#oc: tiger tourist | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ve1vetyoongi · 4 years

Text

wherever you will go | jjk

Pairing: Jungkook x female reader

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

Word count: 21k

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

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

Rating: Mature.

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

Prelude.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Where it begins

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You're an idiot."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I can't do this."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What are you thinking about?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You furrow your brows. "What about it?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Okay." You whisper. "Okay."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You still are a star."

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

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

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

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

"What?" Jungkook blinks.

"Some of the stuff you've filmed?"

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

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

"This is..."

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

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

Jungkook's forehead creases. "Do what?"

"Make me look like...that."

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

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

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

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

"How?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh come on! Just try it."

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

"Well duh. Look. Copy me."

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

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

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

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

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

"That's it. Feel the music!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Good."

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

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

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

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

"Now, open."

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

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

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

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

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

"Jungkook, this place is—"

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

"How did you find this place?"

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

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

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

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

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

"The sunflowers?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Do what?"

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

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

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

"Did not!"

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

"Shut up."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Jungkook stop."

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

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

"Just pretend I'm not here."

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

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

"Jungkook--"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"My lucky star." Jungkook smiles.

"Always."

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

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

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

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

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

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

You pale. "M-me?"

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

"Burn it." You deadpan.

Jungkook blinks. "W..what?"

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

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

"Not mad." You assure with a smile.

"Then I'll burn it."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I...I can't."

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

"No! God no."

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

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

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

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

Where things change.

3 years later.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Not now. Later."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You narrow your eyes affectionately. "Perv."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You love it." You laugh breathily.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Did I--?"

"Yup."

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

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

You raise a brow, surprised. "Really?"

"Yeah. Can I fuck you now?"

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

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

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

"Eager?" You smirk.

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

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

"Your wish is my command."

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

"I love you, y'know."

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

"That sounds kinda awesome--"

"Kook!"

"Okay, okay, on it!"

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

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

"As I'll ever be."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The smell of coffee and fresh bagels wafts through the apartment, a warm sensation settling in your stomach as your boyfriend rounds the corner and waves a brown paper bag.

"Still got us enough coffee to stay up all night learning lines though." Jungkook grins, dumping the contents onto the coffee table and raising his eyebrows when your hands dart straight for the chocolate cookies. "Speaking of learning lines, how is it going, pretty?"

He nods towards the script in your hand. It's worn at the edges and ferociously dog eared from all the nights you have stayed up until sunrise reciting the words littered across the pages over and over, until it's like your lips are moving by muscle memory and the words are a part of you.

After what felt like hundreds of failed auditions, you had started to lose hope. With every letter that landed on the porch with another SORRY or MAYBE NEXT TIME, you felt all the confidence in the dream you worked so hard to uncover start to dwindle.

But Jungkook was always there, by your side no matter what. Encouraging you when you forgot your lines or holding you when you didn't get the callback. Reminding you to eat whenever you were too absorbed in your work to cook or cheering you on from the crowd at your weekly improv performances.

It was Jungkook who cried with you when the director of the small theatre downtown called and gave you the lead part in his upcoming stage production. Your big break. And you were determined to make sure everything ran smoothly at opening night tomorrow, which is how you find yourself snuggled up on the couch rewinding your VHS copy of Dirty Dancing over and over again until you have every word memorised by heart.

"Pretty good." You say as you pop a salted peanut into your mouth while Jungkook slips out of his tweed jacket. He's been trying to dress more New-York-ish these days, or so he says. More dress pants and less sweats. "Final rehearsals start at five."

"Aren't you nervous?" Jungkook squishes into the space beside you, Gureum cuddling up between your bodies.

Tomorrow night's show is sold out, along with every night after that for the next week. You heard there were going to be at least 700 people there each night.

"Terribly." You admit, stomach churning at the thought of 700 pairs of eyes staring right at you. You try to focus on the fizzing excitement that lingers there too, growing stronger and stronger. "But I think I'm more excited".

"I'm excited to see you up there doing what you love." Jungkook smiles, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. "My star."

"Well don't get too excited because I still keep messing up this one goddamn scene," You flip the script to a page covered in bright highlighter scribbles and run your fingers through your hair exasperatedly. "I'm totally gonna mess it up and then I'll never get another job and—"

"Shhh," Jungkook takes the script from your hands and runs his eyes over it quickly. "Don't talk like that. You're gonna be amazing — hold up..." He raises an eyebrow. "Is this...the kiss scene?"

You feel your cheeks redden, voice small. "Yes."

"Then you're in luck because who better to help you practice than the best kisser in all of New York?"

You snort. "Wow, I sure could use some of your expertise Good-Sir-Makes-Out-A-Lot."

"Then you're in the right place..." He runs his finger over the script, jabbing at one line in particular.

[Johnny and Baby kiss.]

"Let's start here, hm? For practice, obviously."

"For practice." Your eyes roll but your heart still beats a little faster as he closes the space between you, hand pressing into the wall so his sturdy body hovers over yours, hands instinctively pulling him closer by the collar.

"Come give me a kiss, m'lady..." Jungkook murmurs, but before he can tilt your chin up towards his lips there's a sudden series of frantic knocks at the front door.

"What the heck?"

You both jump out of your skin, Jungkook's eyes narrowing as he glances over his shoulder at the shadowy figure outside, fist pounding the glass fervently, like they're trying to break it down.

"Okay, damn, I'm coming!" He yells with a roll of his eyes. He wraps the blanket around your shoulders as he hops up from the couch with a sigh. "Probably just some dumb marketer again or something — dude, chill! I said I'm coming! — be right back."

The lock slides open and you hear Jungkook gasp. Your stomach drops. "Who is it?"

"Uh, Y/N..." You hear the door click shut and the sound of squeaky shoes shuffling inside. The anxiety in Jungkook's voice makes your heart skip. "You might wanna come see this."

"Huh?" Your legs feel shaky as you follow him out into the hall, chest seizing when you lay eyes on the dripping wet hair and chattering teeth of the shivering man stood before you, eyes dark and grave like they used to be.

"Taehyung?" You splutter, ripping the blanket from around your shoulders and swaddling him in it as quickly as you can, Jungkook already bounding into the other room to get dry clothes and towels after shooting you a terrified glance.

Taehyung grabs your shoulders and pulls you into a tight embrace. His cheeks are wet against your shoulder, but you can't tell if it's because he's been crying or because he's been out in the freezing cold rain — hold on, did he walk here?

"Y/N," He murmurs frantically, eyes darting back and forth but never quite focusing on anything. You knew this look. This is how he looked that day you found out about the accident. Murky, far far away. Devastatingly sad. Something wasn't right.

"What is it?" You ask, pulling him into the living room and sitting him on the couch before his shaking knees buckle beneath him. "What are you doing here, Tae?"

"It's...it's the Crestmont." He whispers.

"What about the Crestmont?" Jungkook appears behind Taehyung, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, but it's like your brother doesn't even feel it.

"They're tearing it down." He mumbles. "They're tearing down the Crestmont. Forever."

"Okay, now let's start from the beginning."

Jungkook's calm voice lilts from beside Taehyung who, after a warm shower and two cups of cocoa, has stopped shivering and seems to be ready to talk.

A hand reaches across the coffee table to tug on your wrist mid-lift to your mouth, a reminder from Jungkook to stop biting your nails. An old nervous habit you thought you'd left behind in Ocean City but apparently more than just Taehyung showed up here unannounced tonight.

"I...I got a call this morning." Taehyung begins, pausing to take a sip from the mug he cradles in his lap. His hands are shaking so he places it on the coffee table for safe keeping, right beside your discarded script. "It was from a construction company."

"And?" You prod, somewhat impatiently, making Taehyung jump.

"And apparently the owner of the theatre is behind on rent and...and..." He swallows hard. "And they're buying the rights to tear it down and build an apartment complex in its place."

"What?" Both you and Jungkook exclaim at the same time.

Jungkook's fists clench. "I always knew that old man was shady."

Taehyung fumbles in the pocket of the coat he arrived with, retrieving a brochure which he thrusts towards you.

The image on the front is of a metal skyscraper, far too shiny and new to belong in a seaside town like Ocean City. Fusion Apartments — modern living.

Jungkook rakes a hand through his hair, eyes sorrowful as you pass it over to him. "This sucks. Big time." He murmurs. "The Crestmont is the heart of Ocean City. How can they just bulldoze it like it means nothing?"

"That's why..." Taehyung swallows. "That's why I came here. I thought maybe you guys could help me, and we could do something before they—"

"We?" You furrow your brows. "You want us to help stop them from tearing down the Crestmont?"

"I mean yeah, I guess? I figured you guys would understand how important it is—"

You bite your lip. Taehyung flinches when you place a hand on his knee. "Tae. It seems like they've already got it figured out I mean...what can we do about it? The Crestmont has had a long run and maybe it's time for something new in Ocean City..."

"Y/N?" Jungkook warns, but there's a betrayal in his voice. How could you say that? It pains you, but you continue anyway. "What are you saying?"

"I just...I think it's time to let the Crestmont go."

Taehyung stands up so abruptly his mug smashes onto the marble tile.

"How could you?" He roars, but his bottom lip trembles. "The Crestmont is mom's place! It's all we have left of her in that fucking town and you want to just let them burn it to the ground?"

You tut, kneeling to pick up the broken pieces of china with a sharp glance at your brother. "For goodness sake, Taehyung. Mom isn't there anymore. She never was. She was always running off with some roadies and leaving us behind because she thought she was something special."

Taehyung scoffs. "What? Just like you?" He grabs the cocoa sodden script, crumpling it up in his shaking fist. "You are exactly the same as her. Running off to New York and leaving me behind to get your big break."

Jungkook steps forward warily. "Taehyung, you don't mean that—"

"Yes I do! If Y/N had just gotten in the car that day she wouldn't have died. It was all her fault. And now she's just gonna let them take what we have left of her."

"What?" Jungkook blinks.

Your stomach sinks. Is that really what Taehyung thinks? You wouldn't blame him. Deep down, his words strike a nerve. Because you know they're true.

Taehyung's eyes are hazy, unfocused. You reach for him dizzily, but he backs away into the hall.

"I shouldn't have come here." Taehyung whispers. He looks between you and Jungkook one last time before he's grabbing his coat and running down the steps to the first floor.

"Taehyung, wait!" You hear Jungkook's footsteps follow him out into the stairwell, but you're trapped on the ground, heaving for air.

Your hands shake as you pull yourself up to the window pane and watch Taehyung disappear into the gloom of the city, the sorrowful raindrops that lash against the glass mirroring the ones on your cheeks.

YOU: Taehyung??? YOU: [CALL IGNORED] YOU: please Tae YOU: can we at least talk about this? YOU: we're worried about you

It's been nearly 12 hours since you watched Taehyung disappear among the hustle and bustle of New York from your apartment window.

You and Jungkook were out all night searching for him. By the time you gave up the sun was rising and the birds were chirping and Jungkook somehow convinced your shivering form to return home to rest with a Taehyung shaped hole in your heart.

"It'll be okay. He'll be okay. He always is."

A phone call to your dad revealed he hadn't returned home that night; so where did he go exactly?

The weight of that question sits heavy in your chest as you sit backstage at the theatre, staring into your own vacant eyes in the dressing room mirror.

It's opening night. The show is due to start in fifteen minutes. Your lips are painted a deep shade of red, hair backcombed to perfection by one of the makeup artists. Beneath the harsh lights of the exposed bulbs that line the mirror, you look almost unrecognisable.

Confident, strong, successful.

Anyone would say your dreams had come true, or something sappy to that effect. But even as you sit among the hustle and bustle of the costume team and breathe in the fragrance of perfume and powder blush, you couldn't feel further away from the New York version of yourself if you tried.

Staring back at you is a reflection of the shy, terrified girl from Ocean City you worked so hard to forget. Yet here she is, mind whirring with worries for her brother instead of the lines she should be rehearsing to death before curtain call.

This should be your big moment. One which you will remember forever. But all you want to do right now is hold Taehyung close like you used to and tell him you're sorry and that you won't leave him again.

"Y/N!" You're snapped out of your thoughts by a familiar hand on your shoulder. You cover it with your own, instantly eased somewhat when you glance up and lock eyes with Jungkook in the mirror.

"Y/N, I found him."

"What?!" You jump to your feet, chair scraping obscenely. It draws the eyes of the people around you who quickly register Jungkook's polite smile as their cue to shuffle out of the dressing room and leave you two to talk. "Where is he? I need to talk to him—"

"He's not coming."

"What?"

Jungkook sinks into the chair beside you, forehead creased. He runs a hand through his hair and momentarily you catch a glimpse of the old Jungkook. The Jungkook that always took care of his best friend Taehyung.

"I...I gave him a ticket for the show tonight and told him to come. To see how much this really means to you...but—"

Your finger nails press half moons into your palms. "But what, Kook?"

"He was already leaving for Ocean City."

A sob wracks your frame. "Do you think he hates me?"

Jungkook's arms engulf you before the first tear can roll down your cheek, his chin tucking perfectly into the cleft of your shoulder. "Of course not, he's just...he's hurting right now."

"I can't lose him — not like this, Kook..."

"Shh. It'll all be okay."

You jump back and start to pace. "But it's not okay! What he said last night is true!"

Jungkook sucks in a breath. "What?"

Your knees buckle and you crumple. You can hardly breathe, shame washing over you as you admit the truth for the first time.

"I caused the accident! I'm the reason my mom's...she's..."

Jungkook wraps his arm around your shoulder, voice soothing. "What are you talking about?"

"The night of the accident she got a call from some big buck director. She was cast in this huge movie. Her big break." You're speaking to fast, but Jungkook nods to tell you he's listening.

"So she told Taehyung and I we were leaving for New York that night. And we were packing our bags before my dad got home and...and I said I wasn't coming. I didn't wanna leave Ocean City behind."

"I kicked and cried and said I didn't want to go, so her and Taehyung took off by themselves and that's when they got into the crash. She was upset and going too fast. It was all because of me." You start to sob. You've never admitted this to anyone before. Not even yourself. It tears your heart in two to say it out loud. "I'm the reason Taehyung's broken."

"You can't think like that." Jungkook clasps your face in his hands, thumb wiping away a stray tear. He looks scared, but his voice stays calm and convincing. "What happened was an accident. You were a kid. None of this is your fault."

"That's why Taehyung must hate me so much." You choke. "I'm doing what mom always wanted to, but she never had the chance because of me."

"Y/N?" A crew member steps into the room awkwardly with a cough. "I'm sorry to interrupt but the show is about to start. The audience is getting restless."

"Go. I'll take care of Taehyung, okay?" Jungkook pulls you to your feet, engulfing you in a final hug before he pushes you towards the stage entrance at the small of your back. "You're needed out there. Show them what you're made of."

Your eyes widen. This can't be happening. Not now.

"I...I can't."

"You can." Jungkook grabs your face and captures your lips, hard. It tastes salty with tears. "You're my star remember?"

"I love you." You whisper when you pull back, fingers reaching for him weakly as a costume designer hurries you towards the door.

"I love you too." Jungkook calls. His smile is the last thing you see before the door slams shut and there's no going back. "Now go break a leg, pretty!"

Particles of dust float in and out of your vision beneath the blinding stage lights.

Everything feels different from side stage. Your heart races as you press your ear to the velvet curtain separating you from the world, listening to the hubbub of laughing children and chattering adults filtering into the theatre. You imagine them taking their seats, buying icecream from the vendors, alive with anticipation.

The lights dim. You hear the director behind you, shouting something about places please! but it's like you're underwater, limbs weighted as you move like a ghost to your position for the opening number.

Your palms are clammy and you wipe them on your dress.

Show starting in 5...

Your legs turn to jelly. You close your eyes and try to calm your racing thoughts.

4...

Taehyung. Is he okay? Why didn't he come tonight?

3...

Shit! What was your opening line again? Goddamnit, Y/N, think!

2...

Mom. Would she be proud?

1...

You open your eyes.

The curtain is gone, and a pair of hands pushes you out into the harsh white spotlight. You shield your eyes with your fingers, heart dropping when you look up and find hundreds of eyes staring. Staring right at you.

It's like you're on the edge of a cliff, about to dive into the cool water below. Or fall.

Everything starts to blur. You're a teenager again, stood on the stage at the Crestmont. Panic rises like bile in your throat, and you don't know whether to scream or to run.

Run. Run. Run.

Your mouth opens, then closes. There's an awkward cough from the audience. Words run your mind in circles, but none of them are right, and before they can reach your lips they evaporate on your tongue.

Your panicked eyes roam the sea of seats that zoom in and out of focus. Your knees buckle, and you're sure you are going to pass out right here in front of everyone, but then your eyes meet a familiar pair of brown ones that makes the room stop spinning for a moment.

Jungkook. He's smiling at you, fingers crossed in his lap. There's not a trace of nerves in his gaze as he nods for you to go ahead.

I believe in you.

Just then the door to the theatre flies open and every head in the audience turns towards the darkly clothed figure shuffling through the aisles, mumbling sorry's and excuse me's until he reaches the empty seat beside your boyfriend.

He lets down his hood, shakes free a head of blonde hair that's still damp from the rain. He's out of breath, like he ran here.

Taehyung.

Your brother looks up at you, frozen in place, and his eyes soften. He flashes you a thumbs up and his lips curl around the four words you needed to hear.

You can do this.

And just like that, the panic disappears. The words come flooding back, and your body flies into action, moving across the stage

You forget all about the fear, and the anxiety, and Taehyung and the Crestmont. For now it's just you and the stage, together in harmony.

And you've never felt more alive than when you take your final bow and the crowd roars to life, just like you always imagined it would.

Your jaw hurts from smiling, and before you know it you're crying. Because when you squint against the theatre lights, you see Taehyung and Jungkook in the front row, holding each other and shouting your name.

Y/N! Y/N! Y/N!

"Hey! Be careful!"

The bouquet of congratulatory geraniums cradled in your arms gets crushed between your body and your brother's. He practically tackled you as soon as you entered the dressing room, carried on the cheering shoulders of the other cast and crew members.

"Holy shit." Taehyung holds you at arms length. His eyes are ringed red around the edges. "You were amazing, Y/N."

"You really think so?" Tears start to well and you're so happy to see him that you throw your arms around his waist. "I'm so glad you came, Tae."

"Yeah. You were just like her." He smiles. "Just like mom."

You share a small, sad smile. You've heard those words all your life but it feels different when it comes from Taehyung.

Jungkook pops his head into the room. He catches your eye over Taehyung's shoulder, and flashes you a small smile when he sees you cradling him in your arms.

Talk to him. He mouths, and you're suddenly reminded of why Taehyung came here in the first place.

"Hey listen—"

"Taehyung—"

You both start to talk, bursting into easy laughter when the other stops, seemingly hit with the same idea at the same time.

"You go first." You smile, encouragingly.

"Okay." He pulls you over to the couch. "I'm just...I'm sorry for storming out last night. I shouldn't have come here and expected you to help me—"

"No, stop. I'm sorry." You place a hand over his. "I want to help." You hold an arm out to Jungkook, who crosses the room and slides his hand into yours. "We want to help. We want to save the Crestmont."

Taehyung's eyes bulge. His voice drops to a whisper. "Really?"

"You were right. The Crestmont was mom's place."

You think about how it felt to be out there on the stage, in front of a crowd cheering your name. The excitement, the exhilaration. Your first stage.

The Crestmont is your mom's first stage. It's where she felt those same emotions for the first time. You can't let it be demolished. Not for anything.

"She deserves a legacy. We can't let them tear it down. I don't know how yet, but we'll save it."

"Thank you." A tear streaks his cheek, and his arms pull you and Jungkook into a tight bear hug.

"Thank you. For showing me what really matters, Tae." You whisper. "Let's do this together, okay?"

"For mom."

Taehyung holds out his pinky finger, and you link yours with his.

"For mom."

Where things go wrong.

Six months later.

Every second that passes is marked by a deafening tick from the kitchen clock.

Jungkook was supposed to be home 10 minutes ago. You're sat alone at the dinner table, a carefully presented meal for two spread across your mom's old polka dot table cloth. You even lit candles.

With a sigh you drop your chin into your hand, absentmindedly pushing your spaghetti around the dish while your eyes remain trained to the front door that will open any moment.

To be honest, it's been months since you and Jungkook shared a meal together. He spends most of his nights in his office, hunched over his laptop staring at the blinking cursor on some script he'll never finish. And ever since Jungkook's big script got rejected and he fell into a slump of no work, he had to get a job at a local convenience store all day for some spare cash to get you through the month.

You know he hates it. He hates the rude customers and how he can never shower the smell of grease out of his hair.

You know the bickering that turned into arguing that turned into fighting was just a result of his restless aggravation at being shot down too many times. Of watching his dream slip right through his fingers.

But you haven't exactly been as understanding as you should have been. You're overworked too, with the play, and The Crestmont, and you hate how easy it was to accept sleeping apart and missing dinner dates.

So you texted him to tell him you were making dinner tonight. A cease fire of sorts, or maybe just a feeble attempt at glueing back together the cracks that have appeared between you recently with pasta sauce and meatballs.

But he's late. Again.

And it makes you wonder whether there was any point in trying.

"Y/N?"

A gravelly voice jolts you out of your thoughts. Keys jangle onto the counter, shoes are slipped from feet and thrown into the storage cupboard with the creaky door.

"I'm in here." Your voice sounds meek, but you straighten and muster up a smile. To show at least one of you is making an effort.

Jungkook appears in the doorway, clad in his ugly traffic cone orange uniform. His shoulders are slumped, bangs limply stuck to his forehead. He looks tired, exhausted.

"What's all this?" He nods disinterestedly towards your untouched homemade buffet before heading to the sink to fix himself a glass of water.

"Dinner." You cough. He stiffens. "Remember?"

"Oh." He scratches the back of his neck. His eyes flash with something close to guilt momentarily, but then he smoothes it out. "Yeah. Dinner."

"It's okay, you're not too late. We can just heat this up in the microwave—"

"I already ate, Y/N." The glass in his hand slams onto the counter a little too loudly. "At the store."

You can't hide the way your face drops.

"Please." You whisper. "For me?"

Jungkook stares at you for a few seconds, unblinking, before he exhales shakily and pulls out the seat opposite you.

"What's on the menu?" He asks, hands already grabbing for the bottle of red wine in the middle of the table without so much as a glance at the food you worked so hard to prepare.

"Pasta."

"Right."

An uncomfortable silence settles. Jungkook nibbles at a meatball, and you suddenly feel too sick to the stomach to keep anything down.

You jump when Jungkook's fork clatters to the table. He wipes pasta sauce from the corners of his mouth with a napkin and you're sure you can see a slight tremor in his grasp.

"There's something I need to tell you."

His words ring out into the deafening silence that shrouds the apartment. You train your eyes to the candle in the middle of the table that flickers back and forth and carefully place down your own cutlery.

"Should I be worried?"

"No...I mean, I don't know. Maybe." Jungkook waves his hands around and when his eyes meet yours they're distant. Like the table that separates you spans oceans. "Just promise not to freak out."

"I'm not promising anything. Why are you looking at me like that?"

He shifts and the cheap flat pack dining chairs you bought when you moved in creak like they always do. "I...I got a movie deal. They loved the script I told them I've been working on and they want me to direct it."

Your heart fills with something sweet; pride. Even despite your downs recently this is still incredible news. You knew your boyfriend should be ecstatic...so why is he staring intently at the table cloth like it killed his whole family? "That's awesome, Kook. So what's the problem?"

"I gave them a different script."

Something shifts in the air. You hold your breath.

"Huh?"

"The script. The one you told me to burn before we came to New York. The one about you...your life."

Your blood runs cold and it's like your frozen. Just searching through the never ending blackness behind Jungkook's eyes that fails to falter, no matter how hard you pinch your inner thigh and hope you're about to wake up from a bad dream.

"You wouldn't." Your voice sounds strained and Jungkook doesn't even flinch. "You...I don't believe you."

"I'm sorry." He runs an exasperated hand through his hair. "It's just that they hated the first one and I wanted this deal so bad. It's a once in a lifetime chance Y/N, don't you see?"

The boy staring back at you isn't the sweet and sensitive Jungkook from Ocean City or the strong and passionate man from New York. His words get all mixed up in your head as you repeat them over and over and it's as if you don't even know him at all. All you can feel now is betrayal. And just like that all the anger that has been building inside you for months explodes.

"So my life is just a fucking plot for one of your indie movies, Jungkook?"

"It's always your life isn't it? Never mine." He slams his hands on the table hard enough to make your insides shake. "Ever since we came to New York I've supported you, sat back and watched as you achieved all your dreams. And it hurts, Y/N. To come home from my dead end job, and write another goddamn script that nobody wants to even read."

"I came to New York because of you!" You don't even realise you're crying until you taste the hot salty tears that won't seem to stop. "I came here so you could make it big! You're the one who encouraged me to audition for the play in the first place!"

"God, are you really that naive? Don't you see? I came to New York because I saw how much it meant to you." Jungkook lowers his voice, and there's something in his words that makes your heart twist. Pain. His eyes look watery and you long to reach out for him. Like the skin on skin contact will somehow make all of this okay. "And not once have you ever considered how it might feel for me to sit back in your shadow."

"So that's what this is? Jealousy?" You shake your head and get up from the table and turn to leave, but Jungkook grasps your wrist.

"Why can't you be happy for me?"

"I am happy for you Jungkook. And I always will be." Your heart softens and you're reminded of the boyfriend you know. The boyfriend you love. You want to believe he's in there somewhere so you place your hand over his, and for a second he looks hopeful. "But this was never your story to tell. That's what hurts."

He drops your arm, gaze cold and distant. "Then I guess that's it then."

"What?"

The room starts to spin.

"If you can't accept my decision to go ahead with the project then I guess we can't do this anymore."

"This?" You whisper.

"Us."

"Jungkook...Are you saying we're over?"

He drops his head into his hands and lets out a sigh. "Maybe. I don't know."

"You don't know?" You chuckle but it's hollow, empty. "You don't know if you love me any more?"

Jungkook's face drops and he lurches towards you, but you step back.

"No, shit Y/N I didn't mean it like that!" He looks scared. "I was just angry and it slipped out."

"Don't." His arms reach for you again but the brush of his fingertips feels scalding hot, wrong. "Don't fucking touch me."

"I'm sorry..."

"Don't lie to me Jungkook." Your vision is blurred with tears as you rip open the closet and yank out a suitcase. "You're not sorry. I was never your muse. I was just a stepping stool to the top."

"Where are you going?" Jungkook's crying now too. It comes out as a sob.

"Home." You say as you rip open your shared closet door and start throwing your things into the case. "I'm going home. Where I belong."

"I can't lose you like this. Please." He reaches for your wrist again but you're already half way to the door.

"Too late." You say. "I'm going home. And I'm never coming back."

The familiar scent of burned popcorn and candyfloss soothes you as you creep through the backdoor of the Crestmont. It always had a broken hinge which opened just enough for a body to squeeze through. Seems not a lot has changed since you left Ocean City.

It's dark inside. Silent too, without the popcorn machine running and the movie trailers playing on LED screens. You don't know what you expected. It's gone midnight by the time you get back to Ocean City, but you don't want to go home just yet.

Comfort washes over you as you run your fingers over the gilded edges of the counter, and slip beneath the hatch on auto pilot. It feels strange to be back here without the starched shirt and bow tie you used to hate. You've swapped out worn sneakers for heels that click against the tiles and you've performed on stages for crowd's bigger than the Crestmont's but here and now, you feel like yourself. Even though everything in your life has changed, you're still the same small town girl underneath it all.

Without thinking your legs carry you to the wall of fame. The faces smile up at you, like they're saying welcome back.

"Hey mom," You whisper, stopping momentarily in front of her portrait. You stared at it for so long as a kid that you have every detail committed to memory but seeing it up this close makes your breath hitch. "It's me."

With a sigh you force yourself past into the hall. Your hands tremble as you push open the door to the theatre. It's just how you remember it, sparkling gold and red velvet and mystery. But there's yellow tape strung up across all the seats and a sign has been propped up on the stage, red glaring letters burning a hole in your heart as you read them.

DANGER. DUE FOR DEMOLISHMENT. STAY AWAY.

All you can do is let your legs buckle, back sliding down the wall as you hug your knees to your chest and let out a throaty sob that echoes from the high ceiling.

When did everything go so wrong? You must be cursed. Everything you touch gets destroyed.

"Y/N?"

The lights flicker on, bathing the room in a soft golden glow. You wipe your tears, but that doesn't stop them from coming.

"Over here."

Your voice is small but a few seconds later Taehyung's face appears from behind one of the velvet seats. His eyes soften when he sees you curled up in the corner.

"What are you doing down here?" He clambers over the seat to join you, his long legs folded awkwardly in the small space.

"Having a one man party." You snort and point to your tear stained cheeks.

"Are you okay?" His hand covers yours and the contact makes you jump.

"Yes..." You sniff. He raises a brow. "No. Jungkook broke up with me."

Taehyung chokes. "What?!"

"I mean, we fought and then he...he said we were over." Your heart stabs painfully but you shrug. "So I came here. Didn't know where else to go."

He places an encouraging hand on your shoulder. "Listen...I know I haven't always been there for you when I should've. Hell, you always took care of me and I never even asked how you were doing." He offers a small smile. "But I'm here now. And you can tell me anything. If...if you want to."

A few seconds tick by in silence. You try to form a sentence but everything just comes back to the same three words.

"I miss mom." You blurt.

It echoes through the theatre, and you can practically hear the mermaids and the cupids painted on the ceiling gasp. It surprises you too, the combination of grief and relief that washes over you at finally admitting it.

"I know." Taehyung pulls you into his chest, lips whispering against your hair as you let out a sob and it's like all the sadness and denial is rushing out of you like a faucet, filling the whole room up like a water tank. You're terrified of the moment it gets too full, and you stop being able to breathe. "But you're a lot like her, y'know."

"That's exactly the problem!" Your words come out as a yell and it makes you both jump. "Everyone always says I look like her, I talk like her, I act like her. And I hated it for the longest time because I hated her for leaving us!"

"But without even realising it I became her, Tae. I did what I always said I wouldn't and became selfish. I hurt you, and Jungkook and even the Crestmont."

"That's not true."

"It is! And the worst part is I don't even hate her any more. I need her. To hold me, and tell me it's going to be alright. But she isn't here!"

"What does this have to do with Jungkook?"

"Jungkook wrote a script. A long time ago. About mom. And you and I. And everything that happened." You swallow, Taehyung's eyebrow raises though he doesn't look at all surprised by this information, nor as horrified as you that a record of your bleak shortcomings exists for anyone to read. "He got a movie deal. That's why we fought."

Taehyung hums. "You don't want him to make the movie?"

"It's not that I...I want to be happy for him. But I can't." You choke. "It's too painful. Remembering."

Accepting.

"When I said you were a lot like mom, I meant that you are headstrong." Taehyung pauses. "I felt that way once too. Like I hated mom and the goddamn world for taking her too soon. But in the end, the only person I hated was myself. Like however hard I tried I could never get over her, and all the pain I was pushing down into a dark place kept taunting me through the nightmares." He shivers, and you grip his hand tighter. "But one day I realised I don't have to be afraid of that pain any more. That pain is a part of me. But that doesn't mean I have to let it win."

"So what did you do?"

"I let myself feel it . I faced it. The only way I could let mom go was to stop running away." He pats your shoulder. "You need to set the girl in that script free, so you can move on."

And just like that, you're swimming...up, up, up, until you reach the surface of the water tank and you can take a heaving breath for the first time.

You throw your arms around his neck. It feels weird to hug him like this, but it's nice. "I missed you, Tae. Thank you.”

"I didn't do anything." He says. "The strength is inside you, you just need to find it. Just like you need to stop holding on to the past and let the new you shine for once."

You shake your head. "I need to talk to Jungkook. I don't know why I stormed off like that and..." You trail off. "Wait, how did you know I was here?"

Taehyung grins. "I didn't. I got called in to sort some paperwork and I noticed the back door ajar. Good thing it was you and not some crazy with a baseball bat, right?"

"At this time?" You nod to his still pyjama clad state. "Is it important?"

"Y/N," He laughs lightly. There's excitement shining in his eyes. "Someone just bought the Crestmont."

You scramble to your knees. "What?"

"We're staying open, and I get to keep my job."

And then you're hugging again, and laughing and crying because the Crestmont is going to be okay. You're going to be okay.

"That's incredible, Tae! Who is it? Who bought the Crestmont?"

"I don't know, it was an anonymous transaction. But the guy said he would be here...." He glances at his wrist watch, and as he does, the door creaks open. "Around now."

"Hello? Anyone here?" A familiar voice calls out.

"Jungkook?" Both of your jaws drop as you poke up from behind the seats. Sure enough your heart flutters when you see him, all wind swept and out of breath like he ran here.

"I thought you might be here." He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. "Can we talk?"

The car ride to the pier was mostly silent. Jungkook borrowed his dad's old beat up truck -- it was that or his old bike with the pegs on the back -- and it still smelled like leather and petrol like it used to.

Everything about Ocean City is the same as you remember it. The pier stands strong atop the rocky sand, sea air deliciously fresh as it fills your lungs. The rolling waves shimmer like gold dust below the wisps of pink clouds that greet the rising sun. The beach is a peaceful view at this time. No tourists, all of yesterdays sandcastles swallowed by the sea spray. It took a couple hours to work through the paperwork so by now it's early morning — 5:30am according to your phone lockscreen.

It's chilly, and your skin is covered with goose bumps even despite Jungkook's suede jacket wrapped loosely around your shoulders. But you don't mind.

You've missed this. You've missed Ocean City.

"No ice cream, I'm afraid." The breeze ruffles Jungkook's hair as he emerges from the fairground and settles beside you with his legs poking through the rails. He flashes you an apologetic smile. "I guess the parlour doesn't open until 9..."

You feel a pang in your chest. Being here is like a serious case of deja vu. Countless hours spent in this very spot, eating vanilla scoops with rainbow sprinkles beside Jungkook used to be so normal. When did you grow so far apart that you're surprised he even remembers?

"Jungkook..." You swallow hard when you meet his eyes, hands longing to reach out and stroke the stream of sunrise on his cheek that makes his dark eyes sparkle. "We...we need to talk. About everything."

There's a moment of silence filled only by the calls of seagulls greeting the morning before he speaks. "I sold the script."

He sounds nervous. Like he's not quite sure what your reaction will be.

You swallow. "And you used the money to buy the Crestmont?"

"Yeah." He says matter of factly, scratching a phantom itch at his nape. "I guess I did."

"Why?" Your voice is small.

"I can't loose you, Y/N." He murmurs. "Just like you can't loose your mom. The Crestmont was her everything. But you are mine. And loosing the Crestmont would be loosing a piece of you, and I couldn't stand that."

The breeze ruffles his hair as he reaches for your hand and links your fingers and squeezes hard. You don't make any move to stop him. You know what it means, so you squeeze back and return the sentiment. I'm sorry.

Before you can stop yourself you lurch forward, arms curling around his neck and it's like coming home. His hands pull you flush to his chest, hearts beating in sync and you know everything is going to be okay now.

"Thank you." You whisper against his nape. A tear rolls down your cheek and soaks into his collar and before you know it you're blubbering. "Thank you so much, Kook."

"You aren't mad?" His voice is muffled but you can hear the quirk of his brow.

"Mad? No..no..." You lean back and wipe your eyes with your sleeve. "But what about the movie? And your dream to be a director and--"

Jungkook grabs your shoulders. His own eyes are glassy as he tucks a piece of hair behind your ear.

"That was never what mattered to me, Y/N. Not even a little bit. There's one reason I went to New York and it's the same reason I came back to Ocean City tonight. You."

"But--"

"No but's. As long as we're together, I'm already living my dream." His lips turn up into a smile, his eyes tracing your face like it's the first time and he can't get enough. "And I never ever want to wake up."

You shift in your spot to face him properly for the first time, and emotion hits you like a tidal wave. It's like all of a sudden you realize how stupid you've been; to fight with the man before you, a man who only knows kindness, about the trivial when the things that mattered the most were always right here, in front of you. The things that mattered most were always in Ocean City.

You brace your hands on his shoulders and lean up so your lips are inches apart. His eyes fall shut naturally, and you can't help but laugh with what you can only describe as one thing: happiness.

"I love you." You whisper against his lips. A warm palm cups your jaw and closes the distance between them and you're almost too lost in the way Jungkook's kiss takes your breath away to hear his response.

"I love you too."

"Sooo..." You bite your lip with a coy smile when Jungkook pulls away, the blush upon his cheeks scarlet beneath the sun which is rapidly rising. "I take it we're no longer broken up?"

"Well duh," He swats you playfully. "You think I'd do all this just to dump your ass?"

"Hey!" You pout. "I dumped your ass."

Jungkook shakes his head with a laugh.

"Besides," He glances out over the horizon nonchalantly and shrugs. "I'm gonna need help if I'm gonna start my own film company and run the Crestmont."

Your jaw drops. "A what now?"

"A film company." He explains. "A different type of film company, right here in Ocean City. For the outcasts like me who have a vision that even the biggest names in New York can't see yet." He smiles, so big and bright it makes your heart leap. "I'm gonna show them, Y/N. And everything I need to do it is right here in Ocean City."

"I know you will. I never doubted you for a second." You take his hand and link your fingers, squeezing hard. "And you bet your ass I'll be front row to watch each and every one, Jeon Jungkook."

Epilogue.

"Just keep your eyes shut!"

"I already know where we're going, so why can't I look?" You laugh, attempting and failing to tug Jungkook's interlocked fingers away from your eyes.

"Shush, it's a surprise! Just roll with it."

A surprise. That's what Jungkook said earlier too when he woke you up at the crack of dawn by throwing a dress at your head and telling you to meet him outside in the truck in 10 minutes or else.

By the time you pulled up into the familiar parking lot of your not-so-mysterious destination, the sky was already aflame with the glow of morning skimming the horizon, and Jungkook practically leapt out of the truck, palms unusually sweaty as he grasped your hand and pulled you towards the path quicker than your feet could carry you.

"What's the hurry, Kook?" You get out between heavy breaths, quads burning as the path gets steeper beneath your feet.

Come to think of it, your boyfriend has been acting strangely all week. Like hiding things behind his back when you walk into a room or talking in hushed whispers on the phone to Taehyung when he thought you were sleeping.

"You'll see." The path levels out and you stop. Jungkook wraps his arms around your waist, chin tucked into the cleft of your shoulder like a perfect puzzle piece. "Okay. Now you can look."

You round the corner, heart racing when your eyes flutter open and your vision is filled with a sea of yellow flowers. Your place.

The meadow is just how you left it, tall grass and sunny blooms dancing beneath the rays of morning sun peeking out from between the clouds. A warmth spreads through your chest and you both laugh when Gureum lets out an excited yelp, before bounding off between the stems playfully.

"I think the little guy wants us to follow him." Jungkook raises a brow and throws you a knowing shrug.

Excitement flutters in your stomach like a butterfly trapped between cupped palms. "How could I refuse?"

Fingers interlinked, you part the sunflowers and jog after the ball off fluff bouncing across the meadow, the breeze cool and forgiving as it ruffles the strands of hair that billow behind you.

Eventually you reach the clearing, and Gureum wags his tail at you proudly when you stoop down to scratch him behind his ears.

The sun reflects in Jungkook's eyes, turning them a warm golden brown. "Turn around."

You spin on your heels with a questioning glance. "Why?" That's when you see it. The spot where everything began. The tree where Jungkook kissed you all those years ago has bloomed with fragrant blossoms, and twinkle lights glow like tiny stars around it's branches. A blanket is laid out in the sun flecked shade beneath it, littered with feather cushions and lanterns and a trail of sunflower petals that begin at your feet.

"You did this?" You take his chin in your palms, face beaming despite the tears that have started to blur your vision. "Oh, Kook."

"Surprise." He smiles knowingly, grabbing you from behind and spinning you round and round until you both land with a soft thump in the middle of the outdoor cushion fort. "You haven't even seen the best part yet." He says with a nod to his right.

It's then that you notice the white sheet that's strung up a couple meters away between the trunks of two trees, Jungkook's vintage projector set up in front of it.

"What is this?" You ask, bewilderment evident in your voice.

"Gureum, would you do the honours?" Jungkook chuckles, extending a finger to point at a remote that your puppy obediently picks up with his teeth and drops into your lap with a wag of his tail.

Jungkook tucks a piece of hair behind your ear and takes a deep breath, like he's been waiting for this moment for a long time. "Go ahead. Press play and find out."

Your head shakes fondly, but your fingers tremble with anticipation as they find the PLAY button. You press it and the projector starts turning, a light flicking on at the top that makes a grainy image appear on the sheet.

The first scene is you. A teenager, dancing through the sunflower field, laughter spilling from your lips. The first time you hung out. And then it switches. You, again. Cleaning up a spill at the Crestmont, unaware of the camera. You. Paint in your hair as Jungkook chases you around the apartment in New York. You. Tears in your eyes as you hold baby Gureum for the first time. You. Asleep on Jungkook's shoulder on the subway, the camera panning to his face which lights up in a big grin, lips mouthing three words.

I love you.

Tears are hot on your cheeks, laughing as you remember the good moments and the bad, the funny and the sad, all immortalized forever through Jungkook's eyes.

The film fades out, and you throw your arms around your boyfriends neck. He chuckles when you tackle him to the ground, throwing a leg over his lap so that you can lean down and capture his lips between yours in a kiss that says all the words you want to say but you don't know how to. I love you too.

"I take it you liked it, then?" Jungkook says coyly, thumb stroking your cheek.

"It was beautiful Jungkook." You place your hand over his. "Now I know why you're always goddamn filming me."

"What can I say? You're my muse."

"Shut up." You punch him playfully. "You're gonna make me blush."

It's Jungkook's cheeks that flush pink. "Actually..." He starts to sit up, fumbling around in his back pocket. "There's something else."

"Oh?"

He clears his throat. "The first time we came to this place I knew I loved you. Back then, I said I wanted to show you what I found most beautiful. And it was you. It's always been you." He takes your hand, grip tight. "When we met we were just kids with big dreams. We might be older now but heck -- I still don't know what I'm doing. All I know is dreams come and go but you never left. You always stayed by my side. Which is why I want to promise you something."

"What, Kook?" You manage to whisper. Your heart is beating a million miles a minute in your ears. Is this what you think it is?

Jungkook swallows hard, eyes boring into yours.

"That I'll go wherever you go. New York, across oceans, up mountains -- you name it. As long as we're together, everything will be okay. So that's why I wanted to ask..." His fingers tremble as he produces a tiny black box, flicking it open to reveal a ring that sparkles see through in the sun. "Y/N, will you marry me?"

"Oh Jungkook," You throw your arms around his neck, overcome with emotion now as you capture his lips with your own. "Of course I'll marry you. You didn't even have to ask."

He lets out a sigh of relief, and then he's spinning you around in circles until you're both dizzy with love and belly laughter.

"I love you." He whispers, eyes shiny. His hand gently grasps your wrist as he slides the ring onto your finger.

You've heard him say it a hundred times before, but this time it's different. This time it's forever. Your heart flutters.

"I love you too, Kook."

Where there are new beginnings

Ocean City is the same as it always was.

You wake up each morning to the distant crash or waves, and you fall asleep each night to the tinkling fairground music that makes your heart sing. Tourists come and go, flooding the casinos and eating churros on the beach.

The Crestmont is doing better than ever. Once Taehyung took over as owner, the theatre became the heart of the city, attracting visitors from near and far to see the renowned plays directed by none other than Jeon Jungkook, the most sought after playwright and filmographer in all of the East Coast.

And then there's you. Ever since you starred in one of Jungkook's plays, about a girl from a seaside city moving to New York with big dreams, there's been no shortage of movie deals and acting opportunities thrown your way.

But in the end, you always find yourself coming back to Ocean City.

Tonight the Crestmont reopens for business after some much needed renovations. Taehyung is throwing a party, and there will be plenty of big Hollywood faces attending to see the brand new theatre and the updated __.

But one thing will always remain the same. The picture of your mom hung in the gallery. Her big smile is the heart of the Crestmont, greeting each and every visitor with pride.

And in the empty frame at the end of the wall of fame, there's a new picture.

You. Smiling, with your hair over one shoulder, just how you imagined. And beside you is Jungkook, with his arm wrapped around your waist and Taehyung holding Gureum and making a silly peace sign behind your head.

And you wouldn't have it any other way.

Okay so hi if you’re still here!! I decided to put this at the end because I didn’t wanna spoil the ending so please send love to @brekkiejeon !! They sent me the request for the ending of this fic all the way back in January and i’m trash and took like 7 months to finish writing it so i hope you enjoyed it even so lovely !!! <3 thank you for the request and sorry for the wait, this one really got me creative lol!

Also I’d like to dedicate the smut in this fic to @atastefulwonderland because I know you love some good ole JK loving!! Hehe, ily~~

Also lemme know if this was bad because I never usually give OC so much backstory because I want it to be as relatable to the reader as poss obvi but these characters wrote themselves lmao like i’m just the writer i had no control okay???? I just do what these mfkers say. LOL.

1K notes · View notes

inber · 5 years

Text

Lover, Please Stay - One Shot

Witcherlings, I must preface this strongly: if you do not want the big sad, do not read this fic. It’s a tale of loss and angst and almost. I wrote it to evoke emotion. If dark themes bother you, just skip it. The whole thing is behind a cut even though you’ve been warned! If you’re an angst slut like me, this is for you. Title is from a song by the band ‘Nothing But Thieves’ and I highly recommend listening to it. As ever, not my gif!

Summary: On the day of your wedding, Geralt objects. Pairings: Geralt x You, You x OC, Jaskier is here. Warnings: Angst, mentions of smut, heartbreak, loss, sad sad sad it’s SAD. Word Count: 4325 Tags: @persephonehemingway @xmother-mortemx @alwayshave-faith @alliyjane @stretchkingblog97 @p3nny4urth0ught5 @geeksareunique @didi0666 @tigers-pat @asgardianangelo @thefangirlsblog @agniavateira @superkamigurudende @i-am-sarah @punkrogers-jerkbarnes @deansbbysblog @mary-ann84 @khaleesi-provenance @locht3ssmonster @thatonesebstanfan @afterthenightprevails @saint-hardy @ayamenimthiriel @goldensilvan @hina-chans-stuff @salaveenas-personal-blog @elsassnowflake @msmimimerton @delightfully-anonymous @uncoolcloudyhead @buggy-blogs @magic-and-the-macabre - I’m sorry if I’ve tagged you and angst isn’t your thing! Ignore this one!

Masterlist is here. If you’d like to support my time, you can do so here.

Geralt traced fingers over the cursive script on the invitation – your loopy handwriting – and stared at your name. The parchment was over-folded and torn a little at the edges from being in his pocket for so long. Jaskier sighed, and placed a hand on his friend’s forearm.

“You don’t have to go, you know.” The bard softly reminded.

“She invited me.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to go.” Jaskier relinquished the touch, aware that the Witcher didn’t care much for physical affection, and returned to tuning his lute. “People skip weddings all the time.”

—————-

It was true; you had invited him. In a wine-drunk moment of passionate tears, in your private study, you’d written out his name as carefully as a monk gifted with scripture: Geralt of Rivia and Guest. You’d had it sent to one of the busier inns on a main road – one you knew he favoured – and had hoped it would reach his hand. That he might recognise the plea.

It had been well over a year since you’d travelled with the Witcher and, on occasion, his bard friend. You, the daughter of a merchant, had left your small, drowsy village in search of something greater than yourself; you were cursed with adventurous blood and daring desires, and before your family could object – before they knew it – you’d left them behind to seek fate. A Witcher had not been your intended target, but it was Geralt you’d met in a forest, hungry and wounded. You’d had supplies to spare, and a good heart, and although he flatly refused your help at the beginning, he came to recognise your stubborn nature and relented. Once he was fed and patched up, he healed much faster; you only camped in that spot for two nights.

What began as a relationship of convenience slowly turned into something else.

You’d not wanted payment in coin for seeing him well again. You had wanted to follow him, to learn of the world and proper combat, and feel freedom prick your skin and settle into your bones, etching your story there forever. Perhaps it was the travel with Jaskier that had made him numb to companionship, or perhaps he saw something in your bright eyes that reminded him of a time long in the past, but he’d acquiesced to your request. Two weeks, he’d said.

Following beside him on Roach, you became his ill-prepared tourist. You were quieter than Jaskier, which he was grateful for, and he soon learned of the benefits of travel with an attractive young woman. Other men on the road gave way; merchants discounted your wares; inn-keepers were happy to have you stay. And you, naïve to the hunger of men, walked happily in his shadow, protected.

One night early into your agreement, you were camping rough by a clear lake, fed by a mountain stream. It was a chance to wash, and you’d shyly removed your boots and socks to scrub your feet. Geralt had less reservation; he’d pulled his shirt over his head, leaving him bare-chested. In the twilight, he was startlingly beautiful. He’d heard your gasp, and caught your stare.

“What?” He’d asked, narrowing his wolfish eyes.

“Your scars…” You’d murmured, tracing them greedily with your gaze.

“I know.” Biting the words out, he waited for you to ask about them. The questions, the memories; he didn’t want them.

Instead, you’d said, “They’re like stars.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, and your full lips were hosting the dance of a smile. “A constellation.”

The way you’d chosen to regard his flaws had thrown him, and he’d stared at you heatedly for a long moment, before grunting, and starting to wash the road-dirt from his body. Still, after that day, he’d sometimes look down at the silvery bite-marks or healed blade-nicks on his skin, and think about the evening sky reflected in your eyes at that lake.

When two weeks had passed, you were reluctant to bring up the question of time. Watching him fight, and learning to wield a sword, and catching your own food, and the scent of wild and campfire and the lush hush of spring rain on a forest canopy – you hadn’t wanted to give it up. Alas, you were an honest woman – you’d always stayed true to your word.

“I know.” He’d muttered, when you’d approached him. “I can see you settled at the next village… if you want.”

“What if… I don’t want?” You’d hopefully challenged, and he’d grunted.

“You’ve yet to bother me. You can stay.”

Your heart had soared with that promise, and stay you did.

The weeks crept into a month, two months; you watched him slay bears and wild wolves and even drowners. He would not let you join him for more dangerous hunts, and although you’d pouted about it, you’d understood; you were a liability in situations that required strength or magic. Jaskier would have put up a fuss, and he’d appreciated your even-temper.

When the evenings got colder, you’d crept your bedroll closer and closer to his, until one evening he awoke to find you spooning into the warmth of him, unconsciously stealing his body heat. And he’d liked it. Gently, he’d pulled you close, and drifted back into slumber himself. After that, you slept together for warmth – just for warmth, you’d said – and found that both of you were better rested than you had been in a long time.

You couldn’t recall who’d moved first, the day you’d kissed. It had felt so natural, so easy; you were snuggled before the crackle of a campfire, and you’d simply tilted your head up to look at him. His warm lips on yours were welcomed, and there was nothing lustful or frenzied about the embrace; you’d kissed like old lovers, two souls meeting, the flick of your tongues lazy as you’d expressed physically what your minds had been shouting for weeks. When you broke the kiss, you’d both seemed surprised for a moment; you’d read it in his shining eyes, and he in yours. But the reaction was fleeting.

You’d climbed into his lap, weaving your fingers into the first winter-frost of his hair; he’d guided you with strong hands, and this time when you kissed, it was flame and desire and need, teeth grazing, fingers roaming. Making love in that forest clearing had been the most intense and gratifying experience of your life. Geralt was a considerate and responsive lover; he seemed attuned to your body, to your every wish, making them realities before you even had to ask. You’d come undone in his embrace again and again before he’d let himself follow.

It was different in the wake of that. He let you ride Roach. He began to share stories from his past; things he’d known would interest or amuse you. You’d confided your reasons for fleeing your village; your fear of becoming nothing, of dissolving into the surname of a man that you cooked and cleaned and birthed for. He’d told you that you’d never have to face that destiny, if you didn’t want to. That you were too wild for such things.

You shared a bedroll, or an inn room, when you rested. You discovered things about Geralt that he didn’t know himself; that there was a specific place on the back of his neck, at his hairline, that drove him wild when you sucked upon the skin. That he rather enjoyed the thrill of potential discovery and trysts in the most unlikely of places. That he found great comfort in having his hair brushed and braided and stroked. In turn, he lit fires in places inside you that you’d never known were kindled; some nights he drove you to your limits, fucked-out and mindless. Sometimes he bathed you in washes of pleasure, tangled with you in sheets and sunlight, slowly exploring every inch of your skin. Some nights you just watched one another in silence, all secret smiles and soft fingers, falling asleep in the security of company.

When you happened upon Jaskier on your travels, it was the beginning of the end.

“Who is this gorgeous thing atop Roach, Geralt?” He’d trilled, as you’d wandered into town. You’d heard the Witcher’s low groan beneath his breath.

Begrudgingly, like a boy forced to share his favourite treasure, he introduced you. You’d liked Jaskier from the very start. He was outgoing and loud and explosively colourful, a fierce juxtaposition to Geralt’s disposition. There was no hiding your affection for the Witcher from him – he’d known it the instant he’d seen you astride Roach – and secretly, you spoke of your love when Geralt was away on a hunt.

“Be careful with him, darling.” Jaskier had warned, flirting with the barmaid in the same breath.

“How so?” You’d lightly dismissed, “He’s not fragile.”

“No,” The bard had agreed, “But… you are.”

You’d argued that night, and had stormed off to bed. Without Geralt in it, away on the hunt as he was, you’d found sleep impossible, and had replayed the conversation in your mind, letting the bard’s words truly sink in. He was right; Geralt of Rivia held your heart in his leather-clad hand. It beat on his mercy. And if he wished it, he could crush it. In truth, you’d no idea how he felt about you.

In the early hours before dawn you’d snuck into Jaskier’s room and cried in his arms, the sleep-ruffled bard comforting, accepting your apologies readily and trying to work out how best to navigate the tricky situation. When your distress had quietened to sniffles, he’d blearily captured your gaze, and swept the tear-tracks from your cheeks.

“There’s nothing you can do but be honest with him.” He’d advised, speaking the truth that you both knew. “If you aren’t… it’ll begin to devour you.”

That sentiment echoed in your head in the week after you left that tavern behind. Jaskier headed in a different direction – although now he was armed with fresh tales of travel, courtesy of you. You’d hugged him fiercely and thanked him for his company, although he knew what you were really grateful for. Geralt had simply nodded at the bard, a sort of ‘until next time’ gesture, and you’d carried on.

One night, you couldn’t sleep, and he could feel it in your heartbeat and your slight wriggling. Eventually, wearied, he’d sighed.

“What troubles you?” The low register of his voice in the silent forest had made you shiver, despite his warmth.

“I’m… just thinking. Of something Jaskier said.” Your voice was small.

“Jaskier says too much.” Geralt grumped, and pulled you closer. “What was it? Some off-hand remark that is actually terribly offensive? Something about–”

“He said that I should tell you that I’m in love with you.”

Geralt was silent behind you, but you could feel his body stiffen. Your heart was leaden, sinking, and you feared you might be sick.

“Are… you?” Eventually, he spoke, but there was a sharpness to his tone that you didn’t understand.

“…Yes.” You’d confessed, a breath, a prayer.

Silence again. He merely squeezed you, nuzzled the back of your head, and murmured, “Let’s speak of this in the morning. The night has a way of… making things seem bigger than they are.”

You were trembling coltishly, adrenaline ruling your veins, but you knew he was right about the second part. How could you sleep now, you’d wondered? But when that rush faded, you were left with fatigue, and as it crept towards dawn, you slept.

Sunlight woke you up. Sunlight and cold; the day had gone beyond breakfast, and your bedroll was empty. “Geralt?” You’d called, sleepily, pushing yourself up to look around.

Your things were neatly packed. His were gone. Roach was gone.

In a panic, you rose, refusing to believe your eyes, refusing to think he’d take your deepest confession and run away with it. You blinked at the prism of tears that distorted your vision, calling his name until your voice was hoarse, eventually stumbling back to your pack and collapsing by it. The flutter of parchment under a strap caught your attention, and greedily, you snatched it.

I’m so sorry. You deserve better.

You’d stared at the words until they became blurred, not just from your tears, but from the drip of them into the ink, the parchment drinking of the salt until there was nothing left of his message but a garbled smear. Then you’d balled it up, thrown it, and howled like a dying beast.

In the time following, there were moments when you thought you would die. When the pain of him leaving would wrack you awake, the shudder of your body so violent you felt it down to your etched bones. When you’d get carelessly drunk and fall into bed with someone – anyone – to attempt to sate the vicious jaws of loneliness. When you wandered bare-foot for two entire days, bewildered and confused, until a kindly elderly couple supplied you with shoes and direction. Home. You’d go home. Back to that little village, that little life, that little fate that you’d tried in vain to escape from.

Your family welcomed you, at least. It had been a year, and your mother told you you’d only grown in beauty. They’d been angry at your departure at first; it had caused a rift, and your brother had left, too. Your father had turned to gambling and drink, and had nearly run the trade business your family owned into the ground. You often saw your mother take herbs given to her by the town’s hedgewitch, a remedy for her nerves.

When the Baron’s son passed through on his fine horse one morning and caught you in conversation, taking an interest, your father had seen an opportunity. Every time the regal man was due into town, you were pushed out the front of the shop, trying to act naturally as you swept the stoop or cleaned the glass. The baiting worked; he began to bring you flowers, and seek small escorted outings to the river with you, infatuated with the preciousness of your youth and the wildness that still paced your eyes – though it was much dulled now, caged. You found him tolerable; he liked to talk about himself, mostly, and you could tune that out, nodding when you felt it was appropriate. “Hmm.” Was your go-to response; if it bothered him, he never said. Definitely the sort of man that thought women shouldn’t have an opinion.

The match was uneven in rank, but the boy was used to getting what he wanted, and as a second son, his union was of less import. But it certainly meant prosperity for your family, and security for you. How could you deny them, after you’d caused such an upset in the steady rhythm of their lives? This was how it was to be. You’d accepted his promise ring with what you hoped was a smile of grateful eagerness, and had tried to kiss him with meaning, tried not to compare his dry lips to those of the man that walked the world with the ashes of your heart smeared on his palm like stigmata.

It was only alone, with a month before the wedding, that you broke down and wrote out the invitation. It probably wouldn’t reach him. He probably wouldn’t care. You’d sent it anyway.

—————-

“I need to see that she’s… happy.” Geralt managed, raising his eyes to meet Jaskier’s. “Come with me to the ceremony.”

The bard recognised the heartbroken pieces that drifted in the Witcher’s unearthly gaze, and sighed. “Of course, Ger’. Of course I’ll come.”

Geralt grunted in reply, but Jaskier knew the man was grateful and relieved.

It was easy for the bard to find something fitting for a wedding of nobility, but as Geralt held up his ‘best’ linen shirt, Jaskier had tutted. To the Witcher’s distress, he found himself fitted for a suit; he insisted on muted colours, no embellishments, and minimal tailoring. The end product hugged his body handsomely, although Geralt touched the silk lining of his jacket, fingered the gold buttons, and glared at Jaskier, who shrugged in innocence.

The night before, sequestered in a busy tavern near the venue, neither man slept well. In your bridal bedchambers, neither did you, staring at the fine gown that hung across the bedroom like a steel trap, waiting with bared teeth.

You awoke to tradition; to the bathing, the grooming, the handmaidens – that you were still entirely unused to – perfuming you, dressing you, pinning your hair into a beautifully complicated updo. When you looked in the mirror you didn’t recognise the woman staring back; she was dressed in ivory and gold, her waist cinched, the fine fabric of her gown threaded with jewels and pearls that she’d never asked for. Everything about her was ethereal, beautiful – save for the hollow stare of her eyes. But there was no one to look for that tell. You played your part as though you were watching from afar; the happy bride, marrying a dream man, finding a life of luxury.

At the church, your mother cried. Your brother had returned to the family, and he looked handsome in his best man’s suit. Your father – now sober – took your hands and told you how proud he was, how precious you were. How tonight would be nothing to fear; you should just do what comes naturally. You almost laughed; they had no idea how far from virginal you were. How no man could satisfy you again. How you were only truly wedded to your memories.

In a private room, you waited to walk the aisle, fiddling with the lipstick on your mouth, pulling your delicately gauzy veil over your face, adjusting the jewelled tiara that the Baroness had loaned you. You can do this, you’d told the woman in the mirror. She stared back at you like a wine cup waiting to be filled.

Your father fetched you to lead you to the doors, and as the trio of bards sung in perfect harmony, they opened to reveal the crowd to you. You felt weak at the knees, unused to so much attention, but your father’s strong arm held you as you walked. It was difficult to scan the crowd and try to look as though you were walking to meet your heart’s desire at the same time, and so you simply concentrated on moving forward. One foot at a time. Another step towards the gallows.

Your fiancé looked dashing, proud to be acquiring such a jewel; readily he accepted your hand as your father offered it, and there you stood at the altar, veiled and waiting.

“Your hands are shaking, my sweet.” He whispered to you, and you attempted a smile.

“It is only because I am so excited.” You replied.

Geralt and Jaskier stood near the back; even tall as he was, the Witcher somehow fit into the crowd. Perhaps it was the suit. They both watched you glide down the aisle, and Geralt frantically tried to scan your features; he could not see you for the damnable veil. He saw your tremble, and tried to decipher it – nerves or excitement? When the priest began to speak, he sat with the rest of the guests, and stared.

At some point, the veil was lifted, and he saw you. He saw the beauty he’d missed, the precious lips that he’d once kissed, the twist of your hair that he’d once spent hours running his hands through. He saw what he’d thrown away, like a coward. Most importantly, he saw the emptiness in your eyes; the echo of a girl that had once danced around wildfires, laughing, or had threatened the thunder in the sky with her own warning. Something clenched his heart, vice-like, and he shot to his feet.

“…their peace.” The priest finished, in surprise, as his aged eyes fell upon Geralt; now that he was the only one standing, his presence filled the room with command, and the crowd murmured, turning to gaze at the one who would stand against a Baron’s son.

You turned too, and gasped, flinching at the sight of the man you’d invited yourself, but that you hadn’t dared to hope would show. And here he was, objecting. Here he was, saving you from the destiny you feared. Your eyes glistened and you begged him with your stare: speak.

“Yes, Witcher?” Impatiently, the priest pressed. “What is your objection?”

Geralt clenched his fists and frowned. What was he to say? He could declare your virtue impure, but how could he do that to you in front of your family and so many strangers? He could declare his love – but what did he have to offer that a Baron’s son did not? He had no house, no wealth; he had his swords, his horse, and the road. The courage that had brought him here faltered. Jaskier kicked him in the foot.

“I just… wanted…” Geralt began, clearing his throat, “I needed…” He met your eyes, saw the desperation, and exhaled a long breath. “I needed to know… that all parties are consenting readily to this match.”

Your heart, tattered as it was, suffered another fissure. On this matter, you could not speak – surely he knew that? Wild-eyed, you looked to your father; he was not regarding you, but the Witcher.

“Of course!” He laughed, trading a glance with the Baron, who looked irritated at the interruption. “My daughter is honoured by this match.”

“And my son desires it.” The Baroness spoke, curiously peering at Geralt.

“No.” You whispered, so soft that it was only a breath; you could have sworn that the Witcher heard, pausing as he began to leave, but it did not matter. The door closed in his wake.

—————-

You couldn’t recall the rest of the ceremony. Perhaps you’d cried and disguised it as joy. Perhaps you’d forced a smile and laughed with the rest of the crowd over the peculiar actions of a mutant. All you truly knew was that there was now a gold band on your finger, settled beneath the jeweled promise ring, and it felt like a shackle. Outside the church, the Baron presented you both, and well-wishers cheered and threw rose-petals and clapped, and the two of you divided briefly to thank guests for coming.

There was only one guest you wanted to see; when you freed yourself from the tangle of people, making sure to profusely thank them in a hollow voice, frantic eyes scanned for a white mane of hair. You saw it around the side of the church, in the gardens, and stealing away, you ran for him.

“Why?” You burst out, pulling him into shadow, “Why?!”

“I’m so sorry to interrupt your happy day…” He gritted, lowering his eyes.

“It’s the worst day of my life, and you know it. That’s why you came. Why didn’t you object?” You couldn’t stop the tears, now; they ran in rivers down your cheeks.

“And say what?” Geralt snapped, cupping your face in his hands, “Say that we’ve been together, and ruin your prospects in front of the whole blasted–”

“I care not for my prospects!” You sobbed, pushing his hands away, “I wanted you. I don’t care what you would have said. Oh, Gods – would have. Why did you really come here?”

The words caught on his tongue again. He tried to make you see them with his eyes, but you could not, distressed as you were. “I needed… to make sure you were happy.” He finally spoke, stupidly.

Angrily, you wiped away your tears. “My family will be secure. That is all I can ask for. That is my duty, as a daughter.”

The gravity of it hit him. He tried to take your hands, but you refused him. “You aren’t happy.”

The fury of your stare was shocking to him. “Was it you that wasn’t enough, Geralt? Or was it me?”

“How could you think–” He hissed, before pinching the bridge of his nose. “Don’t lay with him. If you don’t consummate the marriage, you can have it declared void.”

Humourlessly, you laughed. “Have you any idea the scandal? The ruin my family would suffer? It is done. The chance is gone.” You took a step back. “Run away, like you want to. Leave this place. If I must be damned, do not hurt me any longer.”

He spoke your name, but you were already turning to leave, back to the masses, back to your new husband’s side.

—————-

Five years later, he visits you. It’s a contrite, gentle way that he approaches you, bearing nothing but a single snow-white rose as a peace offering; it matches his hair. He sits and tells you of the things he’s done in the time you’ve been apart, of the places he thinks you’d like to have seen, of the beasts that he battled. He speaks of Jaskier, and his fame and songs. He tells you that there isn’t a day that goes by that he doesn’t wish he’d said what he’d come to say in that church – the three words that could have changed everything, both of your destinies.

I love you.

He congratulates you on the birth of your son, and apologises for not bringing a gift. But he cannot bear to see the baby. He can’t think of you and the Baron’s son together. He doesn’t want to see the little life that robbed you of your own.

Atop your tombstone, he lays the rose, and traces your name carved in the stone the way his fingers used to trace the curve of your lips.

#the witcher #the witcher fandom #netflix the witcher #witcher #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher fan fic #fan fiction #fanfic #fan fic #fanfiction #geralt #geralt x you #geralt x reader #geralt x y/n #angst #heartbreak #sad

353 notes · View notes

dingoat · 5 years

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A Kiss on the Hand

This is probably going to be the most involved of my OC Kiss Week pieces, hah, and comes from another prompt from @kaosstar (seriously thank you for these!!) - ‘A platonic kiss on the hand or cheek from Zim to Ahuska.’ I mulled for a while over how to let this come about, and once Kaos suggested Zim might want to compliment Ahuska’s singing, everything kind of fell into place.

It also gave me a grand opportunity to very gratuitously surround Ahuska with ALL THE LOVELY BOYS. I’ve borrowed @humanrevolt‘s Crow and @askshivanulegacy‘s Blakk for the occassion as well, I hope I’ve done right by everyone, ahhh, and of course this is only as ‘canon’ as everyone/anyone wants it to be.

If you want to read the tale (rated ‘C’ for ‘cheeky’) then carry on below!

---

Mar’an Crow did not understand his wife’s obsession with Pokemon Go.

“You can go catch real… like, real live, actual animals, any time you want! That’s literally what you do! People pay you real credits to do that!”

“Yeah but that’s not the point…”

“I thought that was one hundred per cent the point of the game?”

“I mean yeah, sorta, except it’s just fun like… it’s silly and nonsense, and doesn’t matter at all, and I kind of like that about it? Plus some of them are just stupidly cute…”

Crow did not understand. But considering their home planet was quite literally off the grid, he was willing to indulge Ahuska with a trip to Alderaan to participate in the upcoming Safari Zone Weekend. He trusted her claims that it was a ‘big deal’, that Alderaan was one of the ‘best planets’ to play on, and he trusted her, even if he didn’t trust that blasted Agent she’d be catching up with for a hot minute.

And so, having spent the previous day indulging in one of his favoured activities (white water hoverboarding over the Glarus rapids), a long sleep in and a gourmet breakfast in bed (they put berries on everything!!!) and a leisurely trip to the Alsakan Highland Wildlife Park in the morning (the vorn tigers had a three month old litter of cubs), Crow found himself giving Ahuska a peck on the cheek and wishing her a safe and fruitful ‘fake animal hunt’.

She laughed, kissed him back, and he barely even heard what she said while he took in the way her eyes almost perfectly matched the clear blue sky. “Mmm- what?”

“I said give my regards to Dahlia, you di’kut! And make sure Pexu gets into whatever mischief she wants. Only fair, since she couldn’t come to the park with us this morning. See you in a few hours.”

“Yeah, see you then. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

---

Imperial Cipher Omega Blakk was just Blakk, today, having shed his uniform and his mission objectives to spend some time, in person, with his long term Pokemon Go buddy and fellow Instinct teammate. He still wasn’t quite sure how he managed to let her talk him into it; face to face interaction with somebody on the Empire’s hit list was dicey at the best of times and they were usually far more discrete and brief when chance brought them into the same sector at the same time- usually no more than sharing a quick caf over a trade before being on their separate ways again. He wanted to say she was incessant, that she was insufferable, that she twisted his arm or blackmailed him into it, but the simple truth that he would never admit out loud was that he found her infuriatingly delightful.

She loved to tease him through the game, going out of her way to find Pokestops marked over Anti-Imperial graffiti to send him gifts from, barely restraining her giggles when she showed him one of her pokemon – one that was a literal bag of garbage with a goofy little face – that she’d named ‘The Emperor’. But she also squeaked with delight every single time one of her favourite creatures showed up (a little blue and white animal based off a vulptilla), and actually clapped her hands together with glee when he offered up one of his absurdly exclusive regional legendaries for trade, when she didn’t have anything remotely comparable to offer in return. He couldn’t explain why, exactly, but he was happy to do so.

She actually grabbed his hand at one stage, to haul him onto his feet with a whoop and drag him three blocks over in pursuit of a new rare spawn that showed up on the map. She didn’t hesitate to climb a tree (full of bugs and probably other things) with both of their datapads tucked into her satchel to save them having to enter a gated country club that required guest sign-in for non-members (something neither of them were particularly excited to provide) – to access an uncontested gym. She paused play for twenty minutes to watch an Alderaanian snow squirrel pick its way across a garden lawn. And she teased him relentlessly about the fact that his clothing looked better suited to an evening gala dinner than a day outdoors playing games in the sun.

Maybe it was the fact that she was so bright and free spirited that her constant ribbing didn’t get to him. There was something different about spending time together in person. Or maybe… maybe it was the fact that for once, Blakk had a plan to get her back for months of endless cheek.

---

She wasn’t a Bothawui-born Bothan, that was for certain. It only took a few minutes of watching her for Ziminder to be confident about that.

His line of work brought him into contact with Bothans on a reasonably regular basis, and she had a vibrancy and openness to her that one simply didn’t see amongst those more embedded in the naturally mistrustful, back-stabbing culture of the species, whose economy was based on knowledge, and power was held by those able to seize and protect the most. The young Alderaanian nobleman smiled to himself, as he stood discretely off to one side in the dappled shade of an archway artfully overgrown with flowering vines, slowly nursing a sparkling drink. It had been a surprise, when Blakk had contacted him out of the blue, wondering if he was free to meet up for an afternoon tea with some other new friend of his. A pleasant surprise, but a surprise nonetheless. He had been busy, but he’d never let Blakk know that he’d rearranged his schedule to fit him in. It had been far, far too long, and he had to admit that he was painfully curious to see what sort of friend might actually be capable of dragging the Agent out into the light of day, even for a little while. He had to guess that this Bothan- Ahuska- was a fan of his old acting work, and that Blakk’s invitation toward him was, in part, some sort of surprise favour to her, because he’d been instructed to hang back and wait until Blakk’s cue before meeting them at their table.

He thought that was tremendously cute, and was all too glad to play his part in such a gesture.

And so, he leant back and watched, bringing his tall glass to his lips once more, waiting for Blakk to catch his eye and give him that subtle nod.

---

Ahuska had been having a brilliant day. From the long, lazy morning to an entertaining and fruitful session of monster hunting, everything had just been downright lovely. Crow had treated her like a princess, and even Blakk seemed… somehow brighter than she’d come to expect from him.

She hadn’t really known what to make of his expression when she’d paused at one point to pick some wildflowers, and start weaving the stems of the stunning blue-violet blooms into a crown. Almost like he was jealous, she thought, though he went all odd and stiff when she offered one of the flowers to him. But he had accepted it, and pressed it neatly inside his wallet to stash in his pocket. She finished her crown, but wound up making it long enough to wear around her neck, and she still caught him staring at it a little oddly, from time to time.

She thought Alderaan’s Celebrity Walk was a bit of an unusual choice for them to have their afternoon tea break; granted, the place was littered with cute cafes amid the statues and memorials to famous Alderaanians from all walks of life, from war heroes to nobility to artists and actors and musicians, and she couldn’t deny that the place was an absolute haven for pokestops to keep an eye on while they ate.

It was just one of those spots that felt a little too tourist-catering for her tastes, and she would have assumed Blakk’s as well… until she saw the little commemorative plaque on the pavement beside the table he lead her to, and she had to stifle a giggle.

“Ohhhh, okay, okay, no, this makes sense now. Blakk, honestly, this crush of yours is way too cute.” She had, somewhere down the line, worked out that he was quite familiar with every work featuring the undeniably easy-on-the-eyes Ziminder Antilles, locally born actor who’d covered almost everything from commercials to holoflix series to feature length films. And so the fact that he’d want to sit next to Zim’s plaque was understandable and utterly delightful to her.

It also prompted her to start humming, and eventually singing aloud, the little ditty from one of Zim’s shows that she’d re-worked the lyrics to specifically for Blakk’s benefit (or discomfort, depending on who you were asking). She barely even thought about it as the words tumbled from her lips, while she stared over the menu in the vague hope that this particular café sold fresh donuts. “Toss a coooiiin to Ziminder, you big grumpy agent, you big grumpy agent…”

As she went on, she dared a glance his way, but was disappointed to see he wasn’t quite squirming the way he normally did. As she took a breath, Ahuska decided to up the ante, diving into a brand new verse that pushed just a little further out of the comfort zone than she normally dared to tread.

“At the e-edge of the bed, Face all flushed and red…”

She stood, grinning wickedly, all the better to add a couple of cheeky gestures to go with her words.

“He hammered and he-eld you! Now you’re giving him—" “Ahem,” a polite little cough from behind Ahuska cut her words short, and she froze like a kybuck caught in speeder lights.

Almost comically slow, the Bothan turned with her breath caught in her throat, to see none other than Ziminder gods-damned Antilles himself, standing right there in the flesh. Her song turned into a mortified squeak, and all it took was one horrified glance over to Blakk to catch that proud little cat-smile curling his lips for her to realise just how perfectly she’d been played. The fething Agent had set her up! Her ears hadn’t flushed quite so bright a shade of crimson since the time she’d walked in on Nines and Lyrisal performing roughly the same act she’d been about to describe in song, and she found herself just as flustered and stuttering as back then.

“I um, ah, oh, uhhhh. Hi I was just um…”

“You must be Blakk’s friend!” The holo-star swept aside her fumbled words and took up one of her trembling hands. He’d heard every word, of course, as Blakk’s timing had been impeccable, and he too recognised the smirk that had graced his old friend’s expression. Quickly re-assessing the situation, Zim had cut in before Ahuska had completely disgraced herself and worked to set her at ease.

Ahuska still felt her ears burning as Zim lifted her hand with practiced grace, landing a delicate kiss on top of it. “I… ahh, yes, uh…”

“Ahuska, is it? He never mentioned what a lovely singing voice you have! It’s my absolute pleasure to meet you. Please, please allow me to buy you a drink…”

---

Crow paused for a moment, looking out across the open air café, bright and bustling in the early afternoon light, watching his wife laugh and tease. That Agent always made him uneasy, despite her constant assurances that he’d never sell them out, despite her unerring trust in him. When they were joined by another fellow, it gave him a bit of a start; wasn’t that that actor? That Antilles lad—wasn’t his House quite firmly allied with the Republic?

He found himself smiling, and more thoughtful than he’d expected to be. There she was, his Ahuska, giggling at a table with an Imperial Agent on one side and a Republic noble on the other. And she, like him, somebody who had rejected both, choosing a life free of the bounds of either of the galaxy’s major governments. And yet… yet… there they were, finding common ground, somewhere, existing together without the bloodshed and the ultimatums that he’d become so accustomed to between the factions. Maybe there was hope for the galaxy yet, even if bonds were built one being at a time.

And then the light caught Ahuska’s ears just so, and Crow realised how flushed she was. He hadn’t seen her turn that shade of red since he’d had a certain (Completely tasteful! Absolutely inoffensive! Very flattering!) painting of himself delivered to her tent at the old Clan headquarters, so many years ago. Whatever had happened just now, she was embarrassed as hell, and Crow took that as his cue to step in and perform his solemn duty of deflecting attention.

“Hey there!” The rough cheeked, scarred Mandalorian swaggered over, one hand forcefully extended in an offer for Zim to shake. “I see you’ve met my wife! Aren’t you the fellow who was in that toilet cleaner commercial when you were twelve…??”

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yourcoolfriendwithallthecandy · 5 years

Text

Hearthway Hollow Chef Ryker Part 1

So what happened when I commissioned @momolady for the Hearthway Hollow Chef thing was there was a miscommunication/misunderstanding and when I got the commission back, I loved it! But there were just a few details that I wanted changed and instead of letting Momo change it, I noticed that I could change the document itself and so I, like an inexperienced commissioner- went ahead and changed the details myself in the original document - like Del was actually 8 because Del is based off of my daughter, who is actually about to turn 8 and Zara is my OC of myself so I put in more details about me personally in there. And what started off as a little tweak here and there...turned into a remodel of a house and by the time I was done, if you read this, you’ll notice the bones are kind of the same but everything else is mostly different, I bastardized my own commission because I couldn’t let go of tiny little details. I rather innocently and unintentionally broke probably every rule there is about commissioning writers. And I’m sorry. I have apologized to Momo who has been so patient and so kind and so good to me and she totally held my hand through all of it because while I have done commissions for other people, it was the first time I was the commissioner for once and then of course, I had to write FANFICTION of my own commission, but did I base it on the original? no. I based it on my bastardized version. But Momo is very very very cool in letting me show the bastard version and the fanfic to the...however many followers I have that might like this other than me and if no one does, that’s fine, at least it gets to see the light of day.

Enjoy. This is basically my hypothetical dark but sweet fantasy if my husband died and Werewolves were real and what I would do after I would grieve.

Hearthway Hollow- Chef Ryker

I was hoping a trip would be what we needed, something Del and I could share even through our subsiding grief. My husband and Del’s father- Michael, passed away last year and I felt it was time that I start living again and try to move on with my life. Del chose the location of our vacation after hearing some of her friends talking about it. I had also decided that driving would be fun, nothing like a good ol’ fashioned road trip. I’d be able to show Del tourist traps, fun locations, and introduce her to some very good food.

After Michael passed, Del did a 180 and became just as picky of an eater like her father was when he was alive, what once had been an adventurous eater, she quickly transformed into the kind of kid who only eats chicken nuggets, much less only would eat the foods Michael had once enjoyed. I think that was how she was choosing to grieve his loss and keep his memory alive in herself. But being a foodie myself, I was getting a little frustrated from eating the same things over and over and over again, I wanted to try to gently coax her out of that shell she put herself in. What better way to do that then a fresh change of scenery?

The trip down south was going to take us a couple of days, we were headed to Myrtle Beach. I hadn’t traveled like this in years, back in the day, Michael and I used to go on roadtrips all the time, trips up to Michigan and the Great Lakes to see my family that remained there, to Cedar Point, Kings Island, things like that because we all loved roller coasters. We even went on a vacation when I was pregnant with Del. Michael and I had always hoped that one day, we’d be able to take Del on road trips more often because traveling with small children could be a nightmare. Michael had an old camaro he restored himself as a teenager and a motorcycle, both were great in helping make kids but neither were very kid friendly once they were born but he had been so patient in waiting for Del to grow up and be big enough to be able to join him. But then...well, time ran out, cut so very short. Now it was up to me to pick up where he left off. This was step one.

We stopped in North Carolina for a rest stop, I got gas and took Del to the bathroom. While there we got some drinks and a couple of snacks for the road. As we were checking out Del was looking over the brochures for tourist attractions by the door.

She gasped dramatically and loudly. “Mom!” She yanked a brochure from the stand and all of the ones in that cubby came shooting out.

“Delilah!” I huffed as I knelt down to help her pick them all up. “You have to be mindful and aware of what you're doing." I gently reminded her.

“But Mom!” She prances excitedly as she holds it out to me.

I sigh and take it. “Hearthway Hollow Forest Wolf Reserve,” I murmur as I look over the pamphlet. “Wolf rehabilitation and study center, located in Hearthway Hollow. Come see the wolves that make Hearthway Hollow the treasure of the mountains. Donations help in the rehabilitation of the endangered wolves of the area. Hmm”

“I can pet a wolf, Mom!” Del bounces excitedly.

I turn to the cashier at the register. “This Hearthway Hollow, is it close by?”

“Oh yeah,” she says with a cheery smile. “You just follow Locklear Road and the signs will direct you the rest of the way.” She says as she points in the direction of the road itself.

“What’s it like?” I ask cautiously.

“It’s amazing!” The cashier gushes. “I go to the local college there and I plan on moving into town soon.”

I think for a long moment. “Any good restaurants? Places to stay?”

“Oh there’s tons of good places to eat. I would check out Guillermo’s, it’s my favorite place to go. My friends and I go there to celebrate after tests and junk.” She then smiles at Del. “There’s a killer park and a community pool there too, she’ll love it. If you’re looking for a place to stay overnight, just go to Big Billy’s Hardware.”

I furrow my brow. “A hardware store?”

“It’s the heart of the town! Big Billy looks scary, but don’t worry, he’s just a big pappa bear kind of guy and he’s a sucker for cute kids. Take your daughter in there and he’ll find you a four star place to stay dirt cheap,” she laughs.

I think for another long moment while I pay. As I get back in the car I look over to see Del clutching that brochure for the wolf reserve. Wolves have always been her favorite animal, aside from sharks... and snakes... and tigers... and unicorns, her father used to watch nature documentaries with her, and both of them would play wolves on full moons. Perk of living in the middle of nowhere, so many stars to shine in all their glory in the night sky.

“Are we gonna go, Mom?” Del pleads.

“Honey, we have a schedule to at least try to stick to.” But she can sense that my resolve is weak.

Del giggles and wriggles in the passenger seat. “So we’re going?” Well, what’s a few more hours on a detour?

“... Yeah ok." I find Locklear road and started traveling down it. Sure enough, I started seeing all sorts of signs for Hearthway Hollow pop up. There was a turn coming where the massive ‘Welcome to Hearthway Hollow’ sign stuck out like a sunrise against the dark trees.

Entering the town was like stepping into one of those picturesque paintings. The main downtown area was all old brick buildings with enchanting storefronts. But I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve come home, it was strange yet familiar and I didn’t realize how much my soul had ached for it. But by the time we found the reserve, it was closed for the day. Well, it would be open tomorrow. We could afford to stay in town for a night and see it first thing in the morning then get to Myrtle.

“Let's find Big Billy's hardware store then,” I say. “We’ll find a place to stay the night, get something good to eat for dinner, and tomorrow we’ll go visit the wolf reserve? Sound like a plan?”

“Yes!!” Del cheers excitedly.

The hardware store was easy to find, it looked like many of the other buildings, but there was just something about it that stuck out like a sore thumb. It was the classic hardware store, but the sign hanging above the door was a black wolf’s head, snarling and gnashed teeth, with Billy burned into the side.

As we walked inside there was old music playing over a stereo, a young man was behind the counter and arguing with someone in the back.

“Hello?” I ask. “I’m sorry to bother.”

The young man looks at me and smiles. “One sec, let me get through with this.” His smile vanishes and he snaps towards the back. “I’ve got a customer! Shut the hell up!” He glances back to me. “Hi, I’m Jack. Sorry about that, arguing with the old man.”

“Don’t call me that!” A thunder like snarl comes from the back and the walls nearly shake.

“Oh uhm-” I hesitate. “I’m in town for maybe a day or two with my daughter."

“Hi,” she waves.

Jack breaks into a big grin. “Hi there!” As he waves back.

“I was told if I came here we’d be able to find a place?” I ask. “I’m sorry if I was misled. I don’t mean to be a bother.”

Jack shakes his head. “Nonsense, I’m sure the old man has a few places he can rent for a couple of days.” He turns and whistles. “Yo! Billy! You got some potential renters up here!”

There is snarling and growling before a man who is more mountain than anything comes from the back. I’m sure back in his day he was a real looker, hell he’s quite good looking now, but there is a dark look in his eyes as he walks out.

“I’ve got a couple of cabins,” he huffs as he takes out a three ring binder without looking up at me. “Lemme see here, lemme see.” He glances down, seeing Del staring up at him with big bright blue eyes that matched mine and an awed expression. “What’s this here,” he leaned forward with a big grin which she quickly mirrors. “How old are you?”

"I’m eight.” Del beamed proudly.

“You’re really close in age to my granddaughter,” he chuckles.

“My daughter,” Jack huffs. Ah, so he’s either his son or son in law, that dynamic makes sense now.

Billy rolls his eyes. “What are you doing here then?” He asks Del.

“The Wolf reserve, but it was closed by the time we got there,” Del answered as she starts to pout in disappointment and I see Billy sympathetically mirror her expression. Yeah, papa bear for sure.

I pet her long blonde hair comfortingly as I stand beside her. “She saw a brochure for the wolf reserve and they’re her favorite animal.” I add.

“Besides sharks,” Del corrects me.

“Two very good choices,” Billy takes a key from behind the desk and hands it to me. “Address and everything is on the keychain,” he says. “Small cabin, good for a new family.”

A cold, stabbing pain radiates through my chest. “It’s just me and Del,” I softly corrected.

“Ah,” Billy nods. “Well, it’ll still work out for you. How long you plan on staying? A week?” He asks.

“Just tonight,” I say with a nod.

Billy chuckles. “Well, $65 a night, regardless.”

I balk for a moment, letting my jaw drop. “That’s it? For a cabin?”

“I got a lot of cabins, they ain’t getting used.” Billy says with a shrug. “Kid discount.” He motions to Del.

“Oh wow, thank you. I promise, we’ll keep it clean.” I pay in cash in advance which makes Billy happy and then I take Del’s hand to go back outside. “Oh uhm...I was told to try Guillermo’s,” I reply. “Where is it in town?”

“You go down Main Street and make a left on Lupine Avenue, it’ll be right next to the Silver Bullet a few blocks that way,” Jack replies as he points and gestures in the right direction. “It’s great, you really should try it before you leave.” He added.

“Ok, thank you!” I wave goodbye as I take Del back to the car.

We find the cabin, which is located pretty close to town. It’s behind a house where there is a moving truck parked out front. I see a woman sitting outside fanning herself by a stack of boxes.

Del and I go into the cabin, and aside from it being a little stuffy from being shut in for a little while, it’s cute and cozy and even has air conditioners in the bedrooms and the living room, and it’s pretty clean and still really nice. There’s plates and cups in the cupboards and silverware in the drawer even and a coffee maker. Nice.

“This is like the Three Bears house, Mom!” Del races around, investigating every inch of the place. She then opens the curtains in front of a sliding glass door in the back off the kitchen. She gasps loudly as she sees the endless void of woods behind the cabin and presses her face to the glass.

“You think wolves can see us?” She bounces on her toes.

“If you leave that curtain open,” I chuckle.

“Come on! Let’s check out the woods! They call to me, I must explore!” She dramatically implores me as she gestures to them.

But before we can, I hear a knock at the door.

A bit timid, I peek through the window to see the woman from the house below at the door. As I open the door she has an embarrassed look at her face.

“Hi, sorry,” she scoffs. “I know you’re here just trying to enjoy your vacation, but uhm-” she fidgets in place. “The electricity at my place was supposed to get turned on today and it’s not.” She holds up her phone and charger. “Do you mind?”

I shake my head. “Not at all, come in.” I readily invite her in.

“I’m Amelie, by the way,” she says quickly.

“Zara, and this my daughter Delilah, Del for short.” I reply and shake her hand.

“Thank you, so much, Zara. I need to call my boyfriend and tell him the electricity isn’t on yet, but of course my phone dies.” Amelie goes into the kitchen and plugs her phone in there.

“Are you just moving here?” I ask.

Amelie shakes her head. “I moved to Hearthway Hollow about a year ago. I just got engaged, so my fiance and I decided to find a new place together. He didn’t wanna live in a house so close to his work, I didn’t want to live directly in the woods. This was a compromise,” she chuckles. “So, how did you end up here?”

“The wolf reserve,” I say with a shrug. “Me and my daughter are headed to Myrtle Beach for a vacation and decided to take a detour on the scenic route.”

“The wolf reserve is pretty cool. If you’re lucky they may have the rescued wolf pups out by now.”

“Oohhh,” Del and I ooh.

“So a beach vacation with just the girls,” Amelie chuckles. “Did you have to leave dad at home?”

“Oh uh-” I start off unsurely and fidget with my wedding ring. “No I mean-” I press my lips into a tight line. “Michael, my husband, he died about a year ago so its just us." I say as I gesture to Del and I.

"He dropped dead of a heart attack at work out of the blue." Del blurted out and I huff and fix her with a look.

Amelie gasps horrified. “Oh, oh I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s ok,” I shake my head. “It’s taken some time and a lot of therapy but we're OK. Michael planned ahead and had his affairs in order so we're taken care of and now we get to get back to living and try to move forward. We wanted to create some new happy memories, get us out of the house and a change of scenery.” I explained as she nodded solemnly.

“Well, you came to a great place. Hearthway Hollow,” she smiles for a moment. “I don’t know what it is about this place, but it’s a perfect spot for healing. When I came here I was-” she shakes her head as her eyes grow glassy for a second. “I was in a really, extremely, horribly bad place. Hearthway Hollow, in a way, saved my life.”

“Oh wow,” I murmur.

“I suggest letting yourself linger here for a while, you’ll never know what you might find.” Amelie gives me an encouraging smile. “Aside from the reserve, what were your plans?”

“Oh! Well, I was told to go to Gueillermo’s,” I start.

Amelie gasps. “That place is awesome! My fiance’s best friend is the owner and head chef there, he does absolute miracles with food it’s a fusion restaurant so there’s a little bit of everything. Shahan and I were going there tonight, you should join us and get the special treatment,” she says with a grin. “Shahan and Ryker grew up together, they’re practically brothers.”

“Ryker?” I murmured to myself.

That evening, Del and I get dressed up and go to dinner with Amelie and her fiance Shahan. The restaurant already looks packed, but we are taken to a back room into the most comfortable booth that’s a half moon shape as I slide in the middle with Amelie on my left and Shahan on the other side of her with Del being on the other side of me on the end and the booth itself has a front row view of the kitchen and the chefs already hard at work like a well oiled machine, I noticed everyone is in baseball caps so I can't tell who the head chef is. It's an upscale Spanish fusion restaurant and the smells coming out of the kitchen are making my mouth water and stomach growl. The menu is killer and I want to order all of it because it's all Michelin star quality food but at Olive Garden prices. And it's mostly farm to table and seasonal, featuring produce and meats from right here in Hearthway with only a few exceptions, like the seafood. I'm impressed.

“So, what do you like to eat, Del?” Shahan asks as we look over the menus.

“Chicken nuggets,” Del says, grabbing at some crayons on the table and drawing on the paper place mat in front of her, fllipping it over to the back and using it as her canvas to create another masterpiece.

“She’s a picky eater as of late,” I sigh. “I’ve been using this trip to broaden her horizons a little.” I explained.

“How is that going?” Shahan asks.

“Stalemate,” I grumble.

“Well, if anyone can get her to try new things, I think it would be Ryker,” Shahan chuckles. “We grew up together, basically lived with me and my family after his dad passed away.”

“His dad died too?” Del asks softly and the look on Amelie’s face tells me she didn’t get a chance to tell him that yet as she looked at me apologetically which prompted me to smile reassuringly at her.

“Oh uh, sorry kid,” Shahan says gently. “You miss your dad?”

Del nods. “He dropped dead of a heart attack at work, so his last words to me were from that morning ‘Hurry up or you’ll miss the bus, have a good day at school, I love you.’ We used to do everything together, he was teaching me archery and how to ride a fourwheeler and a dirt bike and how to handle a knife, because I’m not in school I get to carry it around all the time again, this was his.” She explained as she stopped drawing and brings out the pocket knife from her pocket and shows Shahan and Amelia who both have a myriad of emotions on their face as she expertly flipped the knife open to show them before I take mine from my purse and open mine and reveal that it was a matched engraved set and Amelie and Shahan look almost near tears.

“Wow, that’s an awesome knife, can I see it?” Shahan asks respectfully before she let him take it as he looked it over before Amelie took mine, both of them studying them for a moment, appreciating the excellent quality of them before he tested it’s sharpness by shaving a patch of hair off of his forearm before he handed it back to her before she folded it up and put it back in her pocket as Amelie handed mine back before Del continued to draw on the paper placemat, her crayons nearly snapping in her hands with the force she’s using to color with them now so that she doesn’t start to cry.

“Shahan!” A man comes around to the table before he sees me and his eyes grow soft yet excited. “Oh wow, new people.” He smiles at me like I’m the moon and I can’t help but mirror his smile.

The man that stands in front of me has me dumbstruck like I’m a high school girl again. All I can think of is ‘Hello Mr. Beefy Beef Man’ because he’s this tall- like probably almost six foot, maybe an inch or two short of it, but a big burly guy, his chest is like a barrel and his shoulders and chest are really big and well muscled like a lumberjack with tree trunks for arms and a bit of a beer belly because guys, especially bigger ones who love food often have those too and I take that as a sign I’m going to eat very well tonight. He has a heavy dose of farmer’s market hot to him and is giving me the strong but soft vibes that I am digging. He’s wearing the white chef jacket but a nice heavy duty apron on and a baseball cap from Cedar Point of all places, which is my favorite place on earth. He’s got dark brown, almost black hair judging by his immaculate beard. His bright blue eyes look me over and I am smitten instantly.

“Well, hello there,” he says with a deep charming voice but bright friendly tone. “Is this couple here bothering you?” He teases and I can’t help but laugh.

“No!” Del blurts from her spot.“They invited us.”

The man then suddenly seems to realize there’s a child next to me but he doesn’t falter, instead he chuckles. “Well, I am certainly happy to hear that.” He smiles at her.

“This is Zara and Del, they’re renting the cabin above the new house for a spell,” Shahan replies. “Amelie invited them out.”

“You did?” The man laughs looking at Amelie with surprise.

“I’m growing, learning to trust,” Amelie defends herself. “This is the Ryker, by the way,” she says to me.

“THE Ryker, I like that,” he laughs. His bright smile turns on me and I am that dumbstruck teenage girl again with a hurricane of butterflies in my stomach. “Ryker Guillermo, at your service.” He holds out his big, meaty but sexy hand to me and it’s all I can do to not giggle like a loon as I shake it firmly. My small hand disappearing into his. His hands are so warm and a bit calloused from hard work which for me is another really good sign. He has a good grip but so do I.

“Huh-hi,” I choke out. “Nice to meet the miracle worker. I’ve heard so much about you.” I say.

“Aww, are they bragging on me?” He says. “I just try to make good food, that’s all.” He shrugged as his cheeks stained cherry and he kicked at an invisible stone on the floor as his smile turns bashful.

“What’s the special tonight?” Shahan asks.

“Good question,” Ryker laughs. “What are you in the mood for?”

“Chicken nuggets,” Del chimes in.

Ryker makes a face. “Bad news sweetie, this is an anti-chicken nuggets restaurant.”

“Excuse me?!” Del blurts as she puts her hand over her chest and fixes him with a look like a true southern bell who’s just been scandalously outraged and I have to cover my mouth to keep from laughing too hard as Amelie and Shahan lose it because the girl has spunk and personality for days as I smile up apologetically at Ryker.

“You do realize if you eat too much chicken, you’ll become a chicken?” Ryker says. “Do you want to become a chicken?" He asked and I want to kiss him for taking that so well and using humor to diffuse this situation.

"That's not true." She countered suspiciously as she narrowed her eyes at him, seemingly measuring him up.

"Are you sure? There's a saying, 'you are what you eat', where do you think that saying came from?" Ryker teases and Del seriously thinks it over. "Could you trust me to make you something just as delicious as chicken nuggets but way, way better? Because I can." Ryker offers as Del considers that too. “It will be super awesome, I promise.” Ryker crosses his heart. He then winks at me and I melt like butter as Del looks him up and down a little wearily before she makes her decision and simply reaches out and offers him her pinky for a pinky swear.

“Pinky swear.” Ryker immediately swears and hooks her pinky with his and shakes before Del finally gives him a smile. Before I offer my pinky too and he does the same to me, both of us laughing again.

“Surprise me, I trust you.” I offer which makes him smile even brighter.

“You got it.” Ryker beams before he leaves the table and I can see his hair is short and well cut and I greatly appreciate his fine figure from behind and I have to bite my lip when he has one hell of an ass on him. The thirst is killing me.

A few moments later the waitress brings by a basket full of screaming hot freshly fried tortilla chips and a bowl of salsa and a bowl of white queso along with a charcuterie board with meats and cheeses and all kinds of stuff on it.

“Wait, is that queso blanco?” Del realizes as her eyes grow wide before she grabs a chip and dunks it and eats it and then tries to hog the bowl all to herself as I sample the salsa first and I feel like I’m just shoving a whole garden into my mouth.

“Oh my god,” I gasp. “That’s some Willy Wonka intense flavors, but it’s the best salsa I've ever had.” I practically moan before the waitress comes back with a second bowl of queso for the rest of us having seen Del try to hog the first one and gives us our drinks including a bottle of wine on the house. But one sip and I realize it’s dry and I make a face.

“Do you not like dry wine?” The waitress asks.

“No, I’m very tannin sensitive, do you have anything sweet?” I asked hopefully.

“Like sangria sweet or alcoholic juice sweet?” She asks.

“Alcoholic juice sweet.” I immediately answer.

“I gotcha girl.” She nods sagely with a grin before she returns with another bottle, this one is AMAZING and I take a picture of the label so I can find it and buy it for myself.

“Much better,” I praise as Amelie takes my previous cup and pours the contents into her wine glass.

“Can’t let this wine go to waste.” She tells me which makes me giggle.

Ryker returns several moments later, carrying out the plates for us. “I hope you all enjoy,” he says. “I tried something a little different tonight, after all I have a pinky promise to make good on.” And my heart melts like the queso.

Del giggles as she looks at her plate and her eyes light up when she sees a moat of queso around the main dish and her eyes light up. And for my platter, it’s like I have at least six different dishes loaded onto it and I can’t decide what I want to dig into first but one of them is a mini copy of Del’s plate.

“These are my special Shawarma enchiladas.” Ryker explained as he gestured to Del’s plate before he points to each thing on mine and tells me what each thing is as my smile grows bigger and bigger and brighter and brighter with every new thing until I feel my smile is making my face split in half is so big and excited. He really did put half the menu on this plate and it’s everything I had my eye on too. How did he know?!

“Do your tattoos mean something special to you or did you get them just because they look cool?” Del suddenly asks as Ryker is thrown for a loop but recovers quickly as a big smile blooms on his face.

“A bit of both…” Ryker says as he starts to point out each one that shows on his forearms and explains each one as Del listens closely and respectfully as she continues to eat, talking with her mouth full occasionally and before I know it, Ryker has pulled up his sleeves to really show her the other tattoos on his arms which she eagerly looks at as I can not help but notice how strong and muscular his arms are and start fantasizing about massaging them and them wrapping around me. He looked so strong, I wonder if he’s strong enough to pick me up and toss me over his shoulder and haul me off and pound..whew, ok, gotta get my mind out of the gutter. I gotta actually listen to the conversation he’s having with Del since Del has then showed him her temporary tattoos on the back of her hands that she got at the supermarket.

“So does your mom have any tattoos?” Ryker asks since Del’s attitude was typical of kids with parents with tattoos and I nearly choke on my food and furiously shake my head no.

“No, I’m scared of needles.” I answer, my mouth covered because I still have a bite of food in my mouth before I quickly try to finish it.

“She has to give herself shots every month for her migraines and she has a hard time not getting panic attacks just doing that.” Del added and I have to nod in agreement to that.

“Wow migraines bad enough you give yourself shots for it?” Ryker asked as he looked physically pained by that.

“Oh yeah, I get the kind where I lose my vision, I’m super sensitive to light, sound, motion and throw my guts up for four to five days at a time, several times a month. With the medicine, I get one or two a month and with my other two migraine meds, it’s reduced to feeling awful for not even an hour before they kick in and then it’s over, it doesn’t get downgraded to a headache the size of Texas either. It’s worth trying to get over my fear of needles for.” You explained with a nod and big gestures.

“Well I’m happy you’re getting relief.” Ryker smiled, his own relief visible on his face. “Well, bon appetit, I gotta get back.” Ryker excused himself.

The enchiladas are served with a vibrant salad and a small dish of black rice mixed with chorizo and what tastes like heaven. I have never seen Del eat something with as much fervor as she did those enchiladas and I of course feel like I’m inhaling my food and my eyes want to roll back into my head but I keep catching Ryker looking over to me while he continues to work, stealing glances at me and Del and all I can do is try to smile over my bulging cheeks and offer two big thumbs up and every other hand gesture I know that means good and now my eyes instantly seem to find him in the kitchen and I can’t take my eyes off of him and I notice he’s not yelling at anyone and while he gives clear direction, it’s always given respectfully and kindly.

“I take it she liked the meal?” Ryker asks, coming back to the table after we finished eating and getting the leftovers boxed up.

“It's been forever since I've seen her so excited to eat something new, we loved it, it was so good, best meal of my life, thank you,” I gush. “Thank you so so so much.”

“It was exquisite, that queso blanco was sublime.” Del praises and Ryker is impressed with her vocabulary.

“How old are you again?” He asks curiously.

“Eight, I just graduated the second grade and I’ll be in third grade in the fall.” Del answered proudly.

“That’s awesome, high five.” He offers which she readily gives. “Well, I wanted to send something else home with you I thought you might enjoy these later. You can warm them up for breakfast even.” Ryker invited as he revealed the largest ‘to go’ bag already filled with to go boxes of more food. Having been working on this while we were eating.

“Oh wow, thank you so much!” I gasp. “We will probably be back before we have to leave again,” I say with a big grin as I suppress the urge to get up and hug him and kiss him all over for being as awesome and amazing as he is.

“I hope you do,” his voice is gentle yet so hopeful. “Well uhm, back to work!” He seems to want to linger but he pulls himself away. When the waitress comes back, I ask for the bill but she informs me that there isn’t one. That Ryker waived the bill for our whole table.

“Aww, he didn’t have to do that, he’s so sweet!” I fawned before I made sure to give the waitress a very hefty tip, which was what I thought I would be paying for the meal to begin with which makes her happy.

As we leave, we don’t notice Ryker come out and talk with the waitress and pick up Del’s drawing that she left and look at it appreciatively before he carefully folded it up and put it into his pocket.

That evening after Del has a shower and she’s taken to a food coma in bed, I go to the kitchen to unpack the to go bag and I find a bottle of wine! It’s the same wine I enjoyed with dinner! As I place the containers into the fridge a piece of paper falls out and floats to the ground. It’s the kitchen’s receipt for our table and I see that we were coded as ‘Chef’s special guests’ with instructions for Del’s food ‘Make it perfect- pinky promise’ and mine is ‘greatest hits, give her everything’. And I’m just so touched I start tearing up but I can’t stop smiling before I turn it over to see a note written on the back and I see a phone number and a message scrawled on it. “If you need any advice to combat your picky eater, call me. Ryker.”

My head nearly explodes, I have the cute chef’s number!

“Yyeeeaaaasssss!” I squeal before I clamp my hand over my mouth to keep myself from waking Del up but I can’t help but jump up and down and celebrate and do a victory dance in the kitchen in front of the sliding glass doors who’s curtains are still pulled back before I put the number into my phone and dig into the cheesecake Ryker had sent with me as I plug in my headphones and dance around the kitchen while eating the cheesecake which is my favorite dessert and it totally tastes homemade and out of this world. I’m so lost in my own little world that I don’t see two light green eye shines from in the woods and I definitely don’t notice them getting closer until their right at the edge of the woods before I get tired and put the left over cheesecake away and start stripping down to my underwear because my impromptu workout has me sweating and I had turned off the airconditioners downstairs before we left as I go through the cabin and start turning the lights off as I go. I get ready for bed and I’m on cloud nine. I can’t help but think of Ryker as I try to fall asleep, keeping the window open since it has a screen so it won’t let any bugs in and the spring mountain air is just so sweet and refreshingly cool so I don’t need to run the air conditioner and before I know it I have a need that needs to be fulfilled so I grab my little vibrator that I packed and a little bottle of lube and get down to business and in no time at all I’m trying to stamp down my voice but still let a pleasured keen escape as I find my release before I heard clawing on the side of the house that almost sounded like it was right underneath my window... on the second floor of the cabin.

“What the hell?” I frown as I get my phone and use the flashlight feature to look out the window to see if I could see anything and I wonder if there’s a raccoon or something outside. But the clawing stops and I hear the tell tale signs of something running back into the woods, must have been a big raccoon, I just shrug it off and go to sleep.

#Hearthway Hollow #my bastard version of this commission #but yay it gets to see the light of day

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discomycelium · 5 years

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Some good OC Fleshing Questions: who does she trust the most and least in her personal life? What's her relationship with her family? What's her orientations? What's her favorite thing to do on down time? What's her favorite animal and why? What does she carry with her at all times? What's her greatest fears?

Oooh She’s long!!! Ok

1. I have absolutely no idea i need to make this woman friends

2. Her relationship with her parents is kinda shitty, her dad sucked ass and her mom wasn’t the same after she came out.

3. She is a cis, pansexual lady

4. She’ll explore one of the many abandoned buildings in Kepler or walk around the forest. She also is very into photography.

5. She loves tigersharks because as a kid she was asked what her favorite animal was and couldn’t pick between tigers and sharks. So, naturally, she was so excited when she learned about tigersharks

6. She has a knife that she bought (very illegally) at 13 from a tourist spot in California

7. She is super terrified of being isolated (Autophobia) and and mildly claustrophobic

#thanks so much!!!#amnesty-lodge-official #about alexis

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itscharlietonight · 6 years

Photo

a long time ago, I said I’d upload designs of all the Punch Out oc’s I’ve made and well…here it is. Below is an explanation of the concept + each characters basic personality

The concept for all these OC’s is that I’d imagine a future Punch Out game where you can add fans when you fight against boxers. Each fan would either add a boost of defense or attack while also giving specific advice on each boxer. Once Little Mac defeats Mr. Sandman and becomes champion, the last fan (a publicity agent) is hired to represent Little Mac. He ends up forcing Mac to ban his fans from supporting him, loosing all the defense and attack options that Little Mac once had. When he has to defend his title, each boxer has a fan that Mac has previously lost. This makes each match more difficult until Little Mac and Doc Louise figure out how to turn the fan against the boxer (or vice-versa).

Each OC is either an opposite to each specific boxer or compliments the boxer.

Minor Circuit

Glass Joe’s supporter is a retired boxer from Quebec who see’s potential in both Little Mac and Glass Joe. He faced off against Doc in the 80′s

Von Kaiser’s supporter is a peace activist who also teaches meditation. In Title Defense, she helps Von Kaiser remain calm and cool to deliver the blows

Disco Kids supporter is a punk music collector. He helps Disco Kid experiment with heavier fighting techniques through punk rock

King Hippo’s supporter is a washed up business investor who always looks for ways to earn money. He starts using King Hippo as a tourist attraction for New York tourists

Major Circuit

Piston Hondo’s supporter is an enthusiastic Shonen manga fanatic. He teaches fighting techniques he would find in manga.

Bear Hugger’s supporter is an energetic blogger who has a soft spot for underdog stories. She becomes Bear Hugger’s cheerleader when she finds out that he has forest friends helping him train

Great Tiger’s supporter is a fashion college student who looks to design for high end athletic brands.

Don Flamenco’s supporter is a cafe worker who comes from a family of Don Flamenco fans, enough to be familiar with all his moves when he trains Little Mac. He himself hates Don until they become friends.

World Circuit

Aran Ryan’s supporter is a college dropout who rarely stresses out. His worry free lifestyle passes off to Aran and helps him relax and focus (may or may not be smoking weed)

Soda Popinski’s supporter is a grandmother who had previously competed in the WVBA while in disguise. She’s also faced off against Doc in the 80′s

Bald Bull’s supporter is a shy and nervous telemarketer who gets very passionate about boxing. She also falls in love Bald Bull in the process of training Mac

Super Macho Man's supporter is an office worker who gets word from Bald Bull’s supporter of Little Mac’s rising. He’s self-conscious about his appearance but aspires to be like the boxers of the WVBA

Mr. Sandman’s supporter is a publicity agent who always looks for a way to earn profit. After Little Mac starts a losing streak, he drops him as a client and supports Mr. Sandman to sell the story of “the fallen champion”

#doodles #oc's #before anyone @'s me look #i know one of the oc's looks like someone irl #and thats because i'm a self indulgent freak #and i took way too much time to develop the other oc's #so get mad; i know this would never be legit #it was a lot of fun designing these oc's

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barbecuedphoenix · 7 years

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200 Followers: 11 Things About Me

So I was re-tagged a week ago by @eldarya-scenarios. (I had no idea I tagged you twice, dear. ^_^ Having two aliases is awfully sneaky.)

If you’re a little curious on who your friendly fan blogger is behind the Leiftan icon and the barrage of text-winks, feel free to read on. Watch out though: it’s a long post like everything else I write...

And if not, please continue to enjoy this blog’s smart-assery and the text-winks. ;)

1) Why did you name your blog the way you did? ...Because that’s the screen-name I use for my main Eldarya account. I’m not very creative with names. :( Not to mention that it’s probably very politically-incorrect to say ‘Barbecued Phoenix’ in the faery realm. Huang Hua would not be amused. And my blog is guaranteed to be politically-incorrect as far as folklore and faeries are concerned. ;) My screen-name is actually homage to a Neil Gaiman short-story called ‘Sunbird’, which is still one of my favorites from its double serving of dark humor and culinary catastrophes. And it sounds really funny when you say it out-loud (at least that’s my opinion).

2) What was your last meal? *checks bowl next to laptop* Eh… a fruit salad I scraped together from some Rainier cherries and leftover cantaloupe slices. It’s summer here, and I enjoy my fruits. :)

3) Jeans or skirts? …I must have at least nine different pairs of jeans in my closet, half of which I don’t even wear most days. And just one pencil skirt. Because at least once in my life, I’ll need to go to a court room. So there’s your answer. :)

4) What’s your favourite letter of the alphabet? In the English alphabet, ‘L’ is my favorite. It just rollllls off the tongue so nicely. :)

5) Favourite fandom/shipping? I’m a mercenary crack-ship writer. Anything goes so long as characters are in-character. ;) *cough* Truthfully, I haven’t shipped anything in a fandom since I was eleven or twelve, and that was waaaay back when the cartoon series Avatar the Last Airbender premiered. I think that experience has inoculated me to serious shipping. So now, while I enjoy seeing a well-developed, well-paced canon romance (because it means the creators have really thought the story through), it’s never a huge concern for me who’s paired up with whom. Romance isn’t actually the selling point for me for a lot of stories; it’s individual character development and plot direction that counts. And anyway… fan shipping is really a fabrication. With a bit of imagination, effort, and tactical writing, functional relationships can be spun between anything and anyone, and unraveled in the same way. Even when keeping all parties in character. So why blow a gasket over shipping? To each their own dirty little fancies. ;)

As for my fandoms… they’re a patchwork quilt of games, books, movies, TV shows, anime from a lot of different sources, and it changes every year. For the sake of time, I’ll give a rundown of just the fantasy/supernatural genres I’ve been following for a while (translating some of the titles to English when possible):

Games: the Dragon Age series, Folklore (also called FolksSoul), Uncharted, the Persona series

Books: Discworld, His Dark Materials, the Dr. Siri Paiboun series, the Temeraire series, The Tiger’s Wife, Brisingamen, pretty much anything done by Neil Gaiman… the list goes on. With a few rare exceptions, I’ve shifted from being a high fantasy lover (those tropes get old after a while) to an acolyte of more low-key genres like magical-realism, fantasy-historical-fiction, and satirical-fantasy.

TV Shows: Supernatural

Anime & Cartoons: the Fate series (even though my fanfiction ends up making fun of it 95% of the time, it’s still a really intricate universe), the Avatar series

Movies: Practically anything done by Studio Ghibli and Tomm Moore, ‘Coraline’, ‘Corpse Bride’, ‘Therapy for a Vampire’, ‘Let the Right One In’, ‘Groundhog Day’, the very first installation of ‘The Hobbit’

6) What’s your favourite sport? (You don’t necessarily have to play it) Favorite sport I can’t do, but love to watch: Surfing. Forget berserk football matches; give me a crazy Australian riding a tunnel wave any day. :D Favorite sport I can do: Bicycling. I’m no Tour de France candidate, but my bike regularly takes its share of unreasonable hills and descents in the city where I live. Personally, It’s a great way to get around. ^_^

7) What’s your idea of a perfect day? Getting everything on my list done with minimal coffee and hair-pulling. -_- Sorry… I’m still listening to the robot half of my brain. Switching over. Start the day by making a difference and sharing a good time with both the students I see where I work, and the odd friends and colleagues I do have. Attend a really good lecture. Then take a quiet bus ride to the beach or an aquarium, where I can watch all the wildlife shenanigans I want. Tourists included. Cook something awesome for lunch or dinner, and eat it to discover that it’s still more awesome. End the day with a good book, an avalanche of blankets, and a conveniently-rainy night. And maybe a quick Skype/phone call with my dad. ;( Oh there I go, listening to the sappy half of my brain. Switching over.

8) What animal do you hate with all your soul? The logical part of my brain tells me I have no cause to loathe any animal for existing. But the cave-woman part of my brain still gets creeped out by a few of them…. Geckos especially. Because the house where I grew up was infested with them (like a typical equatorial house, actually). The geckos could be found on absolutely any flat surface, even the underside of the table and on the ceiling, so we always had to check right before sitting down that something cold, bug-eyed, and squirmy wasn’t going to drop on us in the middle of dinner. And they also liked to appear in other surprising places: like in your shoes (as my father found out one day while rushing to work), inside drawers, inside trash cans, crushed between door hinges, trapped in the kitchen sink, and inside the refrigerator a couple of times (worst idea ever, for a lizard). One of the best things that happened to me on moving to this corner of the United States: no geckos anywhere. I can clean my apartment with an easy heart. \o/

9) Can you dance? Besides some lingering muscle memory from my early days doing classical ballet... no. :( I’d really like to take up Spanish Flamenco though. Generally, I do better with choreographed dances rather than impromptu club-dancing. As all my friends have told me. I’ve given them so many priceless memories on the dance-floor…

10) What’s the name and age of your favourite character? (OC or otherwise) I can’t decide on a ‘favorite’ character in media; there’s too many of them. So how about a favorite OC instead? ^_^ Right now among the Eldarya OC cast, my favorite would have to be Zephania ‘Zee’ Tantiango because she’s a magnet for trouble as a protagonist very dynamic heroine to work with. (She’s 23, in case you’re interested.) Zee is actually the latest incarnation of the ‘funny-but-unlucky action heroine’ archetype I’ve spent years working on, and I’m happy with how she’s turning out so far. On one hand, she’s the typical small-town heroine who’s sharp, plucky, energetic, and more than a little kooky herself; the story never stops moving once she starts improvising in a tight situation. :) But there’s a strong undercurrent of tragedy in the way she continues to isolate herself through her pride and her decisions, especially because she’s allergic to either admitting that she’s in real trouble, or cutting herself some slack for her mistakes. There’s a lot of sadness behind that finger-snap smile. I’m still debating on whether to give her a good ending, or a bitter one. :( No, that was not a spoiler for the fan-fiction that’ll one day hit this blog.

11) What got you into your favourite activity?(i.e how did you start?) Favorite activity? Like… a hobby? Well the longest-running hobby I’ve ever had is writing (no guesses there). And it was more-or-less self-taught. As a kid, nobody could take me anywhere without a book in my hand, or some other adventure happening inside my own head (which made it awfully inconvenient to get my attention in a mall… but hey, I never wandered off). And writing short stories was always the most entertaining school assignment for me. But it wasn’t until I started home-schooling at thirteen that I found the time and need to write something for myself, putting to paper those increasingly-complex sagas and fan-fictions that lived in my head (because my short-term recall just couldn’t keep track of all the dialogue and plot twists anymore; I needed to start recording my stories to make sense of them.) And I haven’t stopped since. :)

Uh-oh. Here come… my questions. For @mentacomchocolate, @areyntheheartseeker, and @the-irish-hoor.

Why did you name your blogs the way you did? ;)

What would your honest personal reaction be if you accidentally stepped into a fairy ring, landed in a strange place, and got threatened by a fox-lady wielding fireballs?

What’s your dream job in this life?

Is there anyone you have a crush on that you’re still really embarrassed to admit? Would you like to mention them anyway? ;)

If there’s only one book genre you could spend the rest of your life reading, what will it be?

What are the top 5 things you geek out over? (Today, at least. ;) )

If you’ve been given a 24-hour advance warning that the world is definitely going to end (i.e. via Death Star), what will you do?

And if you’ve been given an exclusive two-person escape pod during above scenario, what/who would you bring with you to escape the planet? Would you want to?

If your friends can agree on one thing about you, what would it be? Do you agree with them?

What’s the most embarrassing thing that happened to you this past week?

What do you remember as your most incredible feat of endurance to date? Physical, mental, and/or social?

*looks up* ...All right, those are some weird questions. I won’t blame you at all if you ignore them.

#Q&A #tag post #blog milestone #200 followers #OC: Zephania

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glowing-villainy · 7 years

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I was tagged by @tunes-and-runes

Nicknames: Glow is a pretty main one but there’s also Neon Villain (its kind of a nickname that has just been built on over the years Height: 6′3 (may be taller though) Birthdate: April 30th (and people who know me yes i had to ask my dad because i didn’t actually know) Favorite bands/artists: there are just too many to list so have my current top three. Clutch, Run the Jewels, and Amon Amarth. There you cant get more of a broad spectrum of music Song stuck in my head: Start a fire - The Tiger Lillies Last movie I watched: its been too long to remember what film was the last one i watched but the film that is stuck in my head is pro wrestlers vs zombies because my brother wanted to and it was probably one of the stupidest, funniest, most idiotic idea for a film I’ve watched it was so funny though. Last show I watched: I’m watching Red Dwarf and South Park at the moment and eagerly waiting for Stranger Things 2 electric boogaloo Other blogs: i have one other blog that is baron but i may re purpose it for a kind of thing that its basically my OCs blog that he updates (and will probably update more than my actual blog) When I created this blog: Honestly i had a crush on a girl at school and she had it and i joined and i haven’t really stopped ive met so many amazing people from this site including my best friend ever so i guess thanks for my shallowness (sudden realisation that the person is still active)

What I post about: Wait you’re ment to post stuff but really it could be literally anything

Following: 242 Followers: 117 and i am thankful for all of them including those porn bots. Thanks for making seem more popular than i am Favorite colors: Black, Purple and Blue Average hours of sleep: About 4 hours and i can function on that but i don#t actually sleep all too much Lucky number: I don’t actually believe in luck or anything like that Instruments: Bass guitar and Piano/Keyboard What I’m wearing: Comfortable Jogging bottoms and my sabaton t shirt How many blankets I sleep with: Just 1 but its thick and when summer rolls around i swap it out for a not so thick blanket.

Dream job: I literally dont know what i want to do with my life and to be honest i just want a job that is very relaxed and chill. Dream trip: I love the idea of like a road trip where i travel with friends and we just sleep in a tent or a car or something im not really one for travelling to places for tourist stuff i only really like to travel to meet the people i know there Favorite food: Milkyway Magic Stars and Refreshers (and not those weird chewy bar things i mean the fizzy tablet things) Nationality: British

I tag: @minecraftcactus @lamxntable @kitsune45 @admiraltade

You guys don’t have to do it, and anyone who wants to is welcome to!

#personal #get to know me #literally just did it cos im bored

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hartranchgolfcourse · 6 years

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Why We’re Thankful

Here’s a little secret to life you already know: it’s good to be grateful for the things we have. That’s not to say we shouldn’t have goals and work towards them, but taking some time to reflect on wanting we have already is always beneficial. Heck, we even have a holiday dedicated to that ideal tomorrow. Here are a few things we’re appreciative of this year:

HRGC Members:

We wouldn’t have an operation without the guys and gals that make up our membership. Thank you for being the backbone of our golf course.

Public Players:

Ditto to above. Thanks to the Rapid Citians (not sure if that’s right), area locals and tourists who come to play Hart Ranch.

Maintenance Staff:

Thanks to Adam, David and the entire crew for working their tails off year-round to make Hart the best-conditioned course in the area.

Shop/OC Staff:

It’s nice to see friendly people when you walk into an establishment isn’t it?

Our Setting:

You’d be hard-pressed to find a more tranquil place to play golf than Hart Ranch (especially around dusk).

The TrackMan Sim Room:

Be sure to get out and try it this winter. Not only is it a blast, but you’ll learn a lot about your game.

Our Shop:

If you haven’t stopped in in awhile, we’ve done a little rearranging. Come check it out.

Tiger vs. Phil:

Black Friday is admittedly a weird time to put on a big PPV event, but we bet it’ll be bunches more entertaining than the national sports media is giving it credit for.

Hole #15:

For teaching us all that our score doesn’t matter until we get through you.

Golf:

For being the most infuriating, fantastic, cursed, marvelous, annoying, remarkable, nauseating, terrific, disheartening and incredible game ever devised.

Have a great Thanksgiving everyone, and be sure to take advantage of our Black Friday deals all weekend long. Happy golfing!

The post Why We’re Thankful appeared first on Hart Ranch Golf Course.

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3one3 · 7 years

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The Sequel - 816

L’Aveugle Par Amour

André Schürrle, Juan Mata, other Chelsea/BVB players, and random awesome OC’s (okay they’re less random now but they’re still pretty awesome)

“Walking into the lobby.”

“Stay there. I’ll come down.”

“I need to put my bag in the room anyway. And...other stuff.”

“322”

Juan picked Hotel Zoo for his expedition to Berlin. The boutique hotel was in the same neighborhood as the actual zoo, but not technically associated with it. The historic building did feature a courtyard full of safari animal statues and topiaries though. It was also really pretty, and cool. Christina liked it as soon as she walked in, and thought of it as art deco but with a modern luxury twist. Everything was shiny, and the dark colors were broken up with vibrant purples, greens, and reds. There was tufted velvet furniture all over the place, under glitzy chandeliers. She had planned to look at Google Maps on her phone in the car between the train and the hotel to figure out where to go with Juan- what to check out, where to eat, and what neighborhoods might reward explorers with interesting finds. Instead her eyes were glued to the windows. Berlin was still foreign to her. Fortunately, or perhaps logically, Juan’s chosen accommodations were right on the Ku’damm- the premier avenue in the western part of the city, lined with high end shopping, independent restaurants, other hotels, and car dealerships. The area was a major destination for artists and the Bohemian set pre-World War I, and was still a big culture center. The sights appealed to the rider. The wide boulevard felt nothing like London. It was more modern than that, and more open, even with some very old facades. She couldn’t wait to go wander around. But there was something else she couldn’t wait for either, and it required waiting for Juan to open the door to his room.

“Hey baby gir-“ He almost got a whole greeting out before Christina stood on her tippy toes to offer her own greeting. Both styles involved lips and tongue but only his involved words, and only hers involved kicking the door shut.

“Hi,” she smiled after the 4-second kiss.

“Hi. You look great.” The Spaniard didn’t miss a beat, and used her lingering nearness to hold her waist and her neck. His smile matched hers. They were rather happy to see each other. “I like your jacket.”

So does your girlfriend, the new German resident thought, remembering when Taylor complimented her red leather Givenchy moto jacket. What she couldn’t remember, however, was the last time Juan even mentioned Taylor. Not that she cared. All that mattered just then was the way the happiness she felt was reflected back to her in his cool blue eyes, and the effect of his cologne. That Gucci scent evoked in her many recent memories of intimate engagements. It was the trademark scent, if you will, of being very naughty or very nice with him, and like the smell of cinnamon rolls made her ravenously hungry, made her crave the intimacy.

“Thanks.” She maintained her smile and started unwinding the heavy knit scarf from her neck, forcing the player to let go. He offered to take her quilted nylon overnight bag, and she followed him up three tiny dark wooden steps into the rest of the room.

It was much like the lobby, with brick accent walls, white paint, tufted everything, stylish lighting. The bathroom was all white, clean lines, smooth surfaces, and expensive looking products. Juan said he went for the nicest level room under the suites, since they weren’t going to be spending a lot of time in the hotel. The thing was, his friend had designs on spending some time there right away, before heading out in search of culture and novelty. As soon as she was finished surveying the comfortable space, she toed off her black slip-on sneakers, took her little bag over her head, stripped off the jacket, and hopped backwards onto the bed in the spot where it looked like he’d been sitting on the nice white comforter.

“I need sex and 10 minutes of snuggles and forehead kisses afterward, and then we can go on an adventure,” Christina explained, hoping to sound alluring. She was already unbuttoning the skinniest of black skinny jeans. You know what’s funny, she asked herself as an aside. I had to lay down to get these suckers on in the first place.

“I like you this way,” the Spaniard chuckled. He reached for her right foot, prepared to help pull the tiny pants off from that end. There was no way to know if he’d been eagerly desperate to rip her clothes off and go at it or if he was turned on by her completely uninhibited desire, or if he was simply willing to humor her. She knew though as soon as the jeans were off and she felt the course denim of his only moderately skinny jeans brush against her knees and thighs as he crawled over her that he was definitely down to provide the services she was looking for. His lips were possessive and predatory when they landed on hers the second they could reach her. The rider loved that. It turned her on of course, but it also just made her feel great. She was wanted, and there were no relationship complications to diminish or confuse that the way there was with André, and André was noticeably too afraid of alienating her or offending her when they were together over the weekend to kiss her like that. She figured he was afraid that she’d think he wasn’t interested in the connection- only the sex. It didn’t bother her. Experiencing her other sexual partner’s lust for her just highlighted that it had been missing. It filled a vacuum.

“Missed you,” she whispered innocently when Juan pulled back a bit to look at her, a playful smile mostly in her eyes. Her hands held onto the arms holding him up. His physical form was beginning to feel like her property in a way it never did even when they were together exclusively. The soul within it belonged to her off and on but mostly on. Only on those occasions when he demonstrated real closeness with another girl did Juan feel out of her grasp, and those usually turned into misdirected temper tantrums or hidden sadness. In contrast, the body only ever seemed to belong to him. She never thought of any of his other girlfriends, or his fiancé for that matter, as having ownership- having the right and freedom to sit on, touch, poke, kiss, lick, move, or otherwise manipulate the player’s body. Christina had ownership of André’s. She was never entirely sure if she even wanted or needed the same with the other player. As she got a taste for that privilege- for whatever reason it was changing- she grew into wanting it.

“You’re wearing a tiger shirt.” The person with literal ownership of the body in question did a kind of double take when he spotted the roaring tiger on her t-shirt. The Gucci garment was apparently surprising, and caught his attention.

“Brilliant observation.”

“What does “L’Aveugle Par Amour” mean?” he asked, reading the large words on top of and below the tiger head when she let go of his arms to spread the white shirt out.

“Blind for love. Can you stop checking out my shirt and take it off? Or take your pants off? Or stop asking unnecessary questions and kiss me instead?”

Juan took the hint. His friend’s urgency amused him enough to keep a pleasant little smirk on his mouth while he switched to one elbow and reached under her shirt to squeeze a breast, first through the soft cotton cup of her bra, and then without it when he shoved it up out of the way. Christina wanted to get in his jeans. At the very least, she wanted to get to the button and zipper. She couldn’t reach and he seemed to be deliberately trying to make it difficult. His right hand shuttled up and down her side, from pushing her underwear down her hip a little ways to uncovering her breast from her shirt too instead of just the bra inside it. His kisses were at her neck.

Literally everything is perfect, she concluded, her hands in the hair at the back of his head since evidently that was all he was going to allow her to touch for the time being. I was in a hurry because I know he wants to go out and see things, and I do too, but he isn’t in such a hurry. He’s not slow but he’s not frantic either. He’s just the right side of “I am ridiculously turned on by you being horny enough to demand that I fuck you 90 seconds after you got here”. This is perfect. The rider closed her eyes and lived the excitement inherent in being able to turn someone like Juan from sightseeing mode to sexing mood with a few gestures and a couple of words. There was no question by then that he wasn’t just humoring her, or doing a favor. He wanted her just as badly as she wanted him. That gave her all the flutters and twitches and electricity of early-relationship sex, and the ease and nonchalance of the forehead kiss she got after he finished in her mouth gave her the melting insides feeling of the love of an established partnership. It was like having all of the different feelings of a whole relationship from about the third or fourth date through the third or fourth anniversary in 30 minutes. And it was all highly energizing.

“Which way do you want to walk first?” Christina asked the Chelsea man while he installed a knit beanie on his head and she cocooned herself in the oversized scarf.

“To the left out front. We can walk on the main street for a while and then double back on the side streets. There is this music club I want to go to later. Walking and dinner first.”

“Where do you want to eat?”

“I don’t know. We’ll find something,” he shrugged, checking his pockets to make sure he had his essentials. She interrupted his inventory with a cheerful smooch.

“I’m so excited to be a tourist and not have plans.” I hate plans. Plans suck. Everything at home is about plans. Plans to be home. Plans to go out to eat. Plans to do things with Lukas. Plans to do things with friends. Plans to do stuff that’s supposed to make us reconnect. The German girl mentally rolled her eyes at what she perceived as the oppression of André’s misguided belief that he could improve their home life with these plans. She thought he was always trying to plan things because he couldn’t just sit still and let their situation play out. He needed to do something about it. He thought plans were solutions. Christina liked having plans for things like her workday, or for running errands. His plans often felt like plans for the sake of having plans, rather than plans for accomplishing something, be it an objective task or a subjective goal, like “fun” or “relaxation”. Juan’s only plan was to see where their interest took them, and then check out a club whenever they made their way to it. His friend wasn’t exactly sure how to define the difference. She just knew it was there.

“Are you in-the-street-famous in this country?”

“Huh?”

“Do people recognize you on the street here?”

“Oh. I dunno. I don’t think so? People recognize me in Dortmund, but literally everyone in Dortmund is obsessed with football.”

“I meant because you’re Christina Schürrle, not because you’re Mrs. André Schürrle.”

“I doubt it. Are we hiding?”

“No.”

“I need a coffee for adventuring.”

“Okay, but I’m not carrying your shopping bags because your “hands are full”.” The Spanish player leaned over to peck her cheek, and started for the door. Smartass, Christina thought, smiling and following after him. They were in search of culture and sights. They both knew Christina couldn’t pass up retail though.

Berlin turned out to be colder than expected in terms of ambient temperature, and warmer in terms of pretty much everything else. The city was new to both of them. Christina had visited for specific functions, just never to actually walk around. Nothing had ever brought her companion there before. He told her about his stop at the headquarters of a social charity partner that endeavored to use football to improve the lives of children, particularly in poor urban areas. It was quite nice for her to hear about something other than herself, or horses, or Borussia Dortmund. Too many of their regular conversations were getting sucked into the hole that was her transition period. Juan was supposed to be the sunshine outside of that, and so he proved to be once again. It helped that the city provided alternative topics for discussion. They found small art galleries, independent artisans’ shops offering everything from soap sculpture to handmade journals and paper goods, random reminders of history, record and book stores that seemed in abundance compared to London, and a gallery selling nothing but architectural photos from places around the world. That was a favorite stop. Rider and footballer both picked out a couple of prints to take home, and the proprietor helped them choose frames and mats too. The photos were to be shipped to their respective homes.

Having to give their separate addresses made Christina a little sad inside. She kept it there- kept it from showing. As few as 8 days earlier, she was still thinking about their futures converging in perhaps one shared address. There was still a desire for that within her. It didn’t go away just because her future at her current address, with André, was looking more tenable than it did a week before. That duopoly felt like it had the potential to be really confusing and difficult. It begged questions such as: What happens if I want to be with both of them? She thought about a fantasy life while the Spaniard spied through the windows of a restaurant across the street from the photo gallery- a fantasy life in which she split her time between the two midfielders, with separate families even. Obviously it wasn’t realistic, and she didn’t even want a situation like that, but there was no stopping her mind from wandering down that path until the player she was with asked her to translate the menu by the door.

The place was called “80 Days”, as in “Around The World in Eighty Days”, and fittingly offered culinary delights from all over. Juan was after something interesting and uniquely Berlin, rather than looking for whatever the hottest, hippest, trendiest spot in town was at the moment- that would be for the next night- so an eclectic looking establishment with everything from Wiener schnitzel to country fried chicken salad with Georgia peaches was perfect. They shared falafel balls and hummus, a roasted lamb dish with fries, and traditional currywurst. That last part wasn’t so much shared as eaten by just Juan. Christina never went anywhere near currywurst, no matter who was trying to share it with her. There was a debate over whether or not to have two big glasses of German beer with their meal. The idea was rejected because of their next destination. They wanted to save their alcohol calories for the jazz club.

Just in case the more recently crowned of the two World Cup winners forgot how impossible a fantasy life with two separate partners would be, the jazz club offered up an opportunity to remember. The space was pretty small and pretty modern for a jazz club, but with nostalgic nods to more authentic venues, like tall lamps that belonged in an old lady’s parlor, and the cliché drop-shape red candle glasses for the tables. The furniture definitely came from yard sales or thrift stores. None of it matched. There were a few sets of chairs that went together, but not with anything else. Seating options included two recycled sofas on the side of the room, sturdy wooden chairs at round tables, dainty upholstered chairs right up close to the drums and piano, and tall-backed patio chairs around tiny tables meant to serve as end tables in what would have been a very stylish living room in the late 1970’s. Counters lined the two longest walls, with mismatched wood stools. The club was in a retail space, so the acoustics weren’t ideal for a music venue. There was a lot of glass window to contend with. Two mustachioed and bowtied men served the drinks behind the small bar with the establishment’s name in neon above. Despite the aforementioned, it was known as one of the best spots in Europe for classic jazz. The real problem with the club was that Christina couldn’t sit under her jazz advisor’s arm, or hold his hand, or make out with him when the mood struck her. Even if she could split her future between a partnership with him and a partnership with her husband, in different countries, she could only be a partner to one in public. That didn’t matter so much since it was all fantasy and imagination and not something she really wanted. Still, it was no fun to resist instinctive urges while she enjoyed good wine and nice music.

“Are you ever going to get more tattoos?” Juan asked her inquisitively after she got some hair caught in the button that held a fishtail-braided cotton string bracelet on her wrist. He had to help free a wavy lock from the little piece she’d been wearing 24/7 for a few weeks, and the presence of the inked fox beneath it must have made an impression.

“I don’t know. I don’t have any plans. I actually kind of wish I had put my raven somewhere else.”

“Like where?”

“I dunno. Somewhere I don’t have to see it in the mirror,” Christina shrugged. She felt compelled to scratch at her side near the tattoo, even though it didn’t itch. “You should tattoo my face on your neck. Neck tats are so hot right now.”

“Can I tattoo your lips on my backside?”

“I mean, you could but...nobody would know they’re mine.”

“Do you like the piano player? If you listen to just him and cut out the other instruments, I think he’s pretty good.”

“I guess. I dunno. This music isn’t my thing. To me it’s like being in Bergdorf’s in Manhattan 15 years ago.”

“We can go soon if you want,” the footballer yawned. He didn’t take offense to her opinion. He wasn’t really into the music either. They shut their mouths and paid attention when the musicians got really into their craft and everyone in the club got caught up. Otherwise they were just chatting about things they saw and places they went, other people sitting near their table, and pictures on their phones, mostly of each other, taken by one another that evening. There was no big headline act to perform. The pair of friends, and indeed the other patrons, treated the music as background for their socializing rather than something to be quiet and observe.

“Are you offering me a reprieve because you think I’m bored,” his ex-girlfriend smiled back. “Or are you just tired and ready to go back to the hotel?”

“We’ve been here 90 minutes and two glasses of wine. I think that’s enough. We’ll take a taxi back, yes?”

“We’re miles from the hotel, so yes. I’m trying to treat my ankle well since, ya know, I have a World Cup Final next week and everything.”

“Are you excited for it yet? You haven’t talked about it much since you had to scratch Dirk.”

“D’ya know what? I’m not excited anymore. Not even because of Dirk. I had a look at the entry list on the train this afternoon,” she explained with a sour note in her voice. “Almost nobody great is even going. It’s going to be me and Marcus and Ludger, a handful of other top Europeans, less than a handful of the top Americans, and then a bunch of grid filler! It’s so lame! I guess because it’s in the States and it’s an Olympic year, nobody wants to bother with it. Also, there is nothing else to show in while you’re there. At least when they have it in Europe at a normal show, you can take three, four horses and do other stuff. I’m kind of annoyed now,” she complained. “Maybe I wouldn’t have even bothered fighting to qualify if I knew it would be like this. I could have qualified like four shows early. Or maybe I wouldn’t go at all. Tom says I have to go anyway to try to defend my title since that doesn’t happen much, but it actually does happen a lot. I looked it up. There have been 5 back to back winners in my lifetime, including Rodrigo Pessoa’s three-in-a-row, and several of them used the same horse, so I can’t even pretend it’s for Riri.”

“Be careful, cariña, or you’ll psych yourself out,” the ever-cool footballer advised. “If you go in thinking it isn’t a big competition, then you ride like it isn’t a big competition. When you point out that not all the top riders are going, you have no excuse not to win. Those two things don’t go. You’re going to disappoint yourself.”

“As long as I don’t embarrass myself, then I don’t care how it goes,” the defending champion shrugged before taking the penultimate sip of her Burgundy. “I wanted Dirk to win. Now...meh. I have bigger priorities.”

“You’ve had a good week.”

“How do you mean?”

“You’re in a good place. You sound good.” Juan looked away, and Christina was left puzzled. Is he pointing out that I’m relaxed and not whiny for a change because he’s happy for me, or because he was on the lookout for signs of how a whole week in my new home with my Schü is really making me feel, without the filter I naturally apply, intentionally or otherwise, when I talk to him about stuff? Was or is he worried that I’m going to pull away from him if things are all better at home? Or was it nothing to do with any of that, she wondered. Is my mental health just noticeably better today? My point of view is improved? Differently focused? Does he like that I sound better, or no? I sound strong about- “Let’s get the bill.” Hmm.

The pensive equestrian picked up the tab, and studied her suddenly quiet date. He seemed weirdly fixated on his phone while they waited for the waitress to return her card, and then in the car on the way back to the hotel with their shopping. She resolved not to take it personally, or to keep trying to read deeper into his behavior. She wanted the easygoing and engaging Juan back, and there was something in her duffle bag that she thought might help restore him. After wiping off her makeup and changing into a black tee for bed, she padded out with the object from her bag and a pump-top bottle of lotion discovered in the bathroom.

“Can I show you something?” she asked the silent player with two mobile devices in his hands and the comforter on his legs.

“Is that a photo album?” His curiosity was certainly piqued by the navy blue leather book in her hands.

“Mhm. It’s my mom’s but I stole it from her when she asked me to find something in the boxes in her basement. This was what my family was like before ponies and horses, when we were a real, happy-ish family.” Christina presented it to him and climbed into bed with the lotion to rub some into her dry spots while her friend got to explore the photos of her early childhood. There was a specific and considered reason why she wanted to share the album with him, and she intended to explain it to him after he looked through. A warm, “awww” smile spread across his face as soon as he opened it.

“This is you? Did you go to Hawaii?” He zeroed in on a picture of Christina in a Hawaiian floral print bikini, with a tiny grass skirt and a colorful lei. She was standing between her parents, each holding one of her hands.

“No, we went to my uncle’s Hawaiian-themed backyard BBQ,” she chuckled. “I was like three.”

“That’s your mom in the bathing suit? Wow.”

“Ew don’t go there, Juanin.”

“Your hair was so blonde, so curly! I don’t think I’ve seen pictures of you this young. Look at this one! Your birthday cake was pink?”

“Yeah. Mom made it. She made the same funfetti cake for me and Aidan every year. His had chocolate frosting with dinosaur sprinkles and mine was pink vanilla when I was little, and then chocolate later on. I didn’t like anyone sitting at that plastic table with me except the girl in the white dress. Everyone else was related to me, and I hated them all. I don’t think I had other friends when I was that age.”

“Who is the girl in the white dress? This is her too, no?” The amused footballer pointed to some other photos on the next page, with precious moments from other family parties and occasions, and dance recitals.

“My neighbor. We were best friends but I also hated her a lot of the time. Her mom was super glamorous though. Mrs. Case. I used to be jealous of how cool she was. She told me when I was like 17 that she was always envious of my mom when I was growing up. She said my mom went to the grocery store every day to buy fresh ingredients for dinner. Mrs. Case didn’t cook. If I ate at their house, we had macaroni and cheese from a box, or Mr. Case grilled hamburgers and hot dogs. He was a judge, and a stockbroker. And an alcoholic, and a total dick. They split when I was 8-ish. He then blackmailed my parents into getting me to go to his second wedding as moral support for his daughter when I was supposed to be at an SAT prep class and- well, it’s a long story. I’ve told you about them before.”

“Yeah, I remember. The girl who made the opera record?”

“Mhm. This one of all of us on the dock was in Newport, Rhode Island. I don’t remember anything about the trip, but we took one of Dad’s friend’s boats up there. Notice how my dad was always wearing those ugly too-big baseball caps with the huge brim, like Donald Trump?” Christina laughed at the memory of her dad’s caps. By “always” she meant whenever he was out in the sun, which wasn’t actually that often. He wore them for golfing, and for boating and fishing. They didn’t do a whole lot of other things outside.

“This is a great picture, cariña. You are the spoiled baby!” Juan had his biggest laugh at an image of Mrs. Martin sitting on Mr. Martin’s lap, with Aidan sitting on hers, and Christina sitting on Aidan’s, back when the kids were small enough for all of that to work. Mr. Martin was kissing his wife’s cheek, his wife was kissing his son’s, and his son was trying to smooch Christina too, but Christina was scowling and trying to get away. “Beautiful family.”

“Yeah, we were a perfect, happy family. And then I turned into a professional pony rider and we weren’t a family anymore, and once we weren’t a family anymore then nobody else was happy anymore.” The grown up iteration of the scowling little girl keeled over onto a pillow on her side, the enjoyment of sharing something with her best friend and seeing him react to it gone. He’d already gotten to the crux of why she brought the album with her to see him. “We stopped doing things as a family when Aidan and I started going away to horse shows every weekend, and riding after school. The three of us were together, but never with Dad. Then Aidan quit riding and it was just Mom and I. Once we weren’t together as a family, my parents weren’t happy together anymore. It can be traced that far back. I’m starting to wonder if horses and family happiness are mutually exclusive. What if you have to devote everything to horses to be good at it, and there’s nothing left to give to your people?”

“Don’t be silly. Haven’t you ever considered that perhaps the reason your mother was willing to give so much time to you and your riding was that she was already unhappy with your dad, and just trying to stay away? You might have the cart before the horse. Forgive the pun.” Her moral and intellectual sounding board kind of furrowed his brows at her suspiciously, and then returned his blues to the book. There were Easter egg hunt, skateboarding, tennis, golfing, Christmas, and baseball game outing memories to take in, including a disturbing number of photographs of the world class rider eating ice cream from small plastic batting helmets at Shea Stadium in New York, the home of the Mets. The private school that she and Aidan attended in their earliest years hosted an annual outing to the park to take in a game from the bleacher seats, with a party in the “[Insert Title Sponsor Here] Picnic Area” reserved exclusively for the students and their families, and Mr. Martin usually took the kids on their own a couple of times each season. She only liked going to baseball games to eat hot dogs, soft pretzels, and ice cream sundaes. The baseball was of no interest whatsoever, though even as a wee toddler, Christina could recognize and appreciate how much her dad liked to go to the games. What she didn’t know at that age was that he only enjoyed going to the games because he got to see the kids have fun, so really, nobody cared about the baseball.

“No, because my mom would do anything for us, pretty much. She didn’t have friends. All she wanted to do was help Aidan and I do whatever we were into. She took him all over to find new skateparks. I got to go to the zoo or the aquarium whenever I wanted. If I said I wanted to go to The Plaza Hotel for food at the Palm Court like Eloise, we went. We went to Broadway shows. We got our hair and nails done all the time. We went shopping at Lord & Taylor a lot because apparently I really liked the chicken noodle soup and plain frozen yogurt served in the pretentious cafe on the 8th floor. Mom totally lived to hang out with her kids. Once I started riding for real, that meant barn stuff aaaaaaall the time. Not just taking me to the barn to ride, or to the horse shows. When we weren’t doing that, I wanted to go to the different tack shops to browse and pick up the new magazines, or go to other barns to see friends who moved, or who I knew from showing. I wanted to go to the big events I wasn’t good enough to ride in yet, or go back at the end of the week after my classes were long done so that I could see the feature Grand Prix. Instead of going to The Plaza Hotel, I wanted to go into New York City to visit the Miller’s flagship- that was a huge saddlery. While we were off doing that, she and Dad were drifting apart, I guess. By the time I was old enough to even notice, they had no relationship anymore beyond like...not even roommates, but maybe coworkers. And make no mistake. I was the best pony rider on the block because all I thought about and cared about was horses and riding. You can’t be good at this sport if you treat it casually. You can’t be great at it if you don’t treat it like a lifestyle. As I look at what I want to do with the horses now, and the schedule I feel I need to pursue, and everything else...I’m like, “What if you can’t do this and have a good family life?” And that’s a question that exists whether I want that life with Schü or with you.”

“Your parents had their own problems. You’ve said many times that your dad was always working anyway. Not all relationships can only work when the people in them are together constantly.” Juan peered down at her with an expression that actually made her think of her mom. That’s the look she gave me when she was sympathetic about whatever I was having a tantrum about, but thought it was ridiculous. Hmph. “You have to ask yourself sometime if you want your relationship to work or not. You’re always making excuses for the problems, or looking for reasons why it’s doomed to be difficult. You have to ask yourself why that is. Are you really just looking for a way out of it? And if you are, is it because you’re afraid of fighting through the hard parts, because you don’t believe there should be any parts that are that hard, because deep inside you don’t want that future, or because what you really want is something with me? Why are you always looking ahead and saying “This is going to be a disaster”? Either stop doing the things that make it a disaster, or start having more belief in yourself. It’s the same as with the World Cup. You go in thinking the competition isn’t top level and it doesn’t even matter to you, and you’ll ride that way. You go into difficult situations thinking that they’re impossible, or that you’re guaranteed to suffer, and then you end up making yourself suffer.”

“I didn’t get the eternal optimist gene.”

“So you pretend. Tell yourself what you want is possible, that you can have it, and that you will have it.”

“Yeah, no, my brain doesn’t operate that way, babe. I just feel even more uncertain because I know my faith is fake.”

“What do you want me to tell you then? You always ask me these “what if” questions but your mind is already made up.”

“Okay. Never mind then,” Christina sighed, giving up. She brought the photo album to try to get clarity or perspective on the idea that her life goals were incompatible with one another, and her counselor was correct- it was difficult for her to accept his guidance when it went against what she’d already decided was true. “You can just go back to enjoying the photos for their comedic value and not as evidence supporting my damaged worldview.”

“Do you remember many things from these photos?” Juan wasn’t succumbing to her melodrama or sympathy-seeking. He didn’t treat her like she was contemplating serious things. He remained casual- nonchalant, even- and maintained a thoughtfulness about his manner that was neither deep nor absent. It was just somewhere in between. It was level. It was steady. He was steady. That was something she relied upon him for without even knowing it. The Spanish footballer was like horizon. He helped her find levelness when she pitched too far one way or the other.

“I remember a moment here and there. Like I can remember the places I found Easter eggs, and I sort of remember a very early Christmas, but mostly, no. I have no recollection of my parents being a happy couple.” She nodded against the pillow, and he studied her for a moment without giving away anything about what he was thinking. Instead, he eventually scooted down the bed and twisted to use her tummy. On his back with his knees bent and feet flat on the mattress, he angled over to use her as a prop for his head so he could continue browsing her non-memories in the photo album upright in his lap. Despite not remembering much, his headrest could still explain the context of most of the pictures, or relay what she was told about them. They went through the book and cycled through laughing, teasing, taking offense, expressing confusion, and “aww”-ing.

“You should post some of these on Instagram,” Juan suggested after closing the book at the end. “All your fans would like to see small Christina in her ballet costume.”

“You should turn off the lights and snuggle with me and talk to me about something nice, in your sleepy bedtime voice.”

“It’s like you think you can order services off a menu.” He shook his head as if to rue her demands, or perhaps how easily he acquiesced. “Same as earlier.”

“I just have very specific needs that have gone unfulfilled since last we said goodbye.”

#football fanfiction

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