#café skyscraper

[silly-krissy]

Hello tumblr, uhhh pt au momenr

[dreamwritesimagines]

The Eye of the Hurricane [35] - Confessions

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback, you made my day! ❤️I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think! ❤️

Summary: A nightclub can be a good place for confessions.

Word Count: 2400

Pairing: MobBoss!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Warnings: Violence, guns, crime, blood, explicit language, dysfunctional relationship, mentions of sex. This is an AU, friendly reminder that I don’t condone any of the actions depicted on this story and please read with care.

Series Masterlist

You knew Bucky was trying to stay out of your way, you just knew.

Since you had first gotten married, he had never spent the night outside until tonight. When you woke up, the spot next to you was empty, so you huffed out a breath and went to the bathroom to take a shower. After that, you made your way downstairs to feed Alpine but the noise by the door made you turn your head.

Bucky hadn’t seen you just yet -he probably thought you were still asleep- and he made his way upstairs while you tilted your head, crossing your arms but keeping completely quiet in the kitchen. Even if you wanted to go upstairs after him, he didn’t take long, probably just changed his clothes and came back downstairs, stopping in his tracks when he saw you.

“Hey,” you said and he offered you a small smile.

“Hey,” he said, already making his way to the door with you following suit. “I have a meeting, I’ll see you tonight at the—”

“Bucky,” you said, your heartbeat speeding up and he froze by the door, then cleared his throat and turned to you.

“Hm?”

“Can we talk?”

“No.”

You pulled your brows together. “What? The fuck does that mean, no?”

He bit inside his cheek, averting his gaze from you.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he said. “You heard what I said, so—”

“So what, we just don’t talk about it?”

Bucky paused for a moment, then nodded his head.

“Yeah,” he said. “That sounds like a good plan.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that before?”

“Charm, I have this meeting—”

“Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“It doesn’t change anything, okay?” he said. “What was I supposed to say? I was an ass to you because I took all my anger at my father and projected it onto you?”

“George never said anything to me,” you mused. “Neither did my father.”

“I doubt he mentioned it to him,” he said. “I mean…at least not until you came back from college.”

“But before that, only to you?”

Bucky pursed his lips together, still unable to look you in the eye and nodded.

“That was still an asshole move,” you pointed out and he sucked in a breath through his teeth, then nodded his head again.

“Yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck before his eyes found yours. “I’m sorry Charm. I really am, I was a dick. I never should’ve—that whole bullshit was between my father and me, you didn’t deserve to be caught in the crossfire. I don’t know if you’ll ever forgive me for it, but I’ll try to…make it up to you. I’ll make sure you get that crown.”

You crossed your arms, pursing your lips and Bucky swallowed thickly, then cleared his throat.

“I’m just gonna—” he motioned at the door. “Uh, see you tonight at the club.”

With that, he walked out of the apartment and you leaned your back to the wall with a groan, pressing your palms on your eyes.

 “The club,” you muttered to yourself. “Right. Great.”

                                               *

The whole reason why you were going to the club was because of Rhett. He had mentioned wanting to go out and Clint’s brand-new club sounded perfect for the occasion, and you figured once everyone drank a little, making the deal would be much easier.

“Please tell me it’s a good club,” Rhett said as you both got your coffees and sat down to your table. The café you had picked was right across your father’s skyscraper, your surname shining against it and you heaved a sigh, then leaned back.

“One simple listener would think you don’t trust me, Rhett.”

“I flew here because I trust you,” Rhett reminded you. “Your taste in clubs however…”

“We met at a club, dumbass.”

“I’m still not convinced it was a club of your choosing, but your friends’,” Rhett pointed out, making you scrunch up your nose at him, then lightly kicked his shoe.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“What does the rest of Chicago think about you doing business with New York?”

Rhett heaved a sigh and ran a hand through his curls, his rings catching your attention for a moment.

“They don’t necessarily love the idea.”

“None of them?”

“Most of them,” Rhett said. “My father thinks it’s a terrible idea.”

“Ah.”

“Caleb—you met Caleb, he also thinks it’s a bad idea.”

“Caleb is a dick.”

“And Alice and her family as well,” he said and scoffed. “But that one has more to do with you than the business.”

“Did you tell her I’m married to Bucky?”

He hummed. “She knows,” he said. “Still thinks…”

“That you and I are going to sleep together?”

Rhett shot you a small grin. “Yep.”

“I’m not the cheating type.”

“Never thought otherwise,” he said. “One does wonder though…”

You sipped your coffee. “Wonder what?”

“If we broke up for no reason.”

You lowered your coffee cup to give him a reprimanding look.

“There was a reason,” you said. “Business.”

“You don’t think we could’ve made it work?”

“Nope,” you said. “I’m not the type to play the housewife, you know that.”

“I never asked you to do that.”

“But that’s how Chicago works,” you said with a laugh. “And I would never be a mistress either so…”

He opened his mouth to retort but before he could, someone cleared their throat behind you, making both you and Rhett turn your heads and you rolled your eyes when you saw Ian.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you asked and he shrugged his shoulders.

“I just left your father in his office,” he said. “You’re not gonna go and say hi?”

“Nope, I’m busy with my guest,” you said and motioned between them. “Ian, Rhett. Rhett, this is Ian, my cousin.”

“And her father’s heir,” Ian corrected you, extending his hand and Rhett raised his brows, eyeing his hand before looking up at him with a quizzical glare. You bit back your smile and nodded at Ryan by the door before turning to Ian who lowered his hand.

“Why is an heir who’s not even a firstborn talking to me?” Rhett asked you, completely ignoring Ian and you shrugged, smirking.

“No idea. Ian?”

“I speak for my uncle.”

“I’m not talking to your uncle either, buddy,” Rhett said with a snort. “We’re in the middle of a conversation and you’re interrupting us.”

A look of surprise crossed Ian’s features before he threw his shoulders back.

“Mr. Davis, if we’re going to do business, it is important that you respect me, if my uncle hears—”

“Oh we seem to have some miscommunication here,” Rhett said. “I’m not doing business with you, or your uncle. Go tell your uncle the only person who I’ll speak to in terms of business is his daughter, and that I don’t appreciate being put in a situation where I have to talk to a second-choice heir who doesn’t even deserve a title that moves through family.”

You pursed your lips together to hold back your laughter as Ian gritted his teeth.

“I’m his nephew.”

“Not his firstborn,” Rhett stated. “Not even his spare. Back in Chicago heirs have to prove their worth, and nothing I heard about you is worth anything, Ian. So why don’t you go back to your kids table and leave the grownups to have actual conversation about business? Because unlike you, your cousin here knows what she’s talking about.”

Ian looked like he was considering saying something and Rhett tilted his head, smirking as if daring him. Ian lingered there for a moment before throwing you a glare, then scoffed.

“We’ll be in touch,” he said and stormed out of the café while you let out a giggle.

“Aw,” you mocked him. “I think you hurt your feelings.”

“Someone had to, you guys are being too soft on heirs here,” Rhett pointed out, making you laugh. “Anyway, we were saying?”

                                                 *

Clint really did have a good taste in clubs.

A couple of years earlier, you would be dancing on the dancefloor and drinking to your heart’s desire. Your father’s notorious name always worked in your favor in the city, and clubs weren’t an exception to that. With a wave of your hand, your bodyguards, -or Bucky’s, Steve’s or Sam’s- would be dragging anyone who bothered you or Becca outside, but now that you came to the clubs only to make deals, you didn’t dance or drink too much.

Rhett seemed to be in a good mood along with everyone else as he laughed at something Steve said, then sipped his whiskey while Bucky had his arm thrown over the back of the sofa you both were sitting on, and as much as you wanted to keep your conversation from earlier going, you knew you couldn’t in front of Rhett.

“So yeah he turns to me and says, ‘Chicago will not like this’ and I’m like, ‘Motherfucker I am Chicago!’” Rhett said, letting out a laugh. “Apparently this guy he was working with, he didn’t even tell him my name, just sent him there.”

“No way.”

“Oh yeah,” he said. “Which wasn’t even the first time someone within my father’s ranks tried to kill me.”

“Seriously?”

“Oh yeah,” he said. “Even family, once.”

“How did you get out of that?”

Rhett smiled and nodded in your direction. “You’re looking at my guardian angel there.”

Bucky raised his brows. “I’m sorry?”

“It’s a long story,” you said. “And I barely did anything.”

“No no, she had the opportunity to actually cross me after she dumped me,” Rhett said. “But she didn’t.”

“Yeah well…” you said, leaning your head to Bucky’s shoulder. “I just don’t like traitors.”

“No, loyalty is—” Rhett motioned at you. “Her loyalty is something else. So you might be the luckiest man I’ve ever met, Barnes.”

You let out a laugh while Sam tilted his head and Steve stole a look at Bucky whose jaw clenched.

“Oh he knows,” you said, squeezing Bucky’s arm. “I remind him in case he forgets.”

Bucky hummed, pressing a kiss on top of your head, nuzzling into your hair and making your heart skip a happy beat even if you knew it was for show.

“And you don’t have to look so tense man,” Rhett said with a grin. “She rejected me earlier, so…”

Your eyes widened as you looked from him to Bucky whose glare turned sharp.

“I have no problem starting a war between Chicago and New York, Rhett,” he said. “Careful now.”

Rhett scoffed a laugh. “Or what?”

“Alright, before anyone says anything they might regret,” you stopped Bucky before he could retort and stood up, tugging Bucky by the hand. “Buck, a word?”

Bucky looked like he would say no, but you led him out of the VIP room to the nearest bathroom, nodding at the girls inside.

“Out,” you said and they scurried out of the bathroom before you slammed the door behind you and turned to Bucky.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Trying really hard not to shoot your ex,” Bucky retorted. “How about you?”

“Bucky…” you said, running a hand over your face. “We are not starting a war between Chicago and New York just because you’re feeling a bit territorial—”

“A bit territorial?” he repeated. “A bit territorial? Charm, the whole reason why that asshole can still talk is because you told me not to shoot him, but if he keeps pushing his luck—”

“That’s a joke!”

“I told you though, didn’t I?” he insisted. “I told you he’s here to…fucking steal you away.”

“The fuck am I, a loaf of bread?” you snapped at him. “This is not Les Mis, no one is stealing me away, do you hear yourself?”

“Do you?” he asked. “What did he mean, you rejecting him earlier?”

You looked up at the ceiling, reminding yourself to be calm.

“He was talking about when we used to date,” you said. “And I said we couldn’t have made it work anyway, that’s it. That’s what he means.”

“But he still hopes for it.”

“We’re married, Buck,” you reminded him, “It may be because of the business, but I’m sure you remember our deal—”

“Yeah, for you maybe.”

You pulled your brows together. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.”

“Bucky.”

“It’s business for you, Charm,” Bucky spat. “Which is fine, but don’t stand there and assume that it’s the same for me, okay? You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Your frown deepened.

“You married me for business,” you said. “So that I could get to the top, so that Ian wouldn’t break the truce, so that—”

“That’s what you think, huh?” Bucky asked, a dry laugh climbing up his throat and your heartbeat sped up as you stared at him.

“Then why?” you asked back and Bucky licked his lips.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Bucky I’ve had it up here playing this fucked up game with you,” you said, your voice low. “What, you’re pretending to be jealous of Rhett—”

“Pretending?”

“Yeah and you’re bluffing to start a war over some pissing contest—”

“I’m not bluffing.”

“You’ve been avoiding me since we left the therapist’s office—”

“Charm.”

“And I want us to talk but you keep running away from whatever nonsense—”

“I’m in love with you.”

The simple sentence managed to make you stop talking, your eyes snapping up to his as you gawked at him, your mouth half open.

“I married you because I’m in love with you,” he said. “I’m willing to start a war with Chicago, with New York, with your own father, because I’m in love with you.”

Bucky loved you.

He was in love with you.

The happy disbelief pinned you to your spot while the music echoed in the bathroom, and he let out a dry laugh.

“There,” he said. “Now you can reject me and we can just—”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence when you snapped out of the haze and turned around to lock the door, then made your way to him to pull him into a kiss, a pleasant warmth spreading from your chest to your whole body. He wrapped his arm around your waist to pull you closer, and you let out a giggle when he pulled back a little to look at you.

“You’re…you’re not rejecting me?”

“Bucky,” you said, grinning wide. “You can be such an idiot sometimes.”

With that, you stood on your tiptoes to kiss him again, a squeal leaving your lips as he lifted you and carried you to the bathroom vanity.

Chapter 36

[lbcreations-blog]

Emily x an immortal reader soulmate au

Not proofread, I'm way too tired, and this took forever to make with my writersblock

Also, should I do more Emily x reader? And possibly do some Sera x readers as well? Or?

Masterlist

-------------

In this universe, everyone had a soulmate, sometimes more than one. And to know who your soulmate is, you would need the same tattoo that was placed on your shoulder.

You, a simple human who was cursed with immortality, had not found the one you love.

Then again, you have only been on earth for about 24 years. The only reason you knew you were immortal was because you fell off a skyscraper and lived with only a few scratches.

But to say the least, you were worried your soulmate or soulmates would be simply mortaliezed.

Now we turn to Emily, a seraphim who was given a mission to come to earth to collect your human soul, to come to heaven, and reside there due to you being registered as dead and being on heavens list.

Emily went into the portal that was shown to her after being instructed on her mission. Once entering the human world, she put on her human form to go find your soul, which she assumed was just floating around.

Now back to you, who was at an internet café studying for your college test that was coming soon. After a while, your eyes started to get sore, so you decided to look away from your computer for a few seconds to give your eyes a break. And when doing so, you saw a woman walk through the café door, and you knew she just looked stunning and you had to introduce yourself.

And lucky you, she was walking just your way!

But before you could say anything, she spoke to you. "Hi, my name is Emily, but you can call me Em or Eme. uhm, your name is reader? Yes?

What. The. Fuck? How does she know your name?

"Yea, hi. Emily. H-how. How do you know my name?" You asked her, a bit creaped out. "May I sit here?" She asked, ignoring your question. You agreed, wanting to figure out how she knew your name, even though you were pretty freaked out.

"Sooooooo," you started. "How do you know my name?" She then responded,"Will it explain myself if I told you I knew you were dead? or well immortal from what i can see." She asked.

"What?" You whispered,"I sai-" "no, how do you know this?" You asked, interrupting her. "Well i-" "Wait, no. Let me pay for my stuff and we can talk about this at my place." You told her, putting your hand up so you could tell the waiter that you were ready to pay.

Once paying, you left the café with Emily and took a two minute walk to your home. while walking home, Emily talked your ear off about things she likes. Yes, it was annoying, but you enjoyed it in some way, You weren't sure why, but you tried not to question it.

Once you got into your home, Emily immediately complemented it. You thanked her and told her to follow you to your lounge. Once in your lounge, you both sat down on your couch, and you asked your first question.

"How do you know im immortal?" You asked. "Well, you see, I'm a Seraphim from heaven," your jaw dropped. Emily continued, "And well, I got a mission to come down here and bring you to heaven because you were registered as dead, and you are on our list," Emily told you simply.

"I-" you started. "Give me a few seconds to process this Em," you told her as you got up and went to your room to think.

-------------

You walked back into the lounge and sat down on the couch. "So... you were told to take me to heaven because you were told I'm registered as dead?" You asked."Yes, I was told to do that" Emily told you.

"Can I not go? I like it here on earth, and i still wanna meet my soul mate." You told Emily. "No, I don't think so... but I can see if I can convince Sera, " Emily told you. "Yea sure, thank you Em"

--------

It was the next day. You were jalaxing on your bed, scrolling through tiktok when a bright light went into your room. You closed your eyes until you felt the bright light go away.

Then you saw Emily in angel form looking beautiful. "Oh hey there, Emily, so what did Sera say?" You asked her "well reader i-i tried to convince Sera, but. She said no. She said it was- "what? B-but Emily, I like it here!" You started tearing up, being passionate for where you live.

"What about my soulmate?! I'm just never going to meet them?! I want to at least let them know I love them!" You told her passionately "well they might end up going to heaven- "no! No, that's a might! I just want to meet them once! Atleast!" You told her tears falling down your cheeks alot of emotions spilled.

"Ugh, get out of my room Em" you told her, hugging your torso. "I- ok then." Emily then walks out of the room.

-------

Emily sat on your couch, feeling sad that she could not convince Sera to let you stay on earth and upsetting you. She felt that you should be happy.

After a few more minutes of Emily sitting on your couch and thinking, you walked into the lounge without the hoody that you always wore, or at least around Emily (Which makes sense since you've only known each other less then a day if you put all the hours together) you were now wearing your black tank top due to it being hot.

You then sat down on the couch and looked at the floor. "So... I'm sorry for shouting at ya Emily, " you told her."I was angry and just really emotional, you did not deserve that, I hope you can forgive me, I know you were just doing your job, im sorry." You said you continued to look at the floor anticipating for her answer.

After about 30 seconds, you looked at Emily and saw her jaw was dropped. "Em?.. Emily?" Emily slowly brought her hand to her sleeve and brought it up to reveal her soulmate mark.

You were. Shocked, to say the least.

"Your. My soulmate, " you said in shock

Your body suddenly moved on its on and you passionately kissed her. Emily kissed back. "I guess I would not mind going to heaven with you, Eme," you told her.

Well uhhmmmm

Hope yall enjoyed it

-L.B Creations

[keehomania]

el dorado (엘도라도) — min yoongi (민윤기)

✧.* 18+

the sun had barely risen, casting its first golden rays upon daegu as you stood on the balcony of your lavish penthouse, overlooking the city. the view was both magnificent and disheartening. from the north, the cityscape gleamed with the brilliance of affluence. skyscrapers glittered like diamonds, their glass facades reflecting the morning light. luxury cars, sleek and polished, glided silently along the pristine roads, while high-end boutiques and gourmet cafés beckoned from below.

yet, beyond the northern skyline, the stark contrast of south daegu lay sprawled in muted colors. there, the city’s essence was raw and unrefined. the buildings were worn and aged, their facades bearing the marks of countless years. streets teemed with vendors selling their modest goods, and the air carried the hum of industrious activity mixed with a tinge of despair. the people moved with a sense of quiet resignation, their eyes reflecting a daily struggle for survival.

in the comfort of your penthouse, surrounded by opulent decor and the finest amenities, the divide between north and south daegu felt as though it was etched into the very fabric of the city. it was not merely a physical separation but an emotional and social chasm that seemed impossible to bridge. you sipped your coffee, the rich aroma filling the air, and contemplated the weight of your father’s legacy and the monumental task ahead.

the less fortunate lived on the other side of this divide. min yoongi's world was a reflection of the south—a realm defined by resilience and resourcefulness amidst hardship. it was in these gritty streets that he had forged his path. his life, a stark juxtaposition to yours, was marked by constant striving for a break from the shackles of poverty. his family’s modest home, with its peeling paint and cramped quarters, bore witness to years of struggle. yet, amidst the scarcity, there was a certain warmth, a community spirit that thrived even in the face of adversity.

el dorado—the very name conjured images of opulence and mystery, a shimmering city of gold nestled somewhere beyond the known maps of the world. in the realm of myth and legend, el dorado was not merely a place but a symbol of ultimate wealth and grandeur. it represented the unattainable dream of countless adventurers, a beacon of hope and avarice that has captivated imaginations across centuries and continents.

visions of el dorado were as varied as they were vivid. imagine a city where the streets were paved with gold and the walls of grand palaces were adorned with intricate mosaics of precious metals. rivers of liquid gold flowed through lush, verdant landscapes, and the very air sparkled with the dust of untold riches. in that imagined paradise, luxury was not an aspiration but a reality woven into the fabric of daily life. the legend assured that only the worthy could come across the city of gold, and you were sure it was your destiny.

the rain fell steadily, its rhythmic patter blending with the mournful strains of a distant funeral dirge. the sky, a dismal gray, wept alongside the mourners who had gathered to pay their respects. the gravesite, a somber and serene expanse, was blanketed by a fine mist, rendering the scene both melancholic and ethereal.

you stood alone beside your father’s freshly turned grave, the elaborate marble headstone gleaming under the droplets of rain. the memorial photograph of your father, framed in an ornate silver plaque, looked back at you with a serene yet distant gaze. his eyes, forever captured in a moment of composure and strength, seemed to echo the weight of the legacy he had left behind.

tears traced paths down your cheeks, mingling with the raindrops as you stared at the photograph. the sight of his image brought a piercing ache to your heart, an overwhelming flood of grief that threatened to consume you. the grandeur of his achievements, the opulence of his life, and the unfulfilled promise of his dreams all seemed to converge upon this solitary moment.

in the midst of your sorrow, you sensed a presence—a subtle shift in the atmosphere. turning slightly, you caught sight of min yoongi standing nearby. he was positioned just a few feet away, his figure slightly obscured by the veil of rain. unlike you, who was consumed by the weight of personal loss and duty, yoongi’s attention was fixed intently on the grave.

he was soaked through, his dark hair plastered to his forehead and his clothes clinging to him in a manner that mirrored your own state of disarray. yet, his focus was unwavering, a silent vigil in the midst of your personal anguish. his posture was rigid, his gaze unblinking as he regarded the headstone, the significance of the scene seemingly etched deeply into his expression. you could not quite discern the thoughts behind his solemn demeanor. his presence, though unexpected, seemed to be an unspoken tribute to your father, perhaps a testament to the respect he had for the man who had employed him. there was no hint of intrusion or disrespect; instead, there was a quiet solidarity in his silence. you couldn't place the look on his face. then again, you didn't know him all that well, having had only one encounter. you removed your gaze from him, your thoughts drifting back to a memory that seemed both distant and vivid.

it was a hazy afternoon, the sun casting dappled shadows on the gentle waves as you slept on the deck of your family's yacht. the tranquility of the boat had lulled you into a peaceful slumber, the soft rocking of the vessel a gentle cradle. the serenity of the moment was abruptly disrupted by a muffled sound, a soft rustling that stirred you from your nap. blinking groggily, you opened your eyes to find the boat's interior bathed in a soft, golden hue from the afternoon light. it was then that you noticed a figure moving stealthily near the scuba gear locker. you immediately recognized him.

he was hunched over, his movements deliberate but not quite smooth, as if he were trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. your curiosity piqued, you sat up, the slight creak of the boat’s deck betraying your awakening. as you rubbed the sleep from your eyes, yoongi glanced up and froze, his expression one of startled surprise.

“what are you doing?” you asked, your voice a mix of confusion and mild amusement. the question hung in the air, and for a moment, yoongi seemed at a loss for words. he fumbled with the equipment, a sheen of nervous sweat glistening on his forehead. “i’m just topping off the tanks,” he stammered, his voice wavering. his eyes darted to the empty, wet scuba gear spread across the deck, and a flash of panic crossed his features.

you raised an eyebrow, noting the strange sight of the wet, empty gear. “topping off the tanks?” you repeated, your tone laced with skepticism. “why is everything soaked and empty then?” his panic was palpable now, his usually composed demeanor shattered by your direct questioning. “please, don’t tell your father,” he pleaded, his voice barely more than a whisper. there was an earnest desperation in his eyes that was hard to ignore.

you studied him for a moment, the gravity of the situation mingling with a growing sense of mischief. “caught his employee red-handed,” you said with a teasing smile. the amusement in your voice was barely concealed, and you watched as yoongi’s face turned an even deeper shade of worry. his eyes widened, and he took a hesitant step toward you, his hands wringing together nervously. “i’m really sorry,” he said, his voice strained. “i didn’t mean to—”

seeing the sheer anxiety in his eyes, you decided to ease the tension. “relax,” you said, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “i won’t say a word. consider it a secret between us.” a look of immense relief washed over his face, and he let out a soft sigh of gratitude. “thank you,” he said earnestly, his gaze meeting yours with genuine appreciation. “i promise it won’t happen again.”

in that fleeting moment, the air between you shifted. the playful teasing had given way to a quiet, unspoken bond—a shared understanding that transcended the usual dynamics of employer and employee. yoongi’s smile, though nervous, was heartfelt, and it lingered for a moment longer before he turned back to his task, working diligently to restore the equipment to its proper place.

the penthouse, usually a haven of opulence and comfort, felt uncharacteristically hollow as you walked through its vast, echoing spaces. the grandeur of the high ceilings and the sweeping views of the city did little to ease the emptiness that weighed heavily upon you. your father’s presence, once a commanding and reassuring force, was now conspicuously absent, leaving behind a palpable silence.

you wandered aimlessly, your footsteps muffled by the plush carpets that stretched beneath you. each room you entered seemed to whisper reminders of him—the elegant furnishings, the carefully curated artworks, the personal touches that spoke of his life and personality. yet, despite the luxury and the meticulous design, the place felt colder, more distant, without him.

as you moved through the penthouse, you found yourself drawn to his study—a room that had always been shrouded in an aura of secrecy and reverence. it was a place you had rarely entered during his lifetime, a domain reserved for his most private thoughts and intricate dealings. you hesitated before the door, a feeling of intrusion gnawing at you. but curiosity, combined with the pressing need to understand the extent of his plans, urged you forward.

with a deep breath, you pushed open the door, and the scene before you struck you with a jolt. the study was in disarray, a stark contrast to the usually immaculate order that characterized your father's workspaces. the once pristine desk was now cluttered with scattered papers, some strewn haphazardly across the floor. the large window on one side of the room had been shattered, the jagged edges glistening ominously. rain had begun to seep in through the broken glass, pooling on the hardwood floor and mingling with the debris.

you stepped further inside, your heart pounding with a mix of apprehension and determination. the chaos was overwhelming, a physical manifestation of the turmoil that had consumed your father in his final days. you moved cautiously, your eyes scanning the room for any clue that might shed light on his final projects.

approaching the desk, you began sifting through the papers. most were invoices, financial reports, and documents related to his various investments. yet, amidst the mundane clutter, one document caught your eye. it was partially crumpled and stained, its edges rough and disheveled. bold, black letters emblazoned across the top read, “el dorado.”

your pulse quickened as you carefully unfolded the paper. the document revealed an intricately detailed map, its aged surface marked with symbols and annotations that hinted at a journey. the map depicted a labyrinth of rivers, mountains, and dense forests, converging on a central location that was highlighted in a golden hue—a conspicuous nod to the legendary city of gold. as you studied it, the countless stories your father had told you about el dorado surged back into your memory. you had always dismissed them as fanciful tales, embellishments of adventure and myth. the allure of the lost city seemed trivial compared to the realities of his empire.

but now, seeing the map and the evident planning that had gone into it, the fascination with el dorado took on a new, unsettling significance. it was not merely a whimsical obsession; it was a meticulously orchestrated pursuit, a strategic endeavor to uncover something of immense value. the realization dawned on you that your father’s fascination was, in fact, a grand plan—a plan that had been in motion for years, driven by a desire to find the lost city and secure its treasures.

the weight of this discovery pressed heavily upon you. the idea that your father had been so consumed by this quest, to the point of neglecting other aspects of his life, was both astonishing and disconcerting. yet, it also clarified your path forward. the map was more than just a relic of his dreams; it was a tangible link to his legacy, a call to action.

yoongi sat on the edge of the docks, the cool evening air ruffling his hair as he took a slow drag from his joint. the sky was a muted canvas of twilight hues, the fading light casting long shadows over the wooden planks beneath him. beside him, his friend leaned back against a crate, his own joint smoldering between his fingers. the gentle lapping of the water against the pilings below created a rhythmic, soothing backdrop to their conversation.

hoseok broke the silence, his voice tinged with curiosity. “so, now that your employer’s gone—how do you feel about it?” yoongi exhaled a plume of smoke, his expression guarded. he scoffed lightly, not entirely surprised by the question. “don’t joke about it,” he said, his tone more serious than hoseok’s casual demeanor suggested. “the man was alright for a chaebol.”

hoseok chuckled, his eyes narrowing with a hint of cynicism. “they’re all the same, are they not? it makes no difference whether they’re alive or dead. they’ve got their own world, and it’s nothing like ours.” yoongi’s gaze shifted to the water, his attention wavering as he became lost in thought. hoseok, noticing his friend's distracted demeanor, raised an eyebrow. “what’s on your mind, yoongi? you seem a bit off.”

yoongi took another drag from his joint, the embers glowing softly in the gathering darkness. he let the smoke curl around him, his eyes distant. “gold,” he muttered, his voice barely more than a whisper. hoseok laughed, a hearty sound that seemed to echo off the water. “isn’t that what we’re all thinking about? gold’s always on our minds.”

yoongi shook his head, the corner of his mouth lifting into a small, enigmatic smile. “gold, the city of gold.” hoseok’s laughter faded, replaced by a look of puzzled interest. “the city of gold? you mean that old myth?”

yoongi’s eyes narrowed slightly as he met his gaze. “it’s not just a myth. i overheard him talking about it before he passed. he was obsessed with it, claimed he was close to finding it.” hoseok’s eyebrows shot up in disbelief. “you’re not serious, are you? that’s just another tall tale.”

yoongi’s expression was resolute. “no, i’m serious. there’s something to it. i’m going to be the one to find it.” hoseok’s skepticism remained evident, but curiosity was clearly piqued. “and how exactly do you plan to do that?”

a smirk played on yoongi’s lips as he took a final puff from his joint, the smoke drifting lazily into the twilight. “the way to a father’s heart,” he said, his tone almost conspiratorial, “is through his daughter.” as the sun dipped below the horizon, the night deepened around them, casting the docks in shadows. the promise of adventure and discovery hung in the air, mingling with the scent of the sea and the lingering smoke. yoongi’s resolve was palpable, his plans set into motion by a mix of ambition and strategic maneuvering. the city of gold was no longer a distant dream, but a tangible goal.

you lay on the couch in your father’s study, the room dimly lit by the desk lamp that cast a soft, golden glow across the walls. the study, once a place of bustling activity and intense focus, now felt oddly still and desolate. the silence seemed to amplify your thoughts, turning them into an echoing din that made it impossible for you to drift into sleep.

staring up at the ceiling, you found yourself lost in the labyrinth of your mind, the weight of your father’s death and the revelation of his secret quest pressing heavily on your shoulders. the map of el dorado, now carefully hidden away, was a constant reminder of the journey that lay ahead—a journey you felt compelled to undertake in his memory.

just as the darkness of the room began to weigh on your eyelids, a sudden crash shattered the stillness. your heart leapt into your throat, and adrenaline surged through you, jolting you into action. you threw off the blanket and forced yourself out of the couch, your footsteps quick and quiet as you approached the source of the noise. the study door creaked as you pushed it open, and you peered into the hallway. the light from the study illuminated only part of the corridor, leaving the rest shrouded in shadow. the crash had come from further down the hall, and you moved cautiously, every sound magnified in your heightened state of alert.

as you rounded the corner, you saw a figure bending over a cluttered pile of papers. without a second thought, you sprang forward and tackled the intruder to the ground, your instincts driving you to protect your father's possessions. the person let out a startled yelp, and in a swift, unexpected move, they flipped you onto your back.

you found yourself staring up at a familiar face, eyes wide with equal parts surprise and disbelief. it was yoongi, his expression a mixture of shock and confusion. he was sprawled on top of you, his body tense, and for a moment, neither of you spoke.

“this is the second time you're breaking in,” you murmured, struggling to regain your footing as you pushed against his chest. he blinked, his eyes searching yours, as if trying to find an explanation that would make sense. he hesitated, his gaze flickering between you and the scattered papers on the floor. “i’m looking for clues,” he finally admitted, his voice a blend of awkwardness and sincerity. “about the city of gold.”

you wriggled out from beneath him, sitting up as you processed his words. “the city of gold?” you echoed, the phrase taking on new significance. “you mean el dorado?” he nodded, his expression earnest. “yes, el dorado. are you familiar with it?”

you met his gaze, your mind racing as you considered the implications. “i am. i found a map in my father’s study. i plan on finding it to honor his memory.” there was a brief pause as the weight of your statement settled between you. yoongi’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if weighing his next words. “i wanted to find it too,” he said slowly, his voice revealing an undertone of determination. you studied him, trying to discern his true motives. there was a hunger in his eyes, a drive that went beyond mere curiosity. yet, you were willing to overlook his hidden agenda if it meant achieving your own goal.

taking a deep breath, you considered what your father would have wanted. the thought of working with yoongi, despite the tension and underlying motives, seemed like a practical step forward. he had valuable knowledge and skills that could aid in the search, and his involvement could provide insights that you might otherwise miss. “i think,” you said finally, your voice steady, “that we should find it together.”

he looked taken aback by your suggestion, his brow furrowing as he processed your words. “are you serious?” you nodded firmly, your gaze unwavering. “yes, i am. if we work together, we might stand a better chance of finding it.”

he studied you for a moment longer, his expression a mix of skepticism and intrigue. slowly, a small, hesitant smile began to form on his lips. “alright,” he said, his tone softening. “let’s find it together.” the agreement, though tentative, marked the beginning of an unexpected partnership. as you both stood up and began to gather the scattered papers, the realization of the task ahead settled over you. the search for el dorado would be fraught with challenges, but with yoongi’s help, you felt a renewed sense of purpose.

yoongi’s gaze swept across the study, taking in the chaos that had taken over the room. the once meticulously organized space was now a disheveled mess, with papers strewn haphazardly across the floor and a window shattered, letting in a cold draft. he arched an eyebrow as he observed the scene, his expression a mix of concern and curiosity.

“what happened here?” he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief. you shrugged nonchalantly, brushing a stray piece of paper from the edge of the desk. “i assumed someone broke in. the place was like this when i arrived.”

his eyes narrowed slightly as he studied the room, his gaze lingering on the scattered documents. his attention shifted as you approached the desk and opened one of the drawers, pulling out a rolled-up piece of paper with a careful touch. the map was worn but unmistakable, its edges frayed from years of handling. as you spread the map out on the table, his eyes widened in surprise and excitement. “is that really it?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

you smiled, nodding as you smoothed out the creases. “this is the map. the one my father was obsessed with. it’s supposed to lead to el dorado.” yoongi joined you at the table, leaning in to examine the map closely. his fingers traced the intricate lines and markings, his expression one of awe and admiration. “south america,” he murmured, glancing up at you with a look of impressed disbelief.

your satisfaction was evident as you watched him study the map. however, your attention was soon drawn to a piece of paper lying beneath it, partially obscured by the map’s bulk. the paper was covered in scribbles and notes, and yoongi’s eyes fell on it, scrutinizing the words written in a frantic scrawl. “tocord ele boosin,” he read aloud, his brows furrowing in confusion as he deciphered the jumbled letters.

you scanned the same paper, noting the erratic handwriting and the repeated name. “it seems like a display of a meltdown,” you said, your tone nonchalant. “my father must have been trying to piece something together, but it looks like he lost control.” yoongi shook his head, his eyes still fixed on the paper. “no, this address looks familiar. i’ve seen it before.”

you turned to him, intrigued by his sudden revelation. “really? where?” his gaze sharpened as he tried to recall the information. his eyes widened as he connected the dots, the seemingly random scramble of words taking shape in his mind.

“doctor lee soobin,” he said aloud, the name forming clearly on his lips. a jolt of recognition struck you, and your eyes widened in surprise. “how do you know that name?”

he shook his head, his expression a mix of skepticism and irritation. “doctor lee soobin is infamous in the south. he’s considered a madman by many, but he calls himself a scientist. his research is unconventional, and he’s been the subject of numerous rumors and gossip.” you considered his words, the implications settling heavily in your mind. “so you’re saying my father was involved with this doctor soobin?”

yoongi nodded, his gaze serious. “it’s possible. if this address is linked to him, then it could be a significant clue. he might know something about el dorado or at least be connected to the search in some way.” with the map and the mysterious paper in hand, you and yoongi began to organize the information, your minds focused on the path ahead. the study, once a place of solitude and grief, had transformed into a hub of discovery and anticipation.

as yoongi began to gather his things, preparing to leave the study, you hesitated. the urgency of the moment had given way to a more practical concern. you cleared your throat, trying to mask the unease you felt. “wait.” he paused, looking back at you with a mix of curiosity and confusion. “what’s up?”

“it’s late,” you said, forcing yourself to sound casual. “it’s not safe for you to walk back to the south at this hour. you should stay the night.” his eyebrows lifted in surprise, his expression shifting from confusion to something akin to amusement. “are you serious? you’re offering me a place to stay?”

you nodded, trying to ignore the warmth creeping up your cheeks. “yes. it would be safer. i don’t want you risking your safety just to chase after a lead.” his gaze softened, and he stuffed his hands into his pockets with a thoughtful smile. “seems like you just want an excuse to sleep with me,” he teased, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

you scoffed, a reflexive smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “as if,” you replied, trying to maintain your composure. but as you caught sight of his playful grin, you hesitated. “or maybe you’re just looking for a chance to get out of walking back.” he chuckled, the sound a warm contrast to the chill in the air. “well, when you put it that way, who am I to argue?”

he seemed genuinely appreciative, and you could tell he was touched by the gesture. you took a deep breath, holding his gaze. “you can either thank me or leave. your choice.” yoongi’s grin widened, and he gave you a nod of gratitude. “thank you. i’ll stay the night.”

as you prepared the guest room for him, your thoughts were occupied by the unexpected turn of events. the night, once marked by sadness and solitude, now held the promise of collaboration and discovery. you couldn’t deny the strange comfort in having yoongi nearby, and the prospect of working together on this quest gave you a sense of purpose you hadn’t anticipated.

the first rays of dawn filtered through the thin curtains, casting a gentle glow across the room. you stirred, blinking away the remnants of sleep, and turned to see yoongi still sprawled across the guest room bed, his breathing slow and even. you scoffed quietly, a mix of amusement and exasperation tugging at your lips. as much as he claimed he didn’t need it, it seemed he did appreciate the comfort of a bed after all.

slipping out of bed, you padded softly down the hall to the kitchen. the house was still, the quiet punctuated only by the soft sounds of your movements. you set to work, the familiar ritual of brewing coffee providing a comforting rhythm. the rich aroma filled the air as you prepared two cups, your hands moving deftly as you thought about the day ahead.

you were just reaching for the ice cream when you felt a presence behind you, the hairs on the back of your neck prickling before you heard the quiet, raspy voice. “do you really plan on having ice cream for breakfast?” yoongi’s voice held a note of bemusement, startling you slightly.

you turned, a small smile playing on your lips as you saw him leaning against the doorway, hair tousled and eyes still half-lidded with sleep. “it’s not ice cream for breakfast,” you corrected, holding up the carton. “it’s called an affogato.” he raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a skeptical smile. “i’ve never heard of it.”

“then you’re in for a treat,” you replied, turning back to the counter. you scooped chocolate ice cream into two glasses and poured the hot espresso over them, watching as the ice cream began to melt and swirl with the coffee. he watched you, curiosity piqued as you handed him one of the glasses. he took it hesitantly, his fingers brushing against yours for a brief moment before he lifted it to his lips. his eyes widened slightly as he took a sip, the unexpected blend of hot and cold, bitter and sweet, surprising him.

“do they really not sell these in the south?” you asked, taking a sip of your own affogato and savoring the way the flavors danced on your tongue. yoongi shook his head, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “no, the best we get is a black coffee. this is different. good different.”

“i’m glad you like it,” you said, warmth spreading through you at his approval. you both sipped in silence for a few moments, the quiet companionship settling comfortably between you. once you had finished, you set the glasses aside and began discussing the day’s plans. the journey south loomed ahead, the thought of it filling you with a mix of anticipation and uncertainty.

“we need to figure out the best way to get there,” you said, pulling out the paper with the address. “do you know the area well?” his eyes flicked to the paper, and he nodded, a confident gleam in his gaze. “i know it by heart. just follow my lead.”

you handed him the paper, trusting his assurance, and began gathering your things. as you moved around the kitchen, preparing for the journey ahead, you felt a strange sense of calm settle over you. yoongi’s presence, once so enigmatic and distant, now felt like a steady anchor. with your bags packed and the house secured, you both stepped out into the crisp morning air. the world outside was waking up, the city stretching and yawning as it greeted the new day. yoongi glanced at you, a small smile playing on his lips as he motioned for you to follow him.

the morning air was cool and crisp as you walked side by side with yoongi, the city slowly waking up around you. the streets were beginning to fill with people, the sounds of daily life rising to a gentle hum. you followed him to the train station, the two of you moving in comfortable silence. when you arrived, he fumbled with his pockets, searching for his wallet.

“damn it,” he muttered, pulling out his wallet only to find it empty. he looked at you with a sheepish grin, “looks like i’m broke.” you couldn’t help but smile at his predicament. “don’t worry about it. i’ll cover the fare,” you assured him, stepping up to the ticket counter and purchasing the tickets.

the train ride south was a journey into another world. as the landscape outside the window changed, you were struck by the stark difference between the two sides. the bustling, affluent north gave way to a more rugged, hardscrabble environment. the buildings were older, many in disrepair, and the people looked worn and weary. it was a side of the world you rarely saw, and it filled you with a strange mix of curiosity and unease.

yoongi broke the silence, his voice low and serious. “you should really talk to the police while you’re here, about your father’s office.”

you scoffed, not bothering to hide your disdain. “i’m well aware someone broke in.” he looked at you, a frown creasing his brow. “you should find out who the asshole is.”

“i’ll think about it,” you replied, your tone dismissive. you could feel his eyes on you, trying to understand your reluctance. he couldn’t quite grasp why you wouldn’t use your influence to get the police to do your bidding, but he didn’t press further.

as the train approached the station, you felt a sense of apprehension settle over you. exiting the train, you stepped into the southern town, the stark reality of it hitting you hard. the streets were rough, lined with potholes and crumbling sidewalks. the people moved with a wary kind of urgency, eyes always on the lookout.

passing by the police station sent chills down your spine. the building was imposing, a reminder of authority and power, but also of the corruption and fear that often came with it. you met yoongi’s gaze, seeking reassurance. “do you know where to find the doctor’s house?” he nodded, his expression serious. “yeah, follow me. watch your step.”

you took in the south, grimacing at just how rough people seemed to have it. the poverty and struggle were palpable, a sharp contrast to the world you knew. the journey to the doctor’s house was a winding path through narrow, crowded streets. the further you went, the more apparent it became just how different life was here. when you finally reached the doctor’s house, you were taken aback. the building was old and beat-up, its once-white paint now peeling and faded. the windows were cracked, and the front steps sagged with age and neglect. it was a far cry from the pristine, well-maintained homes you were used to.

“is it safe to enter?” you asked, eyeing the dilapidated house with suspicion. it looked as though it had been abandoned for years, the once-white paint peeling and the windows dusty and cracked. yoongi chuckled, his eyes glinting with amusement. “when we were kids, we used to dare each other to knock on this door. no one ever had the guts to actually do it.” he saw the grimace on your face, the look of horror that flickered across your features, and laughed. “don’t worry. it’s not as bad as it looks.”

you hesitated, watching as he approached the door and knocked. the door swung open with a creak, revealing the shadowy interior. “see? open already,” he said, glancing back at you with a reassuring smile. you trailed behind him, the wooden floorboards creaking under your feet as you called out, “doctor lee?” your voice echoed in the empty space, but there was no answer. the house was a mess, furniture overturned and papers strewn everywhere. it was clear someone had broken in.

“this is a bad idea,” you started to say, turning to him. but before you could finish, a man tumbled out of a closet, wild-eyed and desperate. he tackled yoongi to the ground, hands tightening around his throat with a feral intensity.

you locked eyes with yoongi, his expression shifting from surprise to helplessness under the man’s strangling grip. your heart raced, and you frantically looked around for something to help. spotting a crowbar on the floor, you grabbed it and swung at the man’s head. the blow wasn’t enough to kill him, but it was enough to loosen his grip.

yoongi pulled himself free and pinned the man down as he thrashed. you approached cautiously, meeting the man’s fearful gaze as you crouched beside him. “i’m (y/n) (l/n),” you said, your voice steady as you showed him the letter you had found in your father’s study. the man stopped thrashing, his eyes widening. “are you—his daughter?”

you nodded, and yoongi loosened his grip as the man calmed down. “my father recently passed away,” you said, pausing to steady your voice. “i’m here on his behalf, for the city of gold.”

the man sighed, gesturing to the trashed room. “as you can see, i’ve had a few uninvited visitors.” you nodded, feeling a pang of empathy. “my father’s study was broken into as well.”

he gestured for you both to take a seat, offering you cups of water. “were you friends with my father?” you asked, curiosity tinged with sadness. he scoffed, a bitter smile curling his lips. “we were, until money got the better of one of us.” he paused, noticing your discomfort. “though i regret not attending his funeral.”

yoongi cut through the tension. “so, where do we go from here?” the doctor analyzed the letter, his eyes scanning the familiar handwriting. “you have the map, so you’re more than close to the gold. all you need now is the gnomon.”

you frowned, puzzled. “what are you talking about?” he leaned forward, his expression serious. “the map is nothing but a guide to the temalacatl. the gnomon, if found, comes with a translation. once placed on the temalacatl, if the timing is right and the moon hits it, the final clue to el dorado is revealed.”

you and yoongi exchanged stunned glances. “how do we get the gnomon?” he asked. the doctor leaned back, a thoughtful look on his face. “in the south’s museum. the gnomon is one of the artifacts. no one has suspected it to be a clue, but rather a display of el dorado’s existence.”

you turned to yoongi, your mind racing. “how do we get it?” he shrugged, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “you have money, just buy your way in.”

you sneered at his teasing, but before you could retort, the doctor cut in. “no amount of money could match its value. your best bet is to break in,” he paused to adjust his glasses. “i have a friend who monitors the cameras, someone who owes me a favor. he’ll turn a blind eye.”

you smiled, feeling a step closer to your goal. “thank you,” you said, gratitude coloring your voice. “be careful,” the doctor warned, his eyes serious. “this journey is more dangerous than you can imagine.”

with renewed determination, you and yoongi left the doctor’s house, your minds set on the path ahead. the stakes were higher than ever, but you felt a sense of purpose guiding you. the city of gold was within reach. you trailed after yoongi, watching him closely as he navigated the streets with ease. he suddenly changed direction, and you couldn’t help but ask, “aren’t we going to the museum?”

he shook his head, his expression serious. “we need to go to the police now.” you rolled your eyes. “it’s no big deal, yoongi.”

he stopped, turning to face you with a look of determination. “after seeing the pattern in the doctor’s house, it’s too dangerous not to. we can’t take any chances.” you sighed, accepting defeat. there was no arguing with him when he had that look in his eyes. “fine.”

you followed him back to the border, the path to the police station feeling longer and more daunting with each step. as you approached the building, a sense of dread settled in your stomach. yoongi noticed your hesitation and opened the door for you, his presence a small comfort. the room fell silent as you entered, all eyes turning towards you. the heavy atmosphere was suffocating. then, you locked eyes with him. his gaze was icy as it settled on yoongi, a cold glare that sent shivers down your spine.

“what are you doing here?” jungkook’s voice was laced with hostility. yoongi turned to you, confusion evident on his face. you took a deep breath, deciding to break the tension. “this is yoongi, my friend. and yoongi, this is jungkook, my ex-boyfriend.”

jungkook’s displeasure was palpable, but so was yoongi’s. the air was thick with unspoken words and unresolved emotions. you cleared your throat, trying to diffuse the situation. “we’re here to report a break-in.” jungkook looked shocked, his cold demeanor softening slightly. “why didn’t you come in sooner?”

you shrugged, attempting to downplay the situation. “i thought it was no big deal.” he sighed, frustration mingling with concern. “it’s always because of the gold, isn’t it?” he shook his head before saying, “i’ll report it further.”

you turned to leave, but jungkook grabbed your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. yoongi’s eyes narrowed, his stance becoming protective. “be careful,” he said, his voice softer, a hint of the old familiarity breaking through his stern facade. you met his gaze, your heart aching with the weight of the past. “you too, jungkook.”

you and yoongi left the police station, the tension from the encounter lingering in the air. he remained silent, his mind clearly preoccupied. you walked side by side, the city’s noise fading into the background as your thoughts consumed you. “ex-boyfriend?” he finally asked, his voice gentle. you nodded, though the encounter had left you rattled. “dad forced us to break up, long time ago,” you paused to smile, but there wasn't a trace of humor on your face. “didn't approve of him being from the south.”

your words seemed to be a reminder to him, one that made his gaze harden and his throat close up. one that told him—no matter how close you were, no matter how nice you were to him, you would still be different at the end of the day. you would be the one with money and food on a silver platter, while he would be absolutely no one.

the two of you headed back in the right direction, the urgency of your mission weighing heavily on your minds. you turned to him, breaking the silence. “it’s too early to break in,” you said thoughtfully. he nodded, considering your words. “do you have any suggestions?”

you paused, your eyes drifting over his attire. his clothes made it painfully obvious that he was from the south. a smile tugged at your lips as an idea formed. “there’s no way you’re gonna blend in dressed like that.” his eyes widened, a mixture of confusion and curiosity. “what are you on about?”

you took his hand, the warmth of his skin grounding you. “point me to the nicest clothing store you know. i’ll be your sugar mommy for the week.” he looked defeated, a sigh escaping his lips. “i can’t believe you’re gonna customize me.”

feigning offense, you raised an eyebrow. “are you so against being my barbie doll?” he feigned sympathy, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “i assure you, i’ll be the perfect lab rat.”

you pulled him into the most expensive store you could find, which was a challenge in itself given the area. the saleswoman looked stunned as you entered, her professional demeanor momentarily slipping. “what can i help you with?” she asked, her voice tinged with curiosity. beaming, you placed your credit card on the table. “bring out your most expensive attire for my good friend here.” she looked delighted, probably not used to customers willing to spend so much money. “of course,” she agreed eagerly, glancing at yoongi with a gleam in her eye.

you sat on the plush couch in the waiting area, enjoying the luxurious surroundings. yoongi’s look of betrayal made you smile. the first outfit he tried on was a sleek black suit with a narrow tie. you shook your head, unable to suppress a chuckle. “too funeral director.” next, he stepped out in a flamboyant red ensemble, complete with a matching hat. you winced, struggling to keep a straight face. “too circus ringmaster.”

the third outfit was a gaudy, bedazzled jacket and pants combo that sparkled under the store’s lights. you laughed outright, shaking your head. “elvis, can i get an autograph?” his expression was a mix of exasperation and amusement, but he finally emerged in a classic, well-tailored navy suit that fit him perfectly. you stepped forward, adjusting his tie with a satisfied smile. “now, this is perfect.”

he smiled, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “glad to hear it, because it’s my turn to customize you.”

your turn to look mortified, you opened your mouth to protest but he was already leading you to the women’s section. the first outfit he chose was a frilly pink dress that made you look like a cake topper. he grinned as he saw your expression. “my little pony, where've you been?” you nodded, rolling your eyes. the next outfit was a tight leather ensemble that made you feel like a character in a spy movie. “too dominatrix,” he remarked with a smirk.

the third was an extravagant, sequined gown that you could barely move in. “too disco ball,” he said, laughing at your discomfort. finally, you stepped out in a simple, elegant dress that hugged your curves in all the right places. his eyes widened, and he stared at you, stunned. “you look stunning.”

blushing under his intense gaze, you mumbled a thank you. you paid for the outfits, the saleswoman’s eyes gleaming with delight at the hefty commission she’d just earned. as you left the store, you couldn’t help but feel a newfound confidence in your new attire, matching yoongi’s sophisticated look.

he looked around, assessing the bustling streets, then turned to you. “it’s still too early for anything,” he said thoughtfully. you glanced at him, reminding him with a gentle smile, “you didn’t have anything for breakfast. how about lunch?”

he hesitated, a tinge of guilt in his eyes. “i feel bad for leeching off you.” taking his hand, you squeezed it reassuringly. “we’re working together, aren’t we?” his heart fluttered at your touch and words, an unwelcome reminder of the emotions he tried to suppress. he hated how he felt, knowing there was no logical reason for his heart to react this way. you were out of his league, a fact he couldn’t forget.

you both opted for a local restaurant, a cozy place with a warm ambiance. as you sat down and began perusing the menu, you couldn’t help but comment, “there really aren’t any affogatos here.” he chuckled, the memory of the sweet taste lingering. “welcome to my world,” he said with a grin. after a pause, he asked, “you promise to make me another one?”

“of course,” you replied, your eyes twinkling. “i’ll make as many as you want.” you both ordered your meals and settled into a discussion about the gnomon. the restaurant’s hum provided a comforting backdrop as you outlined your plans.

“it’s crucial to get the translation that comes with the gnomon,” you emphasized.

he nodded, confidence in his gaze. “that won’t be an issue.” he paused, then asked, “how will we get to south america?”

you smiled, enjoying the chance to surprise him. “i’ll take one of the company’s planes and call the pilot.” his reaction was priceless, a mixture of awe and disbelief. you leaned in, your smile widening. “welcome to my world.”

as the food arrived, you took a moment to appreciate the simplicity and warmth of the place. the dishes were hearty and comforting, a stark contrast to the opulence you were used to. the conversation flowed naturally, a balance of light-hearted banter and serious planning. his eyes sparkled as he spoke about the next steps. “we need to figure out the museum’s security layout. breaking in won’t be easy, but if we time it right, we’ll have a small window.”

you nodded, absorbing his words. “we’ll need to be in and out quickly. any delay could be disastrous.” the weight of the task ahead pressed down on both of you, but there was a strange comfort in sharing this burden. the restaurant’s charm and the simplicity of the meal offered a brief respite, a moment of normalcy in the midst of chaos.

after lunch, you both felt more grounded, ready to tackle the challenges ahead. as you exited the restaurant, the sun was beginning its descent, casting a warm glow over the city. the streets seemed less daunting now, each step bringing you closer to the heart of your mission. he glanced at you, a determined look in his eyes. “ready?” you nodded, feeling a renewed sense of purpose. “ready.”

the two of you walked in silence, the setting sun casting long shadows across the city. the south seemed to blend seamlessly with the encroaching darkness, the streets and alleys taking on an almost sinister feel as twilight gave way to night. as you approached the museum, yoongi unexpectedly took your hand into his. startled, you turned to him.

“what are you doing?” you asked, your voice a low whisper. he squeezed your hand gently. “act natural,” he replied, his eyes scanning the area. it was only then that you noticed how many people were around, their movements and chatter blending into the evening’s backdrop.

taking his lead, you relaxed, entwining your fingers with his as you began to circle the park in front of the museum. its grand structure, despite its worn exterior, loomed ahead of you. you locked eyes with the security camera in front and quickly looked away, trying not to appear suspicious.

as the crowd began to thin, you tugged yoongi’s hand and led him toward the museum’s entrance. the lady at the front desk looked up, informing you with a tired smile that they were about to close. you laughed lightly, flashing her a charming smile. “we’ll be out soon,” you promised, pausing to straighten yoongi’s hair. “i just have to show my boyfriend the dead sea scrolls.”

she smiled and nodded, her suspicions seemingly allayed. yoongi leaned in and whispered, “what are you doing?”

“act natural,” you murmured back, trying to suppress your own nerves. suddenly, you heard footsteps echoing down the corridor. before you knew it, he had pushed you into the nearby janitor’s closet. the space was small and cramped, your bodies pressed close together. you could hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears as yoongi placed a finger on his lips, signaling for silence. his own breath was unsteady, and his face was inches away from yours.

he leaned in closer, his breath warm on your cheek. “are you okay?” he whispered. uou nodded, your eyes meeting his. he smiled softly, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face. the closeness was electrifying, your shared anxiety heightening every sensation.

when the lights finally dimmed and the building fell silent, you carefully opened the door and slipped out. the museum, now cloaked in darkness, seemed even more imposing. you began your search, moving stealthily through the exhibits. the shadows played tricks on your eyes, and the vast emptiness amplified every creak and whisper. as you moved through the museum, a sinking feeling of defeat began to settle in. you found nothing of use. but then, yoongi tugged your sleeve and pointed upward. you followed his gaze and saw a narrow staircase hidden in the shadows.

you ascended the stairs as quietly as possible, each step creaking beneath your weight. your hand found its way back into yoongi’s, a silent reassurance. as you reached the top, you both froze. there it was—the enclosure, and the sign reading “kalingo's gnomon.”

a smile of disbelief spread across your face. you couldn’t believe it. carefully, you began working on the enclosure. yoongi kept watch as you bypassed the security measures with trembling fingers. the thrill of the illicit act coursed through your veins, making each second feel like an eternity. finally, you managed to open the enclosure. the gnomon was a beautiful artifact, ancient and intricately designed. hidden inside it was the translation you needed. you held it up triumphantly, your eyes meeting yoongi’s in a shared moment of victory.

but the triumph was short-lived. the distant sound of police sirens shattered the moment as panic surged through you. “that asshole set us up,” he murmured, his voice laced with disbelief.

there was no time to waste. grabbing his hand, you pulled him away, clutching the gnomon tightly. you ran through the darkened halls, your footsteps echoing in the empty museum. the sirens grew louder, closer. desperation fueled your movements. you found an emergency exit and burst through it, emerging into a back alley. the cold night air hit you, but you didn’t stop. you ran, yoongi right beside you, the gnomon weighing heavily in your hands.

the sound of police sirens echoed through the streets, the lights flashing ominously in the distance. you navigated through the narrow alleys, your breath coming in ragged gasps. every corner turned, every shadow passed, you felt the urgency of your escape. yoongi pulled you toward a hidden passage, a narrow corridor between buildings. you squeezed through, the gnomon clutched tightly to your chest. the passage opened up to another alley, and you kept running, the adrenaline driving you forward.

finally, you reached a more secluded area, the sirens now distant. you stopped to catch your breath, your heart pounding in your chest. yoongi was beside you, his own breath coming in heavy gasps. “we made it,” he panted, a triumphant yet exhausted smile on his face. you nodded, clutching the gnomon. “we made it.”

the museum was abuzz with activity, police officers scattered around like ants after a disturbed nest. flashlights cut through the darkness, illuminating exhibits and casting long shadows on the walls. the chief stood in the center of the chaos, his voice a steady bark of commands.

“secure the perimeter!” he ordered, his eyes sharp and uncompromising. “i want every exit covered. jungkook, get up here and find out who’s behind this.” jungkook, who had been examining the front desk, straightened up at the sound of his name. he moved quickly, his steps purposeful as he approached the chief.

“the security cameras were disabled,” he reported, frustration edging his voice. he glanced at the monitors, now lifeless and dark. the chief's frown deepened, but he gave a curt nod. “find out how they did it and who was involved,” the chief instructed, his tone leaving no room for argument.

jungkook’s jaw tightened as he turned on his heel, a sense of urgency propelling him forward. he moved through the museum with swift efficiency, his eyes scanning for any clue, any sign of who might have been responsible. when he reached the staircase, he took them two at a time, his breath coming in controlled bursts.

reaching the top, he found the enclosure that housed kalingo's gnomon. or, rather, what had housed it. the case was empty, the artifact gone. jungkook’s eyes narrowed as he approached, his fists clenching at his sides. the dim light of his flashlight revealed the remnants of the security system, bypassed with a level of skill that spoke of careful planning. his frustration bubbled over, and he slammed his fist into the nearby table, the sound echoing through the empty halls. he took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. his eyes fell on the empty case once more, and a bitter scoff escaped his lips. he knew who had done this, knew it with a certainty that gnawed at his insides.

“it was you, wasn’t it?” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, filled with a mix of anger and disbelief. the emptiness of the museum echoed back at him, the silence heavy with the weight of his realization. he stood there for a moment longer, his mind racing with thoughts of you, of how you had outmaneuvered them all. the artifact was gone, and with it, a part of the plan he had thought was secure.

you turned to yoongi, your voice firm yet laden with the urgency of the situation. “we need to go back to the north,” you told him. he arched an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. “why?” he asked.

“it’s too risky to stay in daegu,” you replied. “we need to leave for south america as soon as possible.” he nodded, understanding the gravity of your words. the two of you made your way to the train station, blending into the evening crowd. as you waited for the next train, you pulled out your phone and called the pilot, an old friend of your father’s. you spoke in hushed tones, the urgency clear in your voice.

“can you get the plane ready for tonight?” you asked, the anxiety creeping into your tone. there was a brief pause before the pilot responded. “everything will be ready in an hour,” he assured you. you thanked him and ended the call, turning to yoongi with a relieved expression, repeating what the pilot had told you.

the train arrived, and you both boarded, finding seats near the back. exhaustion weighed heavily on your shoulders, the adrenaline from the heist beginning to fade. you settled into your seat, the rhythmic clatter of the train lulling you into a state of relaxation. before long, your eyelids grew heavy, and you drifted off, your head coming to rest on yoongi’s shoulder.

he stiffened at the unexpected contact, his heart fluttering as he glanced down at your sleeping form. the sight of you sleeping so soundly against him was disarming. he felt a rush of emotions he couldn’t quite name. he questioned his motives—was he really in this just for the money? he needed to be selfish, to think of his own survival, but the sight of you, so vulnerable and trusting, made him feel something far less selfish.

as the train neared its destination, he gently nudged you awake. “we’re here,” he murmured softly. you blinked, disoriented for a moment before reality set in. together, you made your way to the penthouse, your exhaustion evident in every step. he noticed and asked, “are you gonna be okay?”

“i’ll be fine,” you assured him, though your voice betrayed your weariness. as you walked, yoongi’s leg began to nag him, the feeling practically unbearable. he brushed it off, telling you it was nothing. you arrived at the penthouse and discovered that your father’s study remained untouched, the mess from the break-in still present. the police hadn’t been there.

“it’ll be okay,” yoongi said, his voice a soothing balm. you nodded and began packing the necessities. as you did, you took a moment to examine the gnomon. the translation depicted various symbols in an ancient, foreign language, their meanings written beside them: moon, wisdom, light, vision, and finally, gold. the gnomon itself was beautiful, meticulously crafted.

yoongi’s voice broke your train of thought. “pretty, isn’t it?” you met his gaze, his eyes soft and gentle. you smiled, your heart warming. “beautiful,” you whispered, your eyes never leaving his. with a final look around, you locked up and stuffed the gnomon into your backpack. together, you and yoongi made your way to the runway, the weight of the artifact and the journey ahead pressing on your shoulders. the night air was cool, filled with the promise of escape and the unknown.

as you and yoongi reached the runway, the scene before you was a mixture of mechanical roar and illuminated metal. the plane, sleek and powerful, rumbled softly as if it was eager for the night sky. yoongi's eyes widened in awe, his fascination with the aircraft evident in the way he stared, his expression a blend of wonder and disbelief. the pilot, a tall man with a warm smile and a firm handshake, stepped out from the cockpit. he greeted you with a friendly nod. “good to see you,” you said. “i’m sorry for the late call.”

“it’s no big deal,” the pilot replied, waving off your apology. he then turned his gaze to yoongi, his curiosity piqued. “and who’s this?”

he stepped forward, offering a polite bow. “i’m min yoongi, a friend of hers.” the word “friend” felt strangely hollow to him. he wasn’t merely content with being your friend. he wanted to be more, to be someone who mattered deeply in your life. the pilot didn’t seem to notice the subtext, merely acknowledging yoongi with a nod.

“so, where are you headed?” the pilot asked, checking his watch. you sighed, the weight of your decision heavy on your shoulders. “we’re going to colombia.”

the pilot’s eyes widened slightly. “long flight,” he remarked. “but we’ll get you there. please, board when you’re ready.”

as you and yoongi began to make your way to the aircraft, a sudden, unmistakable wail of sirens pierced the night air. panic surged through you, your instincts kicking in. “hurry,” you urged him, your voice sharp with urgency. yoongi, wincing as his injured leg flared up, struggled to keep pace. you reached out, steadying him as you both hurried up the stairs to the plane. his face was a mask of determination and anxiety, the pain in his leg momentarily forgotten in the rush to escape.

as the sirens grew louder, the police cars drew nearer, their flashing lights painting the runway in ominous hues of red and blue. the pilot, already in the cockpit, began the pre-flight checklist with practiced efficiency. the engines roared to life, the sound growing louder as the plane began its ascent. with a final, frantic glance over your shoulder, you and yoongi took your seats. the plane began to move, its wheels vibrating with the power needed to lift off the ground. the rumble beneath you grew more intense as the aircraft picked up speed, racing against the encroaching sirens.

outside, the police cars skidded to a halt, their occupants scrambling to make sense of the situation. the sight of the plane accelerating down the runway, its engines a symphony of raw power, left them momentarily stunned. the aircraft surged forward, its nose lifting, and with a shuddering roar, it took off into the night sky. the plane ascended rapidly, the lights of the runway and the police cars below shrinking into the distance. the sirens grew faint, the chase turning into a distant echo. Inside the plane, you and yoongi exchanged glances, a mix of relief and exhilaration in your eyes. the weight of the gnomon in your backpack felt lighter somehow, the imminent danger replaced by the thrill of the escape.

as the plane settled into its cruising altitude, the rhythmic hum of the engines provided a steady backdrop to the tense quiet between you and yoongi. the dim light of the cabin illuminated his features, but he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, a sharp wince escaping him each time he moved. you turned to him, concern etched into your expression. “what’s wrong?” you asked, your voice laced with worry.

he waved it off with a weak smile. “it’s nothing,” he replied, though his strained tone betrayed the lie. skeptical, you pressed further, and to his surprise, you pushed him back down onto his seat with gentle insistence. “you’re not fooling me,” you said firmly. as you knelt by his side, you began to roll up the leg of his pants. the fabric pulled away to reveal deep, bleeding scratches on his calf. your breath hitched at the sight of the raw, inflamed wounds.

looking up at him, you asked softly, “why didn’t you say anything earlier?” he offered a sheepish smile. “i didn’t want to be a bother,” he said, his eyes softening with a mixture of embarrassment and gratitude.

you shook your head, a mix of frustration and tenderness in your gaze. “you’ve never been a bother,” you assured him. from your backpack, you retrieved a small medicinal kit and set to work. xarefully, you cleaned the wounds, your hands moving with practiced ease. the antiseptic stung, but yoongi gritted his teeth, his eyes locked on you as you worked.

the moment your eyes met his, a fleeting silence filled the space between you. the intensity of his gaze made your heart skip a beat, and you could see the same flutter of emotions reflected in his eyes. the simple act of caring for him felt charged with something deeper, something you couldn’t quite name.

when you pressed a fresh bandage onto the wound, your fingertips brushed his skin lightly. you hesitated for a brief moment before leaning in and pressing a gentle kiss to the bandaged scratch. the touch was soft, and the warmth of your lips left he momentarily stunned. he stared at you, his heart racing, as you pulled away with a smile. “i’m gonna go change,” you said softly, standing up and heading toward the bathroom.

yoongi watched you leave, a wave of conflicting thoughts crashing over him. a part of him urged him to follow you, driven by a desire he couldn’t quite understand. another part cautioned him against it, whispering that he had no right to expect anything more. despite the hesitation, his longing prevailed, and he found himself following you down the narrow aisle.

to his surprise, the bathroom door was ajar. peering inside, he caught sight of you as you began to undress. his breath caught in his throat, his eyes widening as he saw you peel the dress over your head, revealing your bra and panties. the sight of you, so vulnerable and unguarded, made his pulse quicken. for a brief, uncomfortable moment, he felt like an intruder. the guilt was almost overwhelming. but as soon as you turned around, meeting his gaze with a knowing smirk, all sense of propriety melted away.

“i knew you’d follow me,” you whispered, your voice teasing and confident. his gaze softened as he took in the sight of you. “smart girl,” he murmured under his breath, his voice thick with emotion.

without another word, he crossed the threshold into the bathroom, his intentions clear. his hands found your waist, pulling you close as he kissed you with a desperate urgency. his lips were warm and insistent against yours, the kiss deepening with every passing second. he lifted you gently onto the sink, your body pressed against the cool surface. his arms wrapped around you, holding you securely as the kiss continued. the world outside the small bathroom faded away, leaving only the intimate connection between you two. the air was filled with the sounds of your mingled breaths and the steady thrum of the plane’s engines, a rhythmic accompaniment to the closeness you shared.

his hands began to roam, tracing the curves of your body as he kissed your neck. you moaned softly, arching into his touch, your fingernails digging into his shoulders. he fumbled with the clasp of your bra, finally freeing your tits to his eager palms. they were soft and warm, and he took a moment to appreciate their perfection before taking one into his mouth, suckling gently. you threw your head back, the pleasure of his touch sending shockwaves through your body. your hands found their way to his belt, deftly unbuckling it as his own hands worked on your panties. the fabric slid down your legs, leaving you exposed to his hungry gaze.

his cock was already hard, straining against the fabric of his pants. with trembling hands, you reached down and freed him, stroking the length of him as he moaned against your skin. he was velvet over steel, and you couldn’t help but marvel at the power he held in your grasp. the need to have him inside you grew stronger with every stroke, your pussy wet and ready. you spread your legs wider, inviting him closer. he stepped between them, his cock brushing against your thigh as he positioned himself.

his hand moved to cup your cheek, tilting your face to look at him. “are you sure about this?” he asked, his voice low and gruff. you nodded, your eyes locked on his. “yes, yoongi. i want you, all of you,” you whispered. with that, he plunged into you, filling you up in one quick motion. the suddenness of it made you gasp, your eyes widening with pleasure and a hint of pain. he paused, giving you a moment to adjust before he began to move, his hips rocking into yours in a rhythm that was as old as time itself.

each thrust was punctuated by a string of dirty words that only served to heighten the intensity. “fuck, you’re so tight,” he groaned. “you feel so good, baby. so fucking good.” you responded with your own vulgarities, urging him to go harder, faster. the pleasure built in you like a storm, threatening to break at any moment. your breath grew ragged as you clung to him, the muscles in your thighs tightening around his waist.

the bathroom was a cocoon of passion, the only reality that of your bodies joined together. outside, the plane continued its journey, but in that moment, you were both in a world of your own making. he picked up the pace, his strokes becoming more forceful as he approached climax. you could feel him swelling inside you, and the thought of him cumming, filling you up, was almost too much to bear.

as you reached the peak of pleasure, your body spasmed around him, tightening like a vice. he growled low in his throat, his own orgasm crashing over him. he pumped into you once, twice, before stilling, his cock pulsing with release. your eyes met in the mirror, both of you panting and flushed. the aftermath of your encounter was a heady mix of satisfaction and awe.

you wrapped your legs around his waist, holding him deep inside you for a few moments longer, savoring the feeling of his warmth. finally, he pulled out, a trail of cum connecting you both. you watched in the mirror as he tucked himself away, your eyes never leaving his. without a word, he helped you down from the sink, and you stepped into the crumpled pile of clothes on the floor. the moment was raw and unfiltered, and you both knew that what had just happened was more than just a casual hookup. it was a declaration of something deeper, something that could not be contained by the confines of any social class.

as yoongi pulled his shirt and shorts back on, you noticed the shift in his demeanor, a soft, contemplative smile on his face. he crouched down before you, his gaze steady and reassuring. his eyes searched yours with a warmth that made your heart skip. “this was meant to happen,” he said gently, the sincerity in his voice undeniable.

you tugged on a shirt and shorts, trying to compose yourself, but his words lingered in your mind. “what do you mean?” you asked, your voice slightly uncertain as you tried to make sense of the sudden shift in his tone.

with a tender smile, he reached out, taking your wrist gently and pulling you closer to him. you were startled by the sudden contact, but his touch was soft, almost comforting. “you feel it too, don’t you?” he asked, his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made it impossible to look away. a shiver ran down your spine, the gravity of his words sinking in. you understood perfectly what he meant, and the truth was unmistakable. You nodded slowly, your gaze never leaving his.

you then asked, “did you agree to help me because of the gold?” your tone was casual, but there was a hint of something deeper, a vulnerability that you rarely showed. he thought for a moment before responding. “yes, i did,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “but it’s more complicated now.”

his eyes softened, and he took a deep breath. “if you wanted me to leave without a single piece of gold, just to keep you, i’d agree,” he said, his voice steady and resolute. the weight of his words pressed heavily on your chest. the sincerity of his offer was palpable, and it touched a chord within you. without thinking, you leaned in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. this time, the kiss was tender and filled with a sweetness that spoke of unspoken promises and deeper emotions.

his arms wrapped around you, pulling you into a warm, reassuring embrace. his touch was gentle yet firm, as if he was afraid to let go. “i promise,” he murmured into your ear, his voice a soothing balm, “i won’t let anything happen to you.”

as he settled into a comfortable position beside you, his exhaustion finally overtaking him, you couldn't help but be captivated by the serene expression on his face. his fingers, though initially restless, gradually stilled and began to curl around the string of your shorts, his touch soft and almost tentative. it was a small, intimate gesture, one that spoke volumes about his trust and the vulnerability he felt in this moment.

you watched him with a tender smile, your heart swelling with a warmth you hadn't expected to feel. the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he breathed deeply was soothing, and the occasional twitch of his fingers only added to the sense of closeness between you. you reached out with a gentle hand and began to stroke his hair, the silky strands slipping through your fingers like water.

the rhythmic motion of your hand on his head seemed to calm him even more, and you could see the tension in his shoulders gradually easing. his face, now relaxed and peaceful, was a stark contrast to the strained expression he'd worn earlier. as you continued to stroke his hair, a sense of contentment washed over you. you could feel the weight of the day’s events lifting, replaced by the simple joy of having him close.

the dim light of the cabin illuminated his features in a soft glow, casting gentle shadows that accentuated his relaxed expression. each breath he took was steady and rhythmic, and you found yourself enveloped in the quiet intimacy of the moment. there was something profoundly comforting about watching him fall asleep, the trust and connection between you palpable.

your own eyelids began to droop as the soothing motion of your hand on his hair combined with the rhythmic hum of the plane. the exhaustion of the day’s events, coupled with the calm of the cabin, lulled you into a state of tranquility. with one last, affectionate brush of your fingers through his hair, you allowed yourself to lean back, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your hand. soon, sleep claimed you as well, your body relaxing into the cushioned seat. the warmth of his presence and the soft, steady rhythm of his breathing created a cocoon of comfort around you.

the jarring sound of the cockpit door sliding open snapped you from your slumber. startled, you glanced around, your heart racing as the plane lurched violently beneath you. yoongi, still groggy, looked up with wide, alarmed eyes as the pilot’s voice cut through the chaos.

“we’re being shot at,” the pilot’s voice was strained but controlled, “we’re heading towards the sea. brace yourselves!”

the words barely had time to sink in before the plane shuddered again, the turbulence throwing you against yoongi. the once smooth hum of the engines was now a discordant roar, the plane tilting violently to one side. the cabin lights flickered, casting eerie shadows on the walls as the aircraft struggled to maintain altitude.

his hand gripped yours tightly, his face pale but determined. “do you remember what i told you earlier?” he shouted over the cacophony. his voice, though steady, betrayed his underlying fear. you nodded vigorously, your own heart pounding in your chest. fear clawed at your insides, but you managed to force a shaky smile. his reassuring gaze was your anchor amidst the turmoil. without a word, he leaned in and pressed a tender kiss to your forehead, his warm lips a stark contrast to the cold sweat that coated your skin. “nothing will happen to you,” he promised, his voice low and fierce. “i promised.”

the plane shuddered again, and the pilot’s voice came over the intercom, “prepare for impact!” the words barely registered before the plane began its final, harrowing descent. the cabin filled with a cacophony of alarm bells and frantic shouts. you clung to yoongi as the plane lurched and pitched, the sensation of weightlessness making your stomach churn. he pulled you close, his arms a steadfast shield against the chaos.

with a heart-stopping jolt, the plane hit the water. the impact was brutal, the fuselage groaning and buckling as it collided with the ocean’s surface. water sprayed violently through the shattered windows, the once sleek interior now a scene of disaster. yoongi’s grip tightened around you as you were both thrown against the seatbacks, the force of the crash sending waves of cold seawater surging through the cabin. the cabin lights went out, leaving you in near-total darkness save for the sporadic flashes of lightning outside. yoongi pulled you from your seat, his movements urgent but controlled. “we need to get out!” he shouted, his voice barely audible over the roar of the ocean and the crackling wreckage.

you both stumbled toward the emergency exits, the plane listing heavily to one side. with adrenaline coursing through your veins, you forced open the nearest emergency exit, the rush of cold seawater flooding in as you leaped out into the chaotic surf. he followed closely behind, his strong arms encircling you as you were both engulfed by the freezing sea. the water was a violent, tumultuous mess, the waves crashing over you with relentless force. you fought to keep your head above the surface, clinging to the debris and floating wreckage that bobbed around you. yoongi’s grip never wavered, his hand firmly clasped around yours as you struggled to stay afloat amidst the disorienting swirl of water.

in the distance, you could hear distant cries and the sharp crack of gunfire, the sounds merging with the roar of the ocean and the wreckage. the fear was palpable, but yoongi’s steady presence kept you focused. you both swam with powerful, determined strokes, using any piece of floating debris as leverage to propel yourselves toward the distant shore. the journey was grueling, each stroke through the water a battle against exhaustion and the pounding waves. every moment felt like an eternity, but his reassuring presence and the glimmer of hope that came with nearing the shore kept you going. the distant lights of the coastline finally came into view, a beacon of salvation amidst the chaos.

when you finally reached the shore, your legs nearly gave out as you collapsed onto the wet sand. yoongi, equally exhausted, pulled himself beside you, his breath coming in ragged gasps. his eyes were full of concern as he reached out to brush the wet hair from your forehead. “are you okay?” he asked, his voice strained but sincere. you nodded, the weight of the situation hitting you as you took stock of your belongings. the gnomon, the translation, and the map were still secure, clutched tightly in your backpack. you knew you had to run, that the danger wasn’t over, but for a brief moment, you allowed yourself to rest, the cool sand beneath you a small comfort after the nightmarish ordeal.

the oppressive heat of the jungle enveloped you both as you sprinted through the thick, tangled foliage, the weight of the humid air pressing down on you. the map you clutched in one hand was a precious guide through the dense undergrowth, each step a challenge as you navigated the uneven terrain. the trees loomed like sentinels, their thick branches entwining above you, casting fleeting shadows that danced in the flickering light of the dense canopy. the cries of unseen creatures echoed through the thick air, mingling with the rapid pounding of your heart.

yoongi ran beside you, his breathing ragged and uneven, the adrenaline driving him forward despite the exhaustion. his eyes darted around, scanning the surroundings for any sign of danger. the map led you through a labyrinth of green, the path seemingly endless as you pressed on, guided by the urgent need to escape and survive.

as the dense forest began to thin, you emerged into a small clearing that revealed a scene both unexpected and alarming. before you lay a group of makeshift cabins, their structures rudimentary but functional, scattered across the clearing. the people gathered there, clad in worn clothing and armed with an assortment of weapons, looked up in confusion as you and yoongi stumbled into their view.

the first shot rang out, slamming into the ground just inches from where you stood. the deafening crack shattered the moment of stunned silence, and yoongi's instincts kicked in. “we need to move!” he shouted, grabbing your arm and pulling you towards a nearby hill.

the shouts and cries in rapid spanish grew louder, and the threat of a fight was imminent. despite yoongi’s desperate pleas to keep running, you stopped abruptly. he turned to you, his eyes wide with concern. “what are you doing?” you reached into your backpack and, to his astonishment, pulled out a sleek pistol. the weight of the weapon was reassuring in your hand, the cold metal a stark contrast to the sweltering heat. as the cries grew nearer, you positioned yourself behind a nearby tree, your focus sharp as you aimed. the first shot echoed through the clearing, and the sound of a body hitting the ground followed soon after.

a tense silence fell, broken only by the distant rustling of the jungle and the pounding of your own heartbeat. the sight of the armed group retreating was a small victory, and you took it as your cue to keep moving. you turned to yoongi, who watched in disbelief as you wrestled with your backpack, pulling out a second pistol and handing it to him. “here,” you said, your voice steady despite the situation. “you’re gonna need this.”

he took the weapon with a mixture of awe and amusement, his eyes narrowing as he took in the situation. he let out a soft laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “if i didn’t know any better, i’d say you were from the south.” you couldn’t help but smile at his reaction. “that’s funny,” you replied, your eyes twinkling with mischief. “my boyfriend’s actually from the south.”

the comment left yoongi momentarily flustered, his cheeks flushing a shade darker as he tried to regain his composure. you watched with amusement as he stumbled over his words, clearly thrown by your unexpected jest. his flustered reaction was a stark contrast to the tense atmosphere, adding a moment of lightness to the chaos. “let’s go,” you urged him, still smiling as you began to lead the way up the hill. the weight of the pistols and the urgency of the situation kept you moving, despite the lingering laughter and the adrenaline that surged through your veins.

the climb up the hill was strenuous, the incline steep and the jungle’s undergrowth relentless. every step was a struggle, but the sight of the jungle stretching out below you and the promise of safety spurred you onward. yoongi, now more focused, followed closely behind, his earlier embarrassment replaced by a determined resolve. as you reached the top of the hill, the dense forest stretched out before you, a sprawling sea of green that offered both cover and a potential escape route. the distant shouts of the armed group faded, replaced by the relentless buzz of insects and the rustle of leaves in the breeze.

the jungle seemed endless, its thick, humid air wrapping around you like a heavy, suffocating cloak. the undergrowth scratched at your legs, and the sweat trickling down your face made each step feel like a monumental effort. the map clutched tightly in your hand felt like it was growing heavier with each mile, and despite the fleeting moments of adrenaline, fatigue began to seep into your bones.

after what felt like an eternity of walking, you finally had to stop. you slumped down onto a large, flat rock, your breathing ragged as you tried to catch your breath. yoongi, equally exhausted, immediately knelt beside you, his eyes filled with concern. without a word, he reached into his bag and pulled out a bottle of water. the cool liquid felt like a balm to your parched throat as he pressed the bottle to your lips, tilting it gently so you could drink.

as you took the water, yoongi’s gaze was unwavering, his worry etched into the lines of his face. once you’d finished drinking, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a firm, reassuring hug. the embrace was warm despite the humid air, a small but meaningful comfort amidst the chaos. “don’t give up,” he said softly, his voice a low murmur against your ear. “remember why we’re here. we’re so close.”

his words, combined with his steady presence, gave you a renewed sense of determination. you nodded against his shoulder, drawing strength from his embrace. with a deep breath, you stood up, feeling the weight of exhaustion but also a spark of renewed resolve. he helped you up, and you both continued on, the map guiding you through the darkening forest.

the path became more challenging as night fell, but the promise of reaching your destination kept you moving. the moonlight filtered through the dense canopy, casting an ethereal glow on the trail as you pressed on. eventually, the sound of rushing water grew louder, a welcome symphony amidst the quiet of the jungle.

you emerged into a small clearing, and the sight that greeted you took your breath away. before you stood a magnificent waterfall, its cascading waters shimmering in the moonlight. the scene was nothing short of magical. the waterfall tumbled down from a high cliff, creating a misty veil that danced in the cool night air. the pool at its base was clear and serene, reflecting the moon’s pale light.

a smile spread across yoongi’s face as he watched your reaction. “do you like it?” he asked, his voice filled with gentle amusement. you nodded, awestruck. “yeah,” you whispered, your voice filled with wonder. “i remember my father telling stories about a waterfall just like this one. it was part of his tales about el dorado.”

yoongi’s eyes softened as he looked at you, a shared understanding passing between you. the waterfall’s beauty, combined with the shared memory of your father’s stories, made the moment deeply emotional. it was as if the waterfall itself was a bridge between your past and the present, connecting you to the stories and dreams that had driven you this far.

you both set up camp for the night near the base of the waterfall. the sound of the water was soothing, a constant, rhythmic lullaby that provided a comforting backdrop to your efforts. yoongi worked alongside you, his movements methodical and efficient as he helped you arrange the sleeping bags and set up a small, portable cooking area. the familiar routine of setting up camp offered a small measure of normalcy in the midst of the chaos.

as the camp was finally set up, you both sat down on the grass, the waterfall’s mist gently cooling your skin. you looked over at him, who was gazing at the waterfall with a thoughtful expression. there was something profoundly peaceful about the scene, a serene contrast to the turmoil and danger that had marked your journey so far.

you joined yoongi in watching the waterfall, the soothing sound of the cascading water providing a sense of calm. the moonlight cast a soft glow over the scene, illuminating the mist that rose from the pool below. you felt a deep, soothing connection to the moment, a rare opportunity to reflect and find solace in the midst of the ongoing struggle.

as you sat together in the stillness of the night, you could feel the exhaustion slowly melting away, replaced by a profound sense of tranquility. the world felt smaller and more manageable, with the waterfall standing as a reminder of the beauty that still existed amidst the chaos. eventually, the fatigue of the day caught up with both of you. you lay down on your sleeping bag, the cool night air brushing against your skin as you settled into a comfortable position. yoongi lay down beside you, and for a while, you both simply stared at the waterfall, the sound of the water creating a rhythmic lullaby that seemed to echo the beat of your hearts.

the moon’s silvery light filtered through the canopy, casting ethereal shadows across the forest floor. you stirred awake, the intense brightness of the moon penetrating even the depth of your sleep. the waterfall’s gentle murmur was a soothing backdrop as you pushed yourself up, blinking against the stark contrast of moonlight and shadow. beside you, yoongi shifted and slowly roused from his sleep. his eyes, still heavy with fatigue, met yours with a mix of curiosity and concern. you motioned for him to follow as you began gathering your things, the urgency of the quest fueling your movements. the map, now slightly crumpled from its journey, was securely tucked into your backpack, and with a quick glance at him, you headed back towards the trail.

the jungle was even more enigmatic under the moon’s pale glow. the sounds of nocturnal creatures filled the air, their calls mingling with the rustle of the leaves. your steps were careful, the ground slick from the earlier rain, but determination guided you as you followed the map’s instructions.

after what seemed like an eternity of navigating through the dense foliage, the trees finally began to thin out. the faintest hint of a clearing emerged, and you and yoongi came to a sudden halt as your eyes adjusted to the sight before you. there, partially obscured by undergrowth and moss, lay an array of stone blocks arranged in a circular formation. the structure had an ancient, solemn feel to it, with stones arranged in a pattern that suggested a deep significance.

both of you stood in awe. the arrangement resembled a grave—an ancient tomb perhaps—yet something about it seemed to pulse with an undeniable energy. you approached the structure with a cautious reverence, your eyes scanning the weathered stones for any inscriptions or clues.

as you examined the array more closely, your heart skipped a beat. there, in the center of the stone formation, was a circular depression, perfectly sized for the gnomon you had carried from the museum. the realization hit you like a jolt of electricity. this was no mere grave; it was the temalacatl, the ancient aztec stone disk that had been lost to legend. yoongi’s face lit up with a triumphant smile as he moved closer. he pressed a soft, celebratory kiss to your shoulder, his lips warm against your skin. his eyes were alight with the thrill of discovery, and for a moment, the exhaustion and danger of your journey were forgotten in the joy of this breakthrough.

carefully, he retrieved the gnomon from your backpack. with a precise and practiced hand, he placed it into the center of the temalacatl. it fit perfectly, the gnomon slotting into place with a satisfying click. as the moonlight streamed through the canopy, it illuminated the gnomon and the stone disk below, casting intricate patterns of light and shadow. the symbols on the gnomon began to glow with an otherworldly brilliance, casting their reflections onto the surrounding stones. your breath caught in your throat as the illumination revealed ancient glyphs on the temalacatl. the sight was nothing short of breathtaking; the symbols seemed to come alive in the moonlight, their meanings unfolding before your eyes.

“write everything down,” you instructed urgently, your voice barely above a whisper. yoongi, still in awe, nodded and quickly pulled out a notebook and pencil, capturing every detail of the illuminated symbols. as you both studied the glowing symbols, you read aloud the translations of the ones you recognized: “man,” “moon,” “light,” “vision,” “gold.” each word felt like a piece of a larger puzzle falling into place. the symbols began to fade, the light dimming until only the moonlight remained to highlight the ancient carvings.

you and yoongi huddled together, scrutinizing the symbols and comparing them to the translations you had written down. the process was meticulous, each detail requiring careful consideration. the illuminated symbols had revealed a pattern, a message encoded in the ancient language. after a series of detailed cross-references and careful matching, you both reached a conclusion.

he looked up from his notes, his expression reflecting the gravity of your findings. you took a deep breath and read aloud, your voice steady despite the enormity of the revelation: “he who is under the moon needs not light to see the gold.” the words hung in the air, their significance slowly sinking in. the message was clear; it was not the physical light that revealed the treasure, but rather a deeper understanding, guided by the celestial influence of the moon. it was a profound realization, a testament to the wisdom of the ancients and the power of the celestial realm in guiding you to your goal.

“what does it mean?” your question hung in the air, reverberating with a weight you could scarcely comprehend. your heart pounded with the intensity of the revelation, but before yoongi could respond with any further insight, another voice sliced through the silence.

“indeed, tell us,” the voice demanded, its tone cold and authoritative. “what does it mean?”

both you and yoongi turned towards the shadow that had emerged from the dense foliage. the moonlight, once a gentle guide, now cast a harsh light on the intruder. your breath caught in your throat as the figure stepped into the clearing. a tear-streaked smile graced his face, one that spoke of a complex web of emotions—pride, relief, and something else, something darker. he moved toward you with a deliberate calm, his eyes reflecting both sorrow and triumph.

“you did it,” your father said softly, his voice filled with an almost paternal affection. “i knew you would.”

the words, spoken with such a mix of warmth and finality, shattered something deep within you. the emotional dam you had been holding back broke free, and you began to sob uncontrollably. the sight of your father, after all you had been through, overwhelmed you. you stumbled back, instinctively clinging to yoongi, seeking comfort in his presence as the reality of the situation sank in.

your father’s eyes shifted to yoongi, his expression turning to one of cold calculation. “your silence will be well rewarded,” he said, his voice carrying a note of sinister finality.

panic surged through you. “what does he mean?” you asked yoongi, your voice trembling as you turned to him. the realization of betrayal was sharp, the knife of distrust cutting deeper with every passing second. you watched as his face fell, his expression crumpling into one of despair. your father’s gaze remained fixed on you, unyielding. “don’t you know? it took a lot of money to convince him not to tell you about me.”

the words hit you like a punch to the gut. betrayal surged through you, mingling with your grief. anger and hurt bubbled to the surface, and before you could stop yourself, you slapped yoongi across the face. the sting of your hand on his cheek seemed to punctuate the pain of the moment. his eyes were wide with tears as he blinked them away, the hurt evident in every feature. “i’m sorry,” he managed to say, his voice choked. “i needed you to be safe.” the raw emotion in his voice made you cry harder, unable to calm down. you had trusted him implicitly, and now that trust lay in tatters. the anger slowly ebbed away, leaving you with nothing but exhaustion and a profound sense of betrayal.

your father’s approach was gentle as he reached out to stroke your hair. “i had to leave,” he explained softly, his voice soothing despite the turmoil. “you saw what they did to my study. i knew you would find the trail. i knew you would find me.” tears streamed down your face as his words washed over you, but you didn’t have the energy to resist. the emotional drain of the journey, combined with the shock of his unexpected reappearance and yoongi’s betrayal, left you numb.

“don’t be mad at yoongi,” your father continued, his hand still comforting. “he needed to be someone you could trust to make sure you were safe. it was the only way.”

you watched as yoongi knelt beside you, his face etched with regret and pain. “i’m sorry,” he repeated, his voice barely a whisper. “i needed you to be safe. that’s all that mattered to me.” the sincerity in his apology, coupled with the exhaustion that had begun to overpower your emotions, made you too tired to respond. the weight of everything that had happened, from the dangerous chase through the jungle to the heart-wrenching betrayal, had left you drained.

as you followed the map in silence, the air between you was thick with unspoken words. you refused to look at either your father or yoongi, the emotional chasm between you all too wide to bridge in that moment. the forest seemed to close in around you as you walked, each step heavy with the burden of recent revelations.

as you walked through the dense foliage, the tension between you, your father, and yoongi was palpable. the weight of your father's unexpected reappearance, coupled with the sense of betrayal, made each step heavy with unresolved emotions. the moonlight cast a silvery glow over the path, illuminating the scene in an eerie, almost ethereal light. breaking the silence, you finally asked, “how did you know i’d find you?”

your father’s gaze softened as he looked at you, his expression filled with a mixture of pride and affection. “you're my daughter,” he said, his voice steady and full of conviction. “the only one i have. i never doubted you. i always knew you’d find your way.” his words were a balm to your wounded heart, but they also served to deepen the confusion and sorrow swirling within you. you turned your gaze to yoongi, whose face was illuminated by the moonlight, the tear streaks on his cheeks glistening like silver trails in the dim light. his eyes met yours with a mixture of regret and longing, and the intensity of his emotions was almost palpable.

your father’s voice cut through the silence once more. “are you dating him?” he asked, his tone casual yet probing. the question hung in the air, and for a moment, the only sound was the rustling of leaves and the distant call of nocturnal creatures. you didn’t respond, the silence stretching into an uncomfortable pause. with a light-hearted chuckle, your father continued, “well, if you are, you have my approval.”

the words, though intended to be reassuring, did little to ease the tension. you remained focused on yoongi, whose silence spoke volumes. the complexity of your relationship with him, mixed with the recent revelations, made any further conversation feel almost impossible.

as you pressed on, you suddenly stumbled across a cave partially submerged in the water. the sight halted you in your tracks, the dim light of the moon reflecting off the rippling surface of the water, casting a shimmering glow on the entrance of the cave. you paused, your heart pounding with anticipation and trepidation. yoongi’s voice broke the silence, filled with apprehension. “is this a dead end?”

you turned to him, a determined glint in your eye. “only if you want it to be,” you replied, your voice steady and resolute. without further hesitation, you stepped into the water, the coldness biting at your skin as you waded deeper.

your father shook his head in disbelief, his expression a mix of resignation and concern. “i won’t make it down there,” he said, his voice tinged with regret. he turned to yoongi, his eyes serious. “take care of her.” the weight of his words settled heavily on yoongi’s shoulders. he nodded, his gaze never leaving you as you continued into the water. the cave entrance loomed ahead, its dark mouth beckoning with a promise of what lay beyond.

you glanced back at him, who gave you a reassuring nod before following you into the water. the chill of the water contrasted sharply with the heat of the jungle, and each step forward felt like a step closer to both resolution and revelation. as you entered the cave, the water rose to your chest, then your neck, and you finally took a deep breath as you submerged, guiding yourself into the unknown depths. the cave, shrouded in darkness, seemed to swallow you up as you swam forward, the sound of your movements echoing off the stone walls. the air was thick with the dampness of the underground world, and the only light came from the faint glow of the moon that seeped in through the entrance.

yoongi’s eyes darted to a narrow, submerged entrance in the cave, partially obscured by the swirling water. he pointed it out to you, his voice strained but determined. “there,” he said, the water dripping from his face and mixing with the sweat of exertion. “that’s our way through.” with a nod, you both dove into the water, the cold embrace momentarily startling you but quickly overshadowed by the urgency of the moment. the underwater passage was cramped, the water pressing against you as you swam with quick, determined strokes. your breaths were short and hurried, the cave’s darkness enveloping you completely.

the tunnel seemed endless, but eventually, you felt your feet touch solid ground. you surfaced, gasping for air, and took in the dimly lit cave around you. the cave's ceiling arched high above, its jagged edges silhouetted against the faint light that filtered through the entrance behind you. the air was cooler there, and the sound of dripping water echoed softly, a rhythmic accompaniment to the anxious beats of your heart.

in front of you was a sheer drop, with a gap leading to another patch of land on the other side. the jump required looked daunting, and the void between you and safety seemed to stretch endlessly. the sight made your heart race with a mix of fear and doubt.

yoongi squeezed your hand, his gaze steady and unwavering. “i know you hate me right now,” he said, his voice soft but resolute. “but i need you to know that i love you.” the intensity of his words took you aback. despite the betrayal that still stung, you could feel the sincerity in his voice, and the confession seemed to bridge a chasm of its own. “i love you too,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you fought back tears.

with a sudden, determined grin, yoongi stepped back, bracing himself. without further hesitation, he took a running leap and soared over the gap. the space seemed to hold its breath as he landed on the other side with a solid thud, his form illuminated briefly by the moonlight. your fear spiked, but his encouraging smile reassured you. “i’ll help you up,” he called, his voice echoing back to you.

you took a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself for the jump. with a final glance at yoongi’s outstretched hand, you leaped across the void, your heart pounding in your chest. his hands caught yours with a firm grip, and he helped you scramble up to his side. relief flooded through you as you stood on solid ground once more.

as you both entered the water again, the cold of the underground lake was a sharp contrast to the warmth of your fear-induced sweat. you swam through the dark water, the only sound being the echo of your strokes and the distant, intermittent drip of water. reaching the opposite shore, you were greeted by an oppressive darkness. the cave was pitch black, and the vast emptiness before you seemed to absorb any hint of light. you turned to him, voicing your concern. “it might actually be a dead end,” you said, your voice tinged with frustration.

he shook his head, refusing to give in to despair. “i don’t believe it,” he said firmly. he paused, the realization dawning on him. “he who is under the moon needs not light to see the gold,” he recalled, his face lighting up with sudden comprehension. “needs not light to see.”

your heart skipped a beat as you reached for your backpack, pulling out the waterproof flares you had packed. “three flares,” you said, glancing at him. “twenty minutes each. one hour.” yoongi nodded, his expression determined. “we’ll use them to explore.”

you struck the first flare, the brilliant orange light cutting through the impenetrable darkness. the cavern in front of you came alive with a sudden, warm glow, revealing intricate patterns etched into the stone. the illuminated symbols seemed to beckon you forward, their shapes dancing in the flare’s light as if guiding you deeper into the cave’s heart. the sight was both mesmerizing and exhilarating. the path ahead was illuminated, leading you further into the cave. you and yoongi exchanged a look of resolute determination before plunging into the illuminated darkness, the flares lighting the way to whatever lay hidden in the depths.

the flare’s light carved a path through the dense darkness, guiding you and yoongi deeper into the cave. with each step, the cavern walls seemed to pulse with a golden glow, hinting at the marvel that lay beyond. as you rounded a final bend, the flare’s illumination suddenly gave way to an awe-inspiring spectacle.

you both froze, your breath catching in your throats as the room came into full view. the cavern stretched out before you, a vast, breathtaking expanse of shimmering gold. the walls, ceiling, and floor were encrusted with gold, every crack and crevice glistening with a rich, golden hue. the light from the flare reflected off the gold, casting dazzling patterns across the cavern's surface and creating an ethereal glow that made the entire room seem to pulse with life.

the sight was nothing short of magnificent. you felt as though you had stumbled upon a forgotten world, a treasure trove of immense beauty and unimaginable wealth. gold hung from every corner, cascading in delicate strands, and the floor was scattered with golden relics and artifacts, each one telling a story of a bygone era. yoongi's hand tightened around yours as he pulled you gently into the heart of the cavern.

his eyes, wide with disbelief and wonder, met yours. with a joyous smile, he leaned in and planted a tender, congratulatory kiss on your cheek. “we did it,” he said softly, his voice filled with pride and relief. the words hung in the air between you as you both took in the sheer splendor of the room. it was as if you were standing in the very heart of a legend come to life, the stories and myths you had heard becoming tangible reality. the gold seemed to sing with a history long forgotten, and the room itself felt like a living testament to an age of grandeur.

you moved towards the piles of gold scattered around, the sound of your footsteps echoing softly in the cavern. yoongi helped you fill your bags with chunks of raw gold, the weight of the precious metal a satisfying burden. each piece you picked up seemed to hold a piece of the cavern’s magic, and the act of collecting it felt like a ritual of its own. as you both worked, you took moments to pause and admire the room once more. the golden light played on your faces, highlighting the awe and wonder in your eyes. It was a place where history and legend had merged into something tangible and breathtaking, a reality that far surpassed any story ever told.

once your bags were filled to the brim with gold, you paused to take one final look at the cavern. the scene before you was so stunningly beautiful that it was almost surreal. you knew you would carry this image with you forever—the shimmering gold, the sense of triumph, and the shared wonder of discovering something so extraordinary. with a final, lingering glance at the cavern, you and yoongi began your journey back. the return trip was a mix of careful navigation and unspoken understanding, both of you focused on retracing your steps through the dark, illuminated only by the faint, dwindling glow of the flares.

emerging from the cave, you were greeted by the cool, crisp air of dawn. the first light of morning kissed the horizon with a soft, golden glow, a stark contrast to the dark, glittering realm you had just left behind. you and yoongi stood at the cave’s entrance, the early light painting a serene picture after the chaos you had endured. overwhelmed by the beauty of the moment and the relief of having succeeded, you turned to yoongi and pressed a tender kiss to his lips. it was a moment of pure, unguarded emotion—a celebration of your shared victory and the bond you had forged.

but the peace was shattered abruptly. a gunshot rang out, echoing through the tranquil morning. the bullet struck the tree above you, the sharp crack splitting the air and causing you both to jerk in surprise. you spun around, your heart pounding as you took in the sight before you.

standing there, calm and menacing, was your father. his eyes, once filled with warmth and encouragement, were now shadowed with a mixture of resignation and fear. the most chilling aspect, however, was the gun pressed firmly against his temple. your breath caught in your throat, your relief swiftly morphing into dread.

“i knew you would find it.” the words hung in the air, each one a knife twisting into your heart.

yoongi’s arms instinctively moved to shield you, his protective presence a stark contrast to the danger that now surrounded you. the world seemed to shrink to just the three of them—yoongi, your father, and jungkook, who had guided you there, now at gunpoint.

your father shook his head sadly, the gun still pressed to his head. he spoke softly, trying to convey his message despite the dire circumstances. “it isn’t worth it,” he said, his voice trembling. the realization hit you like a ton of bricks. jungkook was not just any adversary; he was the one behind the failed museum heist, the reason why the break-in was discarded, the one who had been after the same treasure you sought. everything fell into place—the clues, the tension, and now, this horrifying confrontation.

desperation surged through you. “drop the gun,” you pleaded, your voice cracking with emotion. “leave my father be.”

to your astonishment, jungkook momentarily lowered the gun, a fleeting hope flickering in your chest. but it was quickly extinguished when he aimed the gun back at you. “you’re right,” he said with a chilling calmness, “you’re the one i should be shooting.”

yoongi’s grip on you tightened, his body a shield against the threat. jungkook’s gun shifted to target him instead. “don’t be a hero,” he ordered, his voice icy and unyielding.

tears streamed down your cheeks, your heart breaking at the sight of the man you loved being placed in such danger. you leaned into yoongi’s embrace, your voice barely above a whisper. “i’m so sorry,” you choked out, the weight of your apology heavy with the knowledge of the peril you had brought upon him.

yoongi’s eyes were filled with an intense, unwavering love. “i love you,” he said fiercely, “and no amount of gold could ever compare to you.” his words were both a comfort and a heart-wrenching reminder of what was at stake. he held you close, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. the love in his eyes was unwavering even in the face of imminent danger. you turned to your father, whose eyes were full of regret and sorrow. he met your gaze with an apologetic smile, and you saw him mouth an “i love you.” the sight made your heart ache, the final, heart-wrenching goodbye unspoken but deeply felt.

a scream rose in your throat, but before you could utter it, the scene unfolded in a blur. your father lunged at jungkook, his actions fueled by a mix of desperation and bravery. the two of them collided, struggling fiercely. the struggle was chaotic, and in the turmoil, they both tumbled over the edge of the cliff.

you watched in horror as they fell, your father’s figure disappearing from view. the sound of their impact was muffled by the distance, but the sight of their lifeless forms on the ground below was clear. the sight of their bodies, unmoving and broken, left a raw, aching void in your chest.

yoongi wrapped his arms around you, his own tears mingling with yours as you both stood there, grief-stricken and devastated. his embrace was the only thing grounding you as you both wept. the cavern, the treasure, and the journey seemed insignificant compared to the unbearable weight of loss that now pressed upon you. in the cold light of the morning, the world felt empty, hollow. the triumph of your discovery was overshadowed by the profound sorrow of your father’s death and the jungkook's betrayal. yoongi’s presence was a small comfort in the midst of the overwhelming grief, his strength and support a beacon in the darkness of your loss.

the journey back was a somber one. as you and yoongi made your way through the tangled undergrowth, the golden dawn now a distant memory, you both climbed into the small boat you had left tethered by the shore. the morning’s light was gentle, casting a muted glow over the rippling water. the boat’s wooden frame creaked under the weight of your sadness and the burden of the gold you had decided to leave behind.

yoongi’s touch was gentle, his hand resting comfortingly on your shoulder as you sat side by side. the silence between you was profound, each of you lost in your own thoughts. the distant sounds of nature—the lapping of the water against the boat, the chirping of birds—seemed almost foreign against the backdrop of your grief.

as the boat glided over the shimmering surface, yoongi reached into his bag and pulled out a small, glistening piece of gold. His fingers were deft as he used a small tool to carefully engrave your father’s name into the metal. the delicate scratch of the tool against the gold was the only sound that marked this poignant moment. his movements were meticulous, his concentration evident as he worked with steady hands.

when he was finished, he held up the gold piece for you to see. “this is for him,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. you nodded, a tear slipping down your cheek. with a heavy heart, you watched as yoongi released the engraved gold into the water. it sank slowly, disappearing beneath the surface, leaving ripples in its wake. you clung to him, the weight of your loss pressing heavily on your chest.

the boat journey seemed endless, each wave a reminder of the pain you carried. the hours passed in silence, the water reflecting the sky’s changing colors as the day progressed. when you finally reached the shore, the sight of the city brought a mix of relief and apprehension.

the moment you set foot on solid ground, the press was there, waiting for you. the bright flashes of cameras and the clamor of questions assaulted you. “why did you disappear?” one journalist asked. “did you have anything to do with the museum break-in?” another queried.

yoongi stood protectively beside you, his presence a steadying force as you fielded the questions. “we were on an expedition,” you managed to say, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside. “we discovered something significant, but the details are still being finalized.” the press thronged around you, but yoongi guided you through the crowd and into the waiting car. the drive back to the penthouse was a blur, the cityscape slipping past the window in muted colors. when you arrived, the penthouse was an unexpected haven of calm.

inside, the weight of the world seemed to lift slightly. you sank into bed, yoongi’s arms wrapping around you with a comforting warmth. the events of the past days felt like a distant dream, and the victory you had once celebrated now seemed bittersweet. he held you close, his breath warm against your skin. “i’m so proud of you,” he murmured, pressing a tender kiss to your shoulder. “you did it.”

in the quiet of the night, as you lay beside him, you whispered, “i did it.” the victory felt hollow against the backdrop of loss, but yoongi’s presence was a balm to your wounded heart. you felt a flicker of hope amid the sadness.

the next day was a whirlwind of ceremony and celebration. the city honored your discovery with a grand ceremony held in your names. the venue was adorned with gold accents, a tribute to the treasure you had uncovered. as you and yoongi stood on the stage, the applause and cheers from the crowd felt distant and surreal. the ceremony was a testament to your achievement, but the joy was tempered by the sorrow of your recent loss.

later, in the quiet of your kitchen, you found a moment of peace. yoongi leaned against the counter, watching you with a curious smile. “what are you making?” he asked, his tone light. you looked up from your work, a smile playing at the corners of your lips. “you fulfilled your promise,” you said, placing a cup of affogato in front of him. “now it’s my turn to fulfill mine.”

hia eyes softened as he took in the gesture, the warmth of the moment soothing the lingering ache in your heart. he took a sip, his expression one of contentment. as you joined him, the kitchen became a sanctuary—a place where the echoes of the past week could be put aside, if only for a moment, to savor the present and the future you were beginning to build together.

✧.*

a/n: ok outer banks crossover!!! i was gonna kill yoongi off ngl

[ateez-ana]

date in new york- The Expedition Tour

The group was in New York for their concert in the city for their first Tour, called The Expedition Tour, the group  was staying in a nice apartment where they could see the great view of the skyscrapers of the immense city.

the day after arriving in the city  ana  was looking around the bed but couldn't find hongjoong, she go out of the room and go to the living room of their apartment and she find him in the sofa with his laptop in front of him, she walk to the kitchen and took a cup of water, it was 7:40, she sigh and go back to the living room, when she reach him, he noticed her and he sours a smiled at her.

He closed his laptop and he stood up from the sofa, he wrapped his arms around her waist, and kisses her forehead.

''Good morning '' he says, He kisses her cheek and he whispered in her ear ''I'm falling for you more and more every time I see you, kiss you and when I hold you in my arms'' he says, she feels her  face turn red.

''You are more beautiful when you are shy'' he says and she looks at him ''You shouldn't say that to me, you will make me fall for you'' she says. He smirked and she  kissed his cheek as he whisper  ''I already did'' she pull back and  giggles 

''What time is it'' she says.''It's 7:45, the others are still sleep'' he says and he kisses her lips, he smiles against her lips

Ana pulls away and  says ''I'm hungry'' and he smiles at her, she pulls him closer to her and  kisses his cheek, he chuckles and  kisses her nose.

Ana rolled her eyes and  walked to the room, he walk behind her and  wrapped his arms around her waist and I sigh.''Are you going to work today? " she says and he shakes his head. ''How about we go out to eat tonight we have today free before sound check tomorrow'' he says  ''That would be nice, I would love that''

The evening was wrapping its cool embrace around the bustling streets of New York City as the young Korean couple made their way to their date spot. Hand in hand, they navigated the crowded sidewalks, their eyes shining with excitement and anticipation. 

Arriving at a cozy café tucked away in a charming corner of the city, they settled into a intimate table by the window. The soft lighting and the gentle hum of conversation created a warm, inviting atmosphere as they ordered their favorite drinks and began to unwind from their busy schedules. 

Sipping their beverages, they exchanged stories about their day, laughing and teasing each other with the comfortable familiarity of long-time partners. Gazing into each other's eyes, they savored the rare moments of solitude, away from the demands of work and the constant buzz of the city. 

As the evening wore on, they found themselves lost in a world of their own, their worries fading away as they revealed the simple joy of being together. In this bustling metropolis, they had carved out a private sanctuary, a haven where they could be themselves and cherish the precious time they had to share.

The city's luminous skyline cast a romantic glow over their evening, the towering buildings a testament to human aspiration and dreams. They walked hand in hand, dwarfed by the massive structures yet feeling an intimate connection in the sprawling metropolis. The vibrant energy of Times Square enveloped them, its dazzling lights and ceaseless motion mirroring the excitement in their hearts. Street performers captivated crowds, and the aroma of street food tempted their senses, blending the diverse flavors of the city into their experience. Despite the cacophony, their shared laughter and tender exchanges carved a serene bubble around them. New York, a city of endless possibilities, was tonight a backdrop to their love story, a reminder of their journey from distant shores to this moment of togetherness.

[gojonegs]

Forbidden Hearts: A Tale of Love

Gojo x reader

tw: angst angst angst, but I promise this time it is with a happy ending! btw it a different!au so no spoilers! Enjoy!

wc: 1.8k

————————————————————————

In the vibrant heart of Tokyo, where the city's neon lights danced against the backdrop of towering skyscrapers, Gojo Satoru and Y/N found themselves ensnared in a love as whimsical as a spring breeze.

Their initial encounter was a serendipitous moment in a crowded café, where their eyes met over a spilled latte and a shared laugh. From that moment on, they were inseparable, their love blossoming like the cherry blossoms that adorned the streets of their beloved city.

But their happiness was short-lived, for they soon discovered that they hailed from feuding clans—the Gojo and L/N clans. Despite the odds stacked against them, they dared to defy tradition and pursue their love with unwavering determination.

Their clandestine meetings were like stolen moments of bliss in a world fraught with danger and uncertainty. They reveled in each other's company, their laughter mingling with the bustling sounds of the city as they carved out their own little corner of paradise.

But as whispers of their forbidden romance spread like wildfire through the streets of Tokyo, the tensions between their clans reached a boiling point. Their love, once as carefree as a summer's day, now faced the harsh reality of their warring families.

One stormy evening, amidst the chaos of crashing waves and howling winds, Y/N sought out Gojo in a secluded corner of the bustling city. Her eyes were filled with determination, but also with a deep sadness that seemed to weigh heavily upon her soul.

"Satoru," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, "we need to talk."

Gojo turned to face her, his expression unreadable. "What is it, Y/N?" he asked, his tone gentle yet tinged with concern.

Y/N's fists clenched at her sides, her nails digging into her palms. "I'm getting married," she seethed, the words dripping with disdain.

A wave of disbelief crashed over Gojo, his eyes widening in shock. "Married?" he echoed, the word feeling like a dagger to his heart.

Y/N's laughter was bitter, the sound echoing like thunder in the stormy night. "Does it matter?" she snapped, her voice dripping with scorn. "Another pawn in the game of power and politics."

Gojo's jaw clenched in frustration, the anger simmering just beneath the surface. "And what about us, Y/N?" he demanded, his voice a fierce roar in the night. "What about our love?"

Y/N's eyes blazed with fury as she met his gaze, her voice a thunderous roar in the darkness. "Our love?" she spat, the words like lightning striking a tree. "What love, Satoru? All we have is a fleeting fantasy in the midst of a raging storm."

The air crackled with tension, the weight of their forbidden love pressing down upon them like a suffocating blanket. Gojo's anger boiled over, his voice a tempest of emotion. "I thought you were different, Y/N," he snarled, his words a lightning bolt in the darkness. "But it seems you're just like the rest of them—bound by duty and tradition, willing to sacrifice everything for the sake of your precious clan."

Y/N's breath came in ragged gasps as she fought to hold back her tears, her heart torn asunder by the storm of emotions raging within her. "You don't understand," she whispered, her voice barely a whisper in the howling wind. "I have no choice."

But Gojo's rage was unrelenting, his pain a hurricane tearing through his soul. "No choice?" he roared, his voice thundering in the night. "You always have a choice, Y/N. You chose this path, just like you chose to betray me."

And with those words, Gojo turned away from Y/N, his heart heavy with the weight of their shattered dreams. Y/N watched him go, her own heart breaking with each step he took, knowing that she had lost him forever.

As she stood alone in the heart of the city, surrounded by the echoes of their love and the distant hum of the urban landscape, Y/N realized that some loves were simply not meant to be. And as the echoes of their shattered dreams faded into the night, she knew that their love would forever remain a bittersweet memory, a haunting reminder of what could have been.

———

In a crowded ballroom, where the air was thick with the scent of perfume and the sound of elegant music filled the space, Gojo and Y/N's paths crossed once more. The atmosphere crackled with tension as they locked eyes across the room, surrounded by swirling dancers and sparkling chandeliers.

Their reunion was like a spark igniting a powder keg, setting off a chain reaction of emotions that neither could control. With a bitter laugh, Gojo approached Y/N, his eyes flashing with a dangerous fire.

"So, this is where you ended up," he sneered, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Lost in a sea of opulence, pretending to be someone you're not."

Y/N's heart clenched at the venom in his words, the pain of their past rushing back with brutal force. "I had no choice," she spat back, her voice filled with defiance. "You think I wanted this? You think I wanted to be torn away from you?"

But Gojo's anger was unrelenting, his pain a blazing inferno that threatened to consume them both. "You made your choice, Y/N," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "And now you have to live with the consequences."

The tension between them crackled like electricity, their emotions raw and unbridled. Y/N's voice trembled as she struggled to hold back her tears. "I never wanted this," she whispered, her words a desperate plea for understanding.

But Gojo's eyes were cold and distant, his walls impenetrable. "It's too late for apologies," he declared, his voice cutting like a knife. "We're done, Y/N. There's nothing left for us here."

And with those words, Gojo turned away from Y/N, his heart heavy with the weight of their shattered dreams. Y/N watched him go, her own heart breaking with each step he took, knowing that she had lost him forever.

As she stood alone in the midst of the crowded ballroom, surrounded by people yet utterly alone, Y/N realized that some loves were simply not meant to be. And as the echoes of their shattered dreams faded into the night, she knew that their love would forever remain a bittersweet memory, a haunting reminder of what could have been.

But little did they know, fate had one final twist in store for them—one that would test the very limits of their love and resilience.

———

In a grand conference hall adorned with traditional Japanese décor, representatives from the Gojo and L/N clans gathered for a momentous occasion. The air was thick with tension as discussions ensued regarding the future alliances and arrangements between the two clans.

Among the attendees, Gojo and Y/N found themselves seated opposite each other, their eyes meeting across the room, sparking a flicker of recognition and longing. Despite the weight of their respective clan obligations, their hearts yearned for each other, their love like an unbreakable thread weaving through the fabric of fate.

As the discussions unfolded, it became increasingly clear that Y/N's marriage to another was imminent, a decision made in the interest of preserving clan honor and tradition. Gojo's heart sank at the realization, his resolve tested by the harsh reality of their circumstances.

But fate, it seemed, had other plans. In a twist of destiny, the conference took an unexpected turn when Y/N's father, the head of the L/N clan, announced a change of heart regarding her betrothal.

"Y/N," he declared, his voice carrying through the hushed hall, "I have reconsidered our previous arrangements. It is clear to me that your heart belongs elsewhere."

Y/N's heart soared at her father's words, her eyes searching the room until they found Gojo's, filled with hope and longing. Could it be true? Could they truly be given a chance to be together?

With a determined expression, Y/N's father turned to Gojo, his gaze unwavering. "Gojo Satoru," he addressed him, "I see the love that burns between you and my daughter, a love that cannot be denied. I give my blessing for your union."

Gojo's heart pounded in his chest as he met Y/N's father's gaze, his eyes brimming with gratitude and disbelief. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice filled with emotion.

And in that moment, amidst the weighty deliberations of the clan conference, Gojo and Y/N found themselves granted a rare gift—a chance to be together against all odds. With tears of joy in their eyes, they rose from their seats and embraced, their hearts overflowing with love and gratitude.

As they left the conference hall hand in hand, the echoes of their victory reverberated through the room, a testament to the enduring power of love to overcome even the most formidable of obstacles. And as they stepped out into the world, ready to embark on their journey together, Gojo and Y/N knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, they would face them with unwavering courage and boundless love.

———

Under the canopy of a thousand cherry blossoms in full bloom, Gojo and Y/N stood together, surrounded by friends and family, as they exchanged vows of eternal love and devotion.

The air was alive with the soft murmur of blessings and the sweet melody of traditional Japanese music, lending an air of serenity and grace to the sacred ceremony.

With trembling hands and hearts full of hope, Gojo and Y/N spoke words of promise and commitment, their voices ringing out like bells in the crisp spring air.

"I promise to cherish you, to support you, and to stand by your side through all the joys and sorrows that life may bring," Gojo vowed, his eyes locked with Y/N's, filled with unwavering determination.

"And I promise to love you, to honor you, and to hold you in my heart for all eternity," Y/N echoed, her voice steady despite the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes.

As they exchanged rings, sealing their bond in the eyes of their loved ones, a sense of peace washed over them, their souls intertwined in a sacred union that transcended time and space.

And as they sealed their vows with a tender kiss, the world seemed to stand still, the beauty of the moment etched into the fabric of eternity.

In that fleeting moment, amidst the petals of cherry blossoms that danced on the gentle breeze, Gojo and Y/N knew that their love was a force to be reckoned with—a love that would endure through all the trials and tribulations of life, shining brightly like the sun in the sky.

And as they stepped forward into their future together, hand in hand and heart to heart, they knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, they would face them with unwavering courage and boundless love, for they were united in spirit and soul, forever and always.

————————————————————————

Do not Plagiarize, translate or copy.

[celestialprincesse]

That Bodyguard Gaz thought is delicious! Would you eleborate?? The brain worms immediately went to the agent being this cute, cubby, little thing and is very unsuspecting but turns out to be actually very deadly when needed!

Hope you feel better!

Oh she is so cute and clever and fucking insane I love her In my mind I sort of imagined him with my oc Kitty/Houdini, but this could also be read as X reader🎀 Reader goes by codename Hecate and She/Her pronouns💕

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

At exactly 6:14AM, on Tuesday the 17th of October, Kyle Garrick is woken by his phone ringing. Incessantly. Again and again and again. "It's shit O'clock. What do you want?" He grumbles into his phone, sitting up on the edge of his bed with a yawn, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as Captain John Price's equally tired vice crackles down the line. "Laswell needs you. Says she's got someone that needs protection services. That's all she gave." "And she gave you this at 6AM? "It's 01:00 there. She's been busy. Meetup location with the charge is in your inbox."

With that, John hangs up, leaving Kyle to gather his bearings as he opens his eMail app, scrolling to the top of his newly reicived messages to find one with no subject, and no content aside from a street name and address, as well as a time that he assumes he should be there by. If it's from Laswell, and passed down through Price, he knows it's legit. Kate only ever gives him the important ones, either expensive or irreplacable. It doesn't take long for him to be ready, Union Jack cap pulled down over his brow, and a pistol in the inside pocket of his coat, just for good measure.

London is, as always, miserable. The pavements are slicked with rain and the sky is concrete grey, reflected in the cold glass of skyscrapers, towering into the sky like the scales of some rippling serpent. It's hard to spot someone when he's got no clue of their appearance or career. Why they need his protection. All he has is a name, a callsign too, for good measure. Hecate is what they call you. Goddess of witchcraft and magic. That, unfortunately, doesn't particularly narrow his search, not in a city with a whopping eight million people crowding it's pavements and flooding it's tube stations, sitting outside of cafe's or sheltering from the rain in the overhangs of shops.

Kyle, strangely enough, feels nervous. All of the guys have their things - their specialties - and VIP Protection is his. But it's been a long time since he was in charge of someone's life, trying to protect it, instead of taking it, and he suddenly feels incredibly unequipped. He'll be staying with the charge. John told him in a seperate message to bring a bag. At least enough for a few weeks as they settle in to their safehouse kindly provided by the CIA. They've splashed a fair amount of cash to get a place on this side of town, where the streets are clean and the crime rates are lower. His person must be important. He assumes, seeing as he wasn't on the receiving end of a photo or description, that they'll be seeking him out, so he dutifully takes his place outside the quiet café, paying for his coffee with cash. In the fifteen minutes he waits, (having arrived early) Kyle never once lets himself zone out or get lost in his thoughts.

What he doesn't expect to see is you. About as scary as a butterfly and quietly unassuming in jeans and an oversized hoodie, Kyle's curiosity is piqued. "You're Hecate?" He probes carefully, removing his hat to allow you a view of his face, as he does with many of his clients. He finds it stops them from being skittish with him. It's always easier to protect someone who trusts you. That's his philosophy, anyways. "Gaz Garrick?" You inquire back, wary until he slides his driver's license and tags across the table. "File's in my bag if you'd like to see that too." "This is enough. Thank you." He likes you immediately. He likes that you're careful without being outright flippant, guarded but not dismissive.

The waitress gives you an unpleasantly disdainful look, flashing you a tight lipped smile, unlike the flirty one she gave to your companion upon taking his order. "Just a regular builders for me please." Her tense smile is reciprocated as you order your tea, trying to keep the caffeine to a minimum today. You're already jittery.

Kyle opens the door of the black bulletproof SUV for you, watches the way you blink up at him with gooey soft doe eyes, and he struggles to push down the highly unprofessional thoughts that invade his head as he watches you hop up into the car before him, adjusting his cap to stop himself from openly ogling your ass. "You fancy putting the address in the SatNav?" Kyle coos at you, trying not to smother you. He can tell you're skittish. Probably not used to the idea of having someone with you, day in day out watching your every move.

Of course, Laswell would set you up somewhere like Richmond, somewhere quiet and safe. You're clearly someone important if Kate is handling your affairs personally - and his day rate has gone up substantially since joining the 141. The apartment is pleasant, soulless, but nice all things considered. Immediately upon entry, he takes notice of the added locks on the door - three of them, and the dead bolted fire escape. It's good, gives two exits incase one fails, but not so many that you could easily forget to lock the door on one of them and risk compromising your safety. There's a cluster of all sorts of technology strewn on the counter, like you'd set yourself up in a rush and not had time to get fully organised, he assumes you've not been here long.

The next morning you shuffle downstairs to find Kyle looking confused as he stares at the contents of your refrigerator, "You need something? I can swing by the shops if need be." "You have a safe in your fridge." He deadpans, looking down to you, still sporting some thin pyjama shorts and an old Marlboro tee. he can't help but wonder how you look so pretty without even trying. "Oh! Yeah ... that." You mumble, flushing profusely as you stare up at the soldier. "Funnily enough, people don't think to check the fridge. Burglars and whatnot." Kyle startles at your easy mention of being robbed, and the inference that you've potentially dealt with burglary enough to be familiar with the mindset of a potential home invader. "You get burgled a lot?" "Mm. Used to." You mumble as you root through the safe-fridge for a bottle of orange juice, pouring two glasses. Apple juice is Kyle's personal preference, or some sort of smoothie, but he takes the glass from you with a grateful smile. Best to just go along with you, keep you comfortable. Not to mention the warm smile you give him when your fingers brush around the glass has his insides growing warm.

After having met you, a woman so clearly formidable to be protected by Kate Laswell herself, to have earned the nickname of a goddess, Kyle not only finds himself far less nervous - he feels warmly optimistic. He feels, for the first time in far too long, genuine hope for connection.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Might or might not add to this at some point idk n e ways!!!💕

Badly written and not edited so sorray!!

[mariees-love]

miguel’s off day

miguel x gn reader (fluff, .5k words)

On a rare day off in Miguel O'Hara's busy life, he decided to spend it with you, his favorite person. The bustling city of Nueva York provided the perfect backdrop for a day of unexpected adventures.

The morning sun painted the sky in hues of pink and orange as you strolled through the streets, hand in hand with Miguel. He was dressed casually, a break from his usual Spider-Man 2099 suit, showcasing a side of him you rarely got to see. His smile was contagious, and you couldn't help but be captivated by the joy radiating from him.

"Let's start the day with something sweet," Miguel suggested, leading you to a charming little café. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and pastries welcomed you. You shared a cozy corner, sipping coffee and indulging in delicious treats. Conversations flowed effortlessly, a mix of laughter and quiet moments that spoke volumes.

After satisfying your sweet tooth, Miguel proposed a visit to the city's futuristic park. As you walked through the serene greenery, Miguel pointed out the advanced technology integrated into the surroundings. However, his attention was more on you than the marvels of the future, cherishing the simple pleasure of spending quality time together.

The two of you stumbled upon an outdoor market filled with vibrant colors and eclectic stalls. Miguel insisted on trying exotic snacks, and you couldn't resist joining in the culinary adventure. From futuristic fruit to peculiar pastries, each bite was a shared experience, creating memories you'd cherish.

Amidst the lively market, a street artist caught Miguel's eye. With a mischievous grin, he pulled you towards the artist's stand. Miguel convinced the artist to draw a playful caricature of you both, capturing the essence of your relationship in whimsical strokes. The finished piece became an instant treasure, a reminder of this special day.

As the sun began to set, painting the city in warm hues, Miguel suggested a rooftop escapade. The view from above was breathtaking, skyscrapers piercing the sky as the city transformed into a sea of lights. Wrapped in each other's arms, you shared dreams and aspirations, basking in the tranquil moment.

The day wouldn't be complete without a touch of adventure. Miguel, ever the thrill-seeker, proposed a friendly race across the city's rooftops. The wind rushed past as you swung and leaped from building to building, laughter echoing through the night. The cityscape became your playground, and for a moment, you felt as invincible as Spider-Man himself.

Exhausted but elated, you found yourselves perched on a quiet rooftop, catching your breath. In the soft glow of the moon, Miguel gazed at you with genuine affection. "Today has been perfect," he confessed, his words carrying the weight of his feelings.

As the night embraced the city, Miguel and you shared a sweet, lingering kiss, sealing the day's magic. In the quiet moments that followed, surrounded by the city's heartbeat, you realized that sometimes, the best adventures are the ones shared with the one you love.

[hollywoodfamerp]

Let the music take me away…

Hollywood Fame is excited to announce that on August 24th, we will be taking our annual music festival to Copacabana Beach in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil! A magnificent confluence of land and sea, the long, scalloped beach of Copacabana is the most famous beach in the world with skyscraper hotels, cafés, nightclubs, restaurants, theaters, and bars all lined up at the waterfront for all of our celebrities to enjoy!

This is a one day mandatory event for ALL members! This means that every celebrity must be in attendance whether you're on hiatus or not.

Sign-ups to perform or present are now OPEN!

Performers: If you’d like for your celeb to perform at the festival please send us an IM! If you’re a part of a band - please specify in the IM if you’d like to perform solo or with your band! Also, let us know if you’d like to do a musical collab with another artist or dancer! Please know, this is open to EVERYONE. Your celeb does not have to be a professional singer to perform. If the dancers want to put on a dance performance from their tour, or if an actor or model or dancer wants to debut themselves as a singer for the first time - GO FOR IT! It’s open to EVERYONE!

Presenters: All you actors, models, dancers, influencers, and/or other singers who don’t want to actually perform - we need you! Over the past few years the presenters made cute, fun, witty posts on the dash introducing the celeb they were paired up with. Think of the person who introduces a celeb on the Grammy’s before they perform! Please just send us an IM letting us know what you’d like your celeb to do! If you’d like someone in specific to introduce, let us know that too! Otherwise, presenters will just be paired up at random (using a generator) with the person who is performing.

Whether you're interested in performing, presenting, or simply coming to have fun is entirely up to you!

Please have all IMs for sign-ups sent to us by AUGUST 18th at 5:00pm EST!

Please like this notice so we know you’re all aware!

[copperbadge]

SAM SAM SAM CORNER BAKERY JUST FILED FOR BANKRUPTCY

This is, pun intentional, so delicious.

For those of you who may be new, my feud with Corner Bakery goes back at least a decade at this point because they kept selling me food that made me sick. But the reason this is delicious is not that I am witnessing the fall of a worthy foe -- it's because I think this confirms my theories about its business model, since Corner Bakery explicitly failed because a) trends were shifting before the pandemic and b) Corner Bakery lost revenue that other places didn't due to people working from home.

My theory has always been that Corner Bakery's model was to situate itself in places where there were no other strong options. Corner Bakeries tend to exist in business districts or tourist districts where people are just far enough away from other good food options to make a reasonably priced soups-and-sandwiches place look appealing. They went into museums, or near museums and other tourist destinations, where the other options were either very high-end or McDonalds. Their locations in Chicago's downtown are near skyscrapers full of people who want fresh, "healthy" food quickly on their lunch break but don't want a grocery-store sandwich.

And then they serve the absolute cheapest, poorest-prepared food possible. Tiny expensive bags of cheap chips, the lowest-quality deli meats and condiments, gross bread used even after it goes stale, elderly veggies used after they start wilting. The last time I got a sandwich there, it was made with the heels of the bread, unripe avocado, and deli turkey that was uncomfortably wet. The last time I ate there ever, I got food poisoning from a slice of lemon pound cake.

I didn't know that this was true but I suspected it, and the coverage seems to be confirming that their brand of swindle, which was highly vulnerable to a drop in tourism, turns out to have been even more vulnerable to mass work-from-home than most restaurant chains.

Corner Bakery traded explicitly on the desperation of the people it served and made me sick multiple times before I stopped eating there. Good riddance, I hope its holding company lets it die completely, and I'm going to take credit for it personally if it does. :D

[goldencuffs]

dad damen au part seven

He gets his chance just a few days later.

A part of him was worried—so, so worried—that Laurent would stop coming into Paper Trails. That’s not the case, thankfully.

Damen’s mind is elsewhere; he hasn’t even opened his document to start writing. All he’s been doing is scrolling through the news, skimming over headlines.

He’s sitting in the café today, right under the window. That’s probably what’s distracting him the most, actually. He keeps looking out of it, watching the packed streets, the skyscrapers, and the sky.

It’s rare for Ios summers to be rainy. But, today, the clouds are grey, hanging low and angry. The rain provides little relief though; the air is still torrid and thick.

Laurent’s hair is wet when he enters the café. Wet, his hair is darker, curling over his forehead and by his ears. Damen has the oddest urge to brush it back.

Read the rest on AO3 :)

[paullicino]

Six Years - On PTSD and Choosing Life

Content warning: This essay very frankly discusses mental health, trauma, gaslighting and suicide. It also links to discussions of abuse and sexual assault.

If you are experiencing thoughts of suicide, know that you are not alone and help is available to you or anyone who might need it, such as the Samaritans, the Suicide Prevention Hotline, or this list of other crisis hotlines and this list of international support resources.

This was reposted from my Patreon.

There are blue skies today. The sun bounces off the mirrored windows of a skyscraper downtown. It cuts straight across my balcony and shines onto my wall. A few blocks away, the staff of my favourite café will share their latest gossip with me, as they always like to do, and maybe later tonight I will make good food and play games with friends until unwise times in the morning. Isn’t life full of wonderful things?

You can find them everywhere. And I certainly do. Sometimes I’ve found them in the intimate, up-close details of a famous oil painting, between the notes of a new song heard by chance, even in the rustling at the bottom of a dumpster, which becomes chittering and then fur and a tail and then direct eye contact with a tiny criminal whose only felony was hunger. I’ve found them amongst perfectly crafted sentences that capture thoughts and feelings and hold them forever on the page, in the silence of the impossibly wild mountain wilderness a thousand miles from home, in the first moments that I’ve taken someone’s hand and watched the gaudy lights of some forgettable venue play across the lines and the shapes of their face.

That’s so many wonderful things to live for. And I can get overdramatically passionate about the tiniest, silliest little details.

I’ve been trying to write this for a long time. I had three significant dreams during that period. In the most recent, I had moved into a dark and barren basement, with most of my possessions still in boxes. Some old friends from long ago came knocking. They pressed their faces against the small windows and tried to force the ageing door. “Where did you go?” they kept asking, their voices entering through every crack. “What happened?”

Six years ago this month I destroyed my suicide note. I burned it on a rainy August night and watched it curl into a tiny, helpless twisting of ashes and charred plastic that no longer had any power or purpose. The note was inside of a ziploc bag, a choice I’d made to ensure its integrity and survival against any of the several different plans I’d made to end my life, and this had melted into black strands of hair-like debris that reached up to nothing. One or two of my handwritten words remained half legible in this mess and tried to reach beyond the flames, to share their intent with the world, but they would never again mean anything to anyone.

I made videos of the burning and took a few pictures, a sort of ritual of recording, then I told a close friend what I’d just done, and then, for a very long time, I set the image as the wallpaper on my phone. It would be an ever-present reminder to me of my choice to stay alive. It was supposed to help me feel strong, though the truth is that I rarely did. It was the worst, most harrowing and most damaging period of my life and with help, honesty, insight, therapy, time and invaluable connection with others who have either seen the same things that I have or had comparable experiences, I managed to fumble and fight my way through it all. But I will never be the same. Six years is a long time and I am still profoundly affected by so much. I am still trying to understand things. I am still trying to figure myself out, to make sense of my identity, my situation, my experiences. To work out where I went and what happened. And I am still trying to move on.

These words are something about that ongoing experience, that work in progress, and about the dual significance of a span of six years. It is not so much about causes or causers, but instead about consequences and changes, and that’s for three reasons.

The first is because what happens after and as a result of trauma is so enduring and significant, perhaps even the most significant consideration of all, and it’s how we find ourselves discussing things like spans of six years or, for some people, far longer. I want to try to explain some of that sort of intensity and that sort of timescale.

The second is because it’s my hope that this is the most helpful way for me to talk about all this, the most illustrative to other people, the most constructive. I could have chosen many approaches, some which I believe might have been more harmful and destructive, and I don’t generally want to be a punitive or destructive person. Ultimately I think this is the most positive and productive approach.

The third is because I’m still not ready to unpack many things, as so much is still ongoing. I am not at the end of this, not out of the woods, and I think I need to know that I’ve reached the end of whatever journey I’m on before I can return to the start.

There is, allegedly, a power in choosing how your own story is told. So I’m choosing to tell it this way and, I hope, with the awareness that any exercise of power requires consideration and responsibility.

Six years is a long time, and while I’ve been trying to write and rewrite this thing for months, those months still pale in comparison to more than half a decade. A lot has changed in six years, and yet I also wish some things weren’t still the same, that I would have been able to make more progress, that I would have been able to create more distance.

Because, while I am six years from that burning note, from that summer rain, in my memory and my mind it doesn’t work like that. I still find myself beside that moment in time, like I could open the door to the next room and once again be right there.

---

Writing this has been very difficult. Writing is supposed to be one of the things that I am best at, and in the past words used to spill out of me so regularly that I wrote a tri-weekly diary, but I’ve had to come to terms with the fact that my relationship to writing has changed. It’s not just that this is a difficult topic. It’s that words don’t come as easily or as fluidly as they once did, making it much easier, all too appealing, to simply not push myself. To avoid things entirely.

But I wanted to write this, in part, because it would be another act of not giving up. I wanted to show myself what I could do, what I still can do, and that, even if I’m changed, I’m still stubborn enough to fumble and fight my way through.

---

I want you to imagine a house. It can be any kind of house, that part isn’t important. What is important is that the house is your home and you have lived there for a very, very long time. It is comfortable. It is safe. It is so intimately familiar that it is a part of your identity. Perhaps you grew up there, or you raised a family there, or you retired there. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that it’s your home and that everyone knows you live there.

Next, imagine that you have a terrible day. The worst day. And at the end of this terrible, terrible day, on a bleak and dusky evening, you expect at least to be able to come back to your house, your home. You take the same route back to the same address, where you see the same building stood before you and open the same front door, ready for the comfort of a place you’ve made your own.

You enter this space that you’ve known for so long and you notice something is wrong. The first clue is something small, perhaps a lamp missing from its usual spot, or you collide with furniture moved somewhere unexpected. You feel for a light switch that is now on a different wall. You stumble on the stairs as you make your way to a bed that is hard and unwelcoming. In the morning, the light from the window is not only a different shape, but cast in the opposite direction.

The changes stop being so subtle. After you notice that a carpet is suddenly faded and pale, you open a closet to find it is twice as deep. Some of your possessions are missing. The spare room no longer has a skylight. The kitchen is a different colour, with different appliances, with no back door, half the size it once was because the walls have been moved. There are new rooms whose arrival and contents are both equally inexplicable. Your most cozy corner is now cold and uncomfortable. You must relearn the entire layout, from bathroom to basement, because moving around the way you once would only causes you to stub your toes, to trip, even to fall.

Your friends don’t understand why you no longer enjoy going back to your house, your home. They don’t understand why you screamed at the different closet, why the sunlight on the wall makes you nervous. Being in your own home now hurts and scares you. How can you possibly relax here? But this is still your same house, at your same address, the one that everybody knows. You can’t argue that it isn’t. And if you invite a friend inside, after ranting about everything that is different, they ask “Why did you change all this? It’s so much worse.”

What can you even say in return? “I didn’t”? That shit’s insane.

But that is how it feels, like I live in a house that isn’t my home. Sometimes I don’t recognise myself. Sometimes, on the worst days, I don’t know who I am any more.

“Where did you go?” ask the voices, entering through every crack. “What happened?”

---

Last summer, a man came roaring down my street in his flawless luxury emerald convertible. I remember him well. He had dark sunglasses and a tan suit jacket and a hairstyle slick with oil, like he was being a parody of a rich man from an eighties film. He surged through the stop sign right in front of me and I let him know what I thought of his public display of privilege and indifference.

“Go a little faster, you cunt,” I yelled. “Maybe you can hit a kid.”

He swivelled his head, looked back over his shoulder and stared straight at me.

He also slowed down.

It was then that I realised the volume I must have used to project myself, over the noise of his engine and toward a driver already continuing down the street, meant a few of my neighbours had likely heard me too.

I’m not sure I cared.

I used to be a more modest and deferential person, and often that is still the case. But often it is not. I have less patience. I have less fear. And I have less trust.

The fear thing is great. Last autumn I walked across a narrow, quivering suspension bridge with no care for the drop below. Later, I found another far narrower, far smaller one and, all by myself, alone in the woods sixteen kilometres up a trail, I jumped up and down on the thing until it shook and swung.

I used to be terrified of heights.

My sense of fear isn’t gone. But it’s both so much more manageable and also, quite often, a thrill. It’s taken me a while to realise that I increasingly seek out things that are exciting, risky or extremely stimulating. I am frank with strangers. I am quick to make decisions. I am keen to try new things.

It doesn’t sound so bad, does it? That’s because it isn’t. Not all change is bad and not every consequence of my experience has been negative. Slowly, gradually, I am learning to appreciate a few of the changes, to lean into them. While one part of me feels sad that I’m less trusting than I used to be, another part of me sees this as more practical. I’m far quicker to drop something or someone like a rock the moment I sense things that I don’t like, and my sense for such things is certainly sharper than it used to be. Am I always right? I don’t know about that. Perhaps some people have been casualties of an overabundance of caution. Or paranoia.

That might just be the new cost of doing business.

---

It was some time in early 2020, while talking with my GP and taking some evaluations, that we began to look at my behaviour more closely. A year before, I’d talked extensively with a therapist about anxiety and about a growing sense of discomfort and distrust. I had far less patience, particularly for those who pushed boundaries, violated or were exploitative, often regardless of whether these things even involved or affected me. Anything that felt uncomfortably familiar, whether it was something I saw in a film, caught on the news or heard about on social media, could ruin my day. I would become jumpy, irritable, scared, or simply unable to do much beyond lie down and try everything I could to banish the feeling that my chest was being crushed. This might take hours. One evening, an ex found me curled up on the floor, ashamed of my own sadness. On another evening, a routine trip to see an exciting film turned into a sleepless night of panic and distress.

I began taking tests and found myself either dismissing the results or retaking them over and over in an attempt to get different answers. The outcomes kept telling me I had the symptoms of PTSD. This was far too dramatic a result and there had already been enough drama in my life already. I myself was too much drama.

Anyway, I thought, having the symptoms isn’t the same as having.

Sometimes I think about how, during some of my most difficult moments, the toughest weeks and months that I didn’t really know how I was going to get through, I made a lot of haphazard decisions motivated by panic and fear and ignorance, by doing my best to improvise and cope and adapt. Some things worked out. Some things did not. Probably the deciding factor there was luck and I’m not really sure I can look back with any wisdom or insight.

I didn’t always know what to do, what to say, who to trust, or how much to trust, how to respond to new information and changing situations, or what in holy hell might ever work out. My response to all of this was to keep secrets or to be cagey, to avoid places and people, to suddenly and liberally cut others off through a mix of ghosting, avoidance and outright blocking, or to occasionally have three-day long anxiety spikes in which I remained highly activated, oversensitive and endlessly insecure. During one of these, someone teasingly pushed me to take part in something that I didn’t want to, something that wasn’t even a big deal, and I was so close to breaking down that I had to almost run from my friends and find a quiet place to catch my breath, all the emotions in my body somehow pinched into a single point somewhere in my gut. During another, a laptop accidentally nudged half an inch sent me into panic mode, manifesting a feeling like a blade of ice slicing straight through my pulmonary artery.

These sorts of responses and behaviours would happen even in spite of all the various combinations of therapy and medication and support I was cycling my way through. I don’t feel proud of how I handled many of these things. I would love to be able to say that I handle them so much better now, with the aid of wisdom and insight. Perhaps sometimes I do.

Sometimes I have simply made terrible decisions and, looking back, I am still not sure how I might have ever done any different. I am lucky that the vast, vast majority of those decisions didn’t fuck things up further.

---

It’s a magnificent day as I write this. The world is jade and azure and gold. The sky is exquisitely, flawlessly blue. Every leaf is rich with the gloss of summer. The sun is setting into the sparkling sea beside a succession of fading distant mountain ridges, each hazier than the last, the furthest so indistinct it looks almost like mist, a ghost of an idea two thousand metres tall. Container ships the size of city blocks sleep in the bay, their hulls traced and wrinkled with rust from a lifetime of global migration. As the growing shadows of slowly swaying trees reach their way toward me, the last light of the day glides over the ground, over the grass and even over my body itself, like spilled wine gushing from a glass. It colours everything the sweet shade of nostalgia. The air is gently warm and the grass is soft beneath me.

I love days like this. They are one of the reasons why I moved here, why I put so much time and effort and energy into relocating halfway around the world. Into building the life that I wanted, piece by piece.

And I love so many of those pieces. I love my little apartment, with the balcony that I always wanted, with its ragtag assortment of secondhand furniture collected one item at a time, with its shelves tucked in here or squeezed in there, never quite tidy enough to look presentable. I love my walkable neighbourhood, with its shops and cafés and cats that follow me from block to block, or critters that peer out from between bushes in the rustling dusk. I love how low cloud creeps in to cover the tips of the skyscrapers downtown, or how the jagged outline of mountains shape the horizon in almost every direction. I love trying to make things, especially with other people, and the reward of being creative, of being silly or being funny. I love all the things I’ve learned to cook, or the ways I can warm myself up on a cold day, or the late nights I can so often indulge, with no care for what might come tomorrow.

I have so much to be grateful for and so much to be proud of. So much here. So much now.

Pretty soon, the sunset will transform the whole sky into a gradient of colour. Someone somewhere will be playing guitar on the beach, and maybe they’ll be good. Stars will appear in the sky, above the familiar urban zodiac traced out by the city lights of apartment buildings. If I stay up late again, the dawn sky will turn the royal blue of an emperor’s cloak. And then all of this will happen again.

I have so much to be grateful for. So much to appreciate.

---

A few weeks ago I had my first nightmare in some time. They still happen. The specifics matter less than the broad themes. Deception. Gaslighting. Manipulation. Boundary violation. All of it in plain sight, yet still unseen, making me feel like I’m helpless, like I’m crazy, like I have no hope of ever being believed.

I thought about it all day. The situations, the faces and the fears. This is the way it’s always been and once one of these nightmares visits you, it stays for a while. It’s like a small stain, an odour that gets into your clothes, the stink of cigarettes after a party the evening before.

Can you wash out a stain? Sometimes. With the right substances, with the correct regimen. And with some aggressive, persistent scrubbing.

One summer night years ago an ex woke me up because I had been thrashing about in my sleep. I had worried her by rolling around and muttering like a madman. Was I having a nightmare, she asked, and it wasn’t just that I was, but that I had them all the time. Every week, at least, each leaving that same gross feeling of violation and abuse. The anxiety medication that I had been prescribed was helping me sleep more, but it also seemed to make my dreams more vivid and profound. It was either that or barely being able to sleep at all, woken by the slightest of noises, up before the crack of dawn because some unresolved tension in my body overpowered all tiredness and fatigue. Even with medication, the smallest of things could still turn me into a nervous wreck, and one night I cried cross-legged on my bed as I explained to my ex not just that I had interpreted a few of her utterly inconsequential actions as a sign she wanted to leave me, but also that I might always be like this. Forever.

The nightmares began a few months after I burned my note. It was right after I opened up to another friend about what was going on in my life, and their response was to tell me about something else that had happened, the full story of an event from another six years before, from distant 2012.

It’s not my tale to tell, but six years is a long time to not know the full story of something. A long time to be deceived, to find out you’ve been lied to by someone you trust and that your ignorance has affected many decisions that you’ve made. Again, I am lucky that the vast, vast majority of those decisions didn’t fuck things up further. But some did.

Six years. It hit me then how long it can take for people to feel able to talk about something, as well as continue to be affected by it. How far the ripples travel and who they touch. And now, here I am, with my own six years.

That discovery was one of several experiences that transformed me into that person having three-day long anxiety spikes, remaining highly activated, oversensitive and endlessly insecure. That person thrashing about in his sleep. That person yelling “You cunt,” down his street.

---

I’ve written before about my physical health and my relationship to my body. I was anxious about things being wrong with it long before I had thorough examinations and validating diagnoses, but as part of those treatments I wrote about, a trio of doctors warned me about how stress was worsening every condition and symptom I experienced. Stress was ruining my health. I was having so many migraines that my GP sent me for an MRI that revealed how those migraines were changing the white matter in my brain.

I would have to do something about this.

Those doctors would help me do something about this, as would other professionals, and their help was invaluable. This would be impossible to tackle alone.

Sometimes I think about people I’ve heard say such things as “It’s not your responsibility to fix someone else,” and, while I don’t disagree, doesn’t such a phrase also imply it’s surely somebody’s responsibility, in this society that we all share, built from things that help us support one another?

Otherwise we’d be suggesting that people fix themselves.

Sometimes I think about people I’ve heard tell others, or themselves, or sometimes the world via the spontaneous and sneeze-like broadcasts of social media “It’s on you to fix your shit,” and I wonder if that’s where that sentence should terminate, if that’s exactly how it should be phrased, if those are really the words that everyone, or anyone, needs to hear.

Because sometimes I also think of another clumsy analogy I once put together. It’s a scenario in which I describe a pedestrian struck by a car, perhaps one driven by a rich cunt with dark sunglasses and a tan suit jacket, perhaps even one that has mounted the curb or surged into a crossing. The pedestrian is knocked down, maybe immobile from the pain and injury that comes from a broken pelvis or fractured leg. An ambulance is summoned, a customised vehicle equipped to transport them to a hospital. In that hospital, that specialised medical facility, a team of trained experts will use skills and equipment to triage and manage, to analyse the pedestrian’s injuries, to provide relief and to chart a course toward recovery. There will be x-rays, there will be drugs, there may well be physiotherapy. I doubt at any point that the person lying in the street would be told, by someone coming upon the scene, “It’s on you to fix your shit.”

No. Not any more than they’d be expected to walk to the hospital, to interpret their x-rays or to prescribe their own medication. Indeed, if they attempted any of these things themselves I wouldn’t be surprised if someone along the way communicated to them some more polite version of “What the holy fucking fuck do you think you’re doing?” and “You’re in no state to do this yourself, let alone know what you need,” and “Fucking hell. You’re at your most vulnerable right now. Fuuuck.”

Hopefully.

Once, many years ago, I knew someone who broke their pelvis. It takes months to recover, maybe a year or more for a limp to fully disappear. And it requires all kinds of help and oversight. It worked out. Doctors and medical professionals can be remarkable.

I have read a lot of books and papers over the last six years. I have listened to a lot of podcasts and interviews. I have been recommended a lot of material by therapists, by friends, by fellow PTSD sufferers. One well-known trauma expert I was pointed toward is Canadian psychologist Dr. Gabor Maté. And he says this:

”Everybody is born needing help.”

He means that it’s a fundamental element of the human experience.

---

Sometimes I go running and sometimes I go to the gym. The reasons I do this are complex, ranging from wanting to be healthier, to wanting to feel better about my body and how it behaves, to feeling like I am making progress with something. That last one is particularly important, because I’m doing something where I’m objectively able to recognise change.

When I run, an app tells me how far I ran and how long it took. I can’t disagree with the app, because it’s entirely objective, and so when I have a bad day, feel terrible and wonder what the point of anything is, the app still shows me that I achieved a reasonable or even an improved time.

It wasn’t always like this. I was bad at these things. I run better than I used to. I perform better at the gym than I used to. I have the metrics to prove it, and while I’m not a particularly dedicated or regular person with my exercise, I still keep at it and I still see improvements.

Whatever it is I’m doing, these apps and their statistics all offer me the same, very simple analysis:

“You’re doing better.”

I motivate myself to run, to go to the gym, to go on twenty-five kilometre hikes over difficult terrain, but I don’t do these things without some kind of help that comes from either expert resources, advice or training.

I don’t exist in a vacuum. None of us do.

---

Help is important because it offers things like perspective and expertise and informed advice. And don’t all of those things sound so extremely important?

How about we imagine that our immobilised pedestrian wasn’t collected by an ambulance. Let’s imagine instead that the driver of the car that hit them stepped out of their vehicle, shook their head, put their hands on their hips and said “Look what you’ve done.”

And then “It’s okay, I know what’s best for you,” before carrying the inert person into their car and driving away. Perhaps even unseen. No witnesses.

If such a thing happened, in this society that we all share, with that person at their most vulnerable, who is responsible then? Who is responsible for what happens next? Who is responsible when that pedestrian, forever limping, says things like “It was my fault, I shouldn’t have been walking there,” or “I should have been looking out,” or “I should have been more visible,” and so on?

A lot of accidents and injuries and collisions and whatnot can be traumatic, scary, confusing. “How do I make sense of this?” asks that person, whether carried away alone in a car, or surrounded by doctors in the emergency room, or anywhere else they may happen to find themselves. “How do I deal with this?” And who might be around them at that moment to help answer such things?

And what will they say?

Perhaps you know someone who was, metaphorically, struck by such a car, before being then carried away by a driver with all sorts of ideas about what’s best, and who later blamed themselves for everything that happened. I don’t know.

I do know how important it was to receive the right help from the right people.

---

It’s hard to know exactly what to do. You may respond to your trauma with a desire for revenge, retribution or restoration. You may not have the insight or the time or the means to do anything much at all. There is the ideal of what could or should happen when harm has been caused, but there is also the uncomfortable reality of how such things actually play out, of how long justice can take, of who is granted credibility, of how complex social dynamics can quickly become, of how awkwardly and uncomfortably people can react when they discover something they would rather not have, or that they have been misled, or so much more. We’ve all seen such things play out secondhand and firsthand.

I have had six years to consider the most helpful way to respond, the most constructive, the most positive and productive. I am still considering. I don’t have much in the way of answers or advice there.

Sometimes I think about the anonymous Broken Teapot essay, with all it has to say about the complexity of dealing with abuse dynamics, of harm happening within a group or community, about social consequences. It was written over a decade ago now, but it remains a very relevant piece of writing that brings up all sorts of considerations around responsibility, about trying to come to terms with trauma and abuse, and about how people might try to use systems or processes to try to solve things in unhelpful ways or even for their own ends.

People can have a lot of opinions about how to handle trauma, how to respond to abuse and how to leap into some sort of process of justice or accountability or reparation or even plain old revenge. So many opinions.

It’s exhausting.

Back in 2020 I tried to write something about all these complications and considerations that I was going to title The Calculus of Abuse. Like much else, it rots in my drafts folder.

Sometimes I think about how many of the ways that we push people to address both their trauma and the things or people that have caused their trauma only makes things worse. I am sceptical about the practicality, value and effectiveness of processes of justice, reparation and accountability. I think a lot of people believe that they will fix things, that they will be fair, that they will spotlight situations and systems and people that cause harm. That, in this cold and unflinching exposure, justice will be done and books will be closed on long and difficult stories.

And I think that’s because we see this happen now and then. Sometimes it happens very publicly. It seems to at least occasionally all work out.

Sometimes I think about friends who were excluded from social circles because they spoke up about something creepy or problematic, because it mattered less what actions or behaviour someone had demonstrated, even what could be proven, and much more who was more popular, or that the status quo be maintained, or that applecarts not be upset. I think about how different people share or don’t share their traumas and their experiences, what they include and what they leave out. I think about people who weren’t believed, people who were misrepresented, people who were shut down. I think about people who spent so long trying to get a handle on their trauma that any thing or person they might want to stand up to already had so much time to prepare, to seed the ground, to dig in, to get a head start. And I even think about the capacity people have to improve, to feel regret, to move forward as better humans. It’s a potential that I hope exists in us all and the writer Kai Cheng Thom seems to agree, saying that even those who cause harm themselves need help to “exit harmful behaviour patterns.”

Sometimes I think about what a friend of mine said about abusive people just being "regular people with very limited tools." And that’s not so different from a child. Doesn’t that make you feel sad?

I think about all of these things because how could you not? How could you not worry about how taking action to address a terrible thing would, in fact, only make that terrible thing even worse?

There is a paper by the American psychiatrist Judith Lewis Herman called Justice From the Victim’s Perspective that touches on how many processes and pushes toward addressing abuse and trauma can be retraumatising, without any guarantee they will lead to a meaningful outcome or significant change. It touches on how legal processes and systems can be manipulated to further harm and harass those seeking redress, or how disparities of power and status and money can immediately put the damaged and disadvantaged people who try this on the back foot. It touches on difficulties presented by such things as burden of proof, especially combined with the challenge of a memory minced by traumatic events. How does someone demonstrate and prove trauma, or gaslighting, or manipulation, or anything else?

It also talks about how not everybody seeks such things as justice, restitution, revenge, or not always in the ways that we think, and for a multitude of reasons. These can vary from worrying they won’t be believed or that the process will serve them, to wanting to move on, to the idea that it may be pointless, as some “offenders are empathetically disabled… not capable of a meaningful apology, so they can never provide anything to victims that would be useful.”

Both this and the Broken Teapot essay also feature people examining how they themselves have handled abuse and trauma. I think this is probably the most difficult part of many years of therapy, reading and reflection. Sure, it sucks to have been harmed by an event, a situation, a person or a system, but at some point you also start asking yourself difficult questions like “How do I avoid something like this again?” and “Did I do anything that made this worse?” and “Was I codependent, did I enable someone or did I perpetuate something with my reactions or my responses?”

“Abuse dynamics aren’t so simple,” says the Broken Teapot essay, at one small but very important moment, not long after “I was not solely ‘a victim’. Is anyone?” And, after all those years of therapy, reading and reflection, I’ve come to believe that abusive people and systems gain at least some of their power from how you interact with and respond to them. If we were, all of us, perhaps better informed, we might understand, avoid or escape so many difficult things so much sooner.

And while both the Broken Teapot essay and Justice From the Victim’s Perspective talk a lot about sexual assault, their considerations and their examinations of consequence are more broadly applicable. This reflects how I find myself relating to so many stories of trauma and abuse, regardless of what the specifics of any incidents might be. It’s because I recognise the same things in the subsequent developments, reactions and outcomes, much like I might recognise the same chord pattern in different songs. I see people trying to understand their own changing behaviours, trying to articulate why they won’t do a particular thing or go to a particular place any more, trying to both explain and understand how their body or their health has been affected. The specifics don’t need to be the same for so many of the consequences to be. And I recognise and am much more attuned to recognising those consequences.

Both these pieces of writing are also very good at illustrating one of the most important things that you can learn about trauma, and that is, whatever happens or whatever choices you make, things can never be put back in the box.

Trauma is never erased.

---

Here’s what I think is another of the most important things we can learn about trauma, which is that people are generally very bad at dealing with it and are even worse at dealing with it if they are unsupported. And even if they have all the support in the world, they are probably still going to make bad choices, self-sabotage, lose perspective and do things they regret.

They will probably be foolish, be confused and be likely to make choices that could hurt other people. They may not have great insight or work against their own best interests. That doesn’t mean that they get a free pass. It doesn’t mean we are obliged to simply accept these behaviours. But I think these are realistic expectations that we should have.

In his pioneering book The Body Keeps the Score, the psychiatrist Bessel van der Kolk writes that many trauma responses are “irrational and largely outside people's control,” coming from people who are “rarely in touch with the origins of their alienation.” An awful lot of the book is about helping such people to find ways past this, rather than disregarding them or pushing them away, even though this will be difficult. I don’t remember anything in the book that comes close to “It’s on you to fix your shit.”

---

While one part of me wishes many things had not happened, feeling both weaker and sadder, another part of me acknowledges that I have gained new skills and strengths. And one of the best things about what I’ve gained is that all this doesn’t just help me, but can also be applied to help others.

That’s a good thing.

I’m a tiny bit wiser than I used to be. A lot of reading and talking to experts and digesting all sorts of media leaves its mark. It’s not just that I know a little more about myself and my experiences, it’s that I can now better recognise parallels to those experiences in other people’s situations, behaviours and pasts. I anticipate slightly better, seeing problems further ahead, and I have a stronger sense of what I need to drop or to avoid.

I’m doing better.

---

I don’t have much that I can write here in terms of the specifics of therapy. I would describe a lot of the process of unpacking and analysing the causes of my PTSD as being extremely painful, like trying to both tidy up and then reassemble broken glass with your bare hands. The things that brought about your PTSD are shameful and harrowing. Their analysis can also be, through a process that can variously be sad, scary, frustrating, educational, validating and empowering. It takes a long time and requires expert assistance, which means the help you need can be a somewhat scarce resource and very, very expensive.

You pay for your trauma for a very long time.

---

I discovered one of the most beautiful sounds in the world some time after 2016, some unknown amount of time after I moved into this apartment of mine, with its balcony and its skyscraper views. I don’t remember now when I first heard it, but it’s been years now and I still adore it whenever it happens. It’s small and subtle and can happen at almost any time of night or day. It’s a sound that makes me think of safety and independence, of making my own space and then occupying it. Of security and stability.

I really, really appreciate security and stability. Much as I increasingly seek out change and crave new experiences or opportunities, these things feel so much better if I can enjoy them with the understanding that I have some sort of foundation under me. Something solid. No matter how small or how far away. Some place of safety.

The sound happens when it’s raining. Whatever metal it is that rings my balcony is hollow, so that when rainfall strikes it, it responds with a kind of subtle but sonorous singing. This ringing isn’t the specific sound I’m talking about, though. That sound is slightly different, something that rises above this other background arrangement.

When a particularly large drop of water hits my balcony railing, it gives a flat, gentle ping of appreciation. The background patter of the other raindrops will continue and then, again, after some irregular interval, presumably as water has collected from the balcony above into a particularly large drop, the ping will sound again.

I heard it one morning this spring, months ago now, right after I woke up and not long after I had started writing all this. I lay there in bed on a day the colour of slate and cigarette smoke and I thought about how the world is made up of so many beautiful, tiny things. Ping, goes one of them, and maybe nobody else on the planet notices or cares. But I try to remind myself of this and how my life is full of so many other probably stupid little things that I like, that I love. Don’t lose these things, I try to tell myself. Don’t forget about them and don’t forget to notice them when they happen. You gave yourself so many more of them when you chose to stay alive.

You get a lot of time to think on days the colour of slate and cigarette smoke.

---

You’ll notice I say “sometimes I think about” a lot here, when reflecting on less positive things, and you might consider this a writing device or a cheap hook or some other writer’s cheat. It partly is, but it’s also a truth. I do think about these things, and so many other things, very often. I think about one or another of them almost all of the time. I find it very hard not to think, to turn my brain off, and the unfortunate truth is that it reminds me about things to do with my trauma almost every day. It has done so for six years now and, as we’ve already established, six years is a long time.

Evenings can be the most difficult time. While I’ve always had a flippant attitude toward sleep schedules, I never used to have trouble going to bed. Some nights my brain will never switch off. My memory is overflowing. It doesn’t matter if I’m tired, it makes no difference if I’m exhausted. The rules around sleep are different now and I think I’m still trying to relearn them.

One therapist described the traumatised mind as like an overflowing wastepaper basket full of difficult memories that are constantly falling out. Any new addition can cause one or many of them to spill and scatter. Time and therapy can help to more properly sort them and make space for other, new things.

What a good analogy.

Occasionally, there might be a suggestion of ADHD sent my way. I can understand why things would look that way and a lot has been said by people more experienced than I about how ADHD and PTSD can seem similar. I think if ADHD had ever been the case some mental health professional or other member of the medical community that I’ve dealt with would have spotted this by now. But no. I’m distracted by some memory or flashback. I’m avoidant, or I’m in need of some thrill or stimulation. I might be full of nervous energy or unusually, intensely focused on something because it feels so good to be thinking about something I enjoy.

And sometimes things are bounding out of that wastepaper basket like clowns out of a clown car. I can feel like I've lost a lot of control over my mind and it's all I can do to rein it in. Some days I have coping strategies and some days I'm sick of it and wish I didn't need to have to cope.

And so I keep myself busy with the stimulation and the novelty that I crave. With people. With events. With runs, with the gym and with twenty-five kilometre hikes. Whatever it takes, whenever I can. It’s not ideal. I’m still figuring out what I need. I don’t always get the balance right. Sometimes unexpected things make me very emotional, either very sad or very frustrated, and I rarely know in advance what might do that. Sometimes I sleep less than four hours a night. Sometimes I want to be alone. Sometimes I desperately need company. I probably seem very strange.

But, let’s not forget, in the past I would lose whole days. For hours, my chest would feel like it was being crushed. I might be found curled up on the floor, ashamed of my own sadness. The nightmares would come every week. So things have clearly, obviously, demonstrably improved.

I’m doing better.

---

I still suck at writing. I don’t know how to fix that yet. I still very regularly feel like there is a gulf between me and so many other people, even my friends. I still have outsize reactions to irrelevant, immaterial things. I still lack confidence in my own personal calibration. "Many traumatised people find themselves chronically out of sync with the people around them,” writes Bessel van der Kolk. Yeah.

Toward the end of its six season existence there is an episode of BoJack Horseman where an actor reacts angrily to some improvisation and unexpected physical contact that happens during filming. Her colleagues are confused as to why she does this, and perhaps she doesn’t understand herself, but we the audience know that this a response to a physical assault by the titular character some time before. She never finds out, but this leads to her missing out on perhaps the biggest opportunity of her life, after a director discreetly describes her as erratic.

There is no further development with this plotline, no resolution to be had. Nobody finds out why she is like this, nor wants to, nor sets things on a new, better course. I try to remind myself that this sort of thing can be happening all the time, to try and grant people some grace and compassion, but also I try to remind myself that this is me. I have my versions of this behaviour. Maybe fewer than I used to, but still. I can be erratic and I have to face the consequences of that, as well as minimise it as much as I can.

I recently stopped buying fresh fruit from my local store because they would repeatedly put mouldy, furry produce on display. The last time I discovered this, I was holding up a box of ostensibly shiny, blood-red strawberries to once again discover the mass of fuzz hidden underneath. Food is expensive enough as it is, I thought, and it doesn’t also need to be garbage. Too late, the look on the face of the customer standing next to me clued me in to how vocal I’d been with my three-word expression of disgust and displeasure.

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

---

You’ve read a little about my first dream, about old friends. You’ve read a little about my second dream, the nightmare. Here comes my third, from earlier this summer.

I dreamt that I was trying to get home again. I was confused about where I was, trying to remember a route through unfamiliar Vancouver alleys. It was evening, not yet dark, but the time between when you lose the long shadows cast by the last of the sunlight and begin to wear the rich, jewelled canvas of the stars. None of  the people I stopped and spoke to knew the streets I named. None of the alleyways I walked down took me in familiar directions.

I never found my way home, but I never stopped trying. Perhaps this does indeed mean I haven’t reached the end of whatever journey I’m on, that I can’t yet return to the start. I think it’s both practical and pragmatic for me to accept that the next six years might still present me with many challenges. That I will have bad, directionless days. That sometimes I’m going to fuck up and fall short.

I woke up to another bright, warm summer’s day, far later than I meant to, and I made myself a fine cup of coffee and a rich breakfast that I would be foolish not to enjoy.

Sometimes I think about suicide. Those thoughts haven’t left me yet and I’m not sure they ever will. Sometimes they arrive strong and loud and insistent, from out of nowhere and with all the power of a thunderbolt in a storm. Sometimes I want to be a shining example of how to conquer PTSD and sometimes I'm so sad I can’t get out of bed and sometimes I am just pissed off and angry. Each day is still different. But tomorrow I will wake up and perhaps I will think to myself “There are blue skies today,” or perhaps I will hear ping, or perhaps I won’t need anything at all to feel great. And perhaps there will be some undeniable sign in the day’s events, in my behaviour, even in the world around me, that demonstrates to me how much I’ve improved.

Each day is still different and today the glib part of my personality says “I sure hope you’ve improved, it’s been six years! That’s six years of painful PTSD examination, therapy, medication, reading, research, specialist appointments, many thousands of dollars spent and a god damn MRI of your weird and messed up brain.” And am I being disrespectfully flippant of my own experiences when I add that having an MRI of my brain was, at least, kind of cool?

Because another part of my personality wants to remind me I’m wiser, braver and maybe even a little more able to help others, people who I will remind myself can’t be expected to fix their own shit alone. People who shouldn’t be pushed aside, in this society that we all share.

And I don’t regret calling that cunt a cunt.

It’s been six years and each day is still different and this morning, when I pause to ask myself how I’m doing, I find I have the most simple of answers.

It’s three words.

“I’m doing better.”

[elvirable]

Fast Lane | Chapter 1

[ Simon Riley x f!Reader ] | ao3 link

rating:explicit | word count: – | status: work in progress themes/tags: damsel in distress, protective Simon, smut, car chase scene, simon lowkey stalking you.. for a mission ofc, gun violence, loose plot ———————————————————————

Simon had never said a word to you, but he was beginning to know you. Only through the small details, of course. In other words: Simon “Ghost” Riley has kept a close eye on you for weeks now, waiting for the mission cue. Action ensues to rescue you, a thrilling car chase, and ends wrapped in hotel sheets.

- A/N: been so busy + under the weather lately to write anything else so i'm hoping this one from my drafts will suffice. first chap is short because i want to see interest; next two will be longer. appreciate all the support!

He knew your routine like the back of his calloused hand.

Mornings began with a stroll to the same café, whose oak walls were engulfed by arranged evergreen heartleaf. You would spend about two or three hours with your brows furrowed towards a laptop screen, hurriedly typing away between occasional sips from your coffee; the ice never failed to melt by the time you left. If the weather was pleasant, you’d lay up at the park always with a different book or continue down the street to peruse through the boutiques — you rarely had actually bought anything, though. And if you didn’t dine out with friends, the evenings would end with you curled on your couch to watch whatever piqued your interest that night. 

Simon had never said a word to you, but he was beginning to know you. Only through the small details, of course.

You always bought the same coffee order, even if the seasons turned bitter and cold. If you were preoccupied in thought, reading or otherwise, your nose would scrunch up slightly; and if you were really focused, your delicate hand would rise to rest a curled finger against your lips. There was the same strand of hair that’d slip from behind your ear no matter how many times you tucked it back. He had also noticed quite early on the lonesome pout that glossed over you when your face was at rest, settling into the demeanor as default. Each strand of hair, each curve of your face was like carved marble; an ethereal, timeless quality of beauty.

But it wasn’t his job to ogle . Of course it wasn’t a chore to see a face like yours for a month now, but he had been waiting. A cue would crackle over his earpiece, and he would be ready to move.

Heavy-lidded eyes flickered over from the small luncheon across the street. Remnants of a sandwich were left on an ceramic plate, adjacent to a still-warm black tea.

Like clockwork, here you were today  — tugging open the glass café door. You shuffled onto the line at the register, soon taking your coffee to a street-facing counter. Simon’s dark eyes lingered on your fingers, now beginning to move with grace across the keyboard.

Although you had already begun your usual routine seamlessly, today already felt different. Perhaps it was your jittery manner, or the more professional attire you were donning compared to your usual comforts. A linen blouse and high-rise slacks suited your figure, hugging every curve just right. 

Simon’s suspicions were confirmed when you slid your laptop into your canvas bag earlier than usual, paused to fix your hair in reflection of your phone, and left the café. That was his cue to leave some money on the table to settle his bill, and he pushed down the street towards your direction. 

Your feet moved steadfast past the boutiques and crossed through the park towards uptown, where tall buildings dominated the skyline. Crowds were bustling on this side of town, moving according to the tides to the traffic lights; however, Simon never lost sight of your smaller frame weaving between people.

You soon arrived at your destination: a skyscraper crafted entirely of windows that shone like mirrors. The logo displayed high was generic, yet a name Simon was familiar with; it was highlighted in his case records for the current mission. He made a mental note as he settled at the bus stop across the street, his watchful eye never leaving yours.

You chatted briefly with the older women at the front desk, confirming an appointment by the expression lighting up your face. As she rose from her seat to escort you to the elevator and provide further directions, a crackle and hum filled Simon’s right ear.

“..message received. Over,” came Simon’s grunt of a whisper. He rose and left the bus stop as quickly as he had arrived.

[kana2025]

Jaehyun x Writer Reader

In the heart of Seoul, the city never slept. Among its bustling streets, neon lights, and towering skyscrapers, there was a quaint little café tucked away in a quiet alley. It was your favorite spot, a sanctuary where you could immerse yourself in your writing, free from the distractions of everyday life. The café had an old-world charm with its wooden furniture, bookshelves lined with classics, and the soothing aroma of freshly brewed coffee that filled the air.

You were at your usual table by the window, a steaming cup of coffee beside your laptop. The gentle hum of conversation around you was like a comforting background score as your fingers danced over the keyboard. Writing had always been your escape, a way to weave your dreams and emotions into stories that resonated with others.

It was a rainy afternoon when Jaehyun first walked into the café. You didn't notice him at first, too engrossed in the world you were creating on your screen. But when the doorbell chimed, you looked up and caught a glimpse of him. Tall, with broad shoulders and a charming smile, he exuded a quiet confidence that drew your attention. He scanned the room briefly before his eyes settled on you. For a moment, it felt like the world had paused.

Jaehyun had always been intrigued by writers. There was something alluring about the way they could craft entire worlds with just words. When he saw you, with your focused expression and the gentle furrow of your brows as you wrote, he was captivated. He decided to make this café his new haunt, hoping to learn more about the mysterious writer who had caught his eye.

Days turned into weeks, and Jaehyun became a regular at the café. He always chose a table near yours, occasionally stealing glances at you as he sipped his coffee or read a book. You noticed him too, of course. It was hard not to. He was handsome, with a warm aura that made the space around him seem brighter. But you were too shy to strike up a conversation, fearing it might break the delicate balance of your little sanctuary.

One evening, as the café was about to close, you found yourself stuck on a particular scene. Frustration welled up inside you, and you let out an exasperated sigh. Jaehyun, who had been observing you from his corner, took this as his cue. Gathering his courage, he approached your table.

"Hi," he said, his voice smooth and gentle. "Mind if I sit here?"

You looked up, surprised but not displeased. "Sure," you replied, gesturing to the empty chair across from you.

"I'm Jaehyun," he introduced himself with a smile that made your heart flutter.

"(Your Name)," you replied, shaking his hand.

"I've seen you here a lot," he said, glancing at your laptop. "What are you working on?"

You hesitated for a moment before deciding to share a bit of your world with him. "I'm a writer. Just working on a story."

"That's amazing," Jaehyun said, genuine admiration in his eyes. "I'd love to read your work someday."

From that day on, Jaehyun and you formed an unspoken bond. He became your muse, and his presence brought a new kind of inspiration to your writing. He would often bring you little snacks or a fresh cup of coffee, always knowing when you needed a break. In return, you shared snippets of your stories with him, cherishing his feedback and encouragement.

As the months passed, your friendship deepened. Jaehyun was always there, his caring and protective nature shining through in the little things he did for you. He made sure you didn't overwork yourself, reminding you to take breaks and eat properly. His presence was a comforting constant in your life, a soft yet strong support that you had come to rely on.

One evening, after a particularly long writing session, Jaehyun suggested a walk. The city was beautiful at night, and you found solace in the quiet streets, the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze, and the soft glow of streetlights. As you walked side by side, Jaehyun took your hand, his touch warm and reassuring.

"(Your Name)," he began, his voice tender, "I've grown to care about you a lot. You're an incredible person, and I feel lucky to have you in my life."

You stopped walking, turning to face him. The sincerity in his eyes made your heart race. "I feel the same way, Jaehyun," you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper.

With a gentle smile, Jaehyun cupped your face in his hands, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek. "Can I kiss you?" he asked, his eyes searching yours for permission.

You nodded, and he leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that was tender and full of promise. It was a kiss that spoke of unspoken words and shared dreams, of a future where you and Jaehyun would continue to inspire and support each other.

From that moment on, Jaehyun became more than just your muse. He was your partner, your confidant, and the person who understood you in ways no one else could. Together, you continued to create, weaving your love and passion into every story you wrote, knowing that with Jaehyun by your side, you could conquer any challenge that came your way.

[paarthurnax59]

"Never to Be"

Chapter 4

Warning: violence, angst and swearing.

May 4th 2012

   It had been a few weeks since you had seen Steve at the Café. Everyday, you had been waiting to see him and watched for him at his usual spot on the café’s patio. It was a Friday, and it was also your day off. After the heartfelt conversation that you had with Katie, you decided to go for a long walk in Central Park. Walking through the lane of beautiful trees, you noticed the buds on the trees were about to bud in New York City, finally telling you that winter was over. The gentle warm breeze brushed against your body as you breathe in the flowery scent of a new spring. You reached the bridge in the middle of the park and leaned against the edges and looked down at the river streaming under the bridge. 

You mind comes to what Katie had said in the ally. About Dean and the trauma he had put you through.

“Of course. (Name), what you have experienced was abuse. Emotional and mental abuse, and not a lot of people break from that.”

It also started to make you wonder about if Dean truly was abusive to you. Her words echoed in your ears as you looked up at the sky, thinking about everything that had transpire in the past few weeks. Meeting Steve, the rumor about him wanting to go out with you, your emotional meltdown, and confessing to Katie about your past. Your never thought one man like Steve could cause this much emotion in you. Never would you even think a man like Steve would even be interested in you. Not in a million years. Steve was everything you weren’t. He was pure, clean, righteous, brave, and looked up to by everyone. Literally everyone in America is inspired by the man that defended the world from ultimate destruction form the maniac known as Red Skull. Making the most heartbreaking sacrifice so that people like you could live their lives.

But you on the other hand…were a broken, young woman trying to find her lace in the world. It certainly wasn’t going to be with the Winchesters, let alone Dean. He made that clear that he had no room in his life for you. A single tear falls to down your cheek while you coiled yourself drawing your arms close to your body. You choke out a sob as you let your mind wander to a dark place, filled with confusion and insecurity.

‘Why am I doing this to myself? Why can’t I just forget about my old life? Forget about Dean?’  You whined mentally as you tried to hold back another sob from your throat when you suddenly…

BOOM!

 An explosion was set off to the northeast of your direction, making you stop crying and turn to the horror that was arising. Out of nowhere, A large beam of blue light shot up from a distance. It looked like it was in the direction of Stark tower and soon, flying vehicles started to scatter around the city. On those vehicles looked like were monstruous creatures that were now starting to shoot at the skyscrapers in the city. Your eyes widen at the sight, feeling helpless and scared, now realizing the city was under attack. Your heart rate skyrocketed watching people run in terror in the park to get away from the explosion. Instead of running away, you stood still, frozen in your spot watching the destruction unfold. Your breathing stopped and you refused to move until a hand wrapped around your arm pulling you away. 

“Lady! What are you doing?! You need to get out of here! The city is being invaded by aliens!” Shouted one male police officer you didn’t noticed until he was pulling your arm. “We have to get out of here, miss! Now!Look up there!” He said as he pointed at the direction tried to drag you away and you almost went with him, when another explosion was set off to the west, where your apartment was. You face to turn to your home, knowing full well Katie was home doing homework. 

‘(Name), what are you doing?! Run!’  Said the voice of reason trying to get you to move before the blasts came your way.

‘I can’t leave Katie! She still at our apartment!’  You shot right back, hoping a burst of courage will arise in you to save your friend.

‘There is nothing you can do, (Name)! You aren’t strong enough! This isn’t like hunting a ghost or a demon. This is a full-scale invasion! An alien invasion! There is nothing you can do for her! You have to leave!’ The voice shouted back again. You stood still a bit longer before you made your decision. You looked at the cop that was holding your arm and looked own at his waist belt and saw his gun. With your swift movements and before the cop could even react to you, you grabbed his gun and the extra bullets.

“What are you doing!?” He shouted angerly as he saw your burning gaze staring down at him. 

“Protecting my friend!” you shouted without stopping for anything as the people ran from the explosion. You got out of the park and towards the direction of your apartment building. As you ran as fast as your feet can carry you, the voice in your head chimed in as you headed into the heart of the destruction. 

‘You aren’t going to make it, (Name)! She’s done for!’  Said the voice in a panic but all you did was just shook you head. 

‘I have to try! I can’t let another person I care about die! Not if I can help it! I won’t be able to live with myself if I ran like a coward while Katie needed me!’  You replied while still charge down the street do the very best not be hit by a speeding car and aliens shooting at people. One driver nearly hit you and shouted at you for being so insane as to run in the street. You didn’t listen nor did you care, all you were concerned about was getting to your apartment to save your best friend. You prayed to any angel that was listening that she was okay if they even cared. Reaching to yours and Katie’s apartment, you jaw dropped at the sight of seeing a big chunk of the dark red building blown off, where your apartment was.

“KATIE!!!” You screamed frantically as you ran into the building as some of the other tenants ran out in fear. You climbed up the long stairway as fast as any normal human can carry them. When you reached your floor, your legs sprinted to yours and Katie’s apartment. You saw that the door was blown off, making your heart race like rocket. As blasts and explosions went off around the city, you slowly lifted the gun with the finger on the trigger, ready to shoot if necessary. You entered your shared apartment and looked at the destruction. Nearly all the glass was broken in, the furniture was demolished, the fridge was knocked over and half of your wall was missing, exposing you to the chaos that was ensuing throughout the city. You shook your head, no longer caring about the state of the apartment. Now, you are just wanting to find your best friend and get her out of here.

“Katie. Katie!” you shouted while being on your guard knowing you could possibly be attacked at any given moment. “Katie, are you in-” you stopped when you stepped on a broken glass and looked down. It was a photo of both you and Katie that once hung on your wall. It was of you and her at Coney Island last summer. You were feeling depressed, and Katie suggested that you both go to the famous amusement park. The photo showed you two standing in front of the Farris Wheel smiling as you hugged one another, with the biggest smile on your face. It was one of the best days of your life. Your chest began to hurt as you breathe heavily, and your emotions got the better of you. as you looked at the picture and could not stop yourself from sobbing, you screamed out your friend’s name.

“KATIE!!” Heartbreak overwhelms you as you call out to your friend, hoping that she was still alive. Then, you heard a very faint cry coming from Katie’s room. 

“(Name)…I’m in my room.” You heard a weal cry in the other room and quickly ran to her room and bust open the door. Your heart shattered when you saw Katie on the floor holding her leg, wincing in pain. 

“Katie!” You practically fell to the floor, despite the broken glass and wood that scattered all over the floor. You brought yourself to her level and grabbed her shoulder and brought her into a hug. “Katie, are you okay?!” You cried holding her in your arms as more tears began to stain your cheeks. 

“No…my leg…I think it’s broken.” She winced and howled holding on to her leg and cried withering in pain. She looked at your hand and noticed that there was a gun in it. “Where did you get the gun?” She asked you between hissing in pain.

“I…took it from a cop.” You answered honestly, hoping Katie won’t upset by it. However seeing the sour look on her face, you knew you weren’t so lucky

“What?!” She shouted at you with a tint of anger.

“It was an emergency! I had to get to you!” You defended you actions, knowing full well you would never be able to sleep well at night if something happened to her.

 “(Name)…you shouldn’t have come back…You could be killed…”

“Knowing you were here? I don’t think so!” You countered as you ripped off some of the fabric of your shirt and grabbed two long pieces of wood on the floor and wrapped it around her leg. Once it was securely fastened around her leg, you turned your attention back to her. “If I help you up, do you think you can stand?” You asked with strong determination.  

“You won’t be able to carry me.” She retorted, basically trying to get you to leave her behind and save yourself, but that wasn’t going to work. All your life you have had people defending you and protecting you, look where that had gotten you. You lost all of your friends and family because you felt like you never did enough, at least in Dean’s eyes anyway. God, why even during catastrophic intergalactic invasion, you still let Dean get to you. Why in the world does that man have such a unbelievably strong hold over you? Why do you care? Why should you care? Pushing those thoughts away, you draw back your focus onto Katie. As you refused to listen to her protests, you placed her arm over your shoulders. One arm holding on to hers and the other with the cop’s gun. The blonde then looked back at you with astonishment and you back at her, as the fire grew inside you. 

“Watch me.” You gritted and hoisted her to her one good leg and stood up. “Just hop on your good leg. Keep yourself balanced and I will do the rest. Now, let’s go.” You finally say as you both slowly walked out of the apartment and to the hallway as the sound of the blasts being shot from outside.

“They’re getting closer!” Katie panicked as she was confirmed right when you hear the sound of Manhattan being pulverized by the alien army outside. You pain no mind as right now your only objective was to get Katie out of the building. The both of you reached the top of the steps and breathe heavily at the thought of what you were both going to do at this point. You looked Katie who was scared out of her mind and furled your eyebrows, knowing full well of what you needed to do. 

“Katie, I’m going to need you to hop on my back.” You said as your roommate looked at you like you were insane.

“You won’t be able to carry me, (Name)!” She shouted but once again, you refused to listen.

“Just do it!” You shouted at her, making her flinch. You know you are going to have to apologize to her later, but that will have to wait. If you both make it out of this that is. Katies then nodded and then released her arm from your shoulders and hoped behind your back. Once she got on you, she wrapped her legs around you and you started to walk down the stairs, slowly but consistently. You didn’t have time and needed to be as fast as possible before anything else happens. Katie watched you with such amazing curiosity as you didn’t faulter as you took each and every step. 

“How did you get strong?!” Katie shirked as you went down the steps with her on your back. 

“I work out. A lot!” You answered back as you remained focused on get closer to the bottom of the steps. You were halfway down when another small explosion goes outside, making the building shake and the both of you scream.

“You must leave me, (Name)! I’m done for anyway! I’m slowing you down!” She tried to convince you to leave her behind to save yourself. 

“NO, I WON’T! I WILL NOT LEAVE YOU BEHIND! IF WE DON’T MAKE IT, WE WILL DIE TOGETHER!” You shouted with so much agony and rage, that Katie didn’t even recognize you at that moment.

   “You have done so much for me, Katie! So much that if it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be alive today! For taking me in, getting me a job and encouraging me to go to nursing school and build new life!” You cried your confession while Katie just silently listening to your rant, all the while you were trying so hard to not lose your balance while trying to carry her down the stairs. You continued to go down the stairs as you shouted. “Most of all, you cared about the things that I went through! You didn’t judge me or turn me away when I told you about my past! No one in my life has done that for me! No one! Not even the people that I had considered friends did that for me! You had given me a chance at life again, Katie! I am not going to let you suffer a horrible death alone if there is something that I could do about it! So shut up about me leaving you behind because that is not happening!”

   You screamed with every step until you finally reached down to the first level of your apartment building. With Katie still on your back, you ran out and got her off your, back up against the wall, before you collapse on the ground. You back roughly slide down against the red stone brick structure, breathing heavily trying to calm down your anxiety. Katie watched in horror looking at the city being attacked and turned to you.

“We can’t stay here, (Name). Those monsters that are attacking will find us.” She explained as you finally had relaxed your heart rate and you concurred with a nod. 

“I know, but we can’t get anywhere without help. I’m pretty damn sure your leg is broken, and I am too tired to carry you again.” You admitted you watched the aliens attack Manhattan. I was like watching “Independence Day”  in real life. Alien monsters shooting buildings attacking people, cars and buses on fire and buildings being blasted into rubble. A blast hits right above the both of you and some pieces of your apartment building started to fall above. “Look out!” you shouted as you pulled Katie and yourself away from the wall before the debris fell on top of you. You were now both on the sidewalk and coughing as some of the bust got into your lungs. You went to Katie who was groaning in agony and pain lying on her back. “Katie! Are you alright!?” 

“I’m…LOOK BEHIND YOU!” She screamed as you looked behind you and saw disgustingly ugly monsters. They come at both of you slowly, like a lion ready to pounce on a mouse. Your eyes turned angry as you picked up the gun your dropped to the ground and aimed at the monsters. 

“Back off! Or I will shoot!” you warned the monsters that were coming closer. “I SAID BACK OFF!” You shouted back once more, but the monsters just kept on coming closer to you. You huffed in anger and frustration, closing your eyes for one second. Your nostrils flared as you reopen them looking around the aliens closing in on you. You take the bullets you placed in your jacket pocket and loaded the gun. “Fine. Your funeral.” You muttered and then with as much control as possible, you shot as the monsters start come after you. You kept your focus and shot at them right in the head until every one of them fell to the ground dead. 

“(Name)! to your left!” She shouted again and you turn to shot at another alien that was about to pounce on you when it was climbing a car. Shooting it right in the head as it’s body fell flat on the concert paved ground. Another snarl could be heard, making the both of you turn around. Before you could shoot, a smooth deep voice hissed from behind you.

“Well, what we have here.”

 Said a very dark voice from behind you and quickly turn to see the who. You were now faced with a man dressed in strange green and gold armor, a helmet with long golden horns. Green cape draped over his body, flowing freely in the breeze. His face pale and eyes green as emeralds with hair black as a raven’s feathers sticking out from his helm. Deep down you knew this man was an enemy. You watched him as he his thin lips curved into a wicked grin as he looked at you.

“My, my, my. You have some real spirit in you, pet.” Said the creepy man as he walked closer to you and Katie. You stood closer to Katie and knelt to her, keeping her safe from this insane looking man. 

“Not a step closer, pal!” You demanded as you raised your gun to him. Aside from his apposing form, his steps ceased, in turn made him chuckled at your pathetic attempt to protect your friend. 

“Do you really think your Midgardian weapons can hurt me, little girl?” Asked the man as he twisted the large spear in his hands, walking back and forth in front of you. 

“I’m willing to find out if you try to come closer to us!” Threatening him again, you don’t lower the barrel of your gun at him. Not for one second as he was circling like a vulture. “Who are you?! What do you want?! Are you the leader of this invasion?!” You interrogated while trying to keep your breathing even as you looked up at him.

“Well, since you have insisted, my dear, I will introduce myself, seeing as you are going to be very familiar with me.” He said as he stopped moving and looked at you. “I am Loki of Asgard, your new king, and you will all kneel before me.”

Please like comment and share! Thanks for reading!

[anonymous-bastard]

whats your favourite kind of house? i like little old cottage houses or those pretty townhouses

- @underworlds-favourite

Oh that's hard. I really like a variety of architectural styles.

You are very much right about cottages and townhouses.

I am DEFINITELY not immune to the look of a good skyline with skyscrapers either.

Also just because it's on my mind right now, I often like the look of old train stations.

Every kind of building that changed function - school buildings turned into housing, a café that used to be a barn, stuff like that. Like architecture is art but it's art we USE.

I guess my favorite kind of house is every house that's well-designed, that functions well. Inside and out.

But what's really important is the neighborhood, to have a mix of different buildings with different sizes and functions, for different income and different family sizes, plus shops, cafes, just third places in general.

Ooc answer: everything I just said plus I fucking love everything with a thatched roof because that just feels like home to me.