get to him before he walked up the stairs to the front door.  

“Rick!”  She was on the street now. “So glad I saw you walking past.  Haven’t seen you in a few days now, you work too much young man.” She handed him a Tupperware container.  “I made a roast chicken, with carrots and potatoes.  It’s far too much for one old woman to eat,” pressing the container more firmly into his large hands.

“Oh…wow.” Rick smiled bigger.  “Thanks Mrs. J.” he had learned she would never take no for an answer when it came to food.  She was an amazing cook and honestly he was grateful.  “I was just wondering what I was going to eat tonight.”

She rolled her eyes but her smile went wide.  “I gotta take care of my body guard.”  She had called him that since she had found out he was a detective.  She reached up and pinched his cheek.  “Such a strong young man.” She patted the same cheek she had just pinched.  “…have you met Cynthia?  She moved in two doors down.” Her brows lifted as she smirked.  “A lovely girl.  Really a peach.  I’ll introduce you sometime…maybe Friday?  Are you busy Friday?”

“Oh…uh…” Rick licked his lips.  His eyes went to the left.  “Friday? Friday is no good.  I have a family dinner Friday.  Ma would never forgive me if I missed it.” He lied. Though he could go to his parents place any night and eat.  He’d just have to remember to do that Friday, or stay out Friday so he wouldn’t get hijacked into a date with Cynthia, whoever she was.  

“Oh…that’s too bad. Another time, Ricky.” She nodded.

“Yeah, sure.  I’d like that.” He backed toward the stairs.  “Thanks for the chicken Mrs. J.”

“Yeah yeah.” She waved to him as he was already opening the door to his place.

Rick walked through the nearly empty living room, and into the sparse kitchen.  He set the Tupperware on the counter and opened the lid.  The fragrance of the seasoned poultry made his mouth water. It was still warm and he felt his stomach growl.  He opened the drawer to his right and pulled out a fork.  He started in on the chicken right there at the counter.  Not that there was a better place to eat.  He didn’t own a table.  There was the couch in the living room.  No other place to sit.  The place was actually pretty big, but he had never filled it.  The kitchen had room for a table but living alone he didn’t see the point.  The living room could stand another couch, end tables maybe a chair or two, but Rick only needed one place to sit.  His room had a bed and a dresser.  Nothing more. There was a second bedroom, with nothing in it at all!  He took another bite of the meat and heard the sounds from upstairs.  Muffled voices, they sounded happy tonight.  He couldn’t make up what they were saying just tone and laughter.  They were having dinner together.  He took the chicken and walked out into the living room to avoid the happy sounds.

The sound of his phone ringing from his pocket saved him from his loneliness.  He answered without reading the caller ID.  “Rick Ryan.”

“Hey big brother! Why don’t you get out of that shit whole you live in and meet me at Donavan’s?”  That was the bar near where Erin lived.  Hearing his favorite sister’s voice on the phone made a wide smile come to his face.  He hadn’t seen her in a while, and he had no plans.

 “Why not?  What time?”  

 “NOW.”  Her laughter rang out as she said it.  “I have something I need to talk with you about.”

 Her voice was so bright and happy.  He missed his kid sister.  “I’m on my way, Sis.”  He hadn’t even set his keys down.  He turned around and left again.  His gun still strapped to him in its holster.  Something that was rare when he was off duty.  

 Erin was the youngest of the six Ryan kids.  She was the wild one, the undefined one.  Mary was the oldest, and she was like a second mom, so no one was surprised when she got married right out of high school and now had 3 kids.  Ray was the second oldest, and he had always wanted to get away, get out of the crowded Ryan house away from the busy city.  He became a pilot and did nothing but travel now; he was engaged to a flight attendant going on 2 years never having time to actually have a wedding.  And then there were the twins Betsy and Betty they had married brothers and each had a set of twins.  Betty had girls that were 2 years old and Betsy had boys that were 4.  Rick and Erin were both single.  Rick was the middle child and Erin the baby with 6 years between them; still they had the most in common.  Erin had even lived with Rick for a short time that was until she had met Griffin and moved out to be with him.  Rick just about growled at the thought of Griffin.  He was not good enough for Erin!  Something about Griffin had always bothered Rick; he really didn’t like the guy.  Rick tried not to let it show or to mess up his relationship with his youngest sister, he was always on Erin’s side no matter what.  If she wanted to live with Griffin he would never make her feel badly for it.  Their very Catholic parents did enough of that already.  

 He arrived at the bar and walking in looking for his sister.  It was pretty busy tonight.  He wasn’t a big fan of crowds.  He moved his way through trying to get to the bar, figuring that would be where he’d find her.  

 “Rick!  Over here.”  He turned and saw his little sister coming toward him.  He smiled brightly to her.  Her sweet face beamed back at him.  “Oh my God.  Rickary! I’ve missed you.  I have so much to tell you!”  

Was it just him?  Or was she bouncing?  “What?  What’s up, Erin?”  He wondered if she had a new job again, or maybe she had found yet another lost puppy. He would try his best to be excited for her.

“Well you won’t believe this.”  She suddenly looked very nervous.  Maybe a little scared…almost.  “…but…” She held up her left hand to him to look at.  

He looked at her hand confused for a couple seconds and then his eyes fell on a ring on a rather important finger.  He couldn’t help the anger that hit him hard.  He had always had a gut feeling Griffin was bad news.  Rick had mentioned it to Erin once but had pushed it away when she had begged him to drop it.  From the look of that ring he would be biting his tongue for a long time to come.  Her happiness was the most important thing, if this was what she wanted, he would be happy for her.    He had always hoped she would come to her senses in her own time.  Now, it seemed, he was wrong.  “Sis…”

“I know!”  She grinned and giggled.  She looked behind her to where Griffin sat at a table.  He smiled back looking awfully proud of himself. Rick felt sick.  “He just asked me.  I told him we HAD to tell you first.”

He needed to think about this.  He forced a smile to his face.  “Let me get a round of drinks.”  He was going to ignore the fact that his sister was only 20, at least for tonight. “Go sit down I’ll be right over.”

He moved back toward the bar.  “I need 3 beers.”  He let out a sigh as he said the words.  Feeling like he had just been hit by a truck.  He wasn’t sure if it was the fact he didn’t trust Griffin, or if it was that he didn’t want to watch his younger sister get married.  He frowned and let out a sigh.  

He heard the conversation the bartender was now having with a beautiful brunette as he was pulling the beers out of the cooler for Rick.  He couldn’t help but overhear.  It was obvious the girl didn’t want to be bugged.  She was on the other side of the bar from him.  He could tell right away from her tone she wanted this guy to just back off.  Problem was he wasn’t getting the message he was straight up intruding and flirting. “We went to High School together!” The guy smiled widely and kept right on going.  “You have to remember me!  My name’s Adam.  Come on…I was in a bunch of your classes.  I always had a crush on you…how could anyone not have a crush on you.  Your eyes, smile…” The girl almost smiled but then the moron went on to blow it, “your…” his eyes looked at her chest and widened. The woman’s eyes rolled in disgust.

Rick sighed and rolled his eyes too.  Pathetic. This guy had no clue.  Rick grabbed his beers and walked around the bar to where Bartender Adam was failing miserably.  He set the drinks down and carefully touched the woman in the middle of her back.  He looked down at her with a nice smile.  “I was getting worried, you’re late.”  He winked at her carefully, hoping Adam wouldn’t see.   He hoped the guy would get this hint a little faster.  He could save face now, if he just walked away.  

“I’m late?” she looked confused.  Her big blue eyes looked at Rick’s arm that was around her.  She looked like she was about ready to fight but she eased back when she saw the wink.  “You’re the one that is late.  I’ve been here a while.  You forgot what I look like or something?” She smiled.

Rick kept his light eyes on her blue ones.  He could tell that the bartender was still standing there, perhaps wondering what their relationship was.  If they were friends there’d still be hope for Adam.  “How was your day, hun?”  He leaned a little closer to her and whispered.  “If this doesn’t work…I might have to kiss you.”  He grinned when he said it.  He wouldn’t mind the sacrifice at all.  She was beautiful.  No wonder Adam had always had a crush on her.  She was the type of woman Rick would want to hit on.  But most likely never would.  In a way he was doing that right now.  But in his mind he was trying to rescue her from this awkward situation.

“My day was pure hell! A lady stole my cab this morning. They messed up my coffee at Starbucks AGAIN, and Frank kept calling me Sardine.  What kind of nickname is that?  Am I fishy? Salty?  In a can?  I don’t get it!” She leaned closer to Rick; her hand went up his arm to his shoulder. “Then this guy was staring at my boobs like they are free candy!” She turned to glare at the bartender.

Rick took the cue; he glared at the bartender too.  They watched as Adam took a step back.

Rick looked back at the woman he didn’t know.  His fingers touched her cheek and he pushed her hair back from her face.  “I hope I can make your day better, baby.” He nodded to the table off to the far end of the bar. “My sister and her new fiancé are over there waiting for us.”    

Adam looked like he might be buying this but he wasn’t sure.  Rick sighed inwardly and decided to lay it on a little thicker.  He leaned down and wrapped his arms around.  He hugged her close to him.  “Wow I missed you.”  He whispered in her ear.  “You are more than welcome to join me and my sister for drinks here.  Keep this guy away from you…no strings.”  

“I think I’ll take you up on that.” She whispered back.

He beamed as he looked into her eyes.   “Come on…” His hand slipped down to take hers, his other hand grabbed the 3 long neck bottles holding the tops between his fingers.  He led her across the room, “My name is Rick.  Rick Ryan.” He smiled at her.

“Lucy James.”  

It was all they had time to exchange before they reach the table where Erin was sitting.  

#b)e<