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jackrrabbit · 4 years

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Sidekick /// Dabi x f!Reader x Shigaraki (18+)

Summary: During a rescue gone wrong, a rookie sidekick catches the attention of two villains.

A/N: Thanks for 1k followers!! This is the fic that made me create a smut blog/lowkey inspired this. imho this might be the spiciest thing I’ve ever written 😳 also wanted to call out @kazooli because this is highkey inspired by her lol thanks queen

Tags/warnings: quirk kink, reader’s quirk makes other quirks stronger, noncon, threesome, lots of foreplay, outdoor sex, mild overstimulation, degradation, mild violence, threats, chronological/temporal inaccuracies, fucking long

You can hardly be blamed for not recognizing them. It’s only been three weeks since you debuted as a pro, and you’re not even really a hero. You’re a sidekick, and apparently you’re not important enough to have been briefed on the major villains you need to look out for. You’re just…doing your duty. Rescuing civilians indiscriminately. Stupid, naive little sidekick. It’s not your fault that the lives you just saved belong to the two most notorious villains around.

Still, Shigaraki can’t wait to see the look on your face when you find out.

///

The disaster you ‘rescue’ them from—the League’s bar crashing down, the result of a small-time villain’s poisonous gas quirk—isn’t even a disaster. It’s a minor annoyance, sure, but Shigaraki and Dabi would have been fine without you…even though both of them missed Kurogiri’s warp gate and ended up trapped under a wooden beam in the wreckage of the building… Okay, it’s more than a minor annoyance. Shigaraki hacks violently as the cloud of foul-smelling steam and powdered debris enters his lungs. The poisonous quirk doesn’t seem to be having the same acid-burn effects on his body as it did on the building, but he can’t assume it’s harmless.

Father… Shigaraki took Father off his face to drink at the bar earlier before the gas hit, and now in the confusion the severed hand is either buried underneath the rubble that used to be the League’s main base or somewhere else out of view. “Father? Father!” Shigaraki calls out, attempting to shift under the crushing weight of the beam.

“Shut up,” Dabi says from somewhere to Shigaraki’s left. “Kurogiri took it in one of the portals, I saw it.” He looks worse than Shigaraki feels—something hit him in the face as the bar collapsed, and a few of the staples (piercings? stitches? whatever) on his right cheek are torn open and bleeding.

“Are you lying to me?”

Dabi sneers and rolls his eyes. “Let’s just get out of here.” His palms glow blue and Shigaraki follows suit, letting four fingers sit on the wood that’s pinning both of them to the ground. It’s too heavy to lift, so they’re going to have to get rid of it…a task that seems significantly more difficult when it becomes clear that neither of them are positioned at the right angle to touch it.

Shigaraki tries to wrest his arm out enough for his thumb to touch the wood, but it’s impossible. Beside him, Dabi’s having the same issue. “Shit, I can’t reach—“

“Is someone there?” Confident, clear, and oddly robotic, your voice cuts through the din of gurgling water from cracked pipes and police sirens like a lit flare in the darkness. Shigaraki tenses and halts his attempts to get free from the beam, and a second later Dabi mimics him.

“I heard voices.” The same unfamiliar voice rings out through the half-light, now accompanied by a body—your body, taking a series of awkward jumps down the piles of rubble to land in front of the two of them. The outfit you’re wearing is ridiculous: a pair of metal boots that clang against the cement wherever you step, matching braces on your arms, and a space-age chrome motorcycle helmet to top it all off.

A hero. Shigaraki’s lip curls in disgust as your head turns his way.

You scan the scene quickly, eyes resting on the two men trapped in front of you for a moment before you turn back to the opening in the wreckage. “Found two civilians!” you call out to the rescue workers just in case they’re within earshot, although it’s unlikely.

Dabi snickers under his breath. Civilians? Even in the chaos, you should’ve known the second you saw them who you’re looking at. Are you faking ignorance? Got something up your sleeve? It’s either that, or you genuinely don’t recognize them. Priceless.

You kneel down in front of the fallen beam and give a half-hearted attempt to pick it up. It doesn’t budge. No surprises there—if it were light enough for you to lift by yourself, the two men held down by it would have no problem getting out with their combined strength. You’re going to have to use your support gear to get it off them.

But first—you search for a memory of your rescue training. Reassure the victims. They’re probably panicking.

“It’ll be okay,” you tell them, your voice coming out mechanical and distorted from the helmet you’re wearing. “You’re going to be okay. I’m here to save you.”

This time, Dabi has to bite his lip to keep from laughing out loud. Ah, yes…they’re so lucky that there’s a do-gooder little hero around to rescue them, because they’d be helpless otherwise. The laugh is still audible, though, and Shigaraki shoots him a glare.

You raise an eyebrow at their expressions. Did he just laugh? Well…you’ve heard that people sometimes have inappropriate reactions in times of crisis. The dark-haired man seems more badly hurt, so you creep toward him first, careful not to disturb any of the debris and trigger an avalanche reaction. “I’m going to check your injuries now,” you tell him, and your gloved hand brushes away a sweep of spiky hair to examine the sizable red bump growing on his forehead.

Ouch…there’s no way that doesn’t hurt, but the man’s not letting any of the pain show on his face. Instead, he looks disinterested at best, and at worst? You almost get the feeling that he’s eyeing you up under your hero costume. Not that you can blame him. Damn this skin-tight bodysuit—it leaves basically nothing to the imagination.

“Does it hurt a lot?” you ask him. “I don’t think this is too serious, but they’ll look you over for a concussion when I get you to first aid.”

Dabi shrugs and you frown. Is the non-verbal response because of the ripped stitches in his face? Is it too painful to talk? Or could there be brain damage? Or maybe he’s just a man of few words or something…?

“Can you get on with it? Pick up the fucking beam already,” Shigaraki hisses.

Startled, you pull your hand away from the other man’s forehead. That ungrateful little…nope, nope, don’t get annoyed, he’s just in shock. “O-Of course, sorry. Just gotta make sure it’s okay to move.”

Luckily, the beam doesn’t look like it’s supporting anything else that’ll fall if you pick it up. You crouch down next to one end and steady your feet against the cement, lifting up with all your strength while activating the effects of the support items you’re wearing. When you feel the metal on your arm braces grow warm, you remind yourself again to thank the developer of your costume. You may not be a fan of the way-too-tight bodysuit that clings to everything, but the strength-enhancing armor that you wear on your arms and legs more than makes up for it.

A second later, you hold back a grin. It’s moving! You try to ignore the unpleasant screech of metal against stone as the beam slowly lifts into the air. As soon as the men get out from under it, you pant and let it crash back into the ground. “You guys okay?”

“Mm…yes,” Dabi replies, running a hand over the torn piercings in his cheek. “Got any more gas masks for the poison mist?”

“Don’t worry! The Commission is familiar with the villain who created it, and the gas isn’t harmful to anything living. Only buildings. It’s a troublesome quirk, but we’ve got it under control.”

“Then what’s with the helmet?”

He can hear the hesitation in your reply, even distorted and tinny through the metal speakers. “Uh…I, well…”

Now that you’re getting a good look at them, the two scarred faces in front of you seem weirdly intense, considering you’ve just saved them from a collapsed building. The dark-haired man’s eyes are…very, very blue next to the burned-looking skin underneath, and the other man’s greyish-blue hair isn’t quite long enough to obscure a pair of red irises that are scrutinizing your face with obvious hostility.

You give a nervous shake of your head to clear it. “Um, the helmet is…it’s dangerous if I take it off. I should get you guys back to the rescue area, I need to meet up with my hero…” Without thinking, you take a step back and then one more, not knowing exactly why you’re backing away when you’re supposed to be escorting them. “I’ll just lead the way?”

With your third step back, though, you bump into something hard. What was that? Your head jerks around but before you can identify what it is that stopped your retreat, you feel the faint sensation of something tapping lightly on the back of your helmet.

And then…it just…crumbles.

What just happened?

You cough and shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut against the sudden onslaught of dust. A breeze whips through your hair, sending a chill through you in more ways than one. How? No one pulled the helmet off; you would’ve felt it if they had. More dust sticks to your face, and you rub your eyes so you can open them.

Behind you, Shigaraki waits with outstretched fingers an inch away from your neck. If he had to explain the decision to decay your helmet strategically, he could—you’re a hero, a potential threat, and he wants to know what you’re hiding under that outfit just in case you figure out who they are and decide to turn on them.

But really? He didn’t think about it that much. It was an impulse reaction to you walking away from them; a tantrum. Child-like.

Once your stunned face is exposed, Dabi has to wonder what you were even trying to hide. You’re…surprisingly ordinary. Young-looking—a rookie, fresh from hero school graduations a few weeks ago maybe? Large, expressive eyes, lips parted in shock, but nothing particularly interesting. Shigaraki cocks his head to the side to study your face too, and both of them are so focused on your appearance that it takes a moment for them to notice the feeling.

Well, feeling isn’t really the right word, but there isn’t a word for the way your quirk works. Dabi’s eyes widen when it reaches him and behind you, Shigaraki stiffens. You notice.

There’s an involuntary quiver in your voice as you break the silence. “Y-You guys must have strong quirks if you can feel it just from that.”

Dabi sucks in a breath. So this is your quirk? It’s different…he’s never felt anything like it, not that he’s exactly sure what it is. There’s some kind of energy in the air around you that he’s breathing in, a feeling like taking a shot of espresso after days of sleep deprivation.

No, it’s stronger than that. The head rush after doing a line of cocaine would be a better metaphor.

Either way, he’s awake—more awake than he can remember feeling in a long time. Heat rises to the surfaces of his palms unbidden, his quirk appearing without him calling it. “What is this?”

“…It’s called Boost,” you say, licking your lips as a dry wave of heat radiates out from the man in front of you. “I can strengthen other people’s quirks. That’s why it’s dangerous—if the villain finds us—“

“It must have been hard to get through hero school with a quirk like that,” says a raspy voice from behind you.

What—? Your head twists around. When did he—

Shigaraki grips your shoulder with three fingers, holding just tightly enough to keep you from stumbling forward and away from him. His pinky and ring finger hover an inch over your costume, careful not to disintegrate the fabric he’s touching—although with the power sparking through his veins at the moment, it almost feels like three fingers would be enough.

“…Doesn’t really seem like the kind of quirk a hero has.” His voice, soft and pondering (a weird contrast to the harsh architecture of his facial features you’d seen earlier), feels very close to your ear. Something soft tickles your cheek. His hair?

A voice (an instinct?) deep inside of you is telling you to run. You ignore it. This is normal, right? It’s not uncommon for civilians who’ve just suffered a traumatic villain attack to have questions, even if those questions seem irrelevant to the situation at hand. You have to answer, even if your gut is churning. “I’m not really a hero. Not yet. For now, I’m a sidekick to one of the pros—and speaking of which, I really need to find—“

“But how does it work?” Dabi doesn’t notice himself making a conscious decision to step forward, but he does anyway and being closer to you feels right. He can see the trepidation on your face as he gets close enough to reach out and touch you, but you can’t really ask him to stay back, can you? Not when your quirk feels this good?

“I—“ Is it unreasonable that you think you’re being trapped right now? They’re just a couple of civilians, right? The question itself is common enough. People often wonder how you can be a hero. It’s a concern you’ve had to address dozens of times over the years. “Well, I work with rescue operations, especially with other heroes who have healing-type quirks. I can also assist in combat in some situations.”

“In combat? If you’re with a hero and a villain, you’ll enhance both quirks. Seems counterintuitive,” Dabi says, half aware that his voice is getting lower.

“And you clearly don’t have physical abilities. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have…these.” Shigaraki taps three fingers on the metal brace on your right arm.

“The effects can be unpredictable. And I can increase the degree of the enhancement with physical contact.”

“Contact?”

“Yeah. The gloves of my costume come off. My quirk is way stronger when it’s skin-to-skin.” The words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them.

You shouldn’t have said that.

Shigaraki’s ring finger and pinky, which were hovering over the arm brace, come down to rest on the cold metal. The effect is instant: no crumbling, no slow decay—it’s there, and then it’s dust. His quirk in action, boosted by yours.

“What—What are you doing? What did you just do?” You try to pull away from him, but he holds you tight by your collar. His other hand comes up to grip your chin, and in one long sloppy stroke, he licks you from your neck up to your jawline.

You shudder. So does Shigaraki.

“It’s my quirk,” he tells you slowly. His breath is steamy warm on the cold, wet trail of saliva painting your throat. “Decay. Have you heard of it?”

You flinch away from his hand and your back falls against his chest. Of course you’ve heard of the Decay quirk. You might be a rookie, but even civilians know about the young, impetuous head of the League of Villains. Jesus, how had you not recognized him earlier? White hair, red eyes…you should have known. You should have left him under that beam. “Shigaraki…Tomura.”

“So you’re not completely clueless. Do you know me, then?” Dabi asks. He would think he’s the more noticeable of the two (the burn scars usually identify him), but you just stare up at him with the same deer-in-the-headlights look as before. Smirking, he lights a blue fire in his palm and it jumps up toward your face—not just the small spark he intended, but a bright, high flame. “Maybe this will help you remember.”

“The Forest of Beasts incident. You’re the one who started that fire,” you whisper. You’ve seen the TV coverage of the attack on UA’s training camp, the abduction of that teenage student, the forest lit up blue from wildfire. No wonder his skin looks burned.

“Dabi,” he corrects you.

Breath is coming out of your mouth in shallow puffs. Are you hyperventilating? Is this what hyperventilating feels like? You’re definitely panicking. They’re so close to you, caging you in between them. The smoke from the blue fire is uncomfortably hot over the exposed skin of your face, and Shigaraki’s lethal hands are still touching you. If they want to kill you—and why wouldn’t they?—you’re fucked.

The flame goes out and Dabi’s hands come down to squeeze your wrists. His palms are hot like he was holding them in front of a lit stove. It’s not painful, but it’s a threat.

“I’ll fight,” you say.

Your voice is trembling, and Shigaraki likes it. The effects of your quirk, the way he felt when he licked your face… And you’re afraid. He can see it in your shoulders, the quivering of your torso pressed into him. It’s nice. He wants to feel it more.

You’re struggling against their hold, and Dabi feels the urge to laugh. “You’ll fight…the two of us.”

“If you try to kill me, I’ll—“

Before you can finish your sentence, Shigaraki’s hands flit down to your metal support gear and disintegrate it. Shit. He’s fast, and you’re helpless.

Dabi releases your wrists and cups your face in a mockery of intimacy. His eyelids flutter closed as his skin meets yours… Fuck, he could get used to this. You smell so good, sweet and soft and clean, like fruity shampoo. What is that, watermelon?

Life must be difficult for you, hm… Everyone around you must want to touch you constantly. It seems like Shigaraki enjoyed licking you—maybe bodily fluids are an even stronger conductor of your quirk? Pushing easily past your resistance, Dabi forces your jaw upward and kisses you.

Oh…yesyesyes, just like that. Perfect. Dabi has to bite down a groan as his tongue enters your mouth. It’s ridiculous for someone else’s spit to taste this good, but he’s right—your quirk is amplified by the contact from the kiss.

After a moment he has to break it to regain focus and make sure he’s not burning you. You cringe away from him, your cheek brushing against Shigaraki’s neck, but Dabi tangles his hand in your hair to pull you back. He runs a finger against your closed lips, letting the pad of his fingertip heat up until your mouth drops open in response to the threat.

“What the hell are you doing?” Shigaraki asks, voice laced with revulsion. Privately, you agree. What’s going on? You were sure you were about to be either burned to a crisp or decayed into the equivalent.

Dabi laughs under his breath. “Try it. It feels crazy good.”

Curious now, Shigaraki wrenches your head around and tilts your jaw up to repeat Dabi’s action. When you refuse to open your mouth, he taps your jaw warningly and a hiss of fear escapes you. Would he really kill you? He decayed your support gear so quickly—would it be the same for your body?

Well, what’s going to stop them?

You open your mouth.

Shigaraki’s lips are harsh and unsentimental against yours. His tongue sweeps over the inside of your mouth, invasive and brutal. He grips you forcefully, his face pushing you deeper into the strained hold with your head twisted toward his. You’ve never been kissed like this before. His spit—it’s in your mouth.

And Dabi’s hands are on your waist. “How do you get this thing off?” he murmurs, pinching the fabric of your bodysuit.

A surge of panicked adrenaline gives you the strength to pull back away from Shigaraki. “What? No, you can’t!”

“Are you going to stop us, little sidekick?” Dabi mocks. “I think I can burn it off without too much damage.”

“Let me.” Shigaraki takes hold of the cloth, careful so when it dissolves into dust his hand isn’t touching you, and within a second—a second—you’re left shivering in just your underwear and boots.

“Help!” The plea squeaks out and you hope blindly that there’s a hero close enough to hear you. But is there even anyone who can fight them? You certainly can’t. “Help me! Somebody!”

“Shut up.” Dabi sends up a tongue of flame from a fingertip and you shriek as the heat sears against you. “Oh, come on. You should feel lucky. Bad guys like us usually don’t hesitate to take heroes out.”

“I don’t— Please, I’m just a sidekick, I’m a rookie— What do you even want from me? Just let me go, I won’t tell anyone! Please let me go.”

“Well, I think I know what I want.” Dabi traces circles over the tender skin of your hips, playing with the elastic of your underwear. He meets Shigaraki’s eye over your shoulder. “I think he wants that too. Right?”

“Yeah, I want…I want to fuck her,” Shigaraki hums. This isn’t like him, but he can’t help himself. You’re different. Leaving you here and never feeling this stimulant again isn’t an option. He buries his face in the juncture of your neck and shoulder, bites down on the soft skin there, and sucks.

You whimper, half from his answer and half from the sensation of his chapped lips on your neck. “Why are you doing this?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but…you smell like something I want to eat. Especially this.” Dabi kneels down in front of you and hitches one of your legs up over his shoulder so you feel his hot breath washing over your clothed pussy.

You whine and attempt to wriggle back away from him, but Dabi’s grip on your thigh holds firm. His other hand brushes against the fabric of your panties to rub up against your slit and another surge of panic jumps up your throat. You can’t let him do this.

You kick your foot against his back, desperately attempting to make contact using the heel of the high boot that’s the only piece of outerwear still left on your body. It hits him awkwardly and he growls. “Damn it. Can’t you keep her busy?”

“Ahh…” Shigaraki ceases his oral assault on your neck and scratches a fingernail against one of the bright red marks marring your skin. He feels almost dizzy from the way your quirk is affecting him. Behind him, the broken expanse of wall digging into his back is the only thing keeping his focus. “Behave, sidekick.”

Before you can respond to the mocking title, Shigaraki’s face is against yours and his tongue is in your mouth again. Rough fingertips work up under the band of your sports bra and pushes it up over your tits. You screw your eyes shut at the sudden feeling of cold air on your nipples, and you know without looking that they’re standing up. Shigaraki gropes you thoughtlessly, keeping one finger lifted off of your skin, and you gasp on his tongue.

“That’s better.” Dabi’s mouth returns to brush against your panties. To be honest, eating you out isn’t the first thing on his mind. What he wants—what he really wants—is to shove you up against the wall and fuck into you and find out what your quirk feels like when you’re wrapped around his cock. But you’re probably not wet enough for that, and it’s not like Shigaraki is going to do anything to take care of you. Dabi would be surprised if the other man’s ever eaten pussy before in his life.

Besides…you smell good. It’s not even just the feeling of your quirk exciting him. The rich, feminine scent of your pussy is inches away from him, and Dabi is dying to make you cum in his mouth.

A moan curls up from deep in your throat as Dabi caresses the lips of your pussy through your underwear. You don’t bother protesting—at this point, it’s unlikely that any plea you could muster would stop them. Your earlier begging didn’t do much besides spur them on, but you still cry out as softly as you can when an unnaturally warm fingertip slips under the cloth of your panties to dip into your slit.

“Oh? You’re wetter than I expected. Are you enjoying this?”

Your frantic denial falls on deaf ears. Shigaraki rasps out a laugh and bites down on your neck again. He’s supposed to be keeping you still, but he can’t help enjoying the way your almost-naked body feels as you press yourself back into his chest, trying to force some space between yourself and Dabi.

Your squirming is no problem for Dabi, though—you’re so soft and vulnerable and the velvety skin of your inner thigh looks so delicious… He nuzzles against the area of bare skin and latches on to it, sucking until he’s sure you’re going to have a mark in a few minutes. The thought of leaving hickeys on you like a teenager is sickeningly nostalgic. You’re probably going to try to forget this when they’re done, aren’t you? But you won’t be able to, not when you’re covered in love bites and bruises. You’re going to be marked up for weeks.

Fuck, he’s hard.

Too impatient to bother taking off your panties, Dabi just pushes them aside to gain access to your damp cunt. His fingers feel hot—too hot, almost unbearably hot; you feel like you could melt into a puddle and your pussy is certainly slick enough as he pets your clit and slides one finger in, then two… You whimper and shake your head, silently denying what’s happening to you. The intrusion is uncomfortable, but Dabi’s fingers quickly find that rough patch inside of you that makes you want to beg like an animal. You hate it, but it feels good.

“She’s so tight,” Dabi says with something like awe in his voice. You can hear Shigaraki panting behind your back.

“Get on with it,” Shigaraki says.

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

For a second you just feel Dabi’s humid breath against your dripping cunt before he closes the space between the two of you and his tongue slides onto you, laving over your cunt to come to a rest on your clit. A sound you’ve never heard yourself make before forces its way out of your mouth as Dabi eats you out in earnest, rubbing his tongue against your clit in a stuttering rhythm that gives you no time to catch your breath.

Oh my god. Oh my god. Your head rolls back onto Shigaraki’s shoulder. You feel like crying for a million reasons at once. Maybe you’re already crying—the sounds you’re making are almost like sobs. You want him to stop. You never want him to stop. Your hands twitch as you fight the impulse to fist them in the villain’s hair and pin him down between your thighs.

“Fuck, oh fuck, no stop please stop, ah…!” The stream of gibberish coming out of your mouth crescendoes into a real sob as you feel your climax coming. No—you can’t—you can’t cum here, in this broken-down bar, on the tongue of a villain, but it doesn’t matter that you can’t, because you’re going to cum anyway.

“Please don’t, please let me go—“ You writhe uncontrollably as the desire to cum sweeps over you, but Dabi just curls one arm around your thigh and pulls his face away so he can push his fingers back in, angling his palm to grind roughly over your clit. The harsh, rough texture after the warm wet softness of his tongue is enough to push you over the edge and you cry out your orgasm, your pussy clenching onto Dabi’s fingers as he works them in and out of you.

Unable to support yourself, you crumple like paper, and only the two villains you’re sandwiched between keep you upright.

“Fucking finally,” Shigaraki growls, and he pushes you down so your knees scrape painfully into the rubble. Your earlier resistance was cute, but so is your dazed compliance as he pulls your hips up to meet his.

“You’re going first?” Dabi asks incredulously. After he did all that work getting you off? No way.

“You can use her mouth,” Shigaraki tells him. His cock is straining against his pants and he groans as he releases it and rubs it over your panties. He could decay them, but…they’re cute. Pale pink, peach-pink, except for the wet spot over your cunt. Precum is already dribbling out of his cock as he pulls your panties to the side and lines it up with your pussy. Jesus-fucking-christ, you’re wet, sopping and slimy. Doesn’t that mean you’re begging to get filled up? Shigaraki hears himself sigh as he slides the head of his cock up and down your slit so it’ll be wet enough to go in.

You’re still out of it, dizzy from your orgasm and the tension of the situation, but you snap back to your senses with the feeling of something hard pushed up to your entrance. “Wait!” you yelp for what feels like the hundredth time. The gravel scattered over the wreckage where you’ve been forced onto your hands and knees digs painfully into your flesh as you pull away from Shigaraki, but he holds fast to your hips with pinkies raised.

“Uh-uh,” Dabi admonishes with a grin, as if he’s reprimanding a dog for not coming when called. He settles himself in front of your front and kneels again. Your hair is mussed but still silky soft and he takes a moment to enjoy the way the strands slip over his skin before he tangles his fingers close to your scalp and yanks your head in his direction, forcing your cheek to chafe against the crotch of his pants. It’s not difficult to tell what the the thick bulge is through the fabric, and you try to flinch away only to be caught again and immobilized.

“You’re going to take care of us,” Dabi tells you. “Like I took care of you. Okay?”

No, it’s not okay, it’s absolutely not okay, and you would say so if you didn’t see Dabi’s expression darken at your obvious denial and feel a wave of acrid heat coming from his hand in your hair. The smell is worse than the feeling, honestly—you’ve had enough run-ins with hair curlers and flat irons to recognize the smell of hair when it’s three seconds away from burning. “Okay! Okay,” you answer, panicked, voice muffled by the fabric of Dabi’s pants.

“Good girl,” he purrs, and the heat fades.

“I’m not waiting any longer,” Shigaraki says from behind you.

“Then don’t.”

You whine, too scared to try to get away again or even plead with them to let you go, but it doesn’t matter. Shigaraki’s cock presses into your pussy, and there’s nothing you can do to stop him as he slides into you, inch by inch, torturously slow. Is there anything to bite down on? You need to do something, anything to distract from the pain of Shigaraki’s cock stretching you out. He’s big, impossibly big.

Eyes squeezed shut, you bite your lip until you can taste copper and scrabble around blindly until your hand finds loose fabric to grip. It’s something of Dabi’s, probably the coat he’s wearing if you remember correctly, but your brain isn’t exactly working right at the moment—

“You were right…shit, she’s…she’s so fucking tight.” Shigaraki’s voice is low and labored with the effort of not thrusting into you all at once. “Feels like…she’s trying to push me out…”

Fuck it, he thinks. Would it really be so bad if he did push all the way into you in one stroke? It’s better to just get it over with, isn’t it? Yeah…you’d probably prefer him to do it quickly. And besides, he can’t wait another second to feel you all the way up to the base of his cock.

Your strangled whimper is drowned out by his satisfied groan as he shoves the rest of the way into you in a single sudden thrust. The pain knocks the breath out of you in a gasp, and your eyes fly open as you clutch Dabi’s coat like a lifeline.

“It hurts—!”

“Yeah…yeah, I bet it does,” Shigaraki pants, holding your hips steady as he thrusts in and out of you. The bored nonchalance of earlier is gone, replaced by a feral intensity as his cock carves its way through your pussy. If you didn’t know better, you’d think there’s something affectionate in his voice.

For Shigaraki’s part, he can hardly think of anything aside from the soft, hot, wet cunt wrapped over his dick. It’s taking every vestige of concentration he has left to make sure he’s holding a single finger on each hand away from your skin. It’s pure bliss. Your body was made to be fucked like this. He wants to live inside your pussy, he wants to do this every day, every minute. Fucking you raw is the best he’s felt in months…years. And it doesn’t hurt that your quirk is still working on him, still sending pleasurable shocks of energy that make him feel simultaneously like he could keep you pinned down for hours and like he could cum any second.

“Oh, she’s crying,” Dabi says, tilting your chin up so he can look into your eyes. You flinch and try to jerk your head away, but his hand is still holding you by your hair and he’s so much stronger than you are. They both are, even without using their quirks. “Look at me.”

You comply, more by reflex than any real desire to obey. It’s pretty striking to Dabi how cute you look as Shigaraki pounds into you so fast and deep you can hardly catch your breath. Your eyes are glittering with unshed tears, your tits bounce with every thrust, and you’re still holding onto Dabi’s coat like your life depends on it. It’s almost like you’re pulling him closer. Adorable.

“She can…take it,” Shigaraki responds breathily between thrusts. “Such a good whore, taking my big cock in her tight little pussy…”

The backhanded compliment jars you and you feel hot tears spill over your cheeks. “I’m—not—a—whore,” you manage to say, each word punctuated with Shigaraki’s skin slapping against yours.

“Really?” Shigaraki’s pace slows and he leans closer to you so he can reach an arm around and swirl two fingers against your clit. You mewl like a kitten at the unexpected stimulation and he laughs rudely. “Feels so good…can’t believe the heroes don’t want to fuck you like this all the time…”

You shake your head desperately and bury your face in Dabi’s chest, barely noticing him stroking your hair and then reaching down to unzip his pants.

“No, no, I bet that’s what you do as a sidekick, right?” Shigaraki’s thrusts are back to frenzied jerks, and he rubs over your clit just as roughly. “Spread your legs for your hero…you’d make a great personal cocksleeve. Or maybe they rotate you around so every pro hero gets a turn…?”

“No, I don’t! No! Ah— ahnnn…” The denials pierce the air uselessly as the villain’s cock fills you up again and again. You’re not a whore, you’re not…even if it’s getting harder and harder to ignore the growing pressure of Shigaraki teasing your clit in time with his cock rubbing against your sweet spot. It still hurts—he’s so big, bigger than anyone you’ve ever had sex with before, but there’s no way you’re going to admit to yourself that it’s starting to feel good.

“…Is my cock better than All Might’s?” Shigaraki’s words are cut off by his own grunt of pleasure as your cunt twitches around him.

“Shut the fuck up,” Dabi cuts in. “I’m sick of hearing a guy’s voice moaning. I’m going to get soft.”

Past the point of comprehending the situation, you look up at him gratefully, only to reel back in shock as Dabi frees his own cock from his pants and it brushes against your cheek. Trying to pull away from him is more instinct than rational thought, but he holds you just as easily as before and forces two fingers into your mouth. You tense, ready to bite down, (and hopefully take a few knuckles off) but he sees it coming and suddenly your mouth is horribly burning hot.

“You’re going to suck my cock now,” says Dabi conversationally, extinguishing the flame almost as soon as he started it. It’s not so bad—probably more like a coffee burn than anything else—but you’re coughing and spitting anyway. “Say yes.”

“…Yes,” you whisper, voice barely intelligible.

“Good little sidekick. And you’re going to be very careful. You’re not going to use teeth.”

You nod, unable to mount a defense with Shigaraki mercilessly fucking you from behind.

“I want to hear you say it.”

“Y-Yes!” you squeal as Shigaraki finds a particularly sensitive spot inside you.

“Good.” Dabi drags your head down to hover over his cock and massages your jaw until it falls open. “Suck.”

One of his hands falls to your shoulder to try to stabilize you, but you can’t help feeling the threat in the motion. You quickly duck down and attempt to ignore the heady smell of sweat and precum as you trace your tongue up the underside of his dick. He’s big too, maybe thicker than Shigaraki, and you hate yourself for feeling lucky that it’s not this cock inside your pussy right now.

The stunt Dabi pulled burning your mouth made you salivate, and you let drool coat your tongue as you lick around the head. But it’s not working—you rock forward every time Shigaraki stuffs his dick back in your aching pussy, and Dabi’s cock smears over your mouth haphazardly.

“I said suck. Not lick.” Suddenly (although you don’t know why you keep expecting some kind of warning before these villains find a new way to violate you), Dabi grabs the back of your head and shoves his cock into your mouth. Your throat constricts involuntarily as the thick head triggers your gag reflex, and all three of you shiver in unison.

“Do…do that again,” Shigaraki says, voice strained. “She tightens up…when you do that.”

Dabi smirks and thrusts into you again, relishing the warm, humid cavern of your throat around his cock along with the pure swell of energy from your quirk enhancing his. His rhythm matches Shigaraki’s and his cock hits the back of your throat with every rapid pump, making you gag and clench like you’re trying to milk the cum out of him. What a perfect little slut… He can see from Shigaraki’s sloppy movements that you’re squeezing around his cock every time too.

The feeling of having one villain cock buried in your pussy while another ravages your throat is unthinkable, even more so with Shigaraki’s fingers on your clit coaxing out an earth-shaking orgasm. But you’d almost be able to forget what’s happening—god knows you’re delirious with sensation, barely able to keep track of who’s doing what to you—if not for the sound. The wet slap of Shigaraki’s hips against your ass, the horrible squelching from your (dripping wet, even if you don’t want to admit it) pussy as his cock pistons in and out of you, your choked moans and gagging noises, and above it all, the unrestrained voices of the villains fucking into you.

You feel like a fuck toy, a sex doll, used without mercy by the two most evil people you can think of…and you’re about to cum.

Your voice is getting louder by the second, and the pulsing of your cunt around Shigaraki’s cock is telling him exactly how close you are. He curls his body over yours to get a better angle to rub your clit, enjoying your high-pitched whine in response. “Yeah…that’s right…good girl. Cum on my cock…like a good little sidekick.”

You keen and goosebumps rise on your skin as Shigaraki licks at the sheen of sweat on your back. He feels your climax almost as soon as you do… If your scream wasn’t stifled by Dabi’s dick in your mouth, everyone within a one-mile radius would know you were getting fucked silly, yeah? The walls of your pussy clamp down on Shigaraki’s cock, your body begging for his cum, and he grips your ass to make sure you can’t get away as he comes to his own orgasm inside of you.

Fuck… Shigaraki could die right now and be happy. He keeps stroking your clit, knowing it’s cruel, knowing you’ll be overstimulated and sensitive and that it’ll hurt to keep touching you like this after you already came, and not caring because every time the tips of his fingers push that little magic button, you shiver and squeeze him like you’re trying to milk him dry.

Shigaraki gives a few last thrusts, pushing his cum deeper into your body, fucking it into you so you’ll be dripping white for hours, and then finally pulls out. The slurping sound your cunt makes as his cock leaves your pussy is obscene. So is the cloudy trail of mixed white and clear fluid that connects your pussy and the head of his cock until he pulls it away. He loves it.

Knowing that Shigaraki came—inside you, no less, the inconsiderate bastard—Dabi grips the back of your head and tugs you down to deepthroat him. Your walls twitch involuntarily and Dabi groans, letting himself shoot his load down your throat. “Yes…yeah…yeah…just like that. Swallow.”

You don’t swallow. You don’t do anything but gag on his cum and gasp as he thrusts into you. Dabi pulls you off of him, annoyed and ready to threaten you into submission again…until your head lolls to the side and he can see that your eyes are closed.

“Shit, she passed out.”

“…What? Are you kidding?”

Dabi slaps your face lightly. You wince in your sleep but don’t wake up. “Nope. Must’ve been when she came the second time.”

“Is she…” Shigaraki trails off, not sure how to end the question. ‘Okay’ isn’t exactly right.

“She’s breathing, if that’s what you’re asking.”

The two of them wait for a moment, but you don’t move. When he catches his breath, Shigaraki wipes off his dick and pulls up his pants. Dabi does the same. Without them holding you, you flop down into the fetal position on the broken concrete. “What now?” Shigaraki asks.

Dabi wipes the sweat from his forehead. “You tell me, leader. I’m surprised Kurogiri hasn’t opened another warp gate to get you back. Guessing you don’t have your phone either?”

“…We can go to Giran’s place to meet up. They’re probably waiting for us there,” Shigaraki says, scratching at his neck.

“Do you have cab fare?”

“I don’t have my wallet on me. You?”

“Not enough for a cab. We’ll have to take the train. You can owe me.”

Shigaraki looks down at you. You make a pitiful scene, naked except for your boots, sports bra, and cum-soaked panties. Your neck is bruised red and purple, and you’re shaking, shivering in the cool air now that the sun has sunk further toward the horizon and you’re not being touched. “Are we going to leave her here?”

“What, you want to bring her on the train with us? You don’t think that’s gonna look suspicious?”

“Well…” Their eyes meet and Shigaraki knows Dabi’s thinking the same thing he is. You have a lot of potential as an asset. They haven’t even had the chance to see how your quirk boosting works in combat, but Shigaraki almost wants to pick a fight just to give it a try.

And fighting power aside, Shigaraki isn’t a fan of the possibility that he’ll never get to fuck you again.

“Yeah, I know. But she’s a pro hero’s sidekick. She can’t be too hard to find.” Dabi shrugs off his coat and crouches next to you. You’re limp enough that he has no trouble lifting you into his lap and guiding your arms through the sleeves of his coat. Once you’re wrapped in the black fabric, he does up the buttons, combs through your hair with his fingers, wipes the mixed cum and spittle off your chin, and admires his handiwork. Sure, anyone looking closely at you will know at least a little about what happened—you’re still sweating in the cold, you have that undeniable ‘just got fucked’ look all over you, and the smell of sex is overpowering. But at least you won’t have to walk back to the rescue tent in your filthy underwear.

In your sleep, you nuzzle into Dabi’s chest, reaching blindly toward the source of warmth. He grins and strokes the back of your neck, soothing warm fingers over the bruised skin there and enjoying his last opportunity to touch you and feel your quirk working…for now, at least. “You know, I wonder why villains don’t get sidekicks. Seems a little unfair, right?”

Shigaraki’s sneer matches Dabi’s as he bends down to run his fingernails over your cheek, almost hard enough to hurt. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

#Dabi x reader #Shigaraki Tomura x reader #Shigaraki x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha imagines #Shigaraki #Dabi #bnha #boku no hero academia #boku no hero academia imagines #mha #my hero academia #mha imagines #my hero academia imagines #boku no hero academia x reader #my hero academia x reader #smut #tw noncon

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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.

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alderaani · 3 years

Text

Skies

summary: After a long campaign, Jesse and Hardcase indulge in some well earned TLC. AO3 | Series

Part of my 100-clone centric prompts series, prompt list used is here

wanrings: allusions to canon-typical violence, death mention.

a/n: oof, I’ve been so unmotivated to write recently, so i’m honestly just relieved to have finished something. i’ve been wanting to write this for ages, based off this post by @lilhawkeye3 - it’s such an endearing image.

The ocean didn’t smell anything like Hardcase thought it would.

He slipped his bucket from his head, squinting against the sudden rush of unfiltered light. On either side of him troopers broke free of the tree line, and, feeling sand beneath their boots, took off whooping towards the frothing crest of the sea. The sunset blazed red and orange, bleeding like a punctured egg yolk across the cloudless horizon and into distant water. Hardcase breathed in, wrinkling his nose against the salt-laden tang, so visceral he could taste it.

It wasn’t like Kamino. That was almost the biggest surprise. He’d thought that oceans would be the same everywhere, but this wasn’t a bad way to be proven wrong. It was the salt, he realised after a moment, darting his tongue out to touch his lips. There weren’t really any beaches on Kamino, though he supposed there must be sand under there somewhere. There were no winding strips where ocean met land, where the sun could ferment the pools, rocks and shells left behind. It tasted lighter there, cleaner, more cut through by its brutal winds. He breathed in deep again, wrinkling his nose and grinning at the way the seasoned tang sat on his palate here, briny and thick.

It was the colour too, that really made the difference. It was so pale and clear on this far-flung planet, instead of the angry greyish blue he remembered. The waves were...politer, somehow. Less vengeful, not boiling with ever-falling rain. Several troopers had reached the shore now and were chasing the surf, shouting and laughing when it nipped at their heels.

He decided he rather liked it.

It was something different after weeks spent cowering under cover further inland, coated in showers of dark earth from enemy artillery and rationing out stale water in mouthfuls that were barely enough to coat the back of the throat. Even the air was damp here, and overhead the gulls were crying, sharp against the thundering crash of the waves. He lived for these moments, these breaths between the axel-grind of war. It was true that he loved the spoil of a fight, loved sinking into it and letting his Z6 sing. But there was a different, more intoxicating thrill in these snatched hours or - if they were lucky - days. He’d never voiced it to anyone, but he sometimes thought he might like to do this all the time, one day, trawling the stars and standing beneath unfamiliar skies. For the views, this time, explored under his own rhythm.

Yeah. That sounded pretty good.

“Oi, Hardcase!” Someone bellowed, sticking up a hand and waving at him amidst a far away knot of troopers knee deep in the sea. “You coming?”

He shook himself, setting down his pack and his Z6 with loving care amongst the mountainous piles of gear, before jogging down the dunes, following the trails of discarded armour and the shouts, happy laughter and splashes echoing from the water. The wind was sharp on his face and neck and on the strips of skin at his wrists, intoxicating and too heady to ignore. The sand was strangely weightless beneath him, too. He’d slept on a real feather pillow, once, while they were hunkered down on Ord Sedra and several hundred crates of luxury bedding had gotten damaged in the crossfire. It had felt like floating, and all of them had tossed and turned all night. This was similar, and just as strange...what would it all feel like on his skin?

The thought wouldn’t let him go. Halfway down the beach he sat to strip off his boots, then his plates, then his blacks, until he stood in just his greys, laughing at the feeling of the wind and the spray licking against his body. The way it cut through the stubble sprouting on his scalp after far too long stuck in a bucket-locked zone was...disconcerting. The prickle of just-forming curls felt like phantom fingers on the nape of his neck, and he’d found the way sweat clung to hair under his helmet sort of disgusting - it reminded him of being an under-washed cadet. Frankly, he didn’t plan on letting it stay long enough to get used to it.

The sand though...now that was weird. The way it sat between his toes made him squirm, each grain a bolting pinprick against the soles of his feet. When had he last had his boots off? Back on the Venator in the communal fresher, probably. It was a cruel galaxy when that barren room and its clinical racks of scentless soap started to look like a king’s treasury. He dug his feet into the cold, wet sludge, shivering in disgusted delight as the beach swallowed them whole.

“Hardcase!”

He looked towards the bellowing figure stumbling up the sand towards him, squinting as the sun hit their upturned face. Then he barked a laugh of surprise at the edge of the Republic cog he found there.

“ Jesse? Kriff, vod, barely recognised you.”

It was the first time he’d seen his flesh face in weeks, aside from in hurried moments allocated for gulping down rations. Jesse’s hair had grown in thick and black, much to the consternation of several brothers who were offended he could grow a moustache like that and still chose not to. Right now, he reached up to scratch the offending hair on his cheeks and scowled.

“S’rich comin’ from you. What is that slug on your face?”

Hardcase winced. His own unwilling hair cultivation very much proved that clones were not all made equal.

“It’s a casualty,” he said, feeling the short, patchy bristles on his upper lip. His trainer had always promised it would settle as he came out of puberty. That had been a lie. Hardcase blamed it on the crack in his growth jar, like he did most minor physical inconveniences. “This is why I don’t bother with the stuff.”

Jesse nodded, turning away to rummage through the packs strewn over the sand. “It just won’t stop itchin’.”

“You’re telling me.” Hardcase groaned. “You didn’t get woken up last night because your hair tickled the back of your neck and made you think you were bein’ jumped.”

Jesse snorted, straightening back up with his meagre GAR-standard microfibre towel in hand and a ration bar hanging from his mouth.

“Was that what that was about?” he asked, voice muffled. “We thought we could hear you squirmin’.”

Hardcase kicked lightly at Jesse’s ankle. “Real nice of you to not even ask if I was alright.”

Jesse broke off the ration bar and smirked round his mouthful.

“‘Case, it’s when you go quiet that we start asking questions.”

Hardcase shoved him. Jesse went down with a yelp and a curse, his towel catching under his ass and the loose end flapping like a banner in the wind. Hardcase bellowed a laugh, kicking sand towards him. It was a fatal mistake.

Jesse caught him by the ankle and yanked him down too. He landed on his stomach, still laughing as the wind knocked out of him, and scrambled forward with abandon, yelping with shock as water seeped cold and heavy into his greys. He wasn’t fast enough. A leg slung heavy over Hardcase’s ankles, pinning him, and then Jesse’s weight was pressing down on his back, forcing his face towards the wet sand.

“Get off, you kriffin’ shabiir,” he laughed, groaning as Jesse adjusted his weight and squashed the air out of his lungs.

“I’m not the one startin’ fights they can’t finish,” Jesse retorted, his voice light.

“Who said I was finished?” Hardcase shot back, going limp and then bucking hard. Jesse swore, losing his grip, and then they were scrabbling again, a tangle of limbs and righteous yelling.

The fight ended with them lying side by side on their backs, both covered in muck. Hardcase was sure he had sand in his crotch. The sun was still blazing on the horizon, lower now, deepening from yellow to dark, hazy red. It gleamed like fire on the water, like copper on the sand. This world was so reluctant to let the light go, eking out the daylight drop by drop. An errant touch to his thigh made him look over. Jesse was rummaging around underneath himself, grumbling about something digging into his back.

“You think we’ll get to stay here long?” Hardcase asked eventually.

“Aw, hell,” Jesse said, pulling the squashed, sandy remains of his ration bar from underneath him. “This was my last flavoured one. What’d you say?”

“D’you think we’ll stay long?”

Jesse hummed, flinging the ration bar away up the beach. A gull immediately swooped down to snatch it. “Here? Don’t think so. Heard Rex talking to the General, lots still to do before we can get off this rock.”

Hardcase sighed, letting the disappointment wash over him quietly. He shut his eyes again, just listening for a moment, committing the sounds of the sea to memory. It wouldn’t be goodbye. He’d come back to this place, one day. He’d make sure of it.

“So,” he said, cutting himself off before the longing could get too strong. “We gonna shave or what?”

Jesse scoffed. “What? Now?”

Hardcase shrugged. “Why not? We leave here, we’re gonna be back on water rations, right? You really want that nest growin’ for however the fuck long?”

Jesse sighed. “Course I don’t. But what the hell’re we gonna shave with? You didn’t bring your razor, did you?”

“Not a chance,” Hardcase said. That was only a mistake shinies made.

It wasn’t so bad if you lost one of the Kamino issue ones - those were about as blunt as a butter knife. Better to grow hair on campaign and hack it off later than lose one you’d bartered. He still mourned the first he’d ever owned - he’d never seen another with the same quality Corellian steel, and Uppercut had been so smug to win it over sabaac. Gracious enough to let him keep using it though. Some of Hardcase’s best memories were in front of fresher mirrors with him, taking it in turns and helping catch any stray hairs, paying each other in gossip for their trouble. He still hadn’t forgiven that bastard for dying. The first time he’d had to shave after had left him curled over the sink, his head half lathered and his whole body shaking, so on their next planetfall he’d taken the razor with him and buried it in the nicest spot he could find.

Uppercut had always preferred cities to trees, but Hardcase hoped that, wherever he was, he’d appreciated the effort all the same.

“I do have a vibroblade, though,” he carried on brightly, grinning at the way Jesse’s expression fell.

“Absolutely not.”

“Aw, come on. It won’t be that bad.”

Jesse pushed up on his elbows, his face scrunched. “If you think I’m gonna let you dry shave my head with a dagger, ‘Case, you’re more stupid than you look. I want a haircut, not a cut head.”

Hardcase rolled his eyes. “Who said anything about dry shaving? I’ve got soap.”

Jesse paused. “You’ve had soap this whole time? Here?”

“What can I say, I’m an optimist,” Hardcase said, peeling his back out of the sand. “You in or not?”

Jesse didn’t answer, just stood, grinned, and offered Hardcase a hand.

The light continued to wane as they made their trips up and down the beach, finding a good spot where the shoreline banked a little, and where it would keep the worst of the wind off while Hardcase lathered Jesse’s head. He stuck his tongue out a little as he worked, trying not to get distracted while the frothy water lapped at his ankles. He felt himself loosen as he scraped the vibroblade over his brother’s head, even just the act making him feel more like himself. It relaxed the jittery edge his thoughts always had, dialling down the almost frantic noise that built in combat and then sat under his skin. Usually it took a good spar to bounce it all back out of him, but this had always worked too…it had just been a long time since he’d had anyone else to go through the ritual with.

When it was his turn, he all but melted under the gentle, smooth touch of the vibroblade on his head, the soapy lather chilling quickly on his skin. He hummed, the feeling of the pads of Jesse’s guiding fingers on his chin almost too much sensation after so long under plastoid. He let his mind drift, watching the ocean and listening to Jesse’s mutters and curses as he concentrated.

When they were done and had rinsed in the freezing water, the sun had almost vanished, leaving only a purple after-bruise on the darkened sky. Most of the battalion had settled much further up the beach near the largest sand dunes, so they drifted there and claimed a patch of sand, pulling on their blacks when the sticky film of drying salt water got too much in the cold night air. After a late meal of ration cubes, and, far more enticing, some dried bantha milk the last villages they’d fortified had gifted them, Hardcase was splayed out on his back again and feeling quite ready to have a nap.

Jesse was lounging beside him, carefully rehydrating his milk with water from his field flask. Hardcase couldn’t remember the last time they’d had a night like this, where the war had felt so far away.

They turned their heads at several loud hoots, a crash, and a cheer, followed by an angry bellow. He squinted his eyes against the sudden flare of bright light.

Several brothers had constructed a modest bonfire out of driftwood - and, Hardcase suspected, several unlucky clones’ blacks - and had just tossed over a spare fuel canister, setting the whole thing ablaze in a column of blue flame. The tense figure stalking towards them looked awfully like Appo.

“D’you think we should help him?” Hardcase murmured, his hands propped comfortably under his head. Plasma always burned fast and hot, and he could already feel it faintly against the side of his freshly exposed head. It was nice; soothing, even.

Jesse hummed, pushed up on one elbow so that he could sip at his drink.

“...Nah,” he said slowly, lowering his cup and scrubbing away the blue moustache left behind. He flopped back down with a boneless huff. “Appo’s a big boy. He’s got this.”

Hardcase turned his head again, in time to see Appo tug futilely at some of the dark fabric being swallowed by flame. He chuckled and shut his eyes, breathing in deep and enjoying the soothing melody of shouting that, for once, was not being directed at him.

“Yeah,” he murmured after a moment, sighing as the heat flared and there were more jubilant whoops. “I think you’re right.”

taglist // @nelba @leias-left-hair-bun @simping-for-fives @missinashkin @iscream4clones @majorshiraharu @dom-i-nic @snippytano @808tsuika @eries45 @whatanoof // list here

#alderwrites #hardcase #clone trooper hardcase #clone trooper jesse #arc trooper jesse #501st legion #star wars #the clone wars #the clone wars fic #jesse #time to hit post before i can decide i hate this loooool

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whats-rambled-rambled · 3 years

Text

Long Nights - part 7

Neil x Reader

Chapter 7: Wicked game

(see chapter 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1)

summary: it’s time to come back to life, and sometimes it involves Neil dragging you to a social event

warnings: 18+, language, alcohol mention (beer is considered alcohol, right?)

author’s note: 3k words. It’s not exactly what I had in mind for that chapter, but they have a mind of their own, as always.

Almost there.

The song for this part is Stone Sour - Wicked Game (acoustic, live)

Enjoy and let me know what you think, please? All feedback is greatly appreciated.

——————

Tag list: @cxnnienikas @neutron-stars-collision @ergunbilge @invertedneil @wanderedaway��@i-wanna-b-yours @wonderwoman292 @buckysgoldenheart @townmoondaltwistle @theriverbeneaththeriver (please let me know if you want to be added/removed from the list)

-----

It didn’t matter how many times you saw him do that, the effect the sight had on you was pretty much always the same. Filling your mind with thoughts that were quite counterproductive, one could say.

The veiny patterns covering hands and forearms. The long fingers running through the buttons. The tilted chin, extending the neck, drawing attention to that impossible jawline. The slight pout. The brows drawn together in concentration--

You smacked your tongue and shook your head

“Y’know what, those shirts of yours are so rude, but the way you wear them, the rolled-up sleeves?”

Neil looked at you through the reflection in the mirror, puzzled. “What about them?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely disrespectful,” you sighed heavily and leaned against the door frame.

Playful lights danced in the blue eyes. “Oh yeah?” he teased, giving himself a final glance-over before turning to you. “And what you’re gonna do about it?”

“Nothing,” - you shrugged, crossing your arms - “because you insist on dragging me to a social event.”

The faint resentment ringing in your last words didn’t get lost on Neil.

“So boring of me,” he said as he closed the gap between you, trying to keep a straight face. He put his hands on your waist and smirked. “But maybe after that we can come back here and continue the conversation.”

As you fixed his collar, a shade of smile hid in the corner of your mouth.

“Really wanna listen to me listing all the things that drive me mad about you, huh?” you asked smugly, gliding your fingertips along the delicate stripes of the greyish beige shirt.

Neil’s thumbs brushed over your hip bones as he hummed, “I have a feeling it might lead to a rather pleasant conclusion.”

When you let out an amused scoff, his lips captured the snarky comment that was bound to follow. He pulled you closer and lifted you up, and the next second you were sitting on the edge of a vanity cabinet, breathless from the kiss, tugging at the striped shirt.

A buzz right next to you.

You jumped, startled, and glared at the phone. “Is it too late to tell Matthias the Uber driver that we’re not going anywhere?” you asked without too much hope as you nuzzled your face to Neil’s neck, breathing in his scent, unwilling to let this moment end too quickly.

Neil chuckled and stroked your arms. “Come on, it’s gonna be fun.”

You still didn’t know where he was taking you - he’d assured you that it would be casual, and that was basically all you cared about. He knew you enough, and you trusted his judgement, after all.

“It better be,” you pouted, pulling back, but as soon as you met the bright blue eyes your heart sang in your chest. After spending all that time in the darkness, not sure if you’d ever see his face again, you caught yourself taking an extra second every now and then, just looking at him. How the light played on his features, now soft in the elaborately illuminated hotel bathroom. How his lips curled whenever he found your gaze. How utterly stunning he was.

Smiling gently, you ran your fingers through Neil’s disheveled mane, taming the blonde mess if ever so slightly.

“Let’s not keep Matthias waiting, then,” you sighed and slid off the cabinet.

-------

The afternoon was quite warm for late autumn. As you were arriving at your destination, you watched the sun shining through the scarce leaves left on the trees, adding vibrance to their colours. Too mesmerized to pay attention to the route, you recognized the place only when the car stopped. The training site. You turned to Neil in confusion, but he just wiggled his brows and proceeded to thank the driver and got out of the car. You followed him out and right through the gate of the now-empty paintball outdoor facility which served as a front for the agency’s base, hidden a bit further inside the forest.

“Picking up something on the way?” you asked, matching his pace as you strolled towards the training grounds.

Neil shook his head and smiled mysteriously. “Not really.”

“Alrighty then, keep your secrets,” you snorted, rolling your eyes. “Aren’t we a tad overdressed for a little playground fun, though?”

“A rematch?” he pondered and smirked. “Didn’t plan on that, but it’s tempting.”

Indeed. “I’m kinda out of shape, but keep those baggy trousers on and I’m game - wanna beat you fair and square again.”

Neil let out an exasperated huff. “Baggy?! They might be a bit loose but --”

You giggled at his offended expression as he got busy looking down at the target of your remark, ready to defend his fashion choice. Your laughter was enough to stop Neil in his tracks, and when he met your playful gaze, he reached out and drew you into his arms for a tight hug. After a brief moment of perplexity, you eased into his embrace, moved by the force of sudden affection.

When he pulled back, you touched his cheek. “What was that for?” you asked, searching the blue eyes, but finding nothing but joy there.

“Being cheeky.” He scrunched his nose while tapping the tip of yours. “And brilliant,” he added, and for a second you were sure there was something else he wanted to say; instead, he laid a gentle kiss on your lips. “And maybe stalling a minute longer before I’d have to share you with all these people.”

You gaped at him, about to ask what people, but Neil already grabbed your hand and led you around the corner of the building - and you heard them even before you spotted them.

“Oi, there they are!”

“Finally!”

“We’ve just considered sending a rescue party in case you got lost in the woods!”

The unexpected eruption of cheers and greetings made your fight-or-flight reflexes kick in, but as you instinctively took a step back, Neil squeezed your fingers reassuringly.

A split-second exchange of looks.

All right?

When he saw your tiny nod, he let go of your hand, focusing on the team gathered at the makeshift chillout zone. “Not everyone has your poor sense of directions, Seb,” retorted Neil, flashing his teeth in a grin.

The young man’s protests got drowned in laughter as you approached the group together.

"Luckily not the case with our rogue here,” said Ives, elbowing his way in between other people. He shot you both a disapproving look, toned down by a smile dangling in the corner of his mouth. "Really, roofs? Didn't know you had it in you, mate."

"Me neither,” admitted Neil, going in for a clasp of hands and a brief hug. “When I saw that gap, I was sure that was it. Someone convinced me otherwise."

“The secret is to avoid looking down,” you shrugged, meeting the commander's amused gaze.

"Thanks for bringing our favourite nerd back in one piece." As Ives extended his hand, there was something serious about his expression, mixed with a sense of relief, and you realised he must have been in the response team Neil had called for help.

“My pleasure.” Beaming, you shook his hand. “Thanks for providing backup.” And scraping me off the pavement.

Neil’s gasp was almost theatrical. He smirked and nudged Ives lightly. “Aw, I’m your favourite?”

“Careful, that privilege may be revoked any minute,” grunted Ives in a weak attempt at keeping up appearances, but he couldn’t fool anyone. Now that you had a chance to observe them in the after-hours situation, the bond between the two men was clear as day, and your heart warmed up at the thought.

Waving back at Mahir, you scanned the group for other familiar faces. Wheeler, a couple of people you recognized from the HQ halls, and a bit isolated from the others - the big man himself, manning the barbecue station.

Overwhelmed by the attention you got from the team, you excused yourself and walked up to The Protagonist. You couldn’t help but smile at the confident vibe he radiated with as if he spent every weekend doing nothing but this.

“So dad of you, boss.”

He flopped a sizzling piece of meat to the other side, glancing at you humorlessly.

“How are you feeling?” he asked with polite concern.

“Grand, healed up nicely, thank you.” You circled your shoulder and grinned. “Not in a marathon condition, mind you, but that’s not exactly new.”

“That’s good, Neil was worried about you.”

Not sure if it was the lack of eye contact or something else in his presence, but you decided to stop ignoring the gut feeling.

“You don’t like me,” you said, tilting your head. A mere statement of the fact; you weren’t hurt, only curious. “It’s okay, you don’t have to, just been wondering why.”

TP sighed heavily. And when he finally met your gaze, the dark eyes were sad, only deepening your confusion.

“I’m sorry.” Then something cracked and a shiver ran down your spine, because suddenly, in front of you there was a man who’d seen a lot, suffered too much, and cared even more. The weight of it all slumped his shoulders, and for a short while, he seemed almost helpless. Taking a quick look at the hollering group, he sighed again. “It’s not your fault, it’s--“ he hesitated, searching for the right words. As he found them, there was no sign of the vulnerability from a moment earlier. “It’s a stressful business.” He sent you a crooked smile. “And I’m still mad about that watch.”

The lie was obvious. But the things you saw in his eyes made your chest clench painfully, and…did you really want to know?

Besides, that might have been a truce offering, and you weren’t bent on holding a grudge. Not with him, anyway.

“Hey, wasn’t it technically your idea?” you grinned, shrugging off the weird sense of dread.

A smile finally reached the dark irises. “I guess it was,” he admitted and patted you on the arm. “There’s some beer in the mini-fridge, could you --”

“On it.”

When the clank of bottles sealed your peace treaty, you caught Neil’s happy stare. You pointed at the beer in your hand in a question and he nodded, so you grabbed one more and joined him and the others.

That unfortunate mission must have been some sort of rite of passage in these guys’ eyes because out of the blue, you were no longer an outsider. The Cavalry accepted you with open arms as one of their own, and you couldn’t wrap your head around it. It was a nice feeling, though. Like you belonged. You saw some curious glances, but they came from a good place, and even the suspicious voice in your mind gave in under the cordial, jovial energy of the group.

Soon enough, you were joking with a young medic, having a balancing stand-off with Wheeler, or listening to crazy stories from some old operations, until everyone had enough booze in their systems that allowed them to direct some of the questions to you, as well.

“So is Neil a decent locksmith now?”

You puffed out your cheeks in a musing grimace, but when you spotted Neil’s raised brow, you started laughing. “I’d say even more than decent. Honestly? I don’t think there’s much more that I can teach him, he needs to polish his skills in real life now.” Mocking a teary sniff, you added, “They grow up so fast!”

Nobody would know that you did so while actively ignoring a faint sting in your heart.

You refrained from meeting the attentive blue eyes, though. Just in case.

“Oh cool, then what about a little contest?” Seb clapped his hands cheerfully. “You versus Neil, we could time you, and to make it fairer we could put a blindfold on you --” as he stopped for a breath, he realized - with some help from Wheeler’s elbow to his side - the slight faux pas.

But you barely acknowledge a curse and a mumbled apology cutting through the awkward silence, too busy exchanging amused looks and stifled giggles with your student.

“Neil, would you like to explain?” you asked, schooling your features.

He bowed his head as if he was accepting a great honor. “Gladly.” Neil took a deep breath and his eyes lit up. “See, my dear friend, had you known anything about lockpicking, you’d learnt that sometimes it’s easier to do that with, for example, your eyes closed. You need to listen to what the lock has to say because it’s all about feedback--”

You watched as Neil gave a full lecture, citing your own words from what seemed to be a lifetime ago. He did it with passion and understanding of the craft you’d never dreamed to see in someone else, and yet was so familiar when it came to him. Absentmindedly, you placed a hand over your chest, as if it was enough to stop it from bursting.

You couldn’t be more proud.

Neil finished his rant and looked at you, only to be met with all the appreciation and validation in your gaze, and he beamed even wider.

“All right, damn, we can cover Neil’s eyes then,” sighed Seb, a total resignation in his voice sparking a roar of laughter from the group.

----

As much as you enjoyed the energy of the team, your social batteries were getting drained, and you needed a moment for yourself before you could carry on.

Walking right outside of the periphery of light from the garlands, you let your gaze slide across the training equipment, now barely visible in the moonless night. The leaves crumbled under your feet as you smiled at the memories. Maybe one day you would actually complete the full run? You pulled on the sleeves of your sweater, hiding your hands from the cold evening air.

“Mind if I join you?”

You glanced over your shoulder at Neil, keeping his distance, ready to give you space. With him, it was always in the details he’d picked along the way, effortlessly weaving them into everyday life. “Not at all.”

Neil perked up and joined you in the shadows, inhaling deeply.

“Funny how the scent of the forest changes with the seasons,” he mused and you grinned, turning his way.

“That’s what I call a pick-up line,” you snickered and drew a long breath. “But you’re right, it’s too easy to forget that once you become a permanent city creature.”

He chuckled and lightly rubbed his hands up and down your arms.

“Are you warm enough?” he asked softly, fixing your oversized scarf.

“Yeah.” You brushed your cheek against his fingers, longing for his touch, now that you were somewhat hidden from the prying gazes. “You?”

Neil moved closer and wound one arm around your waist, then cupped your face gently, pressed his forehead to yours, and murmured, “Now I am.”

You hummed happily and slid your hands under his open jacket, resting them at his chest, and closed your eyes. Only then realizing how tense you were, you relaxed in his embrace, savoring his closeness. A steady heartbeat under your palms. The warmth carrying undertones of Neil’s cologne. A featherlike graze of his thumb over your cheek. His nose nudging yours.

But soon enough, you had to break a stolen moment. Trying to stifle a yawn, you hid your face in his shoulder to muffle the sound.

“Oh, my poor baby,” he cooed, biting back a giggle. “That tired?”

“I’m fine,” you mumbled against him on the verge of another yawn.

“Sure you are.” He kissed your temple. “The party’s almost over anyway, judging by decreasing amount of idiotic ideas per hour. Gonna call us a cab soon, all right?”

As you nodded, Neil tightened a hug and reluctantly let you go.

“Be right back, I’ll check if there’s any coffee left,” you said, gesturing towards the tables with beverages.

As your luck would have it, there was just enough for one sip.

A sudden sneer was enough to wake you up, though.

“Hell froze over.”

Mahir walked up to the mini-fridge to grab a beer and you met his mocking stare with furrowed brows.

“Vincent must be chattering his teeth now,” you joked, unsure where the conversation was heading. “Why?”

Mahir scoffed at the remark about your old associate, but he was still studying you closely, confusing you further. “Congratulations, by the way.”

“Dude, you’re killing me today,” you sighed, wiping a hand through your face. “Thanks, but what for?”

“You and Neil?”

And when you shot him a puzzled look, he waved his bottle at the place where you stood together a moment before.

Breaking out in a cold sweat, you deadpanned, “Oh.”

Bloody hell.

“I thought you weren’t doing the whole love thing anymore.”

The pulse pounded in your ears, although not loud enough to tune out the sirens blazing in your head.

No.

It came out harder than you felt it. “I’m not.”

No, no, no, no, no.

Mahir grimaced doubtfully. “Uh-huh.” He looked over your shoulder at the team gathered together in the distance and raised a brow. “Does he know that?”

You couldn’t force yourself to follow his gaze. The panic drained your face of all colour, and that was enough of an answer for your friend.

“I see.” Mahir shook his head, losing the enquiring manner. His features softened as he patted your arm. “Neil’s a good guy.”

Please, no.

“They always are,” you choked out bitterly.

Not again.

“You know what I mean,” insisted Mahir, searching for your eyes.

That the history was not gonna repeat itself?

...or that he didn’t deserve any of it?

“Yeah. Maybe.” You faked a smile. “Excuse me.”

Pushing past him, you went inside the building. You needed to be alone.

Oh, the irony.

Weeks of deliberately avoiding the topic. Tricking yourself into thinking that you can keep it casual. That it didn’t matter that much. That it was nothing but a self-indulgent fling.

You couldn’t breathe.

Lesson learnt, huh?

Barging into one of the restrooms, you got to a sink. Clenching your hands on the cold ceramic, you fought nausea tearing through your body.

Pathetic.

The gasp for air turned into a sob.

...and then everything went quiet.

You raised your eyes to the mirror.

Your reflection was staring back at you with determination.

It was time.

(next chapter ->)

#neil tenet #neil tenet x reader #neil x reader #neil tenet fanfiction #neil tenet imagine #robert pattinson #tenet #tenet fanfiction #long nights

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kurowrites · 4 years

Note

“You broke into my apartment drunk thinking it was your friend’s house and I should call the cops but my cat kinda likes you so we’re good” Wangxian with rabbits? : ) If you like?

Wei Ying released the latch carefully and slid the window back. It had taken him a while to figure out how to do it, but by now, he was a pro at getting inside any window even while drunk. He felt a little bad having to sneak around like this, but he didn’t want to wake Jiang Yanli in the middle of the night. At the same time, he didn’t want her to have to give him another scolding for camping out on a park bench somewhere because he missed the last bus home. So sneaking in and borrowing Jin Zixuan’s overpriced sofa for the night it was. It wasn’t like he cared about Jin Zixuan’s inevitable whining, after all.

He fumbled around in the dark for a moment, trying to orient himself. But strangely enough, he didn’t encounter furniture where he expected it to be. Was he that drunk, or had they recently redecorated the living room without telling him? Was this some kind of mischievous plan concocted by Jin Zixuan? The ridiculously giant flatscreen TV was gone, in any case. He wouldn’t even be able to binge on some mindless late-night TV show before he inevitably conked out. Instead, there was… a cage?

Curious, he got closer to the cage to inspect this new addition to the living room. It was, in fact, a large animal cage! And as he watched, there was a movement in the little hutch at the end of the cage. A moment later, a rabbit poked its little nose out, wiggling it curiously.

“Heyyyyyy, babyyy,” Wei Ying cooed. “What a cutie you are! I never knew Dajie liked rabbits.”

The rabbit, maybe hoping for a snack, cautiously hopped out of the hutch. In the darkness, he looked kind of greyish, but in daylight, he must be a pretty white.

“Aw, you are so pretty! Come here, little beauty! Is it fine if I pet you?”

With clumsy fingers, he worked to undo the latch of the cage door. Disturbed by the noise, a second rabbit hopped out of the hutch. This one was black.

“Aw, another one! Come to papa,” Wei Ying coaxed, stretching his hand through the cage door.

The white rabbit came to him easily. Wei Ying lifted him out of the cage and carefully set it onto his lap. Then he picked up the black one, lifting it to his face.

“Such good children,” he cooed. “So well-behaved. You deserve some cuddles.”

He pressed a quick kiss onto the little black rabbit’s forehead.

Wei Ying was starting to feel really tired, and sitting upright seemed like too much of a chore after sneaking through the window. So he lay down onto the carpet on the floor, and then placed the two rabbits onto his chest, where they would be comfortable and where he could pet them.

They really were very good children, not scrabbling around but sitting on Wei Ying’s chest peacefully, content with Wei Ying softly ruffling their incredibly soft fur.

“I wonder if the peacock did something dumb and bought you as an apology,” Wei Ying mused. “It would be so much better if Dajie just kicked him out. She can keep you two, though. I think I like you. You are very soft. I like soft things.”

One of the rabbits hopped forward and managed to somehow cram itself under Wei Ying’s chin, as if snuggling up to him. The rabbit was so soft, and it was such a sweet gesture that Wei Ying nearly cried.

“I think I need some rabbits, too,” he said, blinking tears out of his eyes. “And if you’re behaving badly, I can always make rabbit stew.”

The next moment, the light in the living room suddenly turned on, and Wei Ying was momentarily blinded by the sudden glare of the light.

“What do you think you are doing?”

“What the hell!” Wei Ying groaned, trying to shield himself from the stabbing pain of the bright light. “That hurts!”

The next thing he knew, the two rabbits were removed from his chest.

“Noo!” Wei Ying whined. “We just became friends! The cruelty!”

But no mercy awaited him. Instead, once his vision cleared, he found a perfect stranger staring down at him, the two rabbits safely cradled in his arms.

“What do you think you are doing?” the stranger asked again.

“What the fuck are you doing in Dajie’s house?” Wei Ying shot back, a little hysterical. He’d never seen this man before in his life. What was he doing in his precious sister’s house?

“This is my house!” the stranger exclaimed.

That gave Wei Ying pause. With blurry eyes, he looked around. The general architecture of the house seemed to be quite similar to the one Jiang Yanli shared with the peacock, but the furniture most definitely wasn’t. The furniture here was all elegant dark wood with white and blue accents, absolutely nothing that Jin Zixuan would ever want in his gaudy house.

This was also the point where Wei Ying remembered that his sister lived on a street with several houses that were built around the same time and looked remarkably similar to each other, and uh. His orientation might not work best when he was inebriated?

“Fuuuuuuuck,” he groaned. “This is not Dajie’s house. Shit, she’s going to kill me. I’m just going to show myself out. And maybe drown myself in the next body of water. I promise I wasn’t trying to rob you or anything.”

He struggled to his feet, trying to find his footing. Somehow, the movement made him feel a little dizzy, and before he knew it, he’d grasped the stranger’s arm to steady himself.

That brought him eye to eye with the rabbits again.

“Awww babies, I’m so sooorry,” he cooed to them. “We only just met and it’s already goodbye. Be good children for your papa, okay?”

He leaned forward and gave both of them a little smooch.

As he straightened up, he came face to face with the stranger. And what a handsome stranger it was! Such pretty, dark eyes, and such elegant eyebrows! And that mouth! So kissable! Did he know that his mouth was very kissable?

“Do you know you’re really, really handsome?” Wei Ying asked the stranger. “Like, so handsome. Kissable handsome. Oh! Do you also want a kiss? I would totally kiss you. Ah, but I’m a man. Maybe you don’t like getting kisses from men. What a waste though. I would totally kiss you. And do wicked, wicked things with you. Well, not that I’ve ever done wicked things with anyone. I would make an exception for you, though! Too handsome not to be kissed.”

The handsome stranger was not at all impressed, apparently. Without comment, he untangled himself from Wei Ying and went over to the rabbit cage, placing the rabbits back inside the cage. He didn’t close the latch before giving both of them a quick petting.

It was very sweet, Wei Ying thought. He also wanted someone to put him to bet with a little bit of gentle petting.

“I’m, uh,” he stuttered, “just going to show myself out, I guess.”

But before he could return to the window he had snuck in from, the stranger had taken a hold of him and was pushing him down the hallway.

“Oh,” Wei Ying said as the stranger opened a door that clearly led to a bedroom. “Is this some kind of kinky porn situation? ‘Please, don’t call the cops, I’ll do whatever you want!’ Am I doing it right?”

The stranger did not comment, but placed him on the bed and disappeared for a moment. When he returned, he handed Wei Ying a pair of pyjamas.

“Good night,” the handsome stranger said. “Do not disturb the rabbits again.”

And then he was left alone.

Wei Ying considered a window escape for a short moment, but he was already sitting on a very comfy bed, he was tired, and it was cold outside. Inertia was already claiming him. With a shrug of his shoulders, he wriggled out of his own clothing and clumsily slipped into the (very comfortable) pyjamas. By the time his head hit the pillow, his eyes were already closed.

---

Wei Ying woke up in an unfamiliar room.

He panicked for a moment. Fuck, where was he?

But then his mind was generous enough to remind him of his little criminal break-in last night, and he shot out of bed in a panic, scrambling to slip into his clothes. He had broken into a stranger’s house! And played with said stranger’s rabbits in a dark living room!

Okay, the rabbits had been very cute.

But still!

He left the bedroom, hurried down the hallway and burst into the living room without ceremony.

There was the same stranger from last night, Wei Ying saw with relief, his precious little rabbits settled in his lap as he was feeding them some leafy greens.

“I am so sorry!” Wei Ying exclaimed. “I totally broke into your house last night. And you even let me sleep here! I guess I really have to thank you for not calling the cops on me.”

“Hn,” the strangers replied, and gave another green leaf to the black rabbit.

“I’m Wei Ying, by the way,” Wei Ying said awkwardly. “In case you want a name. For the police. Or, uh.”

The stranger finally deigned to look up from the rabbits in his lap, and look at Wei Ying properly.

“Lan Zhan,” he said, and then he turned back to his rabbits.

A pretty name for a handsome man. It seemed unfair somehow.

Wei Ying stood in the middle of the living room for a moment, unsure of what he was supposed to do now. But the rabbits were right there, adorably munching on their leaves. Wei Ying inched a little closer, hoping against hope that he would manage to get another cuddle in before he was kicked out of the house.

Lan Zhan looked up when he saw Wei Ying approach, but turned his attention back to the rabbits without comment, so Wei Ying chose to interpret this as permission.

Once he had come close enough, Lan Zhan lifted the black rabbit and held it out for Wei Ying to hold.

“This is Ying,” Lan Zhan explained. Then he pointed at the white rabbit still in his lap. “This is Guang.”

Wei Ying laughed. “Guangying. I see. You are terrible at naming things.”

Lan Zhan sent him a flat look that clearly spelled people who drunkenly break into other people’s homes have no room to complain.

“Sorry,” Wei Ying laughed. He cradled Ying to his chest and cooed at him. “A-Ying is a good child, despite the terrible name. Ah, you are so cute, I want to eat you.”

Lan Zhan sent him a stern glare that made Wei Ying laugh again.

“No eating the rabbits, I see,” he hummed as he bumped noses with Ying. “Just a lot of kisses and love.”

“You promised me one too.”

“What?”

Wei Ying looked at Lan Zhan in confusion, but Lan Zhan was still feeding Guang, not looking at Wei Ying.

“You said I’m too handsome not to be kissed.”

Wei Ying blushed deeply and hid behind little Ying. “Oh my god, don’t listen to my drunk babbling! I can’t believe that after I broke into your house, I also harassed you.”

“So, not handsome enough to be kissed?”

“What?”

He peeked out behind Ying and found Lan Zhan gazing at him with a peculiar look in his eyes. When Lan Zhan was sure he had Wei Ying’s attention, he lifted his finger to his lips and tapped them twice.

Wei Ying burned. There was no way he could possibly–

He strode forwards to deposit little Ying safely back into Lan Zhan’s lap. But before Wei Ying could draw back and flee to safety himself, Lan Zhan had taken hold of his arm and drawn him in.

Their lips brushed gently, and when Lan Zhan released him, there was a smile on his face.

“Payment,” he said with evident satisfaction. “Go to your sister. She must be worried.”

And Wei Ying, still blushing furiously, could do nothing but flee. This time, out of the front door and not the window.

What a payment, he thought as he hurried along the path in front of the house. Stealing someone’s first kiss like that. How could he take the words of a drunken man seriously!

He turned a corner and watched the house disappear. Never again was he getting lost in this street!

…but maybe he might want to break in again. Just for the rabbits. To make sure Lan Zhan was treating them right.

---

* Ying as in 影 yǐng, not �� yīng.

* Guang as in 光, the same character as Hanguang-jun. :3

* So it’s…. light and shadow, basically. Hahaha.

#kuro answers #the untamed #wei wuxian #lan wangji #wangxian #mdzs #prompts #enter21

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kiribaku-queen · 4 years

Text

Unexpected [3/8]

Pairing: Dabi x reader, Hawks x reader, Touya x reader

Fluff, angst, AU

Word count: 2.4K

A/N: To make up for being late last week, here’ s an early update! Enjoy! Please let me know what you think and if you would like to be added to the tag list!!!

Summary: Being quirkless wasn’t so bad. Especially when you had two badass best friends that had amazing quriks to make up for it. That is until one of them breaks your heart by disappearing in thin air. And the other breaks your heart by wanting to focus on his hero work. After coming back to Japan after studying abroad for 5 years, you were in for a whirlwind of surprises.

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8]

Some people say that you shouldn’t hook up with your ex. Ever! That’s a huge no-no when you break up. But, isn’t it okay if you guys don’t have any feelings towards each other? Afterall, it wasn’t like you and Keigo were dating again. It’s simply… casual hookups.

It’s not like he was stopping by your place every day and sleeping over every night. It’s not like he visits you at work sometimes. And it’s not like you get the butterflies after seeing him… Yeah, it’s not like that. Not like that at all.

You had to consistently wear your winter outfits to work because Keigo wouldn’t stop leaving marks all over your neck. They were so high, almost reaching your jaw. Make up can only do so much to cover it up. And you tried to avoid wearing skirts that rose too much because, lo and behold, bruises in the shape of his large hands on the back of your thighs. It was hard enough that some of your coworkers commented on it. You really didn’t want the kids to see. How inappropriate and embarrassing would that be? You needed to be really careful and take more precautions to ensure that.

The bell rang, indicating that the class period was over. Lunch was next and you breathed a sigh of relief. You were starving and truthfully, needed a break. All your students took out their lunches while you packed up your teaching materials and headed back to the staffroom that was on the third floor. On your way to the staffroom, you walked up the stairs that revealed the open air. The fresh air, along with the warm sun hitting your skin, was something you needed at the moment. You leaned over the edge, closed your eyes, and took in the breeze.

“Hey there, gorgeous,” an all too familiar voice rang in your ears. You didn’t even need to think twice to know who it was. The moment you opened your eyes, your favorite pair of flirty, golden eyes came into sight. An automatic smile crossed your face.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, still smiling. It’s not like you were complaining, but it wasn’t an every day occurrence either. Hawks was also leaning against the edge, but on the opposite side. He was utilizing his wings to keep him afloat.

“Oh, you know. Just in the neighborhood and wanted to say hi. Hi,” he says in a deep, sly voice. Giving you the biggest side smile. You laugh at his flirty manner.

“Well Mr. Hawks. I’m hungry and you’re taking into my lunch time,” you teased. Hawks raised a brow, almost as if he was accepting a challenge.

“Fine, go and have your lunch. But what ever shall I do with this freshly picked flower then?” he pulled out a single, gorgeous, fully bloomed, white lily. A small gasp escaped your mouth. It was beautiful. You looked at the flower, back at Hawks, and then back at the flower. You knew if you reached for it now, he would retract the flower, not giving you a chance to hold it in your hands. Instead, you stuck out your lower lip even more and gave him those puppy eyes you know he can’t resist. He saw the look in your face and you knew you got him. “Take it.” he insisted, handing you the beautiful flower. You gladly took it, taking it to your nose and taking in its essence.

“Thank you. I love it,” you thanked him, admiring the flower in front of you. You then looked at him with an apologetic expression. “But I really am hungry. Thanks for visiting though,” you grabbed his hand, gave it a tight squeeze and turned around. But you stopped in your tracks when you heard Hawks loudly and obnoxiously cleared his throat. You slowly turned on your heels to face him.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” he puckered his lips, waiting for a kiss. But you quickly dismissed him.

“I’m at work!” you whisper shouted to him, stating the obvious. You could probably already get into trouble with him visiting you during school hours. Getting caught kissing? You would get fired for sure! And you just started. You couldn’t afford to get fired over smooching with one of the pro-heroes. But Hawks wasn’t backing down. He wouldn’t leave until he got what he wanted. Quickly looking side to side and behind you, making sure the sight was clear, you quickly tugged on his collar and pecked him on the lips.

“Happy?”

“Very.” He commented. You roll your eyes to show him that you were annoyed at him but the smile of your face said otherwise.

“Good. Now get out of here bird man,” you shooed him away. He chuckled and pushed himself off the ledge, now trying to stabilize himself in the air.

“See you later tonight?” he asks like hes afraid that you were going to say no. You softened your expression and nodded your head in confirmation.

“See you tonight,” you said and started walking back to the staffroom, a light pink blush stained your cheeks. Hawks balled his fists up in victory and flew away while doing backflips in the air out of excitement. You looked back for the last time and watched his silly somersaults. You shook your head and finally, finally headed to the staffroom.

In the distance on top of a large building that had a good view of the school, two villains stood watching the pro-hero Hawks. They saw him swoop in to talk to some female. That female being you. The villain with greyish-blue hair and hands all over him slanted his eyes at the hero.

“So that’s Hawks?” he asks in a monotone voice. He didn’t even need to ask. He knew that was Hawks: their next target. It was more of a confirmation than a question. But nonetheless, the person standing next to him hummed in response, not taking his eye off of you two.

“Another school. Shall we take more children this time? That seemed to rile up All Might and Endeavor. Why not do the same to the number 3 hero?” The masked man talked out his plan, laughing ominously. The man beside him continue to observe the pro-hero. His eyes flickered to you and immediately saw the pink tint in your cheeks. Ah, he got it now.

“Not the children. The teacher,” he informed the masked man, using the same monotone voice. This caused the masked man to laugh even harder.

“Even better. Dabi, you know what to do,” he commanded, walking away while Hawks was doing his somersaults in the air. But Dabi didn’t respond. He continued to look in your direction and saw you turn around to look at the hero. He continued to stare at you with his ocean, blue eyes before turning around and following his boss, Shigaraki.

It was the end of the day for the kids, but not the end of the day for you, unfortunately. You had to stay back to finish grading and also to get ahead of preparing next week’s materials. You didn’t stay back too often, but today was just one of those days. Your phone buzzed next to you. Checking the notification real quick, you stopped everything you were doing when you saw Hawks’ name pop up.

Can’t wait to see you tonight.

God, you swore he made you feel like you guys were in high school again. Something about him just made your heart race and make you feel giddy inside. Sometimes the emotion was too much that you feel like you wanted to explode. You took a deep breath to calm yourself. Deep breaths. You guys weren’t together. Just casual hookups. That’s all it was. Nothing more. No need to feel like a teenage girl again. But the moment you saw his text message again, all those feelings you were trying to repress were coming back tenfold. As soon as you were about to text him back, your phone died. You cursed yourself for not being a portable charger.

You were almost done with your work for the day. By the time you looked out the window, the sun had set. You didn’t realize that you were at the office for that long. Knowing that your phone died and it was dark outside, something in your gut was telling you something wasn’t right. But it was generally safe around this part of town. And it wasn’t like you hadn’t gone home like this before. Nothing happened then. Nothing was going to happen this time. You gathered your belongings and headed back home.

Hawks stared at his phone. You had seen his text message so why weren’t you responding? Maybe you were trying to play hard to get. Okay, he can get down with that. He just had to show you a good time tonight to get rid of that attitude. Looking at his watch, the minute hand just hit 6. Great, he had one more hour until his shift was over and then he was on his way to your heaven.

Just then, Hawks stopping in his tracks, letting a few of his feathers sharply fly into a dark alleyway. He stalked towards the alleyway, senses on high alert. He had pinned a dark figure against the wall. Not enough where his feathers pierced his skin but enough to keep him in his place.

“Who are you.” Hawks demanded, ready to pull out his sword made out of his feathers in case this guy pulls any tricks. The figure didn’t say anything. But Hawks was patient. “Oi, I can do this all day.” This made the figure burst out laughing. His laugh was menacing enough to leave chills running down his back. Okay, he was dealing with a crazy person. He wasn’t going to let his guard down. This could turn real bad.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” the man said as he finished laughing. He lifted his head to reveal his greyish-blue hair, cracked skin and wild eyes. Shigaraki Tomura! Without hesitation, Hawks whipped out his sword-like weapon and put the tip against Shigaraki’s neck. This made Shigaraki start his giggle fit again.

“(y/n), isn’t it? Pretty name.” Upon hearing your name come out of his chapped lips, Hawks became angry and tightened his grip on his sword. But he knew he shouldn’t do anything rash. Now that they know your name, he couldn’t let anything happen to you.

“What do you want?” he asked through his teeth. He was so angry that he clenched his teeth together to hard that they could break if he tightened them any harder. Shigaraki refused to answer. “Are you here alone?” he continued to ask. Hawks took a deep breath and concentrated on the air. He couldn’t feel anyone around them. So he was alone. Easier on him then. “Then no one’s going to save you when I slice your head off!” he lifted his sword, ready to attack him. But Shigaraki smirked, his body turning into black sludge, forming a puddle below him. This caused Hawks to stop his attack midair, mortified at the sight he was seeing. Shigaraki looked up at the hero and then in the direction of your school.

“I’m not the one who needs saving.” He said before completely turning into a black mess on the floor. He was gone. But that’s not what was important. “(y/n)…” he whispered your name and in a second, he was already in the air, flying straight to your school. “Shit, shit, SHIT!” he screamed, impressively weaving through buildings. He was trying to get to you as fast as he could, pushing himself to his limits, but it wasn’t enough! He tried calling you. Over and over again. But you weren’t picking up. His heart started to race like never before. No. This was not happening. He reached your school but when he saw how dark your school was, his heart sank. But he never knew. He dispersed all his red feathers to search the school. Again, nothing. No one was there. He checked your place. Not there. He checked his place. Not there either. So, where the hell were you?

You were almost back at your apartment when you felt fear take over your whole body. You could feel eyes watching you, but you didn’t know what to do. You were frozen in fear. All of a sudden, multiple figures appeared from the shadows, surrounding each side of you. With each step they took towards you, the more you were physically shaking. You eyed all of them, trying to figure out what kind of defensive attack you could do, but there were too many of them. All you could do was run. But where to? They would catch you no matter what direction you went in. But it was better than surrendering yourself to them. So you did it. You ran like your life depended on it. Like you predicted, you were caught easily. One of the guys caught your arm in a tight hold, bringing you down. But you don’t remember what happened next because the next thing you knew, you were seeing black. You passed out.

You jolted awake. But your vision was cut off something covering your eyes. Most likely a blindfold. Or at least, you hoped it was a blindfold. You tried to move but it was useless. You were sitting in a chair, hands tied behind your back and feet tied together. A cloth was also wrapped around your mouth to prevent you from speaking. Classic. What a classic way to wake up to a kidnapping. Soon enough, someone took off your blindfold. White, blinding light abused your poor eyes. You couldn’t help but squint at the sudden brightness and tried to blink so that you could get used to it. But moment you completely opened your eyes to your surroundings, the first thing you saw were sapphire eyes. And for a moment, a flashback flashed before your eyes: seeing the red haired boy you used to love. Coming back to reality, he may have the same eyes but he was not the person you were imagining. He had black hair, purple scars all over his face and body, and staples carved into his skin. He looks into your eyes and smirks.

“Morning Doll.”

A/N: Let’s do this again. TeamHawks or TeamDabi????

Tagged: @ditu-m9 @flowersgirl02 @snuckerfrcnicken @complicatedharry @bestgirlkonan

#dabi x reader #hawks x reader #Touya x reader #hawks imagines #dabi imagines #bnha dabi #bnha hawks #bnha imagines #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #touya is dabi change my mind

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ot3 · 4 years

Note

your last post made me think about how I loooove how you use color in your art, it's so vibrant and full of life and movement and expression! I was wondering if you had any advice on how to do color studies? perhaps doing drawings with limited palettes? or anything similar?

First things first, thank you, I really do appreciate comments like these! this post now also has a follow up for finish limited palette pieces

I'm obviously very fond of limited palette art and color studies/color thumbnailing are great ways to get that done. When people think limited palette there's often the association of unrealistic and fantastical color palettes, but learning to limit your color use absolutely applies to semirealism and just builds stronger color theory in general. I was planning to talk about limited palettes in more realistic color use in this post, but this already ended up way too long. If that's something people want to hear about I can talk about it later.

Color theory basics crash-course! I'm sure almost anyone who has colored anything is familiar with this, so I'll be SUPER brief, but I want everyone to be on the same page for this. Color has three qualities you need to take into account: Hue, saturation, and brightness. Hue is what we think of as the 'color'. Saturation is the vibrancy of this color; how bold or dull it is. Brightness is how light or dark the color is. Here's this all labeled on a color picker I stole from google.

As a rule of thumb, things that look good in color should look good in grayscale. Having a strong range of values (brightness) makes for a strong image. Keep this in mind when you're picking colors – knowing what areas need to be light and what areas need to be dark before you start coloring will make your life easier. I'm going to teach you when and how to break this rule later, but for now let's just talk about picking a palette. I've found five to seven different colors to be a really nice sweet spot for working with limited palettes.

There are three main types of color palettes ill work with and ill provide examples each of them. I expect you to all politely refrain commenting on the amount of homestuck fanart that's here.

Monochromatic, where the piece is all within one color family with slight variations in hue, and larger variations in brightness and saturation

Accent, which is essentially the same as a monochromatic type with the addition of a strong, contrasting secondary color in one or two variants. Normally the accent color is lighter and serves as a highlight. This is not any kind of a hard rule, but is instead just what I like.

Split. There are two (or more) main colors at play, each with a couple of different shades.

Cool. Now lets see how we'd go about making one of these palettes.

I'm grabbing an inconsequential sketch i've already got and we're gonna slap some color on it. Let's start monochromatic – I've gone and just tossed six pretty random shades of green on it, picking what goes where based on what I want to be light and what I want to be darker.

Keep in mind, by monochromatic, I don't mean just picking one color and making it lighter or darker! Adjust your hue within the same color family – some of these are very blue, definitely more blue than green, and some are much warmer and yellower. Play around. In this stage I like to have every color on a distinct layer, so I can just recolor the entire layer at once as I tweak the palette.

On the right, I have each color lined up in order of lightest to darkest just so I can get a sense of what I'm working with. Lets go ahead and call this one thumbnail. Now I'm gonna group the layers, duplicate them, and flatten the copy. I'll shrink it down and shove it off to the side so I can compare it to the other ones I make later.

Okay, I did a few more almost completely arbitrary monochromatic palettes. Here they are compared with their grayscale counterparts.

All of them have the same number of colors, and lights stay lights, darks stay dark, midtones stay mid consistent between all of them, but the range of values is different between them all. The difference in light or dark between each tone is different and it gives a different mood that you can see even in black and white. None of them is more 'correct' than any other, and it's all about establishing the tone and atmosphere you want. Experimentation is key.

Now lets try making this a complimentary palette. With a strong accent color, your accent should be placed at areas of importance. People are naturally drawn to contrast and when using an accent color in a piece it'll make that area stick out, so make sure you're placing your colors with intent. For this I went back to that first set of greens I had because it was my favorite. Since this palette is over all very dark, I am going to make my accent the lightest color, because that'll stand out more. In a lighter palette, try making your accent the darkest color. Once again I must stress these are not hard rules – there are very few hard rules in art at all – but these are very useful tips for getting emphasis in the right place. This is just an example piece so I'm not being huuugely thoughtful with how I'm placing the color.

Here's the same image but with the lightest green just swapped out for a far more vibrant accent of yellow. Looks pretty terrible. I don't want all of the papers and blinds to seem so prominent. So let's scrap this and try a different approach. We're gonna instead add our accent as a sixth color to our palette.

By adding another color, I've added another level of detail. Figuring out how to manage detail isn't just dependent on how many colors you have, but this is already going to be ridiculously long so I'll spare you that spiel. This is another one of those things I'll talk about more later if people want to hear my #thots. Using the new yellow accent, I emphasized the eyes, the mug, and added some interior detailing to the objects on the table. I also decided to place yellow in some of the windows of the outside buildings, to add a bit more interest in that area, and to justify giving yellow back lighting to our little goblin lad here, which makes him stand out nicely.

A split palette makes things a whole lot more complicated. Now that you're gonna be working with two different base colors you don't just only have to worry about which one is lighter or darker, you have to worry about how the hues look next to each other. Lets work with an orange on top of our original green here. I picked two of the greens and replaced the darker one with a darker orange, and the lighter one with a lighter orange. Now our palette is six colors split 50/50 between orange+yellow, and green.

But now something interesting is happening. Let's take a look. If you're particularly keen eyed, you might have noticed that there's a third set of colors here, using a greyish brown in place of the oranges. What's up with that?

Well, what's up with that is, they are orange. The palette on the far right is what happens if, instead of choosing my own oranges, I simply hue-shifted the bluegreens until they were technically orange in hue.

The oranges I chose just based on how they looked without actually checking the value and saturation of actually changed the value hierarchy of the whole piece. The table, instead of being in between the objects stacked upon it in terms of brightness, is lighter than either. This isnt bad at all – there's absolutely nothing wrong here. It's just important to be aware of things like this! This is why I said a split palette is the most complicated of the three I'm talking about here – in many occasions, the hue hierarchy can top the value hierarchy. Keep that in mind for slightly later.

I think split palettes work really well for comics, and I like to make my comics with split palettes. Whereas with a single illustration, you can just putz around with your color thumbnails until you get something good, for a comic you're locked into your palette once you've done the first page. Unless you're some sort of insanely meticulous person, in which case I envy you, you probably don't have every single page of your comic blocked out with respective values and can't apply your palette to the whole thing at once to test it. This means you'll need a palette that's pretty versatile. Having a split palette where one of the hue sets is lighter than the other overall allows you to decide whether you're going to create an overall light panel with dark accents, or vice versa. I'm gonna compare two palettes I'm using for comics to make this point.

Here's a sampling of the comic pages in full color, at 0% saturation, and adjusted for grayscale respectively. You'll notice a slight difference between the desaturated colors and the grayscale colors – grayscale seems to hold truer to the full color version, doesn't it?

Now, here are the palettes themselves, and some grids showing the relationship between every pair of colors. When you don't know exactly what you're going to be using any given palette for, the relationship between any two colors becomes more important than ever. The bottom palette is split three ways, red yellow and blue each with a light and a dark, and then a completely neutral dark gray color. I'm using it for a long ongoing ace attorney comic I'm drawing. The top one has 4 shades of blue that go from darker and cooler to lighter and warmer, then 3 shades of orange that get yellower as they get lighter. Underneath is just the values – you'll notice that the top palette has a larger value range, with its lightest color being lighter than that of the bottom palette, and it's mid tones spaced further apart.

What you'll also notice about the bottom palette is that instead of the reds being lighter than the blues and darker than the yellows, the value alternates dark red dark yellow light red light yellow. Take a look at the color grids. You'll notice that for the most part, every color in the palette on the right looks good with every other color. That's not nearly as true for the palette on the left. The light blue has a weird vibration where it meets either of the reds, and a few of the pairings just aren't particularly pleasant. Honestly, from any objective ideas of color theory, this palette kind of sucks shit. Lets make some adjustments to it.

I've changed the dark yellow and light red hues so now the light red is slightly darker than the dark yellow. That's the palette that's on top now. Looks better, doesn't it? But so now the question becomes why am I using a palette that looks awkward, disharmonious, and visually strained when I know exactly how to fix it? The simple answer is because I wanted a color palette that's awkward. I wanted that visual strain. I have trouble working on comics and general, especially anything as long as this one, and I wanted a color palette that already meant things would come out looking a little bit wonky, so I wouldn't be as concerned with nitpicking all the details and making everything pretty. I think the sort of visual upset also fits the tone I'm keeping with a lot of the comic.

Remember earlier when I said I'd talk about breaking the rule of stuff looking good in gray scale and in color? That's now. Take a look at this image.

Which of the three colors is darker: the red, blue, or yellow? The stupid truth of it is that there's not really a proper way to tell. All three are technically the same 'brightness' but our brain tells us that the blue is the darkest, and the yellow is the lightest. Why do our brains do this? Let’s make em gray now.

On the bottom you can see what the colors look like when they are set to 0% saturation; as you'd expect it's a homogeneous gray blob. So then what the fuck is going on with the grayscale one? The grayscale one is closer to the way our brains interpret the colors, but we know this to be an improper rendering of their respective values. Which is the correct version, then – the grayscale or the desaturation? Luckily, we're using a computer, so we can have photoshop tell us the exact balance of hue, saturation, and brightness of any given pixel. Let's take a look now.

Wait, huh? We can plainly see that all three of the colors are at 49% brightness. But neither the desaturated value or any of the 3 grayscale values have a brightness of 49%. So what does a brightness of 49% look like?

Okay. Sure. Why not.

All of what I've just shown you regarding grayscale is to emphasize the point that your best judgment for which colors look good is a far better measuring stick for a good color palette than any technicalities. Even if the value is the same, the hue can differ enough that you can still get a beautiful finished drawing. Color and our perception of it is so, so vastly technically complex. You can not allow yourself to be bogged down by this. Simply practice, and color will become intuitive to you over time. I have a lot more I could say on the subject of picking and using your colors, but this is already insanely long. Feel free to ask any follow up questions, I hope this was of literally any use!

#long post #uhhhhh.#color theory #i guess #i drew this #Anonymous

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danceworshipper · 3 years

Text

Oliver Adams - HPHM Profile [redone]

(information is as of sixth year - shared universe with @ask-hphm-crew)

Identity

Name: Oliver Tyler Adams

Gender: Male (cis)

Age: 16

Birthday: May 28th, 1973 (gemini)

Species: Human/wizard

Blood Status: Halfblood

Sexuality: Pansexual

Alignment: Neutral Good

Residence: The family farm in the Irish countryside. It's huge, a bit outdated decoration-wise, and homey. His room is on the third floor, looking out over the field and he can see the sunrise if he wakes up early enough. The farm is so old and imbued with magic that Oliver can use underage magic without the Ministry finding out

Personality Type: ESFJ-A (the consul)

Magic

Wand: 13 3/4 inches of pliant pine wood encasing a phoenix feather core. The wand is thick and heavy, light in color, and with no defining marks other than Oliver's name carved into it with a knife. Doing this did not damage the wand in any way, but when Ollivander saw it he nearly had a heart attack.

Animagus: A mixed breed cat, Siamese/Ragdoll, similar to the stray cats that lounge around the farm

Misc. Magical Abilities: Legilimency and Occlumency, though he doesn't practice them often

Boggart Form: In earlier years, it was a werewolf, since one could be heard howling somewhere near the farm during full moons. As he got older and met actual werewolves like Chiara, Oliver lost his fear of them and his boggart changed to a mortally wounded vision of himself, having failed to save anyone from the vaults and meeting his own painful end

Riddikulus Form: The vision of himself is instead only afflicted with a concussion, with his Quidditch team mothering him as he insists he's fine

Amortentia (what do they smell like?): Oliver would smell like roast chicken, fresh tomatoes, and bright sunshine

Amortentia (what do they smell?): At the current point, Oliver smells the ocean, cat fur, and wood polish. As he has no strong romantic interest (though that may change very soon) the smells just make him happy and aren't related to any specific person

Patronus: Dolphin

Patronus Memory: His first time seeing the ocean. Nothing went wrong that day, and he got to see dolphins for the first time too. He and his family all had a great time together.

Mirror of Erised: His mother and grandparents standing proudly behind him. It's his graduation day, not an injury to him. Everything turned out okay

Specialized/Favorite Spells:

- Reficere Aspectu - temporarily repairs his vision. The spell he uses for Quidditch matches.

- Lumos, Aguamenti, Wingardium Leviosa - extremely useful spells for around the farm

- Arania Exumi - spider repellent is always useful

- Orchideous - he conjures flowers for his mother and grandmother all the time

- Reparo - the first Transfiguration spell he got on the first try

Appearance

[concept image made using the zepeto app]

Height: 6'3

Weight: 191 lbs

Physique: Skinny with noticeable muscles from all the Quidditch and farming

Eye Color: Light, slightly greyish blue

Hair Color: Dirty blonde, usually kept in a bowl cut that his mother gives him. Oliver knows it's not fashionable (Andre is constantly nagging him to change it) but he doesn't really care enough to learn hair charms

Skin Tone: Light, no freckles. He burns easily so when he comes back at the start of every year he's a bit pink

Body Modifications: His eyesight is atrocious. He wears round glasses most of the time and uses a temporary vision charm for Quidditch

Scarring: Oliver has a nasty scar on his back from being kicked by a cow as a kid, and some scratches on his arms and legs from the various animals and work around the farm

Fashion: This kid has no fashion. Andre is in hell. Oliver wears shorts whenever he can and t-shirts. If it's cold he'll add a flannel. Around sixth year he starts updating his wardrobe a bit, but keeps his usual clothing for around the farm. No point having decent clothing get all dirty and ripped up

Hogwarts

House: Gryffindor

Class Grades:

- Astronomy: E

- Care of Magical Creatures: E

- Charms: A

- Defense Against the Dark Arts: E

- Divination: E

- Flying: O

- Herbology: O

- History of Magic: A

- Potions: A

- Transfiguration: A

Quidditch: Keeper since year 3

Extracurriculars: Dragon Club, Gobstones Club

Favorite Professor: Professor McGonagall. She's his head of house, and she reminds Oliver a bit of his grandmother with her stern but kind nature. She encourages his love of Transfiguration, even if he isn't the best at it, and she's a huge Quidditch fan

Least Favorite Professor: Professor Dumbledore. Oliver is an easygoing, agreeable guy most of the time. He respects his elders as his grandparents taught him, but only when they deserve it. Dumbledore most certainly does not

Relationships

Mother: Katie Adams

- Katie is a shy, quiet woman. She was homeschooled for most of her life, receiving at-home tutoring in her later years as her mother Gertrude was unable to properly teach her what she needed to know, and she's only seen the inside of Hogwarts twice: when she sat in for her O.W.L.s and her N.E.W.T.s.

- As a mother, Katie made sure to raise Oliver to be kind and always drink his Respect Women Juice. She had him take on some of the farm duties at a young age to help teach him responsibility

- Oliver got kicked by a cow when she turned her back on him for no more than ten seconds. Katie's boggart is what would have happened had Oliver been standing slightly closer - he would have been paralyzed, as the kick would have hit his neck

Father: Kyle Donovan

- Oliver never knew him. He was a muggle who left Katie shortly after she became pregnant

- He was a decent guy in general, but the idea of being a father at the age of 24 scared him and he ran like a coward. He never knew about the Wizarding world, and even if he wanted to return to try and make amends he'll never be able to find the family farm ever again, thanks to Marvin

Grandfather: Marvin Adams

- Marvin is a cranky, slightly old fashioned kind of guy. He cares a lot about tradition and keeps telling Oliver that one day the farm will be his, and then his kids', and then their kids'. Oliver doesn't have the strength to tell him he's not sure he wants kids at all

- Marvin loves his wife. There were many times in their relationship where it looked like the marriage was about to fall apart, but they were somehow always able to get through them - mostly by him apologizing to Gertrude

- Oliver is able to hold his own in a duel thanks to Marvin. Despite being an old crud, he's got a lot of fight in him

Grandmother: Gertrude Adams

- Gertrude was horrified that Oliver was going to grow up without a male influence, which is why Katie never moved off the family farm with him. The old woman made Oliver learn to cook and sew so that he wouldn't be a useless husband in the future

- She's the type of person who'll say that she still dreams of marrying her teenage sweetheart and moving to an island with him, but she doesn't mean it. She loves her family and her life, but she does one day want to retire on an island

- After Oliver graduates Hogwarts and takes over the farm, Gertrude will finally be able to convince Marvin that they can retire without worrying over the farm, and they'll move to a lovely beach house. Her last ten years will be spent in her own little paradise

Love Interest: Isla Lyall @sapphicsaffir

- Isla is the twin sister of Vera, one of Oliver's closest friends in Gryffindor. Isla is in Ravenclaw, so originally they didn't spend much time together. However, Oliver always found Isla cuter than Vera

- People who didn't know them well thought Oliver and Vera liked each other, but anyone who did know them knew Vera would rather die, and that Oliver preferred the red haired twin over the blonde one

- Vera is the one who keeps pushing to get them together. She told Oliver that she knows Isla likes him, but he refused to believe it. Still, she kept trying, saying that if anyone had to be her brother-in-law she'd rather it be him

- In fourth year, Ravenclaw lost a crucial match and it took them out if running for the House Cup. Isla, a chaser, was disappointed, but went to the final match to support her sister and her crush

- Gryffindor won, and in the excitement, Isla ran up to Oliver and yanked him down so she could kiss him. Oliver understandably short-circuited, while Vera yelled "Finally!"

Best Friend: Andre Egwu

- When Oliver first met Andre, they didn't like each other at all. They were on opposing Quidditch teams, after all. But their mutual friends forced them to spend more time together, and now the two are practically inseparable. It makes little sense to most people.

- They're the kind of best friends who insult the living daylights out of each other to show their love

- They went as friends to the Celestial Ball. A few people got the wrong impression, but they've never considered dating each other. They feel more like brothers than anything else

Rival: Anyone on an opposing Quidditch team. Even if the rivalry doesn't affect them off the pitch, Oliver's instinctive reaction when he sees his opponents is one of distaste (ironic since both his best friend and his girlfriend are his rivals)

Enemy: Every last member of R

Dormmates:

- Charlie Weasley

- Ben Copper

- Jae Kim

Pets: a barn owl named Priscilla, and a sheepdog who stays at the farm named Sparky

Closest Canon Friends:

- Charlie Weasley

- Nymphadora Tonks

- Diego Caplan

Closest Noncanon Friends:

- Vera Lyall @sapphicsaffir

- The gang from @ask-hphm-crew

- Unnamed members of the Gryffindor Quidditch team

Storyline

- Oliver was raised a happy, carefree little boy. His incident with the cow never deterred him from helping his mum and grandparents around the farm, and he even gave the cow an "I'm sorry I provoked you" treat as soon as he could. He didn't ask about his father until he was ten, and Gertrude sat him down and told him what happened. Oliver resents the man that fled his mother. Gertrude knew he'd be angry and didn't tell him his father's name

- During his first couple years at Hogwarts, Oliver made friends and charmed his way into most of the professors' good graces. In year three Oliver joined the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and after his first match against Ravenclaw, he and Andre started butting heads until their other friends forced them to hang out more

- Oliver gets involved with the Cursed Vaults almost by accident. He has no cursed brother like the game says, but he does have a desire to help people, so when he hears of a group of students trying to save the school from certain doom, he gets involved right away

- His discovered Legilimency throws him for a loop, as no one in his family has that power. He rarely ever uses his mind reading without permission, but when it becomes necessary he's usually able to do it without the target finding out

- After Hogwarts, Oliver will take ownership of the family farm for a few years, but it's not his passion and he hates the idea of being stuck there for the rest of his life. At age twenty two he sells the farm to one of the farmhands with three young kids and uses the money to buy a bakery with an apartment above it. He grows some of his own ingredients and buys the rest at discount from the old farm, and also runs guitar lessons out of his apartment. His grandparents are a little disappointed, but they understand, and his mother reveals that she had a secret boyfriend who she moves in with and later marries. He's a nice man with a kid a little older than Oliver

- Oliver and Isla have a small wedding a little before the Battle of Hogwarts. A few years later, Isla gives birth to twin girls Kenzie and Kleio. Five years after that, their son Caspian is born

Extra Info

- Oliver is a family man through and through. If he had to, he would have stayed on the farm forever to support his family. When he has his own family, he's an extremely devoted father even though he was never sure he wanted children when he was younger

- Despite not moving on to play Quidditch professionally, Oliver does join a recreational team after he sells the farm, as does Andre, who starts up his own fashion line

- Oliver is a total house husband. Isla is a cursebreaker, and Oliver brags about her to whoever will listen. She often comes home to a fresh cooked meal/baked goods

- Oliver's a cat person. He adopts two stray kittens when he moves to the bakery and loves them with all his heart

- He can't be alone for more than a few days or he'll go crazy. He loves spending time with his friends or even meeting new people

- He starts playing the guitar at the age of seven. Marvin is the one to teach him. Later on he learns about the muggle electric guitar and buys one as soon as he can figure out how to get electricity into his apartment

- Oliver visits his grandparents at their beach house at least five times a year. He can't get enough of the ocean, even when it's too cold to go swimming (and he'll usually do it anyway)

- He's the tallest one in his immediate family. Oliver assumes he got his height from his father, but he actually got the height from Gertrude's side of the family

- Oliver will always prefer to cook himself than to go to a restaurant

- He's a fairly good dueler, but Diego could always kick his ass

- Oliver will try to arrange a big meetup with all of his friends at least once a year. Not everyone can make it every time, but he refuses to let their friendships fade into the past

- He loses the bowl cut in year seven, when Andre convinces Tonks and Diego to hold him down so Andre can fix his hair. Oliver ends up liking it and keeps it that way for years to come

#hogwarts mystery #oliver adams #character profile #hphm mc #zepeto

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beyoncesdragon · 4 years

Text

Are you with me (Newt x Reader)

Requested: N for Nope and Newtie-babes

Warning: sad as fuck, I am sorry. I wrote this right after I saw Death Cure so maybe it’s bad

Summary: Of a broken promise and cold night after everything ended

My Masterlist

(not my Gif)

I carefully sat down next to the boy that was sitting hunched over in the sand. “You good?” I asked softly, wrapping one arm around his shoulders. “I am fine. I just can’t believe this place exists. It’s beautiful.” Newt said quietly, his fingers grazing through the soft sand.

The waves delicately rolled over the shore, leaping up towards us before rolling back into the blue sea. Their light crests of foam were glistening bright white in the slowly setting sun, their constant changing being oddly satisfying to watch. I looked over to the boy sitting next to me. Newt’s hair was uncombed and hanging in messy strands in front of his boyish but yet so serious face. The blond was mixed with single streaks of brown, making his hair look way darker than it actually was. Back in the maze he had them sometimes styled up into a sort of natural quiff, but since they grew longer, they simply parted at his scalp and fell into his face.

I leaned over, brushing an unruly strand from the bridge of his nose, my fingers softly grazing his skin. His lips turned up into a small little smirk as he turned his head to look at me.

“It bothered me.” I explained calmly, earning an amused gaze. “Can’t have that, can we?” he mocked softly, wrapping his other arm around my waist. “Nope.” I grinned faintly, before looking back into the wide blue of sky and sea. The sun sank lower and lower, slowly setting the sky on fire.

“How are you?” Newt asked carefully, taking my free hand into his. I shrugged only, looking around. “I am glad it’s over. I am glad Safe Heaven is as safe as possible but…” a soft lump formed in my throat. Newt’s amused sparkle in his eyes faded quickly, a sad smile flitting over his lips.

“I know.”

He carefully squeezed my hand tighter, pressing a quick kiss on my knuckles. “How is everyone keeping up?” I shrugged, not really willing to talk about anyone else right now. Weren’t my feelings valuable as well? As selfish as it may sounded, it was the raw, ugly truth. Newt gave me a quick glance. “Darling…” I just shook my head.

“I miss you Newt.” I chocked out, burying my face in his jacket. In the first seconds, his scent seemed to completely surround me, when it suddenly started to fade.

I gripped his jacket tighter, not willing to let go yet. His hand drew smoothening circles over my back and he pressed small kisses on my hair.

“I miss you too. Bloody hell, and how I miss you...”

I just sniffled, desperately trying to stop the crying. I wouldn’t want to ruin this special moment we had. Slowly my breathing evened again, eyes suddenly growing weirdly tired. Newt seemed to catch onto that, as he carefully placed my head on his lap, brushing through my hair.

“Relax darling. I will hold you.” I nodded, surprised by my extremely sudden wooziness and closed my eyes slightly. The calming sound of the waves still rushed somewhere in the background, Newt’s fingers tapping a soft rhythm on my hair.

“Are you with me Newt?” I asked quietly, merely a whisper in the wind. Through my half closed eyes I saw him nod softly. “Always my dear. Don’t you worry about that, alright?” I nodded softly, feeling how Newt pressed a quick kiss on my lips, before I closed my eyes completely.

As he drew his lips away from me, I felt like he had pulled all warmth from my body, and all light from my mind. The rhythm of the waves just changed slightly, grew a tiny bit more aggressive and the light conditions changed drastically. Instead of the warm glow the setting sun had shone on us, it was all dark and a simple red flickering of presumably fire irritated my still closed eyes.

“Newt?” I whispered hoarsely, my lips suddenly feeling chapped and dried out. I could still feel the tingle of Newt’s kiss on them though. My eyes fluttered open hesitantly, realization slowly creeping up.

The light flickering of a torch illuminated a greyish rock and my eyes immediately snapped towards a spot somewhere in the middle, but more leftish. Deeply carved into the hard stone there were four letters, all in capitals:

NEWT

Carved into the stone right bellow the letters of Chuck, Ben, Teresa and Alby, seeming darker in the lack of light.

I had woken up.

And Newt was no longer with me.

#newt x reader #newt #newt the maze runner #newt tmr #newt x y/n #newt x you #reader insert #imagines #os #the maze runner imagine #the maze runner #Thomas Brodie Sangster #thomas the maze runner #queue like you get paid

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trashyswitch · 4 years

Text

The Fate of the Fazbear’s Fright

Michael Afton investigates a rundown, abandoned haunted house by the name of Fazbear's Fright. What he actually finds will end up answering a huge missing piece about his family history...

This story takes place in a slightly altered aftermath of FNAF 3. The Fazbear Fright building has not yet burned down, but the building is severely flooded and mostly abandoned for unknown reasons.

Disclaimer: This story has a few swear words in it, and manages to get a bit graphic at certain points.

Further Disclaimer: This fanfic holds implications of an emotionally rocky relationship between William Afton and his son Michael. This relationship stems back to the FNAF 2 game. Please keep this in mind as you read the fanfiction.

I hope you enjoy.

Michael kicked the rusty and broken door to the old Fazbear Fright building right onto the entrance ground. He waved his hand around to clear the dust from his face, and turned on his black plastic flashlight. The dust particles that surrounded the entrance was still there, but not nearly as much as it was when the door first fell. He stepped himself onto the door, dusted off his black work pants and slowly walked himself inside.

Upon walking into the entrance, all there appeared to be was a hallway with half a fazbear suit laying on the ground, and a greyish black door that led to something. He ignored the door for now, and instead chose to continue on to explore the place. It was very dark and dusty, and the walls looked to be a grimy greenish color. The walls looked like it was covered in decorative fake grime that was used to make the Fazbear’s fright more icky. Or maybe, it was actual grime that took over the place from being abandoned. Which one it could’ve been, Michael couldn’t tell you.

Michael walked and followed the hall further, before turning to the right to see windows on the right side of the next hallway. The green, worn-down look to the place was disgustingly decorated with piles of dust on every tiny surface of the Fright house. The windows seemed to be covered in dust as well. Michael blew onto one of the windows, before immediately regretting it once the dust clogged up his lungs. Michael bent himself over and let out multiple strong and heavy coughs to get the dusty particles and grime out of his 20 year old lungs. He felt like he was choking on piles of dust alone, probably mixed with other secret bacteria from decaying building or from withering animatronics. Finally, after a good few dozen strong coughs, he got enough of the dust out of his lungs to somewhat breath properly.

‘Dammit...’ He thought, ‘I should’ve bought myself a dust mask before exploring this old place’ Michael thought to himself.

Michael looked through the semi-covered windows of the room, and noticed the metal desk and the old Animatronic masks laying around in a bin on the side. Was...was this an office? Only one way to find out: Michael grabbed a broken light fixture on the left hall, and threw it through the window. The window glass crashed upon impact, and bits of the window glass crumbled to the floor. With a quick swipe of his sleeve to rid the bottom of the window of the broken glass, Michael hopped himself into the room and landed somewhat smoothly onto the metal green desk.

Michael looked around the room for a second. It was in much worse condition than the hallways were. The metal desk was moldy green, there was a black netted garbage bin with a few kleenexes in it, and a wet cardboard box filled with animatronic heads, a Bonnie guitar, a Foxy hook and a few drawings of the Fazbear Entertainment characters hung up on the walls. The desk also had tiny animatronic bobble heads of Freddy, Bonnie and Chica decorating the desk, as well as...Well…Michael couldn’t tell what that was beside Bonnie…Michael also took note of the fan that was sitting on the desk. With the lights completely out in the old building, Michael assumed the fan was powerless and thus: useless against the dust in the whole building.

Michael hopped out of the window again, and yelped as he landed wrong on his ankle on the hallway floor. Michael took a moment to roll out his ankle and get it working again, before continuing to explore. He walked down the hall further, noting the patchy wires that hung down the walls. He looked around at the roof and noticed that there were roof leaks lining the ceiling panels. It looked like someone had completely flooded this place by mistake and caused some irreversible damage on the ceiling. Michael turned the flashlight around to see the ceilings he had passed. It looked like all of the ceilings down the hallway and onwards were severely leaky. No wonder the place was abandoned.

Michael turned left and started walking down the hallway. Upon the sight of a shadow, Michael jumped and stepped back, thinking he was gonna die. But, Michael gasped as he realized what it really was: an animatronic! Michael looked in disbelief at the look of the animatronic fox. It was Foxy, but all fallen apart and missing skin covers on certain spots. Michael looked at foxy carefully, and sighed upon seeing his run down appearance. It was almost scary how rundown the fox animatronic had gotten. The fox had 2 sets of teeth. What haunted house decoration has 2 SETS OF TEETH?! Down the hall, there were more run down and grimy looking animatronics. Chica was covered in blackish greenish lines that contrasted with his yellow appearance. The eyes were missing as well and there were only white lights indicating where Chica’s eyes were located. The Freddy Fazbear animatronic wasn’t any better. It was covered in black lines as well, and was holding a microphone in his right hand. Poor Freddy Fazbear was missing an ear as well. They looked like they deserved to be thrown into a landfill and either forgotten or destroyed till they were no more.

Michael walked by Freddy, before turning to the left again and encountering Balloon Boy. And GOOD GOD HE WAS CREEPY. He was quite discoloured from infrequent cleaning and was missing both his eyes as well. The only sight of eyes that slightly filled the gigantic eye sockets, was the white little lights that Balloon Boy seemed to share with the rest of the animatronics. The balloon boy looked like he wanted to possess anyone that walked into the room. Could he? Could Balloon Boy possess his body? God, Michael hoped not. Mangle was a creepy, spider-looking mess of a bot. Michael gulped upon seeing Mangle like that. Who would choose to make Mangle into a spider lookin’ abomination like this?! What was Henry thinking?! Was this even Henry? Or was it the Fazbear Fright staff that did this to her? If it was a staff member of the Fazbear Frights, WHY?!

Suddenly, a whiff of this strange, disgusting smell filled the room. And before you say anything, yes. The building smelled bad beforehand. But that was nothing compared to this; It smelled like a moldy, partly decayed animal carcass. But the smell almost carried through half the haunted house. It smelled like a huge cow died in the Fazbear Fright building. Michael walked down the hallway more, and quickly found the source of the smell: it appeared to be an animatronic bunny with greenish gold animatronic skin partly covering the Endo-skeleton. But...it looked like there was also red tubes covering up some of the Endo-skeleton. Were they cords? They looked like they could’ve been cords, but they were...a dull red. And they were wider than the cords dangling on the walls back at the beginning. Michael, not knowing what else to do, lifted his hand up and poked a cord on the right side of the neck with his finger. Michael immediately regretted it when he felt the cord sink in, in an abnormally soft motion. It felt wet, soggy and...almost rubbery. Michael pulled his finger back, and just about physically gagged at the phantom feeling of the large, soft cord.

“Eew.” Michael muttered out loud to himself.

He decided to explore the rest of the animatronic further. The holes between the moldy skin seemed to help him a little. The endo-skeleton seemed to have super narrow red and blue cords running down the suit and sticking out between the suit joints. In the chest area, there was a huge knot of large, thick cords that was surrounded by tiny bright red cords, and the greenish suit fabric. What could’ve been fur skin, looked all sizzled down to just leather looking fabric and any sign of fur had decayed from decades of existence. Michael looked down the legs as well, and couldn’t wrap his head around such a complicated and confusing endo-skeleton design. The missing fabric from the legs seemed to show Michael everything: It looked like someone took a darker endo-skeleton, and designed an endo-skeleton on top of the endo-skeleton. But...why? Why would they do that? Was it extra skeletal parts to make sure the animatronic can walk properly?

Another thing Michael noticed about the suit was how the pelvis area was filled in. There were multiple knots of thick, faded red cords in the pelvis, and the hip bones looked like something right out of a hip replacement surgery: abnormally dark steel surrounded by muscles- ...Wait: the thick cords on the left side of the pelvis look like they’re a different shade of red compared to the faded red shade chosen for the rest of the endo-skeleton. And why do the knots in the abdomen look like they’re different shades of red knotted together? And on that note: Why does it look like Springtrap has a human heart?! Michael moved the fabric covering the red thing in the top middle of the chest. Michael widened his eyes and just about yelped at the horrifying realization:

IT WAS A HUMAN HEART!

Michael looked at it closer. It...wasn’t beating. How did- WHEN DID ANIMATRONICS HAVE HUMAN HEARTS?! Unless…

Michael lifted up his flashlight to look at the head. It looked all grimy, leather textured and seemed to have caved in patches with orange, blue and red tiny cords sticking out of them. To make things even stranger, this was the only animatronic to have their eyes still! Except… these eyes were...clouded? And there were blue lines surrounding the iris. But why?! Why did this animatronic keep their eyes? And why were these eyes behaving differently?

Finally, Michael opened the mouth. This was where the worst of the smell was coming from. Michael covered his nose and mouth, and looked away in disbelief and pure disgust. Michael took a breath in, held it, and looked inside the mouth to see what was inside:

Michael’s jaw dropped in HORROR: THERE WAS A HUMAN CORPSE IN THIS ANIMATRONIC!

Michael couldn’t believe it! And when Michael looked closer at the human head, Michael realized the skull had thin, steel bars impaled into its jaw, mouth and eyes! HOLY SHIT! SOMEONE ACTUALLY DIED IN THIS SUIT! AND THE CORPSE WAS ROTTING INSIDE THE SUIT! Michael let go of the animatronic mouth and stumbled backwards in paralyzed shock. As soon as he came to his senses, he realized something even worse: HE DIDN’T TOUCH SOME CORD: HE TOUCHED CORPSE MUSCLE! Michael gagged in utter revulsion as a slight clash, and his flashlight fell onto the ground as Michael covered his mouth with his left hand. Michael, disgusted, wiped his soiled right finger onto his pants and picked up the flashlight again. Worried he may have broken it, he tested it a couple times.

On, off.

On-

SOMETHINGMOVED!

Michael lifted the flashlight up at the look of something moving. It was an arm. The animatronic bunny with the corpse inside it, was moving its arm back and forth. Michael’s breathing began to quicken as more joints and body parts started to move on its own. Michael took a few steps backwards in anxious disbelief at the movements. Finally, the animatronic lifted its bunny jaw open and revealed the purple skull to him.

The corpse’s white, rotted dead eyes stared right at Michael, and a devilish smirk grew onto their face. “Run.” the skull spoke.

Michael didn’t have to be told twice! He took off sprinting and screaming up the hall and to the exit. As he ran by, Michael grabbed the door handle, and tried opening the door desperately. But it was locked! Completely locked! In a repeated attempt to escape, Michael kicked the door. But this door wasn’t budging. This door’s hatch must’ve been fixed before it closed down! Or it was just jammed shut. Michael pulled and pulled as much as he could, but just couldn’t get the door open!

So, Michael took off sprinting and screaming down the long way in an attempt to escape through the entrance. Michael was ready to zip right past the animatronics that were taking up half the hallway. But Foxy’s arm had shot up and just about clotheslined Michael! Michael stumbled back and observed the blocked path quickly before ducking under the arm. “Sorry buddy! Sorry.” Michael muttered quickly as he grabbed the arm and ducked under the hook. With a huge rotten corpse bunny speed walking itself towards the former night guard, Michael took off running again as soon as he possibly could. As Michael ran, sounds of deafening clashes of animatronic parts could be heard behind him. He looked behind him, and just screamed louder at the sight: the bunny was DESTROYING THE ANIMATRONICS AS IT CAUGHT UP TO HIM! Covering his ears, Michael kept on screaming and sprinting down the hallways.

Michael turned to the right, sprinted down the hallway, and turned a quick right again to reach the door at the end of the hallway. He practically tackled himself into every grimy wall in the hallway, just to make sure he could get there without wasting any time. But as he ran, Michael slipped on the broken glass that was spilled earlier! He came tumbling onto his back and right onto the glass pieces. He yelped at the slight pains in his hands as glass pushed against the softer palms and the boney fingers. But despite how painful it was, Michael lifted himself back up and resumed sprinting. Finally, Michael tripped over the knocked down door frame and flopped the rest of his body onto the door. Michael yelped in pain and discomfort as he looked at his ankle. Just from the look of it, Michael theorized his ankle was either dislocated or sprained. He couldn’t tell the difference. Michael turned onto his back and sat himself up with his slightly cut hands. He carefully poked his ankle for any broken bone bumps: None. He gripped his foot and slightly moved it. No bone collision: just soreness in the muscles. The ankle wasn’t sprained, fractured or dislocated: It was just overturned a little bit. So, Michael stood back up.

But a pair of arms wrapped around him! “AAAAAAAH! NO! NONONONONONONO NOOOOOOOO!” Michael shouted as loud as he could. Michael wiggled, kicked, screamed and punched everywhere he possibly could. Michael reached out and helplessly watched in horror as he was pulled away from his one chance at freedom from this cruel nightmare. Michael shouted, bashed his limbs against the bunny and coughed heavily as the piles of dust in the haunted house re-entered his lungs from being pulled up by the bunny’s deep footsteps. Michael continued to kick and shout, but lessened his shouts a little as he watched where he was going. The bunny’s grip on Michael increased a little. This caused Michael to yelp and kick his legs again. “LET GO OF ME YOU STUPID FUCKING BUNNY!” Michael shouted at the bunny. In an attempt to get it to let go, Michael elbowed into the bunny’s jaw and tried pulling the fingers free from the animatronic. Michael pulled and pulled on the index finger, but it wouldn’t loosen, let alone fall off! So, he tried digging into the arms of the animatronic and pulled on any wires. But he yelped in pain suddenly when he felt his pinky finger get jammed between the endo-skeleton pieces. “OW! AAAAH! OH GOD- FUUUCK! I-” Michael finally gave his pinky a pull and somehow, managed to pull his pinky out in one full piece! “OHTHANKGOD…” He muttered before turning himself around to see the animatronic face.

“HEY! WHO ARE YOU?! ARE YOU THE PERSON WHO DIED IN HERE?!” Michael asked loudly to the purple skull in the mouth. The bunny didn’t answer him whatsoever, and just closed its jaw and kept on walking. As the bunny turned to the left the second time, Michael growled. “CAN YOU EVEN HEAR ME?!” Michael yelled to the animatronic eyes. He grabbed onto the ears in anger. “HEEEEELLOOOOOOO!!” Michael shouted into the left ear. The bunny had had quite enough of the adult. The bunny stretched out its arms and moved Michael away from its left ear and out in front. Michael yelped in surprise and froze as he looked at the green wall with wide eyes. When Michael finally came to his senses, he finally started breathing heavily and started kicking and shouting again. “LET GO OF ME! WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?! AM I- AM I JUST A TOY TO YOU?! THIS IS NOT HOW YOU DEAL WITH ADULTS!” Michael cried.

Michael stopped screaming and moving when he suddenly heard a mumbling sound. “...........Huh?” Michael muttered, looking down the hallway. Did someone say something to him? Or was Michael hearing things?

The mumbling sound occurred again but this time, it sounded like it was coming from behind the bunny! Michael fought with the bunny’s grip a little and turned himself around to see if anyone was there. “Hello?” Michael called quietly. His voice echoed in the hollow hallway as he stared at the hallway for any signs of life.

“Sh-- u-.” The mumbling spoke again. Michael listened carefully. It...sounded like words, but...he couldn’t make out what was being said. But what he COULD make out, was that it was close to him! Who was hiding there?

“What?” Michael asked. “I...I can’t hear you. What did you say?” Michael asked down the hallway.

Suddenly, the bunny’s jaw opened and an angry expression appeared on the purple skull. It moved its mouth. “I said SHUT UP!”

Michael shouted in surprise and closed the bunny's jaw quickly. “NOPE! YOU’RE NOT PULLING ANOTHER BITE OF 1987 ON ME! FUCK THAT SHIT!” Michael shouted. Then, it occurred to him: “Wait...How are you-” Michael opened the jaw slightly and looked at the skull in the jaw. It...had a monotone facial expression with only a couple teeth left. “How are you talking?” Michael asked.

The mouth opened and closed in an attempt to give itself more mouth room to talk properly. The steel pieces that were impaled into the face, appeared to have loosened a bit from the jaw moving. It was disgusting, disturbing and almost gagging to watch. The skull breathed in, and…

“I’m still alive.” The deep voice spoke.

Michael’s jaw dropped and a horrified, cracking shout left his somewhat hoarse voice. Michael resumed his wiggling and wrestling, doing all he possibly can to wiggle himself out of the bunny’s grip.

“For the love of- THAT’S IT!” the skull yelled before pulling the adult into the bunny’s chest and wrapping its arms around him further.

“WHAT THE- AAAAH! NO! LETMEGO! DON’T YOU EVEN DARE TRY TO KILL ME! I HAVE A LIFE TO LIVE! A FAMILY HISTORY TO UNFOLD! A-” Michael shouted before interrupting himself with his own burst of laughter. Michael immediately started kicking and could feel a wobbly smile showing up on his lips. He could feel a pair of fingers tickling his side, and he couldn’t reach down and stop it thanks to the bunny’s bulgy arms! “HAHA! WAIT, WHAHAT?! NAHAHAHOHOHOHOHO!” Michael yelled, curling to his left to get his side away from the tickly, steel fingers. But the fingers only moved closer to the side and tickled it further, and there was only so far Michael could curl away from the touch. “HAHAhahahahahaha! Wahait! HEHEHE! YOHOHOU’RE TIHIHICKLIHING MEHEHEHEHEHE!” Michael laughed, shaking his head as he squirmed back and forth and bounced around.

Now, the fingers were moving down his side and started scratching the outside of his hip. Michael let out a surprised squeal and jolted upwards. Michael’s wobbly smile dropped in horror as he quickly tried using his arm muscles to pull his entire body up, to get away from the large tickly fingers. But the fingers followed his hip up and continued to scratch towards the inner hollow of his hip. This caused Michael to just drop his body and throw his head back with laughter. “BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” He bursted out, shaking his body back and forth helplessly.

It was right around here that the bunny decided to drill into not just the one, but BOTH hips at once! “JEEEEHEHEHEHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! CUHUHUHUT IHIHIT OHOHOHUHUHUT!” Michael shouted.

The bunny suddenly stopped due to the reaction, and decided to change the man’s positioning. Michael was transferred to the left hand while the right hand started to explore the backside of him. The bunny’s index finger landed on Michael’s head first. The curious bunny grabbed the bill of the hat that was on his head, and lifted it up carefully.

“What are you- Give that back!” Michael ordered, reaching up for it. But the bunny was quick! Everytime Michael tried reaching for the hat, the bunny would tickle his armpits! “Give it back rihihight- Stop it! I need- EEEEK! That...ihis- Mihihihihihine! Cohohohome ohohohohon!” Michael laughed and giggled, dropping his arms and giving up after a few more attempts. With the hat now off his head, the bunny hung the hat onto its right broken ear and started messing with Michael’s hair. Everytime the hand would explore a new spot, Michael would flinch in surprise before just focusing on the big hand’s movements. Michael’s body was facing the hallway, so he couldn’t see where the moldy bunny’s hand was gonna go even if he tried. All he could hope for, is that the bunny would lose interest soon and drop him.

Michael was suddenly pulled out of his thoughts by a shivery, tickly long finger going right up his spine. “-aaAaAAH!” Michael yelped, straightening his back and pulling his arms into his chest. Then, as if the bunny actually knew this information, it brought its finger up the back and started scratching, before moving down and tickling the small of Michael’s back. “WAHAHAHAHAHAHAIT!” Michael bursted out loudly. He started bouncing around and squealing like a little kid, which sounded unbelievably similar to Michael’s squeals as a little kid when his back was touched. “HOHOHOW DID YOHOHOU KNOHOHOHOHOW?!” Michael asked, reaching behind his shoulder in an attempt to stop the bunny. To make matters worse, the bunny had added a second finger to the tickling and started scratching and massaging the many muscles surrounding the man’s spine. This led to cackles, intense squirming and fist-pounding against the bunny’s hand.

Finally, Michael pulled a quick body turn and grabbed onto the bunny’s fingers to stop the animatronic. Even as he held the bunny’s hand, Michael was still stuck in a giggle fit for a good 5 minutes or so. “Whahahat pahart of stahahahap dohohon’t yohohou uhuhunderstahahahahand?” Michael asked, slightly moving his back around as the phantom tickles still plagued him. “Hohohohow...hohohow...how-” Michael stuttered, trying to properly put his thoughts together. “How did you know my back was so ticklish?! The only people that know about that, is Uncle Henry and my family-” Michael’s confused face quickly turned to shock as theories started to click into his brain.

“...Wait-”

Michael opened up the jaw and looked at the purple skull once more. He tried to look for any facial resemblance to his family members. He tried matching up each family member’s face to the skull shape first. But the skull could have belonged to anyone in his family! Skulls were hard to use for identification without some clay and peg markers, and Michael would’ve known about the death sooner if it were one of his family members that died in the suit.

Unless...one of your family members had gone missing…

Michael’s eyes widened as he soon started putting small puzzle pieces together on what might’ve happened to his father. “...D-Dad?!” Michael muttered in disbelief. Is this him?! Is this really his Father? Trapped inside a suit with a metal endo-skeleton holding him together?! Now that he looked at the skull further, Michael could see the facial resemblance between his father and this undead corpse.

The corpse’s mouth gave Michael a slight toothy smile. “Hello Michael.” The corpse spoke to him.

Michael could feel tears welling up in his eyes. It sounded almost just like him. It was deep and soothing like his voice had always been, yet it was somewhat hoarse. It reminded him of the slight change in his voice whenever he would get sick with laryngitis. Maybe it was because his voice got messed up in the suit? Or maybe it was because of underuse? Michael couldn’t say. But all he understood now, was that this corpse sitting in a bunny suit might’ve belonged to his father.

“What...HAPPENED TO YOU?!” Michael asked loudly, unable to fathom how he got into the suit, let alone died in it.

“The spirits. They did this to me.” William explained. Wait...what?

“What spirits?” Michael asked, suspiciously.

“The spirits of the children began haunting me. I tried to hide in the suit, but the spring locks crushed me to death.” William explained in a grumpy voice.

Michael’s fear began to morph into bits of anger. He knew what William meant by ‘spirits of the children’. He looked at William with a hurt, yet angry expression. “The spirits of the children you killed.” Michael concluded through his teeth. It sounded like the ghosts of the kids he had killed, had finally cornered him into his much-needed death. If he’s going to steal the lives of 5 innocent children, he deserves to lose his own life too.

And yet, here he was: tickling him as if nothing had happened.

“Let me go.” Michael ordered.

William’s smile fell and his facial expression turned into anger. “No.”

Michael reached into his pocket and pulled a big piece of glass out of his pocket. “Let. Me. Go. Or I shove this glass right into your eyes.” Michael warned.

William and the bunny’s face got closer to Michael. He narrowed his eyes at Michael. “I liked you much better when you were laughing.” William shot back in a quieter, strict voice.

Michael’s frown grew deeper. “And I liked you much better when you were missing.” Michael shot back in a similar strict, angry tone.

Michael, sick of hearing his voice, shoved the glass shard right into his father’s larynx. William made a crackling shouting sound, as the shard cut and severed his vocal cords. Upon the sudden damage, William dropped Michael and felt his throat with his big steel hands.

“You BASTARD!” William shouted in his deep, broken voice. Michael began hyperventilating upon hearing that broken voice, and took off running down the hallway as soon as he could. He sprinted as quick as he could, similarly to his first attempted escape: body checking the hallway walls and not caring about any dangers he may run into. Right as Michael reached the glass floor again, Michael decided to try jumping over the glass and landing on the door. Michael ran for it, took a manly leap over the glass, and actually reached the door! But his landing was not exactly smooth. Though he experienced no pain from the adrenaline rush, Michael ended up stumbling and further ruining his ankle upon landing. Quickly, Michael ignored the pain and speed limped himself right out of the building and towards the car. He opened the door to his car, and quickly closed the door and locked it. He reached in his usual pocket for his keys, and widened his eyes when he realized they weren’t there! He checked his other pockets, quickly growing more and more anxious. They were missing! Michael looked at the Fazbear Fright building and let out an angered growl:

He dropped the freaking car keys in the building!

Michael gripped the steering wheel in frustration and leaned his head against the top of the steering wheel. He had no choice. If he wants to get home and forget all about this...

He’ll have to face his crooked father again.

I apologize for the rather abrupt ending to this fanfiction. Though it seems like Michael would be doomed to face his disgusting and apathetic father, he does end up getting his keys successfully before driving away from the abandoned building.

And P.S; Michael was the one who burned the building down.

#ticklefic #fluff and horror #Hurt no comfort #emotional hurt #implied character death #lee!michael #ler!springtrap #referenced child murder

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