#which is good bc I only have three weeks left to finish everything lol
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
sheliesshattered · 1 year ago
Text
oh yeah
Tumblr media
it's happening
5 notes · View notes
zhouxiangs · 8 months ago
Note
i saw that you're currently reading my stand-in novel but you're not really spoiling anything. how are you finding it so far if i may ask? is it as angsty as people say it is?
(i waited until the end of the day to answer this because as i thought i've already finished the novel, so much for self-restraint lol also sorry this got a bit long... oops?)
i enjoyed it a lot! and it made me get over my reading slump, so i will even excuse it getting into some tropes i'm not particularly fond of at the end. it got cheesy…er, and not even in a way i like. amazingly, that didn't make me like it any less.
from the synopsis of the series and the tags in novel updates (and i only skimmed those because i didn't want to get spoiled) i had a pretty good idea of what the novel was going to be like, which is why i decided not to really liveblog since, transmigration aside, i'd say it's a pretty straightforward story. i could be persuaded to make a recap if there's interest though, since there's still over three weeks left until the series starts airing and i'm probably going to go over everything again and take notes anyway...
and oh, is it angsty! the whole thing hinges on zhou xiang (joe) being a sweet angel baby and yan mingxiu (ming) being a fucking idiot, and it's pretty much what you can expect from any dogblood/makjang with the scum ml, misunderstandings, heartbreak, regrets, etc. i have to say i'm not usually a fan of the misunderstanding trope bc i tend to find it annoying, but as with most tropes i don't particularly enjoy it's because of the way i often see it done. here it was painful for everyone involved, so i really liked it. also, please keep in mind that i'm a huge fan of big character development and characters redeeming themselves, so. there's that. wink wonk. (i've been reading some reviews and think for some people it may be best to know what kind of story this is before going in, other than because of triggers–which, very important if you need them, at least in the novel–because of the whole. scum ml more than anything lol even though yan mingxiu is not that scummy really!)
i love my stories character-driven, so having them being this well fleshed out and compelling was a joy, and being able to see so clearly what both zhou xiang and yan mingxiu were thinking and feeling, sometimes a lot earlier than they themselves could (please bl gods keep at least some of the internal monologue in the series, i am begging), was soooooo ugh. you're supposed to hate yan mingxiu allegedly but i just couldn't, not even in his scum era, because he was so obvious and so oblivious and so set in his own ideas he kept gaslighting himself into not noticing things. this could have gotten frustrating pretty easily, but again, everything feed into the delicious, delicious suffering. that being said, and because it doesn't seem to be a popular opinion... i think it's important to empathise with both of them, or at least sympathise, for maximum enjoyment of all that angst. you cannot cry over yan mingxiu's pain if you want him to get hit by a bus.
oh and the relationships (not only the cp's, though their progression is really good) are very important in this story, which is something i hope we get to see more of in the series because i ended up missing certain side characters in the later chapters. not tan yin though, i hope that fuck ass didn't make it into the series. how is a character so annoying while being in maybe six scenes total.
i can't say if it's good or not but it was extremely enjoyable, zhou xiang is my sweet darling angel baby, yan mingxiu is okay too (if you see me in the trenches defending him in about a month…), and i can't believe i am now, somehow, even more excited for my stand-in.
22 notes · View notes
harrysgoldenline · 3 years ago
Note
can you pls write an angst where y/n went to her and harry's house that they bought or something like that in Italy to try to move on and go on with her life after harry broke up with her but then she never expected that harry will be there as well with his new gf.... you can end it whatever you like!! thank you
Word Count: 1.6K
Warnings: idk, sad I guess? also not proof read oops sorry lol
When In Italy
It has been three months since you’ve last seen or spoken to Harry. A very abrupt change after being together for four years, with constant talk of marriage and starting a family, the break up was something either of you really expected. It started as a break of sorts, eventually turning into a complete break up after only a couple weeks in a somewhat mutual way. With Harry's career taking off in so many different ways, with acting, the new tour and more, his life had changed completely and has left him very little time for anything else.
It went from daily phone and FaceTime calls, constant text messages and flowers being delivered to nothing.
“You really think that’s a good idea?” Your best friend asked you, concern plastered all over her face, “that won’t bring up too much?”
She had been sitting with you as you finished packing up your suitcase, trying her best to give you her support as you were going to be going on a spur of the moment trip to Italy and staying at the home of you and Harry, needing the much needed getaway and disconnecting completely. Seeing different things online about him all the time didn’t make it any easier and no matter how hard you tried to avoid it, he always found his way to pop up.
“I just need a break, everything here is a reminder to.” You sigh, “I just want a change of scenery. I think it’ll be good for me.”
“I hope so…” she frowned, looking up at you with a sad smile, “please don’t just sit there in the house all alone. Go out, meet some local Italian men!”
“I’m definitely not ready for that.” You say, forcing a laugh as you close your suitcase, zipping it up and placing it on the floor by your door, “but I will really try, I promise. I will call you if I need you and you can come out?”
“Hell yeah I can.” She laughs, standing up and giving you a hug, “and you’re really going right now?”
You bite your bottom lip as your eyes fill up with tears, nodding quickly as you look at her and she quickly pulled you in a tight hug.
“You can do this.”
***
You pulled your suitcase through the front door, waving goodbye to the driver as you turned around to close the door behind you as they left you alone in the house that has so many memories inside. You pause at the door, taking a couple deep breaths as you look around and try and keep your mind at bay before walking to the guest bedroom, deciding the main bedroom was too much and the guest bedroom was already way nicer than your apartment.
After taking the time to unpack, knowing you would stay awhile, you put away your things into the various drawers and closet in the room. You keep out a swimsuit and change into it quickly, sliding a simple dress overtop before walking out onto the balcony attached to the bedroom, taking in the smell of the ocean and beautiful view, memories overwhelming your senses.
“Well don’t you look absolutely stunning.” You can practically hear him say all over again, reliving the memory as if it was actually happening, “ ‘m the luckiest man in the world.”
You remember him coming up behind you, arms tight around your waist as his head rested on your shoulder, soft kisses being pressed along your shoulder as you leaned back into him, a large smile covering both of your faces before you leaned your head back, connecting your lips before he pulled back.
“I can’t decide…” He had whispered, connecting your lips again.
“Decide what?” You had giggled, turning around to face him, arms resting around his shoulders as his came around your waist.
“If I want to get married here or have our honeymoon here.”
You shuddered slightly as the memory came back, letting out a deep breath before packing a beach bag quickly and leaving the house just as fast, taking a walk down to the private beach and settling yourself in a lounge chair. Applying your sunscreen you could almost convince yourself it was him applying it on you like he always would do, large hands massaging it into your skin.
You push the thought away as you grab your phone, playing music softly to try and distract your mind. Your fingers hovered over your different social media apps, wanting desperately to just give it a quick click, wondering if you could get any update on where he could be from his fans, posts always finding their way on your feed. Instead, you hold it down, deleting all of the various apps and throwing your phone down on your bag, grabbing your book and letting the music play, opening to the first page to try and escape into the new world.
***
After a few hours been spent peacefully on the beach, you decided to head back to the house to take a nice bubblebath and order yourself some dinner, deciding that you would go to town the next morning in order to cook some of your own meals. The walk back to the house was more enjoyable this time and you began to feel a sense of hope as you approached the house, your heart not clenching in as much pain as it originally had done when you first pulled up to the house earlier that day.
Using your keys, you unlocked the back door, locking it behind you again as soon as you got inside, making your way to the bathroom right away and letting the water fill up the bathtub, pouring in some of the fancy bubblebath that you remember buying once from your favorite boutique in town, making a mental note to stop there again tomorrow.
Discarding your clothes, you hung them up, deciding you could use it once more as a cover up after not even going into the water, and you honestly didn’t even have the energy to even think about doing laundry right now, even simply showering was too much most days so you were happy to submerge yourself simply into the warm water, eyes fluttering closed as it embraced you with it’s comfort.
You began preparing yourself a mental list of things you could do tomorrow, forcing yourself to get out of the house and keep yourself occupied after locking yourself away in your apartment the past few months, planning on taking baby steps but knowing that even starting will be more like a push off a cliff.
Pulling yourself out of the bath once finishing cleansing your body, deciding to save washing your hair for the next day, you pulled yourself out of the bath, honestly just wanting to curl up into bed and go to sleep but knowing you needed to force yourself to eat something. So, you dry off, applying some matching lotion to your body, which made you feel a sense of pride of yourself as you made small steps to take care of yourself again, thanking the air of Italy as self motivation and threw on the robe that you swear was the softest one in the world.
A sudden sound coming from the house made you jump, a hand coming over your chest to try and calm your racing heart as your mind tried to think of all of the possibilities of who could be there, or maybe it was coming outside? Or honestly at this point you thought it could be your imagination as the memories that have been flashing into your mind have been so vivid it felt like it was actually happening. Your feet softly padded on the wood flooring, making your way to what you thought was the site of the sound, feeling bile rise in your throat at the sight before you.
It was Harry there, with one of the most beautiful women you had ever seen in your life, laughing together.
You weren’t sure if they saw you, both of their hair wet as towels wrapped around them and it seemed like they had just got back from the beach, making you think that you must have just missed each other as you swapped positions. You slowly walk backwards, thinking of running out the back towards the beach and calling a car, leaving all of your clothes there.
You could see slightly into the master bedroom, seeing their suitcases sprawled and things laid on the couch as they chatted together, knowing they must have arrived when you were down at the beach, your presence unknown as all of your things sat seemingly hidden in the guest room which you were now desperately trying to go and hide in, but after it being too log since you been here, you accidentally ran into the wall, a photo that was hanging there crashing to the floor, glass shattering.
Two heads quickly snapped their way towards you, both pairs of eyes meeting yours as gasps left both of their lips, Harry’s face going pale as he saw you. You opened your mouth to speak, but with this being your first time seeing your partner since the breakup, no words were able to come out.
Spinning on your heel your ran back into the guest bedroom, pulling the suitcase out of the closet and messily shoving all of your clothes into it, tears stinging your eyes and unable to hold them in as they silently spilling on you cheeks, more coming as you heard the familiar steps coming your way, feeling the presence behind you and hearing the door shut softly behind you.
“Y/N?”
—————————————————————————
Part 2 anyone???
ALSO PLEASE READ THIS!!
I was wondering what people would think about me doing personalized little blurbs/imagines for people who donate to my tip jar? you could give me your name, prompt, pronouns, etc and i will write it just for you!! :) i’m trying to write more and it’s hard bc i’m a broke college student who needs to work but if people who WANT a personalized little fic with bucky or harry or something with their own name and such maybe I could do something like that? of course I will still be doing all normal requests and such but this way it’s kinda like a one time patreon for people who want to do something like that? idk please comment/send me a message/ask and let me know what you think!!!! let’s talk!
513 notes · View notes
fbfh · 4 years ago
Text
I think you've horribly misread the situation [shitty roommate pt 2] - leo x reader
wc: 2.3k
genre: contemporary drama, you're definitly going to get second hand embarrassment, cozy fluff
pairing: leo x reader, attempted isabella x leo
reader: gender neutral, they/them
requested: hell yeah
warnings: mild swearing, roommate tries to steal your man once again, mentions of various mainstream vampire media (twilight, the vampire diaries etc.), brief mention of castlevania (even though i haven't seen it yet lol), breif mention of videogames and assassins creed, very mild delusion (roommate is secretly convinced leo is a vampire that's in love with her), attempted age gap relationship (she's 17 and leo's 19, he shuts that down real fast), very bad poetry
summary: You and Leo are both looking foward to spending a long weekend together, and Leo is determined not to let anything interrupt it, even if it means turning down your roommate's attempts to seduce him in the kitchen.
a/n: absolutley no hate or shade or judgement to anyone who has the same or similar traits as isabella!!!!!! at her core she's annoying because she's the antagonist, not bc of any isolated trait or traits
also she's shitty cause she keeps trying to steal your boyfriend?????
Edit: I forgot to mention before, but this is a college au where you're both still demigods, so you went to camp and on quests and stuff together
Tumblr media
This weekend is going to be all about recharging. Recharging from the ridiculous back to back closing and opening shifts at work, recharging from having to redo that stupid project twice because your professor couldn’t decide on a clear way to define the criteria, and recharging from Isabella having her townie friend Regan over almost non stop to “completely shake up her look” as she put it.
Between the constant presence of someone you’d barely consider an acquaintance and Big Time Rush’s self titled album blasting on repeat out of her giant airpod shaped speaker, it’s been harder than usual to get in some effective self care. You have no idea how many more times you can hear the phrase “I’m going for Jade West meets Elena Gilbert, with just a little Buffy Summers” before you lose your fucking mind.
Thankfully, the hard part is almost over. There’s some minor holiday tomorrow on friday, so you and Leo both have a three day weekend ahead of you, which you intend to spend entirely together. You planned ahead, frontloading homework, chores, errands, and everything you could think of to remove anything that isn’t cuddling or playing video games and watching netflix together from your horizon.
This includes going straight from work to the grocery store to stock the fridge and get any snacks you and Leo want. You had texted him a while ago asking for anything he was craving, and head into the store with a concrete list. After a while, you circle around some aisles, avoiding the check out.
“I feel like I’m forgetting something,” you muse, knowing it’s untrue, but hoping to trigger a memory anyway. You can’t put it off any longer, finally checking out and heading back to your apartment. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t avoiding Isabella just a little.
You know bringing in all these groceries would be way easier with Isabella and possibly Regan’s help, but you just don’t have the social energy to talk to anyone, much less her, right now. By some miracle, you bring everything in yourself, and hope to get it put away before you see Isabella.
You turn to the freezer, putting away the ice cream. When you turn back around, you’re suddenly met face to face with Isabella, who has opened one of the boxes and is picking at a pastry.
“Hey girlie,” she says, elongating the hey.
“Hey,” you reply lethargically, putting the last of the groceries away. She looks at the pastry in her hand like she’s just noticing it.
“Sorry, I can’t help it, I’m italian.” She smiles, endeared by her own behavior. You have no idea what being italian has to do with asking before you open a box of your roommate’s food, but this really isn’t out of character for her. She brings up the fact that she’s half italian more than Lele Pons blames her behavior on being latina.
She’s wearing sweatpants that say chaser on the leg in red and gold varsity font, and a tight tee shirt that says “it’s okay to love them both” with silhouettes of the male love interests from one of the vampire shows she always watches. You collect the plastic bags to put in recycling, and see a piece of paper on the counter.
It reads as follows:
Drowning in my mind
No one hears me cry
Who was I before society
Before society put me in a pink dress
And handed me blonde hair dye
And told me to lose ten pounds or be labeled a freak?
The happiest people cry the most
Let the lyrics be your story
But I’m not like the other skinny blonde pretty girls
I’m
Different
-b.g. xox
You hold back a sigh.
“I think this is yours.” you say, handing it to her.
“Oh, it’s just some of my poetry I left lying around, that’s so embarrassing.”
I know, you think, you do that all the time.
“Did you read it?” She asks, hopefully.
“Nope.”
“Thank god, that would have been so embarrassing. My poetry is something really… deep, and personal to me.”
“Uh huh. Hey, I’m going to be doing a lot of self care this weekend, so-”
“Oh!” she interjects, eerily similar to Phoebe Buffay - you guess she’s been watching friends again - “I wanted to ask… is Leo coming over later?” Her voice is riddled with subtext, the expression on her face a little too invested in your answer.
“Uh, yeah. I told you the other day we’re spending the weekend together…”
She cuts you off again, a sudden, intense look on her face.
“When will he be here?”
You check your phone, scrolling through your recent texts.
“By 7 at the latest.” It’s around 6:40 now.
“Oh my god, I have to change,” she rushes back to her room, presumably digging through her recent additions to her closet.
You’re frozen for a minute after the interaction, left with a furrowed brow and the beginnings of a headache. You blink, then choose to reschedule processing why she feels the need to change for your boyfriend to a more convenient time. That’s enough of that for today. You don’t care what else happens, you’re not talking to anyone besides Leo for at least the rest of the day. You retreat to your room to finally shower and change into something comfy. As you pass by Isabella’s room, you hear her talking to Regan.
“...There’s something almost… supernatural about him.”
You bite back a laugh.
“Do you think he’s a…” Regan begins, ending the sentence with something too quiet to hear, but you’d bet almost any organ she said vampire.
So close. So, so close, and yet… here you are.
Not much later, Leo texts you to let you know he’s here. You read his text, and run out to hug him in the living room before even typing a reply. He picks you up, and spins you around. The embrace is warm and fulfilling and familiar, and you wish it would last forever.
“Hi, Sparky.” you murmur into his neck.
“Estrella…” he says, rocking you back and forth gently and pressing a kiss into your jawline, “I missed you so much.” He punctuates the sentence with another kiss, this one to your lips, and you smile more genuinely than you have all day. You’re about to agree when you remember the good news you’ve been saving to tell him in person.
“Guess what I got on sale for like, half off,” you start, excitedly, continuing at his invested expression, “the Assassin’s Creed bundle I showed you!”
“No way,” he starts, and you nod.
“I’ll go get everything set up, drinks are in the kitchen!” He watches you retreat into your room, disbelieving how he could possibly get someone as perfect as you to fall for him. He’s not going to question his luck. He grabs a couple caffeinated sparkling ices, and meets you in your room, setting down his bag and grabbing some comfy clothes to change into.
As you both get settled in, you fill each other in on all the ridiculous shit you’ve been through this week. You finally conclude the bizarre - yet somehow standard - Isabella escapades.
“So I will be avoiding all contact as much as possible,” you laugh.
“Yeah, no shit,” he agrees, “Consider me your human buffer.” You thank him, hugging him again and pressing a kiss to his lips.
The next couple hours are spent cuddling and finishing season 4 of Castlevania. Both reeling from the season finale, you agree this is a good place to take a break, get some food, and decide what game you should start with. It’s already 10pm, which most people would consider too late for dinner, but you have all weekend to fuck up your sleep schedules.
“Let’s review,” Isabella says, holding up two red lipsticks. She turns to Regan. “Which one?”
“That one,” Regan says, pointing to the one on the left, then turns to her list, and continues. “Here’s what we know; we’ve never seen him eat, and he never seems tired. He’s really smart-”
“Almost too smart,” Isabella adds, selecting black rose dangle earrings from her jewelry. Regan agrees, and continues.
“He’s almost hypnotically attractive, and his smile is a little too dazzling.”
“There’s something… supernatural about him. Like he’s not… all human.”
Regan writes this down.
“Plus he’s always wearing black and red, and those flowy button up shirts? It’s all adding up, Ree. That dream that someone was outside my window, the ring, everything…” She says, referencing the black and red cocktail ring she’d found with her stuff when she’d first moved, “I’m not saying it’s definite, just that… there’s a chance.”
“What about…” Regan says hesitantly, nodding toward your room.
“Please,” she scoffs, “he’s only with them to get close to me, like Damon and Caroline. Edward couldn’t have just approached Bella out of the blue, he had to infiltrate her friend group first, to seem less suspicious. Not to sound mean or anything, but they really don’t seem like the type someone… like him… would choose.” her voice gets dreamy when she mentions him.
In spite of having seen most mainstream vampire media almost as many times as Isabella, Regan still considers her the expert on these things, and decides not to point out that Edward didn’t infiltrate Bella’s friend group. Maybe it comes up in one of the retellings she hasn’t read yet.
“So, what now?”
Isabella sets down her lipstick, and turns to her friend.
“I tell him.”
Regan’s eyes widen.
“You’re going to tell him you know?”
“No… not yet. It’s too soon, we don’t have enough evidence. I’m going to tell him I know he’s in love with me, then once he’s secure in our relationship... we’ll see where it goes.”
She stands up, assessing herself in the mirror. She chose her outfit carefully; short red dress with black roses and black mesh collar, black rose bracelet to match her earrings, snug faux leather jacket, and black stiletto ankle booties with a very skinny heel, the zipper on the outside gold, not silver. She fluffs her wavy hair and turns towards the door. She looks back one more time, holding onto the doorway.
“Wish me luck.”
Leo enters the kitchen, seeing Isabella already there, leaning against the counter seductively. She’s wearing an outfit and jewelry this late at night that makes Leo wonder if she’s going to an emo tea party. He puts the takeout in the microwave. She’s still staring at him.
“Uh… hey.”
She lets out a dainty giggle, looking him up and down.
“... Hi.”
At a loss for words, and really wanting the awkward silence to be over, he continues, “Did you need something?”
“What I need,” she walks closer to him, tracing her finger over his collar, “is you.”
What the fuck?
His brain seems to stall for a moment, and she uses this opportunity to continue.
“I know why you’re here. I know that you’re only using them to get closer to me. I know-”
“Woah-”
“That you’re in love with me.”
Okay, double what the fuck.
She takes his stunned silence as shyness, and steps closer, putting her arms around his shoulders.
“You don’t need to play so coy, I-”
This time she’s the one that gets cut off. He grabs her arms and gently steps away, trying to make it abundantly clear that he’s not into this.
“Woah, okay, slow down. First of all, you’re 17 and I’m turning 20 in a couple months, so that’s a hard no. Second, I don’t know where you got this idea, but I am not dating them to get closer to you. We’ve known each other since we were like, 15, and have been through everything together. I’ve only known you for a couple months. I love them. Probably more than I’ve loved anything ever. I thought that was pretty obvious.”
He doesn’t want to be mean, he really doesn’t, but he can tell from the look on her face that she still thinks this is all part of some game.
“So why don’t I ever see you eat? Why are you so smart, and always up at night? I know what you are.”
He has to physically hold back a laugh. He takes a step back, and places his hands on the counter.
“Isabella, I have adhd. And I’m literally an engineering student. Why wouldn’t I be smart and have a shitty sleep schedule?”
She starts to protest, and he pulls out the reheated take out from the microwave.
“And for the record, I do eat.”
Exiting the kitchen quickly and retreating back to your room, he hands you your food.
“I got the game set up!” you say excitedly.
“Nice!”
You take one look at his face and can tell something happened. He sees this, and continues.
“I just had a very… interesting interaction with Isabella,” before he finishes the sentence, your head is already in your hands. You let out a groan.
“What did she do?” you mutter from behind your hands.
He pulls you into his lap, rubbing your back.
“I’m not totally sure,” you laugh, “but I think she thinks I’m secretly in love with her…” you’re both laughing before he can even finish the sentence.
“No…” you laugh, “no fucking way…”
“Believe me, I put an end to that as soon as it started.”
“Oh, I do.”
He runs his hand over your back, and you’re quiet for a moment.
“You know,” he continues, “I think getting our own place has definitely moved up the priority list.”
You couldn’t agree more.
230 notes · View notes
manonblaqkbeak · 3 years ago
Text
Midnight Cravings
so, i actually wrote most of this in july but never finished it and decided to fix it up for todays prompt bc i was feeling a lil lazy lol. and i think its one of my faves, especially the ending.
2.2k words
cw: none
enjoy!! :)
It was just past two in the morning and Aelin was wide awake. Not due to a mountain of paperwork, or a nightmare or one of her kids needing her. Aelin was wide awake because she was absolutely starving.
The type of starving it felt like she'd never eaten a day in her life. Like her stomach was going to eat itself.
Her stomach growled again, louder than before, and beside her, his voice muffled, Rowan asked, “Is that your stomach or the wind outside?”
“Shut up,” Aelin mumbled, as her stomach continued its song. Gods, why was she so hungry? She practically devoured the fruits in the fruit bowl just before bed, she had a healthy serving of dinner, and a large slice of chocolate torte for dessert.
But here she was, close to eating her damned pillow to sate her starvation.
Aelin glanced over towards her mate, his back to her, and she shuffled closer, resting her chin on his shoulder.
“Rowan,” she started to say, but Rowan cut her off.
“I'm not going to the kitchens.”
She pouted, although he couldn't see her. “Please?” she knew that if she used her manners, then he would do just about anything.
But it didn't work. Not just yet. “There's some fruit in the bowl.”
“I ate them all.” He sighed heavily, knowing that he was losing this conversation. “Please? I am your mate, your wife, the mother of your children.”
Rowan snorted. “Really? I was starting to suspect that the three silver-haired children were Lorcan's.”
Her hunger nearly disappeared at the thought of that. “Don't be gross.” Reaching over, Aelin kissed the tip of his ear, smiling as he shuddered in pleasure as she nibbled on it. “Please?”
Rowan sighed heavily, knowing that he lost, and Aelin barely hid her smile. “I'll go,” he said. “But only if you join me.”
Her smile did disappear at that. “But the bed is so warm.”
“Exactly. If I have to leave it, so do you.”
“Fine,” she mumbled reluctantly, but quickly perked up, realising that she would be getting food. Rowan was a much better cook than her. Aelin used to have basic cooking skills, but with being Queen and then becoming a mother, she never cooked anymore and really had no need to; not with multiple cooks under the palace roof. She did try a few years ago as a treat for her family, but everything turned into a crisp and wasn't even suitable for the dogs in the kennels.
Scrambling out of bed, the Queen and King of Terrasen tied on their robes and put on their slippers. Aelin loved the sight of Rowan looking so domestic, it was ridiculous how much she loved it.
Since Isolde was only six months old and far too young to be left behind, Rowan put her in the wooden carrier to take with them into the kitchens, their movements silent as the grave as they transferred their youngest from her crib and into the crafty carrier—Isolde was the only one of their children that slept soundlessly through the night at such a young age, and loathed to be woken up. As Rowan did that, Aelin checked in on Alder in his room, their son a little over three years old, but he slept like a log and Aelin knew that he wouldn't wake up at any point when they were gone.
As they left their chambers, Aelin nearly ruined all their good work and almost woke up their other children when she bit out a curse at the sudden leg cramp that shot up her right calf. Rowan glanced at her, asking if she was okay, and after a moment she was, although she was left a little dazed at the suddenness of it all.
Aelin's legs had been cramping randomly of late, but she didn't notice anything of concern. If it continued, she would go to Magnolia and see if anything could be done about it. The last thing Aelin needed was to fall ill, she had far too many things to do with winter arriving in a few weeks. She did know that if anything was wrong with her, that she could rely on Rowan completely.
Aelin's stomach growled for the umpteenth time, the sound lasting for a good minute before it settled. Isolde fidgeted in her sleep, but did not wake.
“I think your stomach was just trying to talk to me.”
“It was,” Aelin agreed. “It said that we need to hurry the hell up or it's going to disintegrate.”
“We better do as it says then. It'd be cruel to subject Terrasen to a hungry Queen. No one should suffer as I do when you're starving.”
“You make me sound horrible.”
“You are,” he said, humour dancing in his dark eyes. “And not just when you're hungry.”
Aelin mumbled under her breath. Rowan decided to pretend not to hear her, even as he fought a smile.
After what felt like an eternity, they reached the kitchens, Rowan placing Isolde onto the counter closest to them. Aelin rushed towards the bowls of fruit, grabbing an apple and a pear, eating the fruits simultaneously. She missed the small, private smile Rowan gave her as he went to the pantry, asking her what she was in the mood for, one eye on their child. But still, she slept and Rowan for a moment, wished that all of their children had been like that, but knew that there was no point in complaining when they all slept quietly now.
“Something filling,” was all Aelin could think of to say. But after a moment decided on an omelette, filled with bacon, mushrooms, onion, red bell-peppers and carrot. As she and Rowan prepped the ingredients—with Rowan wanting his own omelette—Aelin contemplated in silence, her brows furrowed as she chopped up the carrots.
“What are you thinking about, Fireheart?” Rowan asked when he noticed his wife's expression.
“Just trying to remember the last time I was this hungry. I've been like this for at least a week and a half.”
“I've noticed. You haven't had this big of an appetite for a good number of years.”
She didn't comment on that, lost in her own world. “And my legs have been cramping lately too. I haven't injured myself. Have I been sleeping in strange positions?”
“No, you're sleeping just fine.”
Her frown deepened. “Maybe I'm just stressed for the winter preparations.”
“Possibly, I know that you worry a lot for the people during winter.” They both did, as the winters in Terrasen were brutal. Each year there was always a small number of people that passed due to the cold for a number of reasons. When those lists made their way in Aelin's hands, it always hit her hard, her guilt a palpable thing, even after Rowan would tell her that it was in no way her fault.
But that wasn't the reasons for her consuming hunger and leg cramps—Rowan had noticed the change in her scent weeks ago and when he noticed, he thought that Aelin would too. But she was completely oblivious and he didn't want to spoil the surprise, although it was getting harder each day not to say something.
However, he couldn't help but count back the weeks to the day of conception. He was fairly certain that it was when Aelin had been reading a particularly steamy novel on the window seat in their sitting room and jumped on him like they had never had sex before when he had come to ask if she was joining him in bed.
It would fit in with list of unusual places they have conceived their children. Elentiya had been in the library (either in the archives or in Aelin and Rowan's private nook, neither were sure), Norrin against an oak tree (which they discovered after they have calmed down that the Little Folk had watched the entire encounter, with Aelin becoming stuck between wanting to laugh or hide under a rock), Alder against one of the many palace chimneys, and Isolde in a linen closet.
Maybe one day they would conceive a child in their bed like most people did.
They got to cooking, with Rowan standing behind Aelin and guiding her with the wooden spoon and plating their midnight meal before it burned into a crisp. Isolde babbled in her sleep as the sounds of cooking reached her, but still slept. It wouldn't be long, however, until she woke up to be fed. Aelin placed their youngest by her feet as they sat down at the small dining table in the far corner of the kitchen where the workers took their breaks.
The smile on Aelin's face as she bit into the fluffy omelette was certainly worth being woken up in the middle of the night.
However, her fork stilled in mid-air when she was halfway done when realisation dawned on her.
Finally.
“I'm pregnant,” was all she said, her Ashryver eyes growing wide. Rowan didn't bother to hide his smile. This was why he didn't say anything. It was always worth it when she revealed those beautiful words to him. “Rowan, I'm pregnant. The last time I was this hungry was when I was pregnant with Alder and the leg cramps are from Norrin's pregnancy. And all the fruit I can't stop eating is just like when I was pregnant with Isolde. How haven't I noticed anything?”
“You've been busy,” Rowan said, reaching over to take her hands in his and kissed her fingers.
“You knew, didn't you?” Aelin asked, her eyes narrowed just slightly.
“I may have noticed.”
“You should have told me.”
“I like it better when you come to the realisation yourself,” he said simply.
Aelin shot out of her seat and sat on his lap, a pretty smile gracing her face as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her fingers playing the the hair at the nape of his neck. Rowan wound his arms around her waist and kissed her on the cheeks, the tips of her nose, the corner of her lips and then her mouth.
Aelin hummed contentedly and kissed him back. When they broke apart, she rested her forehead against his.
“We're insane.”
Rowan laughed deeply at the sudden statement. “What makes you say that?”
“We're having a fifth baby. Lorcan and Elide only have three and I always thought that they'd have at least a dozen, but they don't and we're about to have five. That's insane. We're insane.”
“We are, but I like that about us,” he said, kissing her again. Her face was open and soft, her eyes dancing with happiness, but he still found himself asking, “Are you okay with it?”
“Of course I am, buzzard. More than words can say.” Aelin kissed him to emphasise that fact, his hand reaching down onto her belly and was content to stay like that forever. She couldn’t believe how lucky she was. She always thought that she’d just have one child, maybe two, but to have five was something she never dreamed of.
Isolde finally decided to wake up and scream her displeasure at being hungry. Aelin was off him in an instant, cooing at their daughter as Aelin sat back in her seat and fed not just herself, but Isolde at the same time. His mate was spectacular at multitasking like that.
They couldn't wait to meet their fifth child.
X X X X X X
Rowan was surprised that his children hadn't kicked down the doors to the bedchamber with how excited they were. Even little Isolde was a ball of energy and she was by far their most quiet child. Rowan lead them to their mother, reminding them that they had to be quiet and gentle, because mama had just gone through a long process of bringing in their new sibling into the world.
They entered the bedchamber and Aelin greeted them with a tired but loving smile telling them to come meet their new sister, the kids went onto the bed, surrounding Aelin and the baby, happiness and wonderment in their eyes as they took in the little bundle of joy, her silver hair stark against her lightly tanned skin. She had opened her eyes briefly during her first feeding and Aelin had groaned playfully when she spotted that they were pine-green, muttering how of course I labour for a whole day to give birth to another you. But he knew that she didn't care if she was born with green hair and yellow eyes, Aelin loved her immensely.
“What's her name, mama?” Elentiya asked softly, carefully trailing a finger down her sisters cheek.
“Elowynn-Yrene.” Rowan would never forget the pure joy in Yrene's eyes when Aelin asked if the healer would give them her blessing to grace their child with her name, as a thank you for all the years of coming down and helping Aelin, for eradicating Erawan, and for being a great friend to both of them. It had taken them a few minutes to convince their friend, citing that the honour was far too much, but Yrene eventually said "yes".
“That's pretty,” Alder supplied, a wide smile on his face. Aelin kissed his temple and thanked him for his kind words.
Aelin moved her eyes from Alder to Rowan, smiling as her mate stood there, taking them in.
His family, their family. Never did he think he would be so blessed to have this.
His and Aelin's children; the most beautiful thing Rowan had ever seen.
Rowan went and joined his family on the bed, the smile on his face one of Aelin's favourites.
101 notes · View notes
ve1vetyoongi · 4 years ago
Text
wherever you will go | jjk
Tumblr media
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!
Tumblr media
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.
Tumblr media
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.
Tumblr media
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.
Tumblr media
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."
Tumblr media
"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."
Tumblr media
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!"
Tumblr media
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."
Tumblr media
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."
Tumblr media
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.
Tumblr media
"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."
Tumblr media
"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.
Tumblr media
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!"
Tumblr media
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!
Tumblr media
"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."
Tumblr media
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."
Tumblr media
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?"
Tumblr media
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."
Tumblr media
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."
Tumblr media
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.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
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.
1K notes · View notes
callioope · 4 years ago
Text
Thoughts on Critical Role Campaign 2 Episode 133 below the cut!
Post-Battle Capeleb Scene
Me to spouse as I was pressing play: “I apologize ahead of time for any squealing this episode may cause.”
Cut to Capeleb picking up Essek after the battle! All King Kong style!!! Shoving him in front of the two clerics like “Heal him!!!” ahhhh that definitely got a squeal ... incidentally just as my husband was starting a call... oops. 
Bonus: Caduceus being like “dude I wanna heal you too”
Bonus 2: everyone like “Caleb you can put him down” Caleb: nO *puts Essek on his back* i mean caleb knows better than anyone you gotta protect the squishy wizard
Bonus 3!: Jester’s comment about “He doesn’t think clearly when he’s an animal.” and Essek’s “Evidently!” lol 
Let the Cleric Rest!
Okay earlier in the episode, when Laura was insistent on “guys we need to start our long rest ASAP,” I felt that in my bones. I play a cleric in the Tomb of Annihilation campaign I’m in, and we spent 3 or 4 sessions stuck in a dungeon filled with poison gas where we took 1d6 poison damage every hour. So no long rests there. Top that off with the fact that we’ve been in the Chultan jungle even longer, and we don’t get long rests unless we can find and secure a very safe location, and the pain of being a spellcaster and not getting a long rest is REAL.
And then no one was acknowledging her at first! Yeah later Fjord and Beau were like “yeah yeah we agree” but she had to say it so many times!!! And I kept shouting at my screen “listen to Laura Bailey!!!” thinking “my dudes you can do ALL of this talking and planning while you rest pleeeeze get that rest it” because I play a cleric too and running out of a spells is a thing.
Of course, having finished the episode/in hindsight, I’m actually not sure if the even had a full 8 hours from the moment Jester finished her Commune with Artagan to the moment the Tomb Takers arrived, but still. I feel so bad for Laura right now knowing she only has ONE SPELL SLOT left and they’re going up against the Lucien and Cree. She’s clever so I’m sure she’ll think of something but that just is a really sucky feeling going into any battle knowing you don’t have a lot of slots left, let alone The Super Scary Big Battle ahead. soo. yeah. Gonna be worrying about that all week through the end of the next episode. 
Also side note but jeez poor Laura rolling two one’s on that Heroes Feast. She needs to cleanse her dice or buy new ones altogether. she has the WORST luck with rolls.
TOWER TALK & TOUR!!!!!
IT!!! FINALY!!! HAPPENED!!!! I have been longing for Essek to see the Tower since episode 124 if not longer and at last! It was wonderful. AND CALEB SHOWED HIM THE NINTH FLOOR!!! amazing. fantastic. and what a talk. what a talk. ughh yes. they didn’t really have much time in the Tower outside of the Heroes Feast and the long rest but i’m sooooo glad Caleb got the chance to give the tour and they could talk. YAY!
Pursuing Lucien & Cree
Does anyone have any ideas of what they can do here? UGHH i wanna speculate on the best strategy for them (just because I find it to be a fun thought exercise). Like digging through the collapsed tunnel might take too long? Although we have no idea how long Lucien and Cree need. Hopefully the lack of the rest of the 3 Tomb Takers slows them down somewhat but who even knows at this point. I’ve been wondering if there are any teleportation spells that might work -- but Essek’s teleport is way too high to risk in Aeor right? Wonder if there’s any spells to magically clear the rubble? I’m stumped on this one. Super excited to see what they do but in the meantime while I have to wait would love to ponder this puzzle.
Fjord & the Rangers
not super wanting to like dive into intense discourse about this but like. I did have thoughts so here goes. I don’t blame Fjord for making the decision that he did, he had to make a spilt second decision and it seemed very in character for him to choose what he did. It did seem like he was trying to stall to help his party members get more rest, and it makes sense that he’d want to do that, BUT. here’s the thing. Battles in DND only take a minute or so TOPS. There’ s no way the battle itself would slow down the TT. If you’re hoping to delay the TT, you gotta hope the rangers can do enough damage to force them to at least take a short rest if not a long one. That’d only give an hour and that’s still not enough for the long rest the M9 need. 
ALL THAT SAID!!! I think there’s a very good chance that whatever that battle did helped lower the TT’s HP enough so that the traps the M9 laid could finish off the three members it did. So I don’t think it was in vain. Worth it as a delay tactic? Ehh not really. Worth it to hurt the TT? Yes.
And while I do think that Fjord and Essek knew the chances were high they were sending the rangers to their Doom (a) I think the rangers being here in Aeor know that’s an everyday possibility to begin with, and (b) I still think there’s a chance they might have been able to survive/flee. Maybe the TT decided to push past them and fled from the skirmish themselves? Yes it’s possible everyone (including Dagen T_T) fell during that battle, but I don’t think that’s set in stone. 
Also I don’t think the TT would think it’s weird to come across the rangers, they likely already knew they were there. And another thing -- even if they were like “Hmm rangers coincidentally by the entrance we were going to use?” Look they know the M9 became unscryable AND were trying to stop them. I honestly think the TT knew to be on the lookout for TM9 no matter what. And in hindsight -- which obvs Fjord did not have but we know now -- Lucien way underestimated them bc hey, despite everything, the trap still worked. Like, very much of what the M9 was trying to do during this whole arc was keep their cards close to their chest so Lucien would underestimate them. They really did lay the groundwork for that when they were traveling with them. Yeah technically they sort of revealed some of their hand during the Gelidon fight buuut they also ran from the TT limping later that day. So. Yeah. Anyways. 
I’m rambling now and gotta go start dinner. But those are my initial thoughts!!!! Happy to engage in polite discourse. Main things I love talking about are theories for what happens next!!! and also hello, this is my first like, big post in the tag although I’ve already posted a few times in the shadowgast tag. 
21 notes · View notes
boltwrites · 4 years ago
Note
hEY bolt! its sweetbabybolin! the prompts this week are *chef's kiss* :) can i please request shotgunning w bolin, w some frottage/humping shit thrown in there? high sex w bolin would be SO sexy but also just so sweet, perhaps a sesh/getting handsy w him leads to something else? thank you!!
kinktober 2020 | this week’s list
anon asked: shotgunning with bolin!! omg that’s my fave thing to do with a blunt lol
A/N: well, uh. here we go! i had to stop after a little bit of frottage bc this was getting so long, but i hope you enjoy it!
by clicking read more you verify that you are at least 18 years old
you had actually been introduced to weed by Asami and Korra - you three were close friends, and when you mentioned wanting to smoke with Bolin sometime, they grinned and giggled
“oh spirits, can you imagine Bolin trying to take a hit,” Korra giggled, definitely higher than she should be. Asami could hold herself better, and she just giggled, shaking her head
“Maybe Y/n could help him out,” Asami suggested, and when you inquired further, she told you about shotgunning, and demonstrated on a very enthusiastic Korra
you had to leave soon after that, but the idea stayed in your mind as you thought of Asami gently blowing smoke into Korra’s waiting lips. you would love to try that with Bolin
before a recent event, you had never even thought to ask Bolin if he wanted to smoke with you. he just didn’t seem like the type, and you hadn’t wanted to pressure him
however, a few days ago, you were smoking by the window in the living room, and he had asked if he could try it. you were shocked, but felt like slapping yourself for assuming that just because Bolin was cute meant that he didn’t want to smoke
unfortunately at the time, your bowl had been just about dead, and you were all out, so you promised him the next time you stocked up again, you would smoke with him
and that day, was today. Bolin sat next to you as you packed the bowl, watching as you prepared it with curious eyes. you grinned at him, because he was so cute, especially when he was watching something so intently
“alright, so here’s what you do,” you said, leaning back on the couch. he followed, pressing close to you to watch your movements. it was sweet - and you loved it when he sat so close to you or cuddled up, so it just made you smile as you fired up your lighter
“so, you light it-” you mimed lighting the bowl, but didn’t, instead, flicking the lighter off. “then, you breathe in, and hold it for a little bit. it doesn’t have to be for that long, but you need to actively breathe in if you want to feel it. it might tickle your throat a little, but try not to cough if you can manage it. then, you just blow it out again.”
you turned to Bolin, looking at him to see if he understood. he nodded, but you didn’t know if he really got it - he was very sweet, and he was smart when it came to other people, but sometimes, instructions... just kind of went over his head
“let me show you,” you offered, and you took a hit, deliberate with every step. you also covered the end of the pipe with the butt of your lighter after you took the hit, to snuff out the flame and preserve the rest of the bowl for longer
Bolin watched, and then you handed it to him, keeping the lighter for yourself. “i’ll start it off, and tell you when to go, ok?” you offered, and Bolin nodded
and he did exactly as you said, but - poor thing - he took way too big of a hit and coughed so hard that he almost dropped the pipe. you took it from him quickly, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as he coughed
“oh, Bo,” you mumbled, and he kept coughing as you set everything down to pull him close and rub him back as he shook.
“that burned,” he whined, his eyes actually tearing up a little from how violently he had coughed. you kissed his cheeks, even as your first hit started to take effect, and everything started to... go a little slower.
“I’m sorry, baby,” you mumbled. “here, why don’t we try something else. i promise that this won’t burn.”
you had honestly expected him to not inhale properly and you would have to finish off the rest of his hit, but man, he had gone for it and was paying the price. he nodded, though, and you pulled him close and kissed him, mumbling that you would be right back before grabbing him some water from the kitchen
as he took a few swigs from the glass, you took your own hit - a little less intense this time, because you knew you would get a little hit of your own when you shotgunned with him
“how do you feel?” you asked, blowing the smoke out as you cuddled up to him again. he was watching you with a more serious gaze. 
“i’m ok - sorry about that,” he chuckled, you assured him that it was fine, that he didn’t do anything wrong, and that he just really went for it. you could tell he felt a little bad that he wasn’t some sort of smoking natural, but you promised that it was fine
“this way’s more fun anyway,” you promised, with a wink
“now, here’s what you do - actually, let me get in your lap,” you were grinning, and Bolin quirked a little smile as he pulled you on top of him
“ok, so this should burn less. i’m gonna take the initial hit, then i’ll pass it to you. as soon as i start blowing out, you inhale, and hold it like a normal hit. got it?”
Bolin nodded, but you could tell he didn’t really realize what he was in for - at least, not yet
“alright, here we go,” you mumbled, and took another drag, longer this time. then you leaned close to Bolin, and his eyes went wide as you cradled his face with your free hand, gently nudging him forward. after a second of freezing in place, he got the memo, and you brushed a finger along his lip, and he opened his mouth for you
you blew the smoke into his mouth, and he inhaled as best as he could. your lips gently brushed his, and he shivered, but this time when he inhaled he didn’t cough. he exhaled a few seconds later, surrounding you both in smoke as you leaned forward to place a sweet, gentle kiss on his lips.
you pulled back, and Bolin looked at you in wonder. “that’s a thing?” he whispered, and you laughed - a little louder than usual. oh yeah, it was hitting you. “yeah, it is,” you replied, wiggling closer on his lap “want more?”
he did, and you passed him three more hits, until he leaned his head back against the cough and groaned.
“oh, i think it’s working,” he mumbled, and you laughed, leaning back to set the lighter and bowl (which was basically dead at this point) back on the table
“hey - don’t go,” Bolin whined, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you close. you giggled, wrapping your arms around his shoulders “i wasn’t going anywhere, you dork. i was just putting everything away”
he pouted at you, making a little indignant noise. “aw, but i wanted more kisses,” he grumbled, and this time you cackled, rocking a little violently on his lap
“you know we don’t need to smoke for me to kiss you, right?” you chuckled, pressing your foreheads together. Bolin was still pouting, embarrassed that he had apparently forgotten about kissing outside of shotgunning, so you took initiative and leaned forward the few centimeters it took to press your lips to his
the makeout session was lazy, but it progressed quickly. Bolin licked into your mouth far quicker than usual, and you moaned at it, the touch of his tongue against yours feeling far more electric than normal
he was feeling it too - you could tell how hard he was as you sat on his lap and he pressed against you, hard just from kissing for a few minutes. you didn’t blame him - you felt like this whenever you were with him. 
“hey,” he pulled back, only slightly, and you were so high you almost surged forward again on instinct, not letting him finish his sentence. you caught on at the last second, mumbling a breathy “yeah?”
“can we lay down?” he asked, his words drawled in that specific weed-dialect that was difficult to describe. you nodded, accidentally konking your head on his before you both laughed
“yeah” you replied, still giggling, and Bolin took initiative, turning you so that he was on top of you on the couch, your legs tangled
the kisses were so much more intense like this, and you bent your leg (so strategically placed between his) just a little, to see him react. and react he did. Bolin moaned so sweet against you, rocking against your thigh
you gasped, just at the feeling of him, as his lips left yours and he nuzzled into your neck. you knew he was probably feeling a lot like this, so you just wrapped your arms around his back and held him as he kissed sloppy along your neck
“‘s ok,” you mumbled, hoping he would understand that you meant he could rut against your leg all he wanted. you actually loved it - the feeling of him hard against you
“yeah?” he replied, with a little shift of his hips that made you both moan - your noises a reflection of his because just the thought of him feeling good turned you on
“yeah,” you replied, with a kiss to his temple, your hands tangling in his hair, wondering why you hadn’t pet through it before. the texture mesmerized you now, and as Bolin rocked forward against you again, you tugged on it lightly, gasping at how good he felt, even like this. 
86 notes · View notes
unearthcd · 4 years ago
Text
Tumblr media
kristine froseth, cis woman + she/her | you know august james pettersen, right? they’re 25, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, eighteen years? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to all these things i’ve done by the killers like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole handwritten notes, messy ponytails, spontaneous midnight excursions thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is january 1, so they’re a capricorn, which is unsurprising, all things considered. ( tessa, 24, pst, she/her )
hey, babes! i’m tessa (24, pst, she/her) and i’ve been rp’ing on this blue website for way too many years. i’m stuck in this wonderful gossamer and wouldn’t have it any other way. anyway, below is august’s bio—she’s a newish muse, so i’m running with the vibe (for lack of a better word) and we’ll see how this goes! always feel free to message me to plot or chat here or on discord (swamp rabbit#1745). okay, let’s do the damn thing!
name: august james pettersen nicknames: aj, aug, a, james, etc. age, birth date: 25; january 1, 1996 hometown: irving, north carolina occupation: model sexuality: pansexual
growing up in irving
august james petterson is the daughter and only child of jameson and erik petterson. she’s the product of surrogacy, the men having sought out and found a lovely woman to help them have a child back in massachusetts where they previously lived. the hoops they went through to have their daughter and both legally be considered her parents were plenty, but with successful careers in architecture and publishing (think founder and editor and chief of something architectural digest-esque) they were able to commit the time and money to make it happen.
not a year after her birth, the three of them relocated to irving, north carolina to be with two of her grandparents whose health was rapidly deteriorating. having packed up their things and taken the short flight, they piled into the elderly couple’s sprawling home on aquila drive. ah, old money. sadly, they’d end up passing a few short years later, just before august started school. the family inherited great wealth and was left the house.
always a fairly quiet kid, august wasn’t the most social student in school. in fact, she spent much of her time with a small group of friends and, after branching out a small bit in high school, in the theatre department. long story short, she wasn’t a very popular person. in fact, with her apparent wealth and quiet demeanor, it wouldn’t surprise me if she was considered aloof, stuck up, or strange by her peers (but i’ll leave that UTY if they attended school together!). in earnest, she was just an observer and never enjoyed talking just to make noise. she liked having an intimate group and just doing what she enjoyed.
at the same time, the lack of a bursting social life and hijinks à la grease and clueless fed her early onset senioritis. she dreamed of and planned for getting out of irving. and when the time for college came, she did!
leaving home
we’d like to congratulate the senior class of 2014! that fall august moved to—drumroll please—new york city for college. what can i say, she’s an east coast babe. she got into NYU and studied english, thinking maybe she’d get into publishing down the line, because she’d always loved reading. truth be told, she wasn’t married to the idea. in fact, she wasn’t married to her education in the slightest. she’d chosen NYU purely based on location and, honestly, who can blame her (’:
her sophomore year of university one of her friends got it in her head to attend a modeling agency open call and, not wanting to go alone, convinced august to go along. while they weren’t interested in the friend, they did take an interest in her. and you know what? it made her feel special and wanted and admired. so she went with it and, with practice, became pretty damn good. her jobs, however, started interfering with her studies. so, without much convincing, she dropped out of school. she was making enough money to rent an apartment with a couple roommates in the village and made modeling her full-time gig. over the next few years her career began to take off a bit, with clients like for love & lemons and victoria’s secret pink (bc we have the real content, so why not use it?). probably a beauty campaign here and there. you know, commercial work etc. etc.
cue “dorothea,�� you'rе a queen sellin' dreams, sellin' makeup and magazines
quiet, small town girl is on her way to making it big! whoo! right? well, there came a point where she became a total workhorse. august wanted to please—she wanted to find her place, her people—and, convinced this was it, she did everything in her power to keep moving up. she was a stray cat, she was looking to be taken in by anyone, praised and cared for for anything.
but that isn’t sustainable, and after a while she cracked a bit. ended up letting off steam by partying with so-called friends, picked up a small smoking habit she’s since been trying to kick since. befriended a band at some point (shout out to beau) and groupied the east coast leg of their tour for a couple weeks, because the front man asked and was charming and looked at her like she was exceptional. then the magic faded and she left to go back to her little apartment and next booked job. really, she was just going where she felt people wanted her and everyone kept telling her it was great! everything’s fine!
coming back // present
she realized after that that she’d fallen into this entire thing and, while she was grateful for much of it, she had to wonder if she even liked it. it really hit her one day smack in the middle of a job. that evening she went home, once again packed up her things, and flew home. a special kind of subtle chaos. a not-at-all-adventurous eat, pray, love.
i want to say her agents aren’t the worst people in the world and, while angered by her abrupt departure, realized she needed a break. like, a month-long visit home. it was the holidays and her birthday, after all! lol, oh, no. bets on when they start calling her like, ‘hey, where the hell are you, what’s the deal’?
now, after dropping out of school and putting her career on pause (?), she’s back living with her parents, probably looking at her savings account and wondering if she has enough $$$$ to rent an apartment or room [potential connection idea?] until she decides wtf she’s doing. she’s stuck between feeling like she’s backsliding and feeling like she needs to take the time to figure out what she wants.
personality // fun facts
+ lively, spontaneous, passionate, humorous (or so she likes to think)
- lost, impulsive, insecure in many ways
tiktoks for the vibe: 1, 2, 3
being an adult is a scam
*calls u dude and babe in the same sentence*
she wasn’t bored, she was just restless between adventures
the first person to laugh at herself.
let’s-screw-around-and-talk-about-nothing-for-hours-until-it-inevitably-turns-into-something-deep.
“i always feel like, when i meet people, they have a bigger impact on me than i maybe do on them.”
very honest. the girl isn’t messing around (unless she totally is)!! will ask you out as soon as the thought occurs to her, like, “hey, uh, we should go out sometime. (:” :slight_smile:
very, very dreamy, but head not empty, head filled with the same bit of film dialogue on repeat over and over for, like, a week. head still processing the end of a book she finished two weeks ago. head making up prose about the faint freckles on the bridge of your nose and the way your hand’s moving about.
big music person, be it modern, classical, live, vinyl. attaches a lot of emotions and memories to songs. 98% chance you’ll find her at the nearest bar hosting live music, right up front.
her penmanship is beautiful, thanks to a love of the written word. she’d rather stick a post-it note on your door than shoot you a text. loves letters, postcards, etc.
does want to whisk you away on fun, spontaneous adventures, but will go by herself if for whatever reason you’re not available or up for it.
20 notes · View notes
queen-scribbles · 4 years ago
Text
Lisa Shepard vs Batarians
Behold, a meta about Lisa I’ve long wanted to write, inspired by this post about Torfan(got kinda long for just a reblog) and motivation provided by @fourthage‘s Mass Effect giveaway. (I’m much better about finishing things when I can give it a deadline, lol)
----
Lisa is my Colonist/Ruthless Infiltrator Shep, and let me tell you, that background combo made her really interesting to play(through the first two games, at least; my computer crashed before I had a chance to import her to ME3, rip) bc she has this big, glaring problem with batarians. The tl;dr is Mindoir was deeply traumatizing and no batarian ever did enough to counter the extremely negative image she has of their race as a result. (apologies for slight stream-of-consciousness rambling, I tried to rein it in, but I think I was only partially successful >.>)
So we start, obviously, on Mindoir. Lisa’s the oldest of four with three younger brothers; Justin, Finn, and Connor, and had two best friends; Javier and Laura. Life was routine and uneventful and the only thing she cared about the larger galaxy was getting to explore it with Javi and Laura after they all graduated.
And then the batarian raid happened. Lisa didn’t see her parents die, but she did see friends die in the initial attack, as well as Laura’s dad. She had to watch Finn and his best friend(Talitha) get dragged to a shuttle. She, Javi, and Laura hid in a storage shed with their remaining younger siblings(one of Laura’s sisters was gone, too) in hopes of keeping them safe. They spent the next three days in there. They were found by a few batarian patrols, somehow managed to kill them all with bare hands and makeshift weapons(or stolen, Lisa got a pistol off one she killed), even as their own numbers got picked down, younger sibling by younger sibling, and then Laura, and then Javi, until.Lisa was the last one left, memory etched with hearing her best friends and younger brothers, brothers she’d promised her parents she’d look out for, die very terrible deaths. 
She was found by a couple soldiers from the rescuing Alliance patrol, and actually attacked them when they first came in the storage shed. They had to calm her down, and one went so far as to pull off his helmet so she could see they were human and weren’t going to hurt her. He introduced himself as Gabe and guided her out of her personal hell, both literally and figuratively. After everything she’d witnessed and heard and knew had happened to the colony, to her home, at the hands of the batarians, Lisa didn’t feel the least bit guilty for being glad the Alliance killed every last one of the slaving bastard scum they found. She’d lost everyone in the world she cared about to those monsters, she had every right to be glad they paid for it.
The soldier, Gabe, stuck with her until she’d made it back to Earth and escorted her to the foster home that had agreed to take her in. checked up on her a few times, offered to let her live with him and his roommates(another man and a woman, all three of them soldiers) if she wanted to. She took him up on that, and by the end of the third or fourth month, he was big brother and best friend rolled into one. Being on Earth meant she didn’t really have much(if any) direct interaction with batarians, but she was still working through her trauma and every time she heard them mentioned in news reports it was batarian pirates attacking a civilian vessel or batarian slavers raiding another colony--human, turian, whatever, all it did was reinforce her hostile view of them as a race.
She joined the Alliance military when she turned eighteen, feeling it was the best way to act out her gratitude of them saving her. She still missed her family and friends, of course, but she was healing and adjusting and while batarians still get her hackles up, she wouldn’t go out of her way to cause trouble with them. Largely because that would reflect badly on the Alliance, and she doesn’t want that. She proves to be an excellent soldier, tech genius, and near-unparalleled sniper, which is what gets her the rec for N-school(courtesy of Captain Anderson, who was Gabe’s CO. Gabe introduced them the day she enlisted). She excels in N-school(she’s always been the sort to thrive on challenge) and is clearly going to graduate with flying colors, so she and Gabe work it out--he’s coming for the ceremony, they each manage to get leave for the following week, they’re gonna spend time catching up and celebrating and just get to see each other face to face for the first time in... over a year. 
And then, the week before graduation, Gabe is killed rescuing a diplomat’s kid from, you guessed it, batarian pirates(he’s one of only three KIA on that mission, which doesn’t make it sting any less)..That is when they cross the point of no return in her eyes. Two separate groups of batarians are responsible for the deaths of her family twice over. Clearly this was not a “few bad individuals” thing; this is a failing of them as a people(A people who have enslaving others enshrined as part of their culture to the point of calling it discrimination when they’re not allowed to practice it). 
She is a driven, pragmatic, determined individual who wants to represent humanity and the Alliance well and so works just fine alongside every other race in Council space. She’s always willing to help, also always willing to make the hard calls to get a job done bc she learned early that people die. You can’t save everyone every time. You still try your damnedest to do it, but sometimes you can’t. And sometimes people die as a result of your decisions and you have to be able to live with that. She can. 
And then TORFAN. Well, first Elysium, and then Torfan. By this point, she’s N4, risen to Commander, and absolutely willing to push her squad however hard it takes to accomplish their goal. (In any circumstances, these just happen to hit a tad closer to home than usual) The fight through Torfan’s tunnels to the pirate base is brutal, and there are several times her men point out maybe they should turn back. But she pushes on bc their mission is to take out this group of pirates. In her mind, batarians are already a threat, given their culture of slaving, piracy, and utter disregard for life and others in general. If they get away with attempting a full-scale attack like they did on a world like Elysium, they’ll be exponentially more dangerous. So there have to be repercussions and they have to be swift and they have to be brutal and unflinching and if she’s the one who doles that out so be it. 
It costs her 3/4 of her squad, but they do it. They fight the pirates to the point of surrender and then Lisa shoots them anyway. Her mission was to eliminate the enemy, and she’s A) worried the batarians are surrendering as a show, with no intention of actually being prisoners, and B) convinced even if they did surrender, the Hedgemony would demand their return as “political prisoners” or something, with good odds they’d be released after just enough time this  “incident” will have faded from people’s memory, and she doesn’t want to risk either. So the dozen-odd surrendering batarians still.die. And while she didn’t take pleasure or satisfaction in doing it, she doesn’t regret it either. Her thought process is somewhere along the lines of “These are sadistic, murdering, slaving scumbags, who have the audacity to ask for the mercy they would never in a million years show their victims. The galaxy is better off without them.”) She doesn’t care it gets her labelled “The Butcher of Torfan” and that people look askance at her when they know her record. She got the job done, the galaxy is just that much safer, and she’s not going to lose any sleep over batarians.
She makes N7 and gets the Spectre nomination bc she pushes herself just as hard as anyone under her command, always gets the job done, and--aside from batarians--has no issue working with other races. When it comes to anyone else; turians, asari, hanar, whoever, she’s all too happy to follow Kaidan’s “jerks and saint, just like us” philosophy and judge them on an individual basis, but--and I’ve actually had her say this in fic--”If you ever find a saintly batarian, let me know and I’ll pin a medal on their chest my-damn-self”. Between what’s known of batarians as a race and culture and her own first or second hand experience, there is nothing redeeming about them in her eyes. (And it’s a very good thing she didn’t run into any during that... week after the Talitha encounter in ME1, bc she probably would have ripped them to shreds with just her bare hands and her omnitool after hearing what that poor girl went through.) She’s not going to go out of her way to gleefully/vindictively slaughter them, but she’s not feeling too charitable or sympathetic toward them, either. If I may make a cross-franchise reference, Lisa’s feeling on batarians are very similar to how Fenris feels about mages in DA2, only unlike him, she hasn’t gotten any examples they’re not all Like That(TM).
As of the end of ME2, she has not seen any evidence to counter her view of batarians, so it’s a view she’s gonna go into ME3 holding(whenever I get around to completely redoing her game), and I don’t see her changing it much at this point. It’s a flaw, and it’s one that’s going to persist probably her entire life, but it made playing her so much fun. (especially since my two previous Shepards were 98% Paragon ANGELS who are best described as bleeding hearts. xD) 
19 notes · View notes
wanderinglotus7 · 4 years ago
Text
The Legacy Continues
Well, I made it! I made it. There are three days left of 2020 until we roll into 2021. This year has been a game changer. Game changer doesn’t seen correct...life altering sounds better. My life drastically changed within the past month. Though these events threw me off my game, I recovered and bounced back even stronger. This speaks to my tremendous strength in the Lord & within myself. I continue to tell myself that the fortune teller I spoke with summer 2019 has been spot on y’all. August 2020 to now, adjust to my new life has been challenging, but I don’t regret my decision moving to Massachusetts. This decision is part of the life-course God has plan for me.
Yes, I miss my family. However, my experiences of attending Bridgewater College and traveling to Thailand has prepared me for this moment in my life. Because of covid I haven’t really been active in my new environment, but I try to take advantage of the opportunities I do have to explore my surroundings. Last week I took a nice walk and ended up exploring another part of Newton and almost ended up in the inner city of Boston (I think I walked about 8 miles in total). I took another walk into town and walked into HomeGoods on my way to Starbucks. Leaving and returning to Boston, I took the train and was able to get myself to and from the Logan airport. Small victories in my book! I am in no rush to try to experience everything all at once. I have around 4 to 5 years to embrace Boston as my new home. I already feel like it is anyway. This is my true testimony to see if I can really be responsible for myself. So far, I feel confident in achieving/excelling in this area of my life. My upbringing has prepared me, yet again, for the challenges of [young] adulthood. 
I am getting ahead of myself. I have to rewind a bit give y’all an update. December 18th was the last day of classes and finals week. I have successfully finished my first semester of grad school!!! YEAH ME!!!!! I’m telling you the hard work paid off. I did have my moments of doubt and feelings of not being good enough. I was overwhelmed. I felt like I was drowning trying to balance school, work, and my internship. On top of that, I am trying to balance a relationship along with working on my mental health. My mind & body is always on the go. No time for rest...actually there are moments of rest, but I chose not to rest instead. I have a bad habit of pushing through and bulldozing my way through my life. I don’t take the necessary time to be present and focus on what is in front of me. Sometimes, I get too focused on the future and forget to enjoy the present. I have been in this mode since mid October to the 18th. Midterms kicked me in the ass because that was around the same time I began working at chipotle. Even before Chipotle, I was falling behind on the readings and assignments for my classes. On the other hand, my internship with Amirah is not a stressor in my life because it is an experience that I am passionate about. I’m not bothered having to wake up early and end my days late when it comes to my internship because I am that committed. Being overwhelmed and stressed I passed all my midterms with good grades (all As and one B)! Then the unexpected happened...
October 29th at 11:18pm, I received a phone call from my mother informing me that my Grandmother Shirley unexpected passed away. I think they determined her cause of death was because of a heart attack. I’m not sure. Honestly, I don’t think I really want to know. I’m hoping she passed away peaceful. The news sent me into shock. I just couldn’t believe it. I still can’t believe it. I just had a conversation with that previous Thursday or Saturday, and the conversation went so well. She was so proud of me. She was excited for me to be home for Christmas and all these other things. It’s not the same, but at least we were able to say “I love you” before she passed. Who would’ve known that would be the last time I will ever speak to her again. And this had to happen around the holidays and around the same time that Laura Mae (my great grandmother passed away). In less than three weeks, I received a phone call and text early in the morning from my Grandma Louise and my dad telling me that my granddaddy unexpectedly passed away too. Two grandparents removed from my life at the snap of the finger.
With help from my family, I was able to fly to Virginia for both funeral services. This time I said my final good-byes unlike with Laura Mae. I didn’t want to live with that guilt. Everyone has been very compassionate, understanding, and accommodating to my situation and has given me time to grieve & heal especially regarding BC, Amirah, & Chipotle. I missed a few classes and had to receive a few extensions on a couple of assignments. I pulled through the best way I could manage in my emotional state. My emotional state didn’t get any better dealing with my relationship during this time. Some of my boyfriend’s recent decisions added more unnecessary stress in my life. I was already stressed about me introducing him to my entire family because the timeline got rushed and I wasn’t for sure if I wanted him around while I’m going through a mental & emotional meltdown. At the end of the day, he wanted to be there for me to provide his live and support and I wasn’t going to deny him of doing so. It would’ve been selfish of me to tell him “No”. Everything happens for a reason. Instead of spending maybe two weeks together, my boyfriend and I spent basically all of November together bouncing between Gloucester and Woodstock. It sucked that it had to be under sad circumstances.
Decisions, decisions, decisions that is where my mind was at. Only a few individuals gave me the needed space to focus & process my emotions. From all angles I was being pressured to make some permanent decisions in which my mind was not in the right mind frame to be thinking. I did reach out and have been receiving counseling services from the university which has been helpful. I am in the process of searching for a therapist outside of the university for long-term treatment. Though I tell myself sometimes I feel like quitting, I decided to remain a full time student, declared my concentration, and completed my field placement application for 2021-2022 academic year. I’m on tract to graduating Spring 2022. Being blessed again, I was able to receive extensions on two of my finals and on my field placement assignments. I passed all my finals! I received all As and one B+. I ended the semester with a 3.6 GPA. Not too shabby (lol). I know my grandparents are very proud of me.
I’m proud of myself! I didn’t surrender and take the easy way out. I turned 24 on the 7th which is another milestone in my life. I was shown much love that exceeded my expectations. I spent the Christmas alone, but I made the best out of my situation & was still able to connect with my loved ones. Since the 18th I devoted my downtime, and overall winter break taking better care of myself. The last week I was home, I noticed that I’ve been severely neglecting myself and it was heavily damaging my well-being. I’m growing in setting and maintaining my boundaries, learning to be present with emotions & resting, being okay with saying “no” and not feeling guilty about it. The most important lesson is not overworking myself in every aspect of my life. I am no good to myself or others if I am completely burnt out. 
I am praying that 2021 isn’t a continuation of this year. Yet, 2020 has not been all too horrible. I have been able to grow in so many ways that I am becoming a better individual. Most important, I’m continuing to learn how to be a better person for myself!
2 notes · View notes
ruiyuki-archives · 4 years ago
Text
Star Tear AU - Alt. Timeline: Todoroki ver. [Part 1]
This is an AU I wrote on the todomomo discord server eons ago. Anything posted to this blog will be transcripts of old original work and not really edited, save for formatting. I have no guarantees if I will ever finish these AUs either so these will only be kept as an archive.
Original transcript posted to tdmm discord: Aug 2020
Momo ver. Alternate timeline: Todo ver. Part 1 || Todo ver. Part 2 || Todo ver. Part 3
Star tears in which Todoroki falls for Momo first.
shortly after the exam with Aizawa he doesn’t know what he’s feeling but just admires her strength and quick thinking
and him hanging out with Deku and Iida at lunch means Todo hears all the nice and good things Momo does when she and Iida to discuss class prez stuff
which intensifies this ??admiration?? and respect more
and he just?? Holds onto those feelings unable to figure out what they are until idk maybe holidays where 1A and 1B throw that holiday hotpot party
and Momos really cute lookin’ in that Santa hat she made with the festive turtleneck
and so that feeling inside Todo grows into something more??? bc "oh shit she cute".... and Todo’s blushing while looking at her from afar. Probably.
so Todo talks to Fuyumi abt it and Fuyumi’s like: “I think you like her Shouto”
and he writes to his mom abt it and Rei's like: “she sounds like a lovely girl Shouto”
and he texts Natsuo abt it and Natsu's like: “aw little bro has a crush”
but all the while this is happening, Momo's gotten closer with Iida over class prez stuff and hero stuff and everyone in 1A (read: mina and hagakure) think iimomo might be a thing???
ofc Momo denies it and making excuses politely like "no no ofc not we're being responsible class prez and vice prez" but she’s kinda stuttery while doing so, so no one buys it
and no ones brave enough to ask Iida except Ochako but he gives some straight laced answer like "i admire her work ethic and respect her as a hero and vice prez" but he also has some tint of blush across his cheeks
so idk fast forward to graduation where Todo's been holding onto these feelings for Momo since first year and iimomo is still very very likely
so its all cherry blossom petals flying around and congratulatory celebrations
and when Todo sees Momo amongst the sakura trees smiling like he's never seen before (bc they're finally officially heroes!!) he thinks she’s beautiful
but just as he's about to approach her, Iida approaches her and Todo can see she's blushing and he knows its really not good to eavesdrop on one of his best friends and the girl he likes
But... he's curious.
or so he lies to himself.
Ofc what he hears isnt what he ever wants to,,,,
cuz Iida just confessed to her.
and she feels the same.
and a star tear slips from Todo's eye as he walks away.
he stops mid step as he touches his cheek bc he didnt even realize he was crying
but what are these tears??? What’s happening?? He's never had these before bc even though Todo is an emotional crier, he doesn’t cry that often.. only when he is completely overwhelmed with emotion
so he has this dumbfounded expression staring at his fingers as these star tears are twinkling out of his eyes catching sunlight and sakura petals
until he hears "Youre a fucking idiot" from a few steps away
Bakugou. 
(Baku really likes eavesdropping ok its not the first time lol)
Baku: theyre called star tears.
Todo: You know what these are?
Baku: it happens when you like someone and that person doesnt like you back, idiot.
Todo: ... oh.
Baku: get that shit sorted or you'll go blind
(And for those who are curious, yes maaaayyybe Bakugou has a case of the stars in this timeline too, that’s how he knows. To whom? I'll let you decide bc honestly, I just want todobaku brotp bonding over unrequited love)
so now Todo thinks he might be fucked. One of his best friends confessed to the girl he likes too and she likes him back and now Todo has this disease that might make him go blind and might get in the way of heroing (which they've all secured post graduation positions by now) and what can he do about it?
nothing, says the doctor he sees. The disease is not curable and the only way to stop it is to have your feelings returned else you'll go colour blind and then completely blind, so he's told.
ya he's really fucked.
maybe its a good thing then, that he doesnt cry often. It makes it easier to ice over these feelings, freeze them in time with the memories of U.A.; of his last congratulations to her and her smile at the end of the ceremony an hour after he overheard that confession
maybe its another good thing that right after graduation, everyone went off to their own positions as side kicks with agencies across japan, focusing on heroing
but its 3 months after graduation that Iida tells Deku and Todoroki that he is seeing Momo when they meet up every Friday to catch up
its 6 months after graduation that its publicly announced in Hero Magazine that Ingenium and Creati are dating
its 9 months after graduation that he sees Iida and Momo attending the Hero Association's rising stars gala as a couple and are seated at the same table as them
(Bakugou is scowling at him across the table.)
Todo tries. He really does. To be happy for them.
but he's angry at himself that he can't be happy for them. That it saddens him to see Momo glowing under the ballroom lights but its not himself to make her shine like that, its Iida. That he sees she is the one to make Iida genuinely happy in the way his eyes light up when he smiles at her.
and all three times Todo goes home, lies down alone in his room, an arm slung across his forehead as the star tears leak from his eyes.
he starts to lose seeing colour at 12 months.
after 24 months he needs glasses for colour correction (and ironically gets a sponsorship with the brand. The fashion magazines print headlines for weeks "Hot-Cold Hero Shouto Fall Fashion! See page 7 spread for his newest spotted specks and turtle necks")
at 36 months Iida breaks the news. Iida's gonna propose to Yaoyorozu and wants him, Deku, and his brother to be his groomsmen
she said yes.
and a part of Todo washes away with the star tears flooding him room and twinkling against the tatami.
he tries to stay out of the wedding planning as much as possible. He'll go to the tuxedo fittings as requested and still keep up hearing the updates when seeing Iida and Deku for their weekly get together on Friday nights. 
But for anything involving Momo's presence, there will always be a "sorry i have a mission that week", "sorry im visiting my mom", "sorry Endeavor needs to see me about the agency"
... all excuses Bakugou knows, but the others pay no mind. They are rising heroes near the top of the billboard by now
month 48. Wedding day.
she's stunning. Gorgeous. A near goddess walking down the aisle on her big day.
but she's not walking down for him. No its for iida.
there was the ceremony, the cheers, the congratulations, the reception. Fairy lights around the dance floor and along the walls, champagne glittering after the sound of a cork
Todoroki stands off to against the wall as the night dies down, a glass in hand, watching the newly weds grace the dance floor.
someone slides up beside him, he feels the presence. Bakugou.
"She's beautiful isnt she?"
"Yeah."
. . .
a star tear falls from Todoroki's eyes, twinkle hidden among the fairy lights and champagne glitter.
she's beautiful, but maybe its a good thing I can't see
somebody said: what if she knows everything that had happened and the reason why he couldn't continue his career is bc of her?
me: ok you’re asking for it
Momo, 3 months pregnant with iimomo baby, announces with Iida the news to their friends
the soon to be parents want to choose godparents for the baby so Iida gets to choose the baby’s godmother and Momo gets to choose the godfather
and ofc along with the announcement Momo asks Todoroki to be the kid’s godfather
he can’t say no to her.
the same week later Todo and Momo's agencies are requested to deal with this one villain case while Ingenium's agency deals with another in another town (later turns out the cases were connected)
small talk, civil, very professional between Momo and Todo when they’re in the debriefing
at this point Todo's pretty much completely blind and uses some special contact lenses from Hatsume to help "see"
but the contact lenses can only do so much as to detect light movement and shadows and it reallllllllly doesnt work well when he's using his fire 
so Todo already had tossed around the idea of running away to the mountains like Roy did in the FMA 2003 ending, "mysteriously" retiring bc really his vision cannot keep up
until this last mission with Momo
and really its been nearly a decade now since they last worked together side by side (not since U.A. he thinks).. so just let the blind man be selfish one last time
and so smth smth missiom happens, Todo and Momo fighting side by side
but Momo senses there’s something off with Todo's movements? His reflexes are slower.. it doesnt seem like he's prediciting the opponents moves like he used to.. he's more so reacting and retaliating than attacking..
she chalks it up to that they havent fought side by side in a long time and his style must’ve changed and really, she doesnt know him anymore... not like she used to
smth smth 3 months pregnant Momo gets hurt, knocked unconscious for a bit
Todo saves her
and when she comes to, while Todo's holding her, star tears fall onto her cheek from Todo's eyes. 
She's shocked. Reaches up to gently graze a finger tip at his left cheek.
"Todoroki-san, these are?"
and again its like Todo didnt realize he was crying. He jerks away from her hand and brushes her off with "its nothing”. Changes the subject with "are you ok?"
Momo: yes.. i think so
Todo: and the baby?
Momo, sitting up: we're ok I think
Todo, moving away: good
the mission concludes and they meet up with Ingenium’s group to wrap up the two ends. Todo slips away before Iida and Momo and approach him
theres no activity from Todoroki for the next month
neither Iida, Deku or anyone else in 1A know where he went except the Hero Association's vague comment on "Hot Cold Hero Shouto has taken a sudden indefinite hiatus"
(Only Todo’s family knows and Endeavor asked the Association to say "hiatus" instead of "retirement" bc Enji wants to believe in his son making a comeback. He didnt stop Shouto from taking off)
and ofc Momo upon hearing this is so confused??? Her last mission with him was the last time she saw him and he was crying. Why was he crying? Strange star tears twinkling and landing on her cheeks? What even is that phenomenon?
its too many questions and ofc Momo's gonna investigate. For the sake of her friend.
so she digs up all the texts she can find on star tears. Internet search all the possibilities. Consults the doctors at the hospital. Even asks Tenya if Todoroki has been acting strangely during their weekly catch ups.
but Tenya tells her Todoroki hasnt been the the meet ups since after their wedding
so she asks anyone in their pro hero circle of associates she can think of. Tsukiyomi, Burnin', heros from his agency, anyone she can think of that has worked with Todoroki before and could comment on his behaviour
no body knows. No body noticed anything different either. Sure there were some off days but the Hot Cold Hero Shouto was always on his game being one of the top 3 heroes on the billboard charts
she searches and searches, splitting time interviewing colleagues and researching the possible star tears phenomenon
until eventually her search takes her to...
Bakugou.
Of course.
Momo, pleading: please Bakugou, you know something about him dont you?
Bakugou, who at this point had been very careful trying not to get cornered knowing her investigation: save it pony tail, you’re about to have a baby. Go have people harass you about that brat in your oven instead of harassing other people
Momo, nearly begging: please. You and I both know he's strong and a good hero that would not suddenly retire. Whatever he is doing, he might need help.. please tell me Bakugou.
... theres something about pregnant women that you cant say no to.
Bakugou, relenting: tch. The half ass is somewhere in Yokohama
and thats all she needs nearly running waddling (as fast as a pregnant woman could) out the door
Bakugou, calling out after her, still reluctant: when find that half ass, i suggest you throw him a gift. Literally. Throw it at him. He deserves it.
she finds him along the port, watching the sunset in Yokohama (its really not that hard to find someone with heterochromia and two tone hair in a city, especially if youre a hero that knows what methods heroes will use to go incognito)
and for some inkling of a feeling, Momo takes Bakugou's advice. She has a carton of strawberry milk in hand.
Momo, a few feet away from him: Todoroki-san, it's been a while.
Todo, turning his head in her direction: Yaoyorozu...?
Momo, sadly smiling: the sunset is beautiful here isnt it?
Todo, brows furrowing: .. sure. Yaoyorozu what are you doing here--
Momo, interrupting him: --i brought some snacks. Strawberry milk, you liked this while we were in school right? Catch.
she tosses it at him.
he tries to reach out.
But he'es completely off. And misses
Momo, sad: Todoroki-san. You're blind, arent you?
Todo, guilty: ah.
Momo, tearing up: will you please tell me?
he still can say no to her and confesses his story
and when he's finished telling the tale of star tears, the stars above are twinkling too
she's crying and choking and sobbing through tears and its intensified by baby Iida with pregnancy hormones
But the last thing she manages to croak out at the very least is still wholly her
She apologizes
“Im so sorry Todoroki- san. I cant love you that way.”
“I know.”
END NOTES:
red is the last color Todoroki wanted to lose because it reminds him of Momo
during missions, as long as he could see her, “that’s ok” he thought. she is the only one he sees in color. that is okay with him
to him, Momo is his shining star. And there’s something tragically poetic of him losing his sight to the stars if its for his shining star Momo
He leaves the last stars in a tiny little jar like those paper stars as a gift for her with just the words on a note "goodbye Momo" the day after she finds him in Yokohama
Momo has the jar of stars forever on her bedside and looks at them with this melancholy expression. Baby Iida grows up and asks mom: "what is that jar of stars?" 
Momo responds: "a gift from someone that was blinded by love"
Bakugou in this timeline had a case of star tears too but I'd like to think he got his feelings requited so he never went blind to contrast Todo
So thats why Baku is (begrudgingly) sympathetic to Todo cuz he thinks: “that could’ve been me”
The ending shot of a blind Todoroki in a dark room, all alone, eyes closed, thinking back to Momo's shining smile from UA surrounded by star light with a sad smile on his face and it fades to black
> archives masterpost
4 notes · View notes
bitterlemonwater · 5 years ago
Note
Would you ever consider writing something with Stephen Strange and Peter? 🥺 The rarepair is truly lacking and I feel like you could make something perfectly smutty out of post-Endgame taking Peter under Stephen's (magical) wing, or doctor AU
Endg*me who? I don’t know her. Smutty non-powered doctor au (that’s much more of a club au than a proper doctor au) it is. I’ve only written Stephen x Peter once before so?? Hope you like it anon bby
Peter’s age is unspecified, Strange has post-Sorcerer Supreme facial hair bc I said so, hand jobs, non-graphic but explicitly mentioned violence (Peter gets mugged in the beginning), clubbing, inaccurate medical procedures?? i’m not a doctor and have never worked in a hospital lol. 5k
—-
Peter wakes up in a hospital bed. 
He remembers leaving his apartment. He remembers zipping his wallet into one jacket pocket and slipping his phone into the other, his hand wrapped around it. He remembers turning all the right corners and dodging a cyclist and sniffling in the chilly weather. 
He doesn’t remember why or how he—
Oh, no, wait. Yeah. He remembers that.
The three thugs that had caught him by the hood of his jacket and yanked him into a murky alleyway between two run down hole-in-the-walls, both of which were closed for the night by the time Peter finally had time to run his errands. Milk and printer paper from a 24/7 Target hadn’t seemed like they would be a problem, but. That’s a sketchy neighborhood in New York, he supposes. 
He’d handed over his wallet without a fight (because contrary to popular belief, he doesn’t actually have a death wish) and was giving up his phone when May started calling him. 
Apparently the buzzing and loud ringtone (what? He has unfortunately selective hearing—sometimes it just gets tuned out and he needs volume to catch his attention) and potential red alert freaked the guys out, because one swatted his phone out of his grip and before he could raise his hands in surrender, someone decked him in the face.
And now he’s in a hospital bed. 
The window shades are half opened but there’s no light coming in, and the light in the room is off, only a dim lamp illuminating everything—so it must still be nighttime. Hopefully the same night, but Peter won’t push his luck. 
His head throbs like hell and he sits up slowly. The chair beside his bed keeps his shoes and jacket in reassuring view, but other than that, he’s been blessed to keep his regular clothes on. (Definitely the same night, then. Maybe he’ll only have been out for a few hours?)
For a few minutes, Peter just sits still on the bed, breathing, rubbing his temples. He really hopes he doesn’t have a concussion. This one hospital visit is going to suck to pay off—especially if he was brought in by an ambulance—and he’d rather not add follow up appointments to the bill. 
It’s not long before a nurse stops by. He turns on the lights and it makes Peter cringe, but not as awfully as he’s heard concussions usually make bright lights. There’s still hope, then.
The nurse asks him how he’s feeling and if he’s in any pain, then takes down his information, explains that he’s only been out for three hours and that it’s currently one in the morning. Peter tells him about getting mugged and he responds by saying they’ll have an officer come down to talk to him after he is released from care. 
The nurse finishes by asking if there’s anyone Peter would like to call. Peter debates saying no, but he can already hear May yelling at him if he tries to walk himself home after this, so he gives them Ned’s number and lays back down. 
“Alright. Doctor Strange will be here look you over in a moment.” The nurse says. Doctor Strange? Doctor, Strange. Strange. Why does that sound familiar?
While the nurse gives him two pills for the pain, Peter tries to recall where he’s heard that name before, wracking his brain and only coming up with incomplete thoughts and almost-resurrected memories. He knows he’s heard that before. He just can’t figure out where.
He’s already decided to awkwardly ask the doctor if they’ve met before when the door opens again.
In steps a man half turned away from him, tall and not quite broad but definitely fit and muscled under his white coat. He’s wearing pale blue scrubs and has a stethoscope around his neck, clipboard in his hands. His hair is brown with the slightest bit of grey, that much Peter can see, with killer cheekbones.
It’s not until the guy finishes whatever quiet conversation he was having and turns towards Peter, uncapping a pen and finally facing the younger that it clicks. 
Shit.
Three weeks earlier
Usually after a rough week of classes and work, Peter is exhausted. He’s tired and he just wants to sleep for fourteen hours, then have food delivered directly to his bed so he doesn’t have to get up for a full twenty four. 
This week it is the opposite. He’s keyed up and anxious to do something. He feels a little detached from himself, and he wants to do something outrageous. He wants an adrenaline rush that will take all his extra energy with it once it fades.
MJ suggests partaking in a protest somewhere, but a quick search tells him there aren’t any nearby that night, and not that Peter doesn’t feel just as passionate about good causes and taking action, but standing with a sign and chanting with a crowd isn’t really the thrill he’s looking for to vent how wound up he is. 
Ned suggests clubbing. Peter likes that idea a lot better. 
He loses his best friend within the first twenty minutes they spend at the bar. It’s not too high end that it actually requires an entrance fee, but it’s a respectable enough place that they definitely wouldn’t have been able to afford more than two drinks.
Which is why they got plenty tipsy before they went into the club. 
Which is why after attractive strangers keep buying Peter shots and sweet bubbly things (as if he can’t handle his liquor, but whatever, he won’t say no to free alcohol) he’s hammered. 
Not black-out wasted, of course. Peter knows his limits well enough to know exactly when he’s having fun, but not too clumsy or cloudy to get in real trouble. But he’s definitely drunk. Definitely, definitely drunk.
Normally Peter isn’t the type to be comfortable in a crowded club full of sweaty bodies, everyone in short dresses and tight button ups that show off all the round and firm parts.
On that note, he hadn’t really had much for a “sexy” outfit other than a blush pink satin t-shirt that MJ said made him look “fuckable” and fitted black chinos. 
But normally Peter doesn’t feel like he’ll explode if he doesn’t find some way to work off pent up nerves. So when girls put their hands on his shoulders and roll and sway their hips, and random guys grab him by the waist and pull his ass flush to their fronts—he laughs and grinds back. 
He flits between partners for the better part of an hour, really only stopping to get free water from the bar or have various old fashioned, rocks, shot, and cocktail glasses slid his way—or to go to the bathroom.
He sees Ned a couple times, always across the room with a girl practically melting into him. Ned’s always had a better sense of rhythm than Peter, but that’s the nice thing about club music. 
You don’t really need rhythm. You just have to move and you’ll either fit the song anyways or someone else will help you along. 
He only takes a few sips of each drink he’s offered, and some he does refuse with a cheeky smile about not getting drunk, even though he’s very drunk already.
Peter’s just left a man (and a half empty glass) at the bar, one who’s already bought him two very sparkling blue drinks and who definitely watches his ass each time he walks away, when he runs into someone. Literally, bumps into them, and though they’re barely thrown off balance and Peter is mid not-sexy-at-all apology, the person steadies both hands on his waist. 
They’re nice hands. Firm but not uncomfortably possessive or rough, pliable enough to move with the way Peter shifts and sways without letting even an ounce of space get under his grip. 
“Hello there,” the man says. Peter looks up and sees a goddamn devilishly handsome face, well trimmed facial hair and piercing grey-green eyes. Probably mid 30’s. Sharply defined cheekbones and jaw. Hot. 
“Hi,” Peter giggles. Giggles like a ditzy idiot, but the man doesn’t seem to mind. 
“You’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you?” He says, and he rakes his gaze up and down Peter’s body in the most shameless way. Peter grins and bites his lip, not shying away from eye contact when the man looks up again. 
“You’re not too bad lookin’ yourself.” 
The man grins, then tugs Peter forward by the waist. Peter doesn’t hesitate to grind forward, one hand on the guy’s chest and the other rising to a tall shoulder, swaying and stepping into the man’s space. 
It earns him a pleased smirk, and the guy drags him closer, walks him back into the messy crowd so they can dance. 
He’s hot, ok, and Peter’s been getting groped and felt up for the last hour and a half, so when he feels a sizable bulge press against him and moves flush with the solid body in front of, beside, behind him—sue him, he gets hard. Really hard. 
Really, really fucking hard. 
As in, he needs to get off in the bathroom right fucking now. 
“Having fun, baby?” The guy asks. His mouth is right next to Peter’s ear, hips rubbing against Peter’s ass, and one hand reaches down to boldly cup Peter’s clothed dick. 
Peter whines and nods, pulling off the guy, fully intending to abandon ship and jerk off in a hopefully not too gross toilet stall. The man grabs his wrist as he steps away, but doesn’t drag him back or try to guide him elsewhere. He just follows Peter through the crowd, landing them both in the bathroom. 
When Peter turns around with the goal of seductively asking if the man wants to help him out or not, he’s met by plush lips rushing to his own. The guy tastes like hard alcohol, like whiskey and bourbon and nothing like the marshmallow vodka Peter and Ned used to get tipsy or the sweet bubbly things Peter’s been offered all night. 
The man walks them through the bathroom door and locks it behind them, as if there aren’t stalls they could easily slip into. For some reason the lights are actually dimmer inside the restroom and the music has no problem slipping through the crack under the door, deafening outside but loud enough to mostly cover up the wet sounds of their kissing.
Peter kisses him hard and messy, wrapping his arms around the guy’s neck and grinding forward, trying to get some friction on his aching cock. The man smirks into the kiss, nipping at Peter’s bottom lip and licking from the bottom of his chin back into his mouth, one hand venturing downwards to cup his erection again.
The man’s hands are so steady, nothing sloppy or uncoordinated about him. He doesn’t tremble or slip up at all, doesn’t hold too tight, doesn’t move to fast but he doesn’t slow down for a second to let Peter breathe. He rubs at Peter’s dick through his slacks, fingers mapping out the shape and digging his palm right where the tip is, making Peter keen into the kiss. 
It doesn’t take long for the guy to get tired with feeling him up over his pants. He unbuttons the chinos easily and tugs down the zipper, slipping his hand under Peter’s boxers too. 
His hand isn’t particularly cold or hot but god does it feel good, having smooth, solid skin to rub against. The man strokes him with purpose a few times, not teasing him or trying to draw out any more of the moans that Peter graciously supplies. Flicking his wrist over the head, cupping and squeezing his balls, tight but not too tight, easing the way with precome. 
And then he stops, just holding, and with a desperate moan Peter picks up where he left off, grinding into the man’s fist, thrusting his hips up and forward into the friction.
He gets close embarrassingly fast (or it would be embarrassing if he could care), his legs shaking and arms tense and abdominal clenched as pressure and pleasure quickly pool in the pit of his stomach.
Peter whimpers into the kiss, all tongue and want, threading his fingers in the older man’s brown (possibly black? It’s dark in here) hair while he’s squeezed tightly against hard muscle by an arm around his waist. 
“Gonna-”
“Do it. Come on, baby, wanna see your pretty face when you do,” the man cuts him off. Peter nods, just nods and bites his lip and lets his head fall back, baring his neck and face to the world (or, really, just to the man jerking him off) as he tips over the edge. 
He moans so loudly that if someone was waiting on the other side of the door they’d hear him over the music. He doesn’t care, though. It’s one of the best orgasms he’s ever had, the build up and being pushed over by such dexterous hands with that deep voice groaning and whispering praise in his ear. 
He soaks his already precome-ruined boxers with release and slumps against the man, needing a second to breathe and collect himself. The guy lets him lean for a few moments, but then turns him around, drawing Peter’s back against him and pinning the smaller man between himself and the counter. 
It’s probably a gross counter, classy bar or otherwise. Peter doesn’t care. He folds his arms on it and rests his forehead on the backs of his hands, letting the man behind him grind into his ass. 
Bare, if Peter picks that up right, the hardly audible shuffle of a belt and zipper, the much more defined feeling cock rubbing against him. He doesn’t care about that, either. If his ass gets stained by this gorgeous Greek god’s come, then he can just borrow Ned’s jacket to wrap around his waist when they leave. 
Will it be embarrassing? Yes. Will Ned let him live it down? Not likely.
Will it be worth it? Yes. 
And it’s not that he’s not present and interested, but he’s definitely a little floaty and the songs outside get caught swimming in his head, and he has a feeling it takes the man longer to come than Peter thinks it does.
Either way, when the guy does climax, he pulls away from Peter and catches it in his hands, washing it away in the sink beside the younger’s nearly collapsed body. 
“You ok there?” The man asks. Even shouting over the music, his voice sounds soft and gentle. Peter nods. 
“‘m fine. Better than fine. That felt great, erm, thanks,” he laughs, standing straight and looking at the guy again. The man smiles at him and pecks his cheeks, then his lips, then smirks. 
“Made a mess of your underwear, though,” he quips.
Peter groans and wiggles around the guy, stealing some paper towels to try and clean up inside his pants (which would have been awkward and a little confusing, as for how much modesty he should take, if the guy didn’t plaster himself to Peter’s back once more, hook his chin over Peter’s shoulder and watch so intently that Peter started to get hard again) before zipping and buttoning back up. 
“I’m Stephen, by the way. Doctor Stephen Strange.”
Peter raises an eyebrow. “Doctor? Wow, that’s really impressive,” he drawls, not really believing the man. One of the first guys to buy him a drink had also claimed to be a doctor, but a few minutes later when his girlfriend showed up, she happened to mention his job at a grocery store. 
Not that Peter has anything against grocery store employees. Ned worked at Walmart before getting into his field and Peter has probably worked at every convenience store and gas station in Queens. 
(And not because he couldn’t hold one down, but because he needed five jobs at once over the summer to be able to pay for his first year of room and board.)
The guy just smiles, not confessing to being a liar but not taking offense that Peter implies he is. “What’s your name, sweetheart?” 
Peter hums. “Peter. I’m a photographer,” he winks at the man and unlocks the bathroom door. Stephen guides him by the wrist (and it would almost be annoying that he doesn’t hold Peter’s hand properly or let him walk on his own, if it wasn’t hot as fuck) back to the bar.
In place of ordering, Stephen just holds up two fingers towards the bartender. She nods at him and turns to grab two shot glasses, and Peter doesn’t have time to unpack why she knows what he wants. 
“Photography, huh?”
“Yup.”
“Sounds riveting.”
“Oh, it is. Nothing as exciting as taking pictures of other people doing exciting things.”
“Oh, I’m sure.”
“Doctor, huh?”
“Mhm.”
“Are you a real doctor?”
“I am.”
Peter swivels on his bar stool, staring the man down. It would be more interrogating and honest to his attempt to read the man if simply looking at Stephen didn’t make his lips twitch in a smile. “Where’d you go to school?” 
“Pre-med in NYU. The rest is a secret.” Stephen winks. Peter narrows his eyes but doesn’t say anything else. 
“So, is that Peter with a last name?” Stephen adds as the drinks are delivered to them. Honey colored with no bubbles and perfect circles of ice in each. Peter takes a sip and lets it roll around his mouth.
“How do I know you’re not a serial killer?”
“I told you I’m a doctor.”
“Perfect cover story,” Peter raises, making an exaggeratedly suspicious face. Stephen laughs at him, probably not because he’s actually amusing but because the man is also drunk. 
“Ok, what about Peter with a phone number?”
Peter can’t stop from smiling. A phone number? Like, a ‘we could totally hook up again and get further than a hand job in a bathroom’ kind of phone number? He tries to keep up the game of not acting as enthusiastic as he is, though. “Well, since I still don’t know if you’re a serial killer, maybe you should give me your number.”
“Really? After I got you off like that?”
“Well, actually I got me off, thanks,” Peter muses cheekily, “but… yep. Precautions.”
That earns him a fond laugh. “Alright, alright. ‘Precautions’. Here,” Stephen snatches a napkin from under his drink and a pen from over the counter of the bar, confirming Peter’s theory that they man is definitely a regular. 
“So you come here often?” Peter says. He realizes the joke a second later than Stephen does and blushes at his own cheesiness while the man shakes his head and laughs. 
“I do, yes.” 
“Hmm. Doctor’s salary and you go to bars that don’t overcharge you for everything? Sounds sketchy.” Peter quips. Stephen rolls his eyes and hands over the napkin, ten numbers in way too nice handwriting bleeding through.
“A friend of mine owns the place. I like to support her now and again.” He explains. Peter nods, accepting the reasoning. 
“That doesn’t explain why you have nice handwriting, though.” He continues, examining the napkin. Stephen laughs at him. 
“I’m taking that as a compliment.” 
Peter grins back.
They talk for almost an hour, broken up by breaks to dance or get more drinks—which are just water, for Peter. He knows when he’s hit his limit, thankfully—and by the time Ned is falling over Peter’s shoulder, leaning against the counter and saying he’s ready to go home and lament about the girl he’s just fallen in love with, Peter thinks he likes Stephen Strange quite a lot. 
He says so, as he’s leaving, and waves the napkin with the man’s number for emphasis. Stephen just grins, tilts his head and raises his glass and shouts over the crowd that he expects to hear from Peter soon.
It’s only when Peter decides “soon” can totally be three in the morning of that same night that he realizes he somehow managed to lose the napkin. 
He’s upset, but not devastated. Just disappointed. Ned tells him they can both get over their narrowly claimed soulmates (i.e. the girl he danced with all night who was leaving to go back to Germany the next morning) by having a star wars marathon and ordering take-out. 
Which, yeah. Was a pretty good remedy, and after a few days, Peter completely (or, mostly completely) forgot about Stephen Strange.
Present time
Peter’s brain stops processing. God, just the sight of the other man makes him antsy to move, having to consciously stop his hips from shifting. He wants to kill the awkwardness. “Uh-”“Peter.” Stephen beats him to it. He cringes slightly.
“Um, h-hi. Hi? How, uh, how are you?” 
That gets him a slightly confused, if amused, eyebrow raise. (Killer cheekbones and those lips Peter assumed he’d never see again) “The question is actually how are you, seeing as you’re the one in the hospital bed.” 
“Oh! Right, right. I’m good. Fine.” This is too awkward. This is kind of painful, actually. 
“Mhm,” the doctor couldn’t sound less convinced, “How’s your head? I’m sure the nurse told you, they did an emergency CT scan when you were first brought in, and you don’t seem to have any injuries beyond the couple of scrapes on your face and side. Let you keep your clothes on since the worst of it might be a minor concussion. Let’s check that over though, yeah?”
Peter just nods slowly. Stephen comes to sit beside him, using another chair opposite the one housing his jacket and shoes. 
He watches as Stephen writes in a few boxes on the paper on his clipboard, but all Peter can think about is that those careful, nimble hands had given him one of the best orgasms ever. 
“Are you in any pain? Any sensitivity to light, headache, confusion, dizziness? Are you nauseous at all? Any memory loss?” 
Peter responds dutifully to the questions. He has a slight headache, and the lights bothered him when they first turned on but overall he’s feeling a lot better. An ache on his whole left side, but he assumes that’s from how he fell and landed when he got knocked out. 
Stephen writes down all of his answers, checking and marking boxes. When he’s done, he sets the clipboard down and beckons Peter closer. He listens to the younger man’s heart, checks his eyes with a light, and peels off some bandages that Peter hadn’t even noticed on his cheek, reapplying fresh gauze and tape with a new layer of antibiotic cream. 
“Well, I’d say you’re in the clear for a concussion, but you’ll definitely need to take it easy for a week or so. Lots of fluids, lots of rest, as low stress as you can manage. No rigorous physical activity. You’re a lucky kid, Peter Parker.” 
Peter cringes, then lets his head loll to the side. He’s tired and the pain medication is making him a little loopy and he’d rather think about anything else than what his bill is going to be for all of this. 
“Well shit. You know my last name now. Hope you don’t serial murder me.” He hums. He reaches for his jacket and slips it on. Stephen has the decency (especially impressive considering he probably thinks Peter ditched him) to humor him.
“Still on about that? I thought you’d be convinced of my authenticity by now. I’ve got a white lab coat and everything. I’m wearing scrubs.” The man says, whispering scandalized at the end. It makes Peter giggle. He’s a little amazed, actually.
The man he met at the bar was nice, sure, but he’d also very clearly had the goal of getting into Peter’s pants. It’s odd to see the same man, who’d later taken such a serious, confident tone at the club still being playful.
“Speaking of, I thought you said you were a surgeon? Very impressive, very renowned, etcetera. Why are you giving me a… non, surgical check up?” Peter asks. He looks longingly at his shoes, kind of wishing they would just float over to his feet without him having to put them on.
Stephen doesn’t seem off put by Peter’s phrasing. “All of our neurologists are swamped at the moment. They called in some off duty general practitioners to cover, but a personal friend of mine, Christine, was supposed to see you and couldn’t, so she asked me.” He leans back in his chair, then, studying Peter in the same shameless, confident way (albeit, not in the lustful way) he had at the bar. 
“I must say, I certainly wasn’t expecting to see you here. Or again, at all.” His tone lilts, pressing Peter to explain why he never called after they hit it off (and got off). 
“Yeah, about that,” Peter mumbles. He grabs his sneakers but doesn’t put them on yet, figuring it would be rude to get up or turn his back while he’s explaining. “I’m sorry. I was honestly going to call you but, I uhm..” 
“Lost the napkin?”
Peter winces, then nods and hangs his head in defeat. “I lost the napkin.”
Stephen laughs, sitting forward again, and it surprises Peter. On the rare occasion he’s seen someone he’s (intentionally) turned down again, they’ve usually been… a lot more aggressive and unhappy. 
His confusion must show, because Stephen looks at him, all sharp features and unapologetically confident and somehow just soft enough to be sincere. “I figured it was something like that, considering you had a pretty good incentive to contact me.” 
Peter narrows his eyes, but it’s not real heat. “‘Pretty good incentive’ he says. My, you’re just full of yourself, huh? That’s gotta be some kind of doctor syndrome or something. There was a Criminal Minds episode like that.” Stephen groans at his response. 
“Criminal minds?”
“What? It’s a good show!” 
“It’s completely unrealistic. Every episode has the exact same plot.”
Peter gasps, offended. “They do not!” Stephen looks unimpressed.
“There’s a bad guy, he’s killed people in a particularly gruesome way and now he’s kidnapped some poor girl. Time crunch. He’s a white man between his 20’s and 40’s, one of the ‘agents’ has some dramatic personal tie, there are hints at a subplot, Reed says something quirky and beats them all at cards on the plane. Sound familiar?” 
Peter gapes at him for a solid three seconds before composing himself, crossing his arms and huffing. “It’s still entertaining..” he pouts, petulant. Stephan rolls his eyes but chuckles at the display. 
“Well, I’m sure it will keep you plenty entertained while you get your rest. And hydration. But try to steer clear of the strawberry daiquiris.” He says, smirking as he reorders the papers on his clipboard. Peter relents, sighing, and turns to put on his shoes.
“‘s not like I picked ‘em out and bought them all..” he grumbles quietly.
When he slowly rises from the bed, Stephen is still there. Standing on the opposite side of the cot, staring at him. Peter feels his cheeks flush and dear god, he cannot get hard thinking about the last time they were alone in a room together. 
He’s trying to think of some way to diffuse the tension, ask about leaving or paperwork (or the bill, dear god), the police report he needs to file or about his friend picking him up—but Stephen beats him to it. 
“Would you like to have dinner?” 
Peter stares. What was that?
“Huh?”
“I said, would you like to have dinner?” Stephen repeats, patient and unflinching, nothing modest or humorous to lighten the air. 
Peter stutters, then wets his lip and bites it, then shifts from foot to foot before nodding. 
“Yes. I’d like to have dinner with you.”
Stephen smiles. “Great.” He steps around the bed just as Peter does, bringing them closer together. “Now, technically I have your whole file right here, and I could just get your phone number off of that. But that’d be wholly unprofessional of me.”
Peter snorts, having to step back and cover his mouth so he can laugh at the man’s utter brashness. “Yeah, you’re completely correct. That would be very unprofessional. And probably illegal, I think.”
“Oh, definitely illegal.” 
Peter giggles, but then Stephen is handing him the pen he’d been writing with. Peter takes it, still grinning, yet furrows his brows in confusion. “I don’t have any paper.” 
Stephen smirks. Then he holds out his hand, palm up. When it clicks what he’s requesting and Peter snaps up to look at him, there’s a very calm, controlled smile, carefully containing a wild amount of self-satisfaction on Stephen’s face. 
“So I don’t lose it.” 
Peter rolls his eyes so dramatically it hurts, but he takes Stephen’s hand, reluctantly flattered, holding it steady in one of his own and writing with the other. Though it’s more like the older man’s one palm holds both of his stable with how unwavering it is. 
When he’s finished writing his number, he hands the pen back. “Make sure you don’t wash that hand,” he quips. Stephen hums, waving an arm past to guide Peter out of the room. 
“I promise I’ll take good care of it. The nurse will deliver your paperwork to the waiting room, and there will be an officer there as well. You’re very welcome to stay until your ride arrives.” He says. Before Peter can answer, the man is swooping down, planting a gentle kiss to his temple, and then before he can react, Stephen is disappearing down the hallway. 
Peter waits in a mildly comfortable chair and picks up his packet, report and bills and prescription of rest, all in a daze. He’s still in it when he files his report with officer Rogers and when he gets in Ned’s car around two thirty in the morning, answering a million questions and finally tipping his head back against the seat, relishing the dark and the busy quiet of New York late at night.
Two days later, after he’s got a new phone and a new wallet (and a loan in May’s good credit name to pay for his hospital visit), he gets a text that threatens to buzz out of the pocket which barely manages to muffle it.
Unknown: Dinner, Thursday. 8 o’clock. I’ll pick you up. Sound good?
Peter grins and makes a new contact.
You don’t know my address though?
Stephen: I’m sure you’ll tell me.
Fair enough. I can do Thursday at 8.
Stephen: Perfect.
Then, a moment later:
Stephen: Wear that pink shirt again, and I’ll let you pick the venue. Deal?
Peter blushes even though there’s no one there to see it, biting the inside of his cheek not to smile dumbly at his phone. 
Deal.
53 notes · View notes
trubilee · 4 years ago
Text
so i guess i’ll write (blogwrite?) now.
today we were authorized for early release at D, the way we are whenever there’s a holiday, so i decided to use up my 3 hours of company-gifted time to try and write this morning (not write this blog, but write other stuff, which tired me so now i am writing this blog as my treat for this last hour).
it has been a challenge to write these past several months.  i sort of think i know why, or i know what triggered it at least.  not sure why the difficulty persists but i guess i could pat myself on the back for trying this morning.
there are a lot of things i’ve been wanting to write about.  in no particular order, my performance eval at work, my strange quarantine life-related skincare fixation journey (oh, the ups and downs), wes and happiness and my odd overthinking of it sometimes, the chasing francis book i finished a couple weeks ago, the funeral last week, and... hmm.  maybe that’s around everything i can think of.  oh, music in the time of rona too.  also stuff in me that the writing has kicked up.  i guess i could try.  oh, and my bras of choice during these WFH times.  maybe a little about daisy and the vaccine.
so.  performance eval.  it went extremely well.  we took the full hour.  my leader L is not the type to give much feedback, but in the first half of that hour she basically looked straight at me and told me all the things i would’ve wanted to hear.  about client group 1, and 2, and 3, the breadth and versatility and equal parts drafting and interpersonal connecting components of them all.  i repeated it all to paul when i told him how it went, and really, really it was everything i would’ve wanted to hear from her.  i was praying thanks to God as she was talking to me through the screen, because i was just absorbing all the words that i had been so hungry to have her give to me this whole past year.  and there are so many things to it too.  things like, i know i am not perfect and everything to everyone the way i think i should--even could be--and i can’t necessarily just say to myself “oh but nobody is” because actually, at this company, there are some people who are, they really really are just so good, and i feel so bad just taking in how good they are at thinking on their feet and killing it at getting things done here, and being so articulate and effective at communicating and dynamic and all of it.  anyway, the conversation felt so... whole-making.  hahaha.  make-whole-ing?  another part of it is that i have always been grateful for the job, i always felt like it was suck a lucky winning when i shouldn’t have necessarily landed it and with that came this default set of thoughts that went, oh they hate me.  oh they think i am inept.  oh they see how inept i am.  they regret hiring me.  i don’t want them to regret hiring me.  that would be one of my worst fears, jobwise.  to burden someone with my existence on their team.  i know that it’s healthy to think that a company is lucky to have you and to know your worth and all, but bc i’m kind of acquainted with my own versions of total failure, i’m not good at thinking that way.  i’m always thinking that i’m lucky to work for X company.  it would probably make many a leadership coach or asian american advancement advocate grimace.  i’m sure it’s a handicap to me careerwise, salarywise, etc etc, but asking me to fix it is like asking mesomeone to stop being insecure.  in that, it's not something you can change by will.  it almost feels like a part of my dna, not just some protective armor.  this is why i sort of roll my eyes inside when someone announces that she (it’s usually a she) has imposter syndrome.  it’s unfair, i know, but i almost want to look around and say, wait is that not just the normal state of things?  why are you acting like it’s some sort of unusual complex that you have?  i thought everyone, anyone with any noonchi, had that.  that’s like saying that--gasp--you don’t think you’re the absolute sh*t.  it doesn’t mean you're afflicted with anything.  i should ease up a little.  
damn.  i only have 20 min left.
ok another thing about the performance eval.  about which i joked to my leader, when she said we could have these conversations more regularly if we wanted to, that my heart could only take once a year at most.  i was so relieved, so happy, i felt so uncaged afterwards.  bc again, really it extinguished all of the unhelpful fears that had made me so tense about work this year.  and part of me, the part that is always maybe a little too self aware, thought to myself, that gosh, if getting a positive review from my leader at some big company where i am a corporate peon is this satisfying to me, then perhaps my world, my dreams, are just rather small.
i was thinking about that and preemptively tried to put it to paul this way:  that sometimes i feel very rich.  not like money-wise, bc i know just enough of the wrong people to ever feel that way (lol).  but more in a life-currency sort of way.  like when i think about my little family of three, my son who is so perfectly delightful that i don’t even know how to--i don’t know how to appreciate him or even just take him in without feeling like his delightfulness is slipping through my fingers simultaneously with, even AS i’m, looking at him and trying to appreciate him and take him in (does that make any sense?), my husband who i have similar slightly overwhelmed feelings about when it comes to his quality as a human being and heart on this earth, and my mom and dad who both survived their different cancers.  about how somehow God provided me with not just the friends i needed but even extra friends who i didn’t dare think i had a chance at asking for, and even this house, and having and seeing daisy and family regularly, and gosh even my inlaws who only seem to ever give and never receive (sorry, ommonim abbonim...) and my sister in law who i feel the same way about, and our nanny, and yes this job too, this job i once never thought i had the right to even dream of having bc of said past failures, this job for two companies brands i adore and believe in.  and the chance to write, and feeling like i have something to write about.  and even knowing a handful of living, breathing, non-robot human beings who actually read what i write, actually think it’s worth their time.  what marvels.
on the other hand, sometimes i feel rather poor.  i feel like we don’t have enough savings, we aren’t saving enough.  i feel like we will always just need to work for a salary bc neither of us is in a job role where we make dividends happen for us.  and i am so junior here at a place where promotions are slower than slow anyway, and salaries aren’t tech or finance salaries anyway.  and i feel ugly and like a half-distracted working mom whose life is devoid of glamour or romance or margin or space or passion / vision.  well, i guess my “poor” list is a lot shorter than my rich list.  
all this to say, after my dumb performance eval i felt like a rich woman.  not because they told me i was getting some big raise (i’m not, and i don’t generally care bc the raises are so small and have you seen the mass layoffs happening here).  i felt rich bc i felt like i got really validating feedback from leaders i really admire, both on a professional and personal level, and i work on a team with colleagues who i think are really excellent at what they do, and i work at a company where i really like what they make.  i feel kind of silly typing all of this out bc it’s so freaking wholesome and vanilla and, again, small, but it’s true.  those things made me happy after my review.  and this is the job i report to 8 hours a day.  yep.  real stable, ordinary stuff.  
i told paul that in thinking about how happy i felt and feeling self-conscious about that happiness, i would rather feel like a rich woman and be objectively “poor” than to be the other way around.  to feel like i am poor but in reality be quite rich.  
it’s also funny bc B and G also specifically separately felt compelled to send me messages confirming this same exact thought, now that i think about it.  how wonderful.  thank you.
next topic.  bras in rona times.  yesterday i bought my fourth--no, lemme count--seventh! eberjey bra.  it’s not bc i’m being greedy, it’s just that the ones i started with i wore so often that they jstarted wearing out.  the eberjey bras are generally underwired, with no lining except a thin layer of lace, and they make my boobs--my post-maternity, seen-such-better-days, already wilted boobs look terrible under my clothes.  but i am working from home and don’t need the extra lining for decency’s sake.  and when i see the bras in my bra drawer and i deposit my boobs into them every morning it feels lovely.  the bras are unflattering but they are delicate enough (while still practical) and comfortable to wear and are lovely to look at.
well i need to start my workday now.  if i ever get around to it i’ll write about other stuff.
1 note · View note
kunstpause-archive · 4 years ago
Note
1 and 7 for the writer ask?
From the fanfic writer asks
1. What’s your favorite character(s) to write for?
I can’t choose between OCs I feel because they all have something special and I enjoy writing all of them - otherwise I would have conceptualized them differently. They are literally THE people I want to write. 😅
In terms of non-ocs I am having a blast with both Zenos and Emet-Selch, for different reasons. It’s two very distinctive but completely different headspaces and I am enjoying getting into those mindsets a lot. Especially since they are a tad (lol at this understatement in terms of Zenos especially) more difficult to relate to for most people.
I enjoy writing all those other NPCs and LIs as well. From Leliana, Cullen, Bull, Haurchefant, Urianger etc... but they are much more relatable characters imo, and I enjoy writing outside of the more traditional box.
Oh, also the fear demon in our DA2 longstory. I ADORE writing anything for him really.
7. What story/headcanons do you feel the proudest of?
Story definitely our long story, Precipice of Change. For the years of planning that went into it alone. And the absolutely glorious feeling of things resolving in part three to which we laid the foundations in the very first chapters way back when. I am incredibly proud of this story.
I totally get that both long stories and things involving poly-ships are not everyone’s cup of tea, I do! But you are all missing out regardless, bc that story is engaging, nicely paced, and very well thought through and it’s one of the things I am the proudest of creating for good reason I feel. We did something great there.
Another one I am really proud of is There Are No Stars Left In The City - mainly bc I had this idea and then that story basically exploded from me. I was writing between 7 and 10k per day for over a week and it just came into it on its own almost. And then I let myself be influenced by one unkind comment into not writing the damn ending for almost a year... I am a bit angry at myself about that but I am all the more proud that I got back to it, worked it over, and finished it this summer instead.
As headcanons go - I am incredibly proud and in love with everything I’ve come up with for Thea. There are only the smallest bits of it out there in writing yet but there is so much more thought that went into her character and backstory and she is probably one of my almost most developed characters by now.
1 note · View note
angelicspaceprince · 5 years ago
Text
Bruised
Author:   Ama 
Title: Bruised
Pairing: Doctor Martin Whitly x Reader
Character/s: Doctor Martin Whitly, mentions of Malcolm Whitly/Bright and Ainsley Whitly.
Word Count: 2, 649 words
Warnings: Spanking, some sexual stuff (18+ only please), some BDSM tones, Doctor being a title like Master or Sir
Tags:  @trelaney  
Prompt: You’d promised Doctor Whitly that you’d be good but you can’t help but bend the rules. The Doctor has had enough, and its time to be punished.
Notes: So I’m going to try and do Kinktober this year but I’m already late so they are all gonna be drabbles and randomised bc lol love it. See the full list of what to expect and what pairings, plus what kinks, here plus my two (hopefully to be released on Halloween) specials on the same page.
Also I know Martin is a serial killer, I know he’s an asshole but he’s a charming asshole that makes me want to sit on his face. So no, I hold no shame in this.
  Buy Me a Coffee 
Tumblr media
Bruised
Being married to Martin was a chore some days. Being a step-mother to his two beautiful children that he had to his last wife after she mysteriously died was a challenge. But you loved every single minute.
Sure, stepping into the role of mother to two young ones when the youngest was only 12 weeks old wasn’t ideal but you loved Martin and Martin loved you, any challenge could be over come because surely you could work it out together.
The thing that annoyed you the most that, even after two years of being married to the love of your life, was the rules that he had in place that were iron tight and never bending (which was half the fun of having rules in the first place, you thought). You and the children weren’t allowed in his hobby room, for example. If you wanted his attention, you went to the door and called for him and he came to you. Family time is family time, was another. No distractions from your work or his allowed. That he had to be involved with every decision made regarding the children. They were, after all, his children and you were still, technically, the newcomer. Martin was very big on co-parenting so he always made sure your thoughts, opinions and needs were met but also ensured that his were too. The one that was the hardest one to abide by, however, was his rules about contacting him at work. Never during surgery, never during a consultation and never unless it was an emergency.
You understood the rules. You understood why they were there. And sure, the kinky stuff that happened when you broke the rules was fun. But it was also frustrating. You got frustrated when you called during a surgery because Ainsley had a fever and wouldn’t stop crying. You weren’t sure what to do and he hung up on you to deal with it yourself, followed by a screaming match that evening because you broke one of his precious rules because you panicked and didn’t know what to do. But after that, you spoke and came up with a system, so you knew when was appropriate to call him and when wasn’t. After all, you aren’t medically trained and had never dealt with a sick child before. He granted you a little slack.
So, today, when Malcolm was, for the twelfth time that morning, puking his guts up in the toilet, you called Martin to let him know Malcolm was going to have the day off of school. When the nurse picked up and informed you that you just missed him and he’d gone into the surgery that he had been prepping for for weeks now due to the intensity of the procedure, and she asked if you wanted to speak to him you swore under your breath before reassuring her. No. It’s fine. In fact, don’t even tell him I called.
Malcolm can have a sick day, Martin would never know.
Malcolm stopped vomiting around lunch time, and was all but better by dinner. Martin still hadn’t returned and you got a call from the night nurse to tell you that he was probably not going to make it home before midnight. Great. You got the kids ready for bed and slipped into bed shortly after, promising to tell Martin in the morning what happened with Malcolm. You woke up slightly after feeling Martin kiss you good night as he also slipped into bed after a long day, quickly noting that it was closer to 3am than midnight. You asked him quietly as he holds you close to him how it all went and the grumble that came with it suggests that it wasn’t a success. You move to grab his hand and rub your thumb against his arm in comfort as you both drift back off to sleep.
Martin insisted on taking Malcolm to school the next morning, having barely had three hours sleep but needing to be with his son for that thirty-minute trip to school before heading to work. You got Ainsley to preschool before heading off to your work for the day, coming home after picking up the kids, helping Malcolm with his homework as you cooked dinner and had family time as per Martin’s request. All was quiet and easy, just a regular day. Content, you were convinced you managed to get away with bending Martin’s rule slightly. Then the kids were in bed. And it was like the atmosphere had changed.
Walking up to the bedroom, you couldn’t help but feel something akinned to dread filling the pit of your stomach. When you entered your shared room, Martin was there removing his cuff links and humming to yourself. Just anxiety, you tell yourself. Everything is fine.
You go about your usual nightly routine silently, both in your own thoughts. Martin is the one to break the silence.
“You’ll never guess what Malcolm’s teacher told me today.” You hum in acknowledgement, not completely listening as you come out from the bathroom and towards the bed. “She said that it was great to see Malcolm feeling so much better after having to stay home yesterday.”
Your heart stops. Shit. You knew you forgot to tell him something this morning. The look on his face is positively feral as you try to get your words together.
“I’m so sorry Martin, I called but you were in surgery, and I-” Your words come tumbling out in a large mess as you try to explain
“Oh no love. I don’t think you deserve to call me that tonight.” His voice is low, dark, and you know instantly, you’re going to be punished. And not in a good way.
You swallow and try again as he slowly makes his way over to you, eyes never leaving you. “Sorry, Doctor Whitly. I called to explain the situation, but you had already started surgery. I didn’t think you wanted to be interrupted, so I called Malcolm in sick. I was going to tell you this morning but with the rush and you didn’t get in until 3 I thought perhaps, I could just let it slide for now, tell you maybe tomorrow when things were calmer. He was really very sick.” You finished before adding a smaller apology at the end of your ramble which causes him to send you a small, firm smile as he rubs the sides of both your upper arms in a comforting manner.
“I know you are, love.” His voice seems to calm you for a second. “Unfortunately, you still need to be punished.”
You aren’t sure if you’re excited or nervous as he moves to sit at the edge of the bed and pats his lap expectedly. “Mar-” The look on his face makes you change your tactic. “Doctor Whitly, is this really necessary?” His look darkens, clearly about to give you your first warning. You tried, with very little success, to drape yourself across his lap with some dignity. He moves your hips until your hips rest tilted up towards him in his lap as the rest of your body drapes across and dangles either side of him.
“You’ve been so disobedient; do you really think you could get away without some form of punishment?” He chides you as he harshly yanks down your shorts and panties, leaving your ass bare. “Do you remember what I expect of you?”
You nod and yelp as you get a warning tap to your rear, not hard enough to sting but enough to prompt you to verbalise. “Count, thank, apologise.” You recite. “Be truthful with colour checks, green is good, yellow is ok, red is stop. Safe word is thoracic.” He rubs your thigh as praise as you go through your script before tapping at them to get you to spread them slightly for better balance.
“Let’s see, you called me during a very important, career changing surgery, only to hang up and waste the nurse’s time. You made an important parenting decision for my son without consulting me first. You then forgot to tell me the following day and I had to find out from Malcolm’s teacher. You have refused to address me properly twice just this evening. Five strikes for each count I believe is fair, don’t you dearest?” You knew that it was a trick question, if Martin thought the punishment was fair, that’s the punishment you’re going to get. Nonetheless, he always asks if you agreed.
“Yes, Doctor Whitly.” You state quietly as you prepare for the punishment to begin.
You can hear your husband hum happily at your words before lifting his hand, ready for the first strike. “Don’t forget, Y/N, if you miss one, we start again.”
You squeak when the first smack hits your left cheek, the sting instant and the heat follows soon after. Your face seems to heat up in embarrassment as you breathe and prepare for the second, not realising what you had forgotten until Martin clears his throat. Quickly, you fix your mistake. “One. Thank you, Doctor Whitly. Sorry, Doctor Whitly.” 
Its rushed, but the words are all there. He is tempted to have you start again and add another five to the list. You seem to be shaking as you wait for him to either smack you again or tell you to start again. “I will forgive your forgetfulness this one time, pet.” He states somewhat kindly before his hand makes contact with your right cheek, again the sting appearing before the heat.
“Two. Thank you, Doctor Whitly. Sorry, Doctor Whitly.”
Martin continues with your punishment, stopping for long enough for you to state the number you were up to, thank him for your punishment and apologise for your transgressions. The power he got from you calling him by his medical title is something he’s never been able to find elsewhere, and he is enjoying every moment. He made sure never to hit the same place twice and watches as your flesh seems to ripple against his hand in an appealing manner. Your skin is slowly turning redder by his hand as he moves down to mark up your thighs to match your now cherry red ass. Such a nice colour, his favourite colour on you.
The first smack to your thigh surprises you. You hold back a swear as you continue you’re your count. “Nine. Thank you, Doctor Whitly. Sorry, Doctor Whitly.”
“Colour?”
“Green.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.” You grunt at the next strike to your left upper thigh, you are sure this one was harder than the others. “Ten. Thank you, Doctor Whitly. Sorry, Doctor Whitly.” There seems to be a pause as you shift slightly in his lap.
“You’re not enjoying this, are you? This is supposed to be your punishment, pet.” His bemused voice fills the room as your already red face flushes further.
You had been trying to ignore the heat in your belly that had been growing with each passing strike and how you were slowly becoming wetter as time went on. “I’m sorry, Doctor Whitly, I didn’t mean to.”
“Oh, but you did.” His palm lands flat against your ass again as he moves to see how wet your cunt is as you continue with your count. “You really are a bad girl, ignoring my rules, enjoying your punishment. I’m convinced you break my rules so you can be back in this position.” You bite back a moan as a finger is pushed inside of you and just held there. You don’t dare buck up against him, or grind or beg for more. This was a test. You just knew it.
Again, he chuckles as he removes his finger and smacks your thighs twice each side in quick concession. You hurry to catch up with your mantra as he sucks your juices off his finger. “Good girl.” He rewards, moving to soothe the angry red skin. “Only ten more to go, can you handle it?” You nod, looking straight at the door as you wait for the rest of your punishment.
The final ten strikes come quickly after you’ve counted, thanked and apologised Martin. You are sure you are going to have bruises and there isn’t a part of your thighs and ass that isn’t red in some way. Martin is quick to rub every red area with his hand as he soothes you, praising you for doing so well, asking if you wanted ointment to help with the bruising and pain. You hum, which he takes as a yes because soon he’s rubbing something into your skin and your shorts and panties are pulled up and over your bum again, keeping you decent. You had two little ones in your house, pyjamas weren’t optional anymore.
He pulls you up and into his lap with your knees either side his waist as he holds you and rubs your back, making sure you’re ok as he hums you small tunes and makes sure you are ok.
“Did you want me to help with that?” He asks, indicating to the wet patch clearly growing on your panties. You were absolutely dripping but the idea of anything touching you wasn’t something you were keen on right now. You shake your head.
“Just hold me?” Martin smiles at your request.
“Oh, I think I can do that. Let’s get on the bed properly love.” He brings you up to the top of the bed and towards the centre so the two of you can rest together properly as he continues to take care of you, making sure you are safe in your own mind and not in need of anything. “Tea?”
“No, I don’t know what blend you use but it always makes me super sleepy.” You complain as you yawn loudly. “And I’m sleepy enough as is. Thank you, though.” He just looks down at you with a smile as you snuggle closer to him and bring the blankets over you, you still straddling him as he holds you close. “I was going to tell you. I didn’t mean to keep it secret, I just didn’t want to interrupt your surgery and it wasn’t a big deal. Just a tummy bug, really.”
“I still would have liked to have known what was going on. He’s our son, I just want to be involved with decisions made.” He explains gently, seemingly calmer now you were talking properly again.
“I know. I just didn’t know what to do because I can’t make decisions without talking to you first, and I can’t call you during surgery. It was like being stuck between a rock and a hard place.” You explain carefully. “I do love you, and I’m sorry I forgot to tell you. I’ll work on that. But there has to be a way that you feel like I am doing the best for your – our – kids whilst taking your thoughts and concerns into consideration. I wouldn’t of kept Malcolm home if it was just a cold. He was throwing up and, although he didn’t have a fever, there was no way he was going to be able to pay attention in class.” Martin hums as you explain the situation. “What if, if something like that happens again, I call your office and leave a message? That way you’ll know before you get home and I won’t interrupt your work?”
Martin thinks over this for a second before nodding. “Seems like a good compromise.” You smile happily. “I love you too, by the way.”
“I know you do.” You yawn once more before settling on his chest.
“You’re sure you’re ok?”
“Yup. Just comfy. And sleepy.”
He laughs quietly as you quickly fall into a slumber in his arms, him following your example merely seconds later, both of you holding each other in your arms.
49 notes · View notes