#with a sidewalk path curving between it and the complex

[theskeletoninthegarden]

I have reoccuring dreams, some dreams I carry with me for years, and have to wait years for them to reappear again.

Last night, I had one that featured me living in a town, visiting three different apartments that belonged to my, now ex, boyfriend. Near the end I decided that I really did love one of the apartments (a modular space with room for a bed, a window that over looked the lake, a small bathroom with a standing shower, and a dozen different compartments for storage).

I wake up, I fall back to sleep, the dream returns, and I gently remind myself in the dream that I was single, and wished to buy one of the units.

I wake up again, I sleep again, and when I dream again I'm sitting on my new bed, peeling cucumbers and settling in for the night.

I have had reoccurring dreams my entire life, I have continued these dreams and I have been capable of doing so in the same night that I have had them. But to this extent? It was astonishing.

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

LO$ER=?, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: Life is just a path and you walk it. Until Jeon Jungkook. He made you run, sprinting through winding side roads and alleys, fighting, bleeding, losing. Your paths split, but life is made of orbits. Now that they have overlapped once more, his hand is fiercely holding yours and he won't let go again. Nothing matters if he's with you. Thus, you run once more, laughing like you've gone mad.

continuation of 0X1=?, m | jjk – click here to read

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; mentions of sexual assault (not heavily described, however, please note reader is the victim of said assault); actually predominantly fluff; mentions of previous angst; mentions of physical fighting; smut (fem reader, fingering, cowgirl, scratching / marking, penetrative sex); non-idol!BTS - tattooed, previously rich!Jungkook x rebellious!reader (mostly reader's POV, a tiny bit of JK's POV), ft cameo of Kim Taehyung as JK’s best friend and crossover with 'bao, t/m | myg' au

yes, I waited until the TXT's 'LO$ER=LO♡ER' was released to write this XD there's a ton of TXT references as well, enjoy!

--

now playing – LO$ER=LO♡ER by txt

"Jeon Jungkook! Yah! Jeon Jungkook! Come out of that whore's home!"

You were about to remove the groceries from your front seat, but then you stopped at the shouting, peering up at the second story of the apartment complex to see… ah, yes, a young woman yelling at your front doorstep. One look at the imported, Western, black car with heavily tinted windows and you were well aware that the woman in a matching designer two-piece – a ruffled pink suit jacket and flared skirt – complete with immaculately pulled back hair in a half-ponytail must be...

She turned around, fuming, pretty features twisted in rage, and screamed in frustration.

You quickly jerked your head back out of her line of sight and clicked your tongue.

Your boyfriend's ex-fiancé had some lungs on her.

You waited until she finished shrieking like a banshee and peered out to see her spin on her heel and return to pounding on your apartment door with her small, manicured fists. You spotted her beige, black cap-toed slender heels.

Chanel.

Huh.

You stayed in your car.

Reached over to your bag and pulled out the single ice cream you bought to share with Jungkook but, at this rate, you would have to buy another. You pulled off the cap and folded it in half, curving it like a spoon, and began to eat the mango sorbet. Hm, well, it was better this way. Jungkook would probably prefer chocolate or straight up diabetes over mango sorbet.

He would eat pretty much anything though.

You scooped up some of the frigid, melting sweet into your mouth and watched his ex-fiancé shout at no one.

True, you could go up there and throw her down the stairs. But there was something hilarious about this, her beating and howling at your apartment door, completely ignoring the fact that no one was answering it and that she was very clearly causing a public disturbance, all because of her own personal problem.

You glanced up to watch her slide down the door, openly crying now. You pressed the button of your car window to roll it down a crack to listen to her sobbing above you.

"–can't believe you would do this to me... you know I need this marriage... my family's company depends on it..."

You slowed, licking off your makeshift spoon.

"I'll be left with nothing... nothing unless I get married..."

Crocodile tears or not, the woes of the rich did not earn much sympathy with you.

You rolled your window back up, leaving your car on idle for the air conditioning.

It was a mix of previously being constantly berated by Jungkook's wealthy parents that now exiled him over a fucking eyebrow piercing and being a member of the working, lower middle class. For some reason, that latter fact was also offensive to Jungkook’s parents. Everyone was accepting until money got involved. You hummed, eating another scoop. You didn’t like it, but you understood that his parents wouldn’t believe that you have no interest in their money. What you didn't understand was why his ex-fiancé was so hellbent on yelling at your door. From what you could tell, she wasn't ugly. Couldn't she find someone else?

You scraped the last of your small ice cream out and ate it up.

You checked your phone.

Jungkook wouldn't be out of work for at least another three hours. You had found him a job at the local bao shop through your own job as an accountant. You assisted the family in sorting the finances for their small business and personal tax forms. The owner had back surgery and so the daughter had been working there by herself with one other employee that delivered the orders. They wanted to hire another to help with cooking and cleaning, perhaps even open up the front counter again to accept pick-up orders instead of only delivery. However, it was hard to find someone trustworthy and reliable. The best way was through word of mouth.

They won't mind my tattoos?

Whenever I drop by, the delivery guy is wearing a leather jacket, ripped jeans, and has a resting bitch face. You'll be fine. Also, I think the daughter and him are dating.

Jungkook had blinked at you.

You know. In case they disappear for ten minutes, unexplained.

You loved Jungkook's laugh.

He didn't complain or whine for some other job. He only asked when he started and how to get there. You bought him a secondhand bicycle and he was off to work, five to six days a week. Sometimes you would drop him off with your car if was too rainy. Occasionally, when he had to stay late for a large order, the delivery guy would drive Jungkook and his bike back home.

That's how it was here, in the world of everyone else, minus the rich.

The fuck is all this?

Manager gave me a bunch of leftovers. She said I'm a fast learner. Did you know Taehyung stops by there? He's never said shit! He said it was his little secret, that ass–

You smiled as you remembered Jungkook's animated face and annoyance at his best friend for not sharing what he thought was crucial information. Jungkook would speak excitedly, hauling a bag of buns and spilling them over your clean kitchen counter, scrambling to catch them as he explained the different ones to you and how they were made, telling you all the things he was learning and funny stories about customers.

You almost forgot this Jungkook.

It was strange, feeling something after such a long time of feeling nothing, strange to find your time occupied once again by him, when at many times you vowed not to get involved with Jungkook anymore, only for him to show up and make you throw your promises to yourself to the wind, recklessly chasing the anger, wondering, hating, loathing how much you still loved him after he left, recalling him standing there, stone silent as his parents' verbal lashes ripped you to shreds.

You turned the car off, pulling the keys out and pocketing them, not wanting to the drain the battery.

Maybe.

Maybe you were stupid for loving him so much.

Maybe you were as pathetic as the woman up there in some ways.

Then again.

Maybe that was just how everyone lived.

You heard a soft tap by your car window.

You jerked your head to see Jeon Jungkook, in the flesh, peering at you through the glass, clutching his bike. You could see half of his head, short black hair and large, curious brown eyes, nose pressed up to the bottom of your car window. He was wearing his work clothes, light wash jeans and an aqua blue t-shirt, lightly dusted in flour. He pointed up and you noticed his ex-fiancé had switched back to yelling at the door, no longer facing the street.

You shooed him back and opened the car door, eyes wide.

"Why are you home?" you whispered, crouching down to speak to him.

He grabbed your hand, gasping as he gripped it. You shivered at the coldness of his fingers, but there was a warmth in between your and his frozen palms, melting each other.

"Oh, shit, your hand is so cold!"

"So is yours!"

"I was biking! My hands get cold from the wind. What's your excuse?"

You held up the empty mango sorbet container in your other hand, shifting your eyes guiltily.

"And you didn't share?!" Jungkook hissed, his windswept hair giving him a fierce appearance, dismay clear in his glistening dark brown orbs despite trying to sound angry.

You spied his other hand on his bike. There was a large, wrapped bandage on his left forearm. You ticked your chin towards it, furrowing your brows. "What happened?"

"Ack, I burned myself and manager-nim told me to go home early. I told her I could still work, but there were only a few hours left and it seemed like she wanted to be alone with Yoongi-hyung..."

You raised your eyebrows.

"What are they gonna do, bonk in the kitchen?"

"You wouldn't want to bonk me in the kitchen?"

You grinned at him and Jungkook grinned back, eyebrow piercing flashing in the sun.

"JEON JUNGKOOK!"

"Oh shit–"

You scrambled out of your car, locking it, slamming the door as the young woman wailed his name and pointed at you and him, furiously wiping her tears.

"You bitch! How dare you take him from me! He was mine! I had him wrapped around my finger!" She hiked up her skirt and swiftly power-walked to the stairs, looking back to yell more at you as Jungkook placed his bicycle down. "He would do anything for me!"

You raised your eyebrows, again.

Jungkook yanked on your t-shirt sleeve, ushering you to get on the bike with him.

"Doesn't seem like it!" you called back casually, chucking your trash at her, causing the empty ice cream container to smack her in the shoulder and roll across the sidewalk.

"You–"

You cackled and got on the bike, hooking your arms around Jungkook's shoulders and adjusting your feet as she stomped up to you two, conventionally attractive features contorted in rage.

"He was my dog!"

Your eye twitched.

"You were gonna marry a freak who was into bestiality? No wonder you left," you remarked, patting him on the chest as Jungkook burst out laughing, loud and rich, shaking his head.

"You can't do this to me, Jungkook! You can't leave me with that other guy!"

You felt it.

Pause.

You felt Jungkook stiffen under your hands and you turned yourself, hearing the helpless plea in her voice now, throwing herself to the ground, designer knees in common dirt, anguish on her face, tears streaming down her made-up cheeks, sniffling hard, and, with your breath lodged in your throat, you realized she was restraining her pained sobs, so trained in maintaining appearances that it seemed like she couldn’t even cry properly in front of others.

"You can't... you know how they are... I can't marry him, you saw what kind of man he is... that's the whole reason I tried to find another husband..."

There was no more anger in her voice, only fear and dread, and you didn't understand, and yet you could for some reason, for some reason you could see it as if it was tangible, the realness in her enigmatic words. Jungkook's hands tightened on the handlebars of the bicycle, his knuckles turning white, tense shoulders under your arms, and for a second, a moment, an instant...

You thought he might go back.

"You should run."

The crying woman on the ground lifted her head, hiccupping, cheeks blotchy pink, still somehow beautiful.

"W-What?"

Jungkook turned his head and looked down at her. "You should run away, like I did. Find someone who actually loves you. Getting married to me will only make both of us miserable, even if it saves you from that other guy."

She looked from you to him, and you recognized that look in her eyes, jealousy and envy, but not directed at you. It was directed at the warmth between the coldness of his hands and yours, directed at the orbits of his and yours finally overlapping, meeting in the vastness of space once more, his zero and your zero becoming one, not you, but his ability to throw everything away, his wealth, his comfort, the world he knew, all for a feeling she had yet to feel.

"What... what if I can't?" she asked weakly. "What if I can't find what you have?"

Jungkook lifted his foot off the asphalt and placed it on the pedal. He raised his head, and you found his eyes on yours for a brief moment before casting them back down to his ex-fiancé.

"Then keep running. It's better than being married to him, right?"

He began to turn the handles, about to pedal away.

She screamed after him, words choked with agony.

"Love won't solve our problems, Jungkook!"

You held on tight, chest to his back, fingers clutching in Jungkook's shirt, nose in his hair, his warmth under your cold hands.

"It won't!" he yelled over his shoulder, gaining speed with a grin. "But it sure as hell makes the problems worth shouldering!"

-

“Hey! Get back here!”

You snickered and chucked the plastic bag into the basket connected to the bicycle, jumping on quickly, pedaling away as Jungkook ran after you at top speed, breathless and laughing, his black hair flying back, aqua shirt molding to his muscular chest, long legs sprinting after you and the bike, your grinning face looking back periodically to catch his smile, going not too fast, but still fast enough so he couldn’t quite catch up. Golden hour brought out the tan on his skin and his high cheekbones, both of you tearing out of the gas station at high speed, drawing stares and shaking heads, but neither of you noticed or cared, his booming voice calling your name and you sticking your tongue out at him childishly.

“Watch out!”

You jerked aside and sped past a group of five young men with skateboards, two with shorter black hair, one with long black hair and white highlights, one with ash gray hair, and one platinum blond, all very tall, but you didn’t have time to stop and stare at the impressive height of them, turning into a side alley towards to the creek nearby, avoiding pedestrians, Jungkook following close behind until you got to your destination, grabbing the plastic bag in the basket and throwing the bike down, cackling as Jungkook snatched you from the air, his heart racing against your back as you kicked the air, him still somehow effortlessly carrying you despite sprinting so hard, panting into your hair.

“Get off!”

But instead of letting you go, Jungkook held on tighter, fierce kisses into your neck, wiping his sweat all over you and making you cringe amidst your laughter. It was already late, the sun dipping into the horizon, slowly taking its warmth with it. Water trickled meekly down the creek, barely coating the rock bottom due to the hot summer.

“Stop, stop, the ice cream is melting,” you finally gasped out, shoving Jungkook aside, wiping your neck with the back of your hand, pretending to be disgusted, but Jungkook just grinned and seized your cheeks, pressing his lips against yours.

“I love you,” he breathed.

“Ack, I love you too, fuck, get off–”

-

You two sat on the swings of the empty playground, watching the sun disappear, eating ice cream with the lids of the containers. As predicted, Jungkook got the chocolate that seemed to have everything in it but the kitchen sink. You, on the other hand, got red bean this time.

“Hey, Jungkook.”

“Hm?”

He looked up from his ice cream, shoving a large lidful into his mouth.

It was strange how beautiful he looked, even with his black hair sticking up every which way, his cheeks filled with the frozen sweet, the faint rays of sunlight catching the silver of his jewelry – eyebrow piercing, earrings, silver chain around his neck with the compass star pendant – all paired with his oversized aqua blue t-shirt and baggy jeans, still with bits of flour on his thighs from work.

“What did that man do to her?”

A darkness clouded his features even though he tried to hide it from you with a neutral expression.

“Ah… He just… Just wasn’t really the kind of guy who thought of women as people,” Jungkook finally got out, looking away from you. “You know, the kind of guy you really hate.”

“That’s you,” you joked.

“I know I can’t do anything,” Jungkook continued, ignoring your quip and you suddenly regretted it, seeing the way he lowered his hands, exhaling slowly. “I am not responsible for anyone else’s behavior but my own.”

Come crawling back to me on your knees when she reaffirms to you that I'll be the best fuck you'll ever have.

She'll never make you feel as good as I can make you feel.

Enjoy your piranha.

“I’m sorry.”

Jungkook looked up at your sudden declaration.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated, coughing awkwardly. “I’m sorry for saying the things I said about her.”

He snorted, shaking his head. “Don’t be. Just because she was in a shit situation doesn’t excuse her for being a shit person.” He shoved the lid into the empty ice cream container and rubbed the back of his neck, pushing his hair back with a sigh. “Just like how it doesn’t excuse me from being a shit person for what I did to you.”

His eyes shifted away.

“You don’t have to–”

“Yeah, I do,” he muttered, cutting you off. “I’m a fucking loser.”

The streetlights began to turn on, but no one was in a place like this, two adults in a place for kids, stuck wondering what adulthood was supposed to feel like because it still felt like an endless cycle of forever learning and forever running, wandering to find out what the finish line meant.

“I wasted time you can’t get back and I will spend the rest of my life chasing the time I wasted.”

Jungkook sucked in a shuddering breath, hand falling from his hair, rueful smile on his face.

“I can only hope you can put up with me for so long.”

You blinked slowly.

He turned his head, brown eyes finding yours, those irises catching the streetlights like how his jewelry had caught the sun, proving that Jeon Jungkook was, indeed, already adorned with nature’s very own jewelry.

You scooped out the last of your red bean ice cream and ate it, looking away from him.

“Sounds like forever,” you remarked, feeling the chilled sweet cool your heated cheeks, swallowing slowly, savoring the way the cold warmed you in its own way.

“Hm?”

“Sounds like I’m stuck with you forever then,” you said, turning back to him with a smirk. “Kinda sucks.”

He smirked back, cocking an eyebrow. “Yeah. Major suck. Speaking of my dick–”

“Oh, shut up.”

But you said it with a smile and he knew you didn’t mean it.

-

“Why the fuck do you have that?”

“It’s from work. Gimmie your arm.”

“Why?”

You extended your arm, frowning, stopping under the streetlight, one hand on the bike as Jungkook held the black permanent marker with his right hand. He used two fingers to uncap it and tucked the lid neatly into his palm, spinning the marker with the adjacent two fingers to readjust it so that he could write on your arm.

“Do you wanna get a tattoo with me?”

“Of what?”

You looked down to him scribbling on your skin, his own black tattoos standing out, covering his entire right arm and up to his shoulder. You wondered if he would end up tattooing his back and maybe his other arm – but, then again, he kind of needed money to have pay for such large pieces.

“Couples tattoo.”

You looked down when he drew back, grinning, reading the word upside down.

LO♡ER

You raised an eyebrow.

“You want to get ‘lover’ tattooed?” you asked, skeptical, turning your arm this way and that, unsure if you liked the placement on your forearm, near your wrist. “You don’t have any space on your right arm anyway.”

“That’s why I would get it on my left.”

And he curved his wrist to write on the bandage on his left forearm, messily writing on top of it.

LO$ER

Now you raised both eyebrows.

“You want to get… ‘loser’ tattooed onto your body?” you snorted disbelievingly.

Jungkook grinned, recapping the black marker with one hand, tapping the dollar sign on the bandage with the marker lid. “Doesn’t it describe me? ‘Cause I had money, and now I don’t.” He pointed to the heart on your skin. “You love me. I love you. A lover with a dollar sign is a loser, right?”

Laughter and skateboards sped past, five blurs of black along the street, spinning around the parked cars, people yelling after them to stop being so reckless, but you were too busy staring at Jungkook to notice the ruckus, too busy staring at that smile and those brown orbs lit up by streetlights.

“Are you stupid?”

Jungkook’s grin widened, mole underneath clearly visible. “Yeah, kind of. Stupidly in love with you.”

You both instantly pretended to gag, trying to mask your smiles, you shoving him and him shoving back, playful and laughing like mad, falling into him, dropping the bike with a loud clang, swept up in his arms and his kiss, your hands hooking behind his neck, love you, love you, love you, not sure about this whole tattoo idea, but, hell, maybe, just maybe if he annoyed you enough about it.

-

Shit, the groceries...

Are they still good?

The green onions look kind of wilted, but so do you and you're still good... I think.

Shut up.

You didn't need him, but being without him was like being frozen in time.

Not that you had any big dreams or aspirations anyone could be envious about. It always been like that, casually cruising through life, existing for the sake of existing, no real reason needed. It just was, and there was no reason to stop, so you kept going. The path was there, so you kept walking.

But, then.

Jeon Jungkook.

Jungkook made you run.

It's not washing off.

Tragic.

Easy for you to say, you wrote yours on your bandage, 'loser'.

So terrible that you have 'lover' written in you by your lover - hey, pfft, stop! Put the showerhead down!

It was truly by chance to meet him, a moment of terror and then he was there, yelling, get off her, don't fucking touch her, and you didn't understand, didn't understand why some random guy would suddenly intervene between an interaction of two strangers, how could he sense your discomfort and fear, and now he was throwing fists, brawling with not one but three guys, friends of the one who slipped his phone and his hands under your skirt, the stranger smashing the phone with venomous rage, fighting in a dress shirt, slacks, leather loafers, and expensive-looking rings, giving you a chance to escape.

A winner at life.

Not like you, you who let something happen because you froze up in that second, disbelieving that such a thing could happen to you, a nobody, a loser.

He kicked one of them in the knee, growling, a howl followed by the sharp crack during the fight.

You could turn and escape.

Or?

You heard sirens.

You grabbed your protector's flying fist and clenched into it tightly, panicking.

Run!

This was before the tattoos.

This was before the pain.

This was before the piercing.

Jeon Jungkook had whipped his head around at the foreign touch, in this mess because he had witnessed something disgusting and because he simply wanted to fight, just wanted to beat someone up, wanted to cause real pain to someone because he couldn't control his own life, wanted to fight something.

Needed to fight.

A hand around his hand.

Run!

Never once had Jungkook thought about escape.

Not until he saw that face, fear and panic and rage and determination, stunningly beautiful, hand around his hand, not letting go, pulling, sirens screaming in the distance, his legs already moving, following, running, running, running, into the sea of the unknown.

Sinking into it.

Lungs screaming, clumsily flying through alleys, on wings of adrenaline, running after the girl in the white hoodie and red plaid skirt holding his hand, falling, falling, falling, skidding across the concrete, her arms around his, her head buried into his chest, his hands around her head to protect it, hitting a dumpster with a pained wheeze.

The sirens sped past.

He was holding her and she was holding him.

It was chance.

Just chance.

His hands were scraped up, bleeding from the trip and tumble, her white hoodie dirtied and ripped from the fall, scrapes on her legs and knees.

I'm sorry...

It was ridiculous chance.

Just ridiculous.

You clung to this stranger and laughed, laughed like a maniac, laughed like you had gone mad, crying into his dirty navy dress shirt, thank you, thank you, thank you, not knowing you were holding the one who would make you run, not knowing who or how affluent he was, now knowing of how it felt to hold his hand and kiss his lips and hear his laugh, not knowing how you would introduce him to a friend who was a tattoo artist and start his interest in them, not knowing you would sit by him for long hours and watch the art grow on his skin...

Holding him, crying, thank you, thank you, thank you for saving me, leaning against a dumpster as the stranger hugged you tightly, I got you, it's okay, don't cry, don't cry, don’t cry please, rubbing your back.

Not knowing.

Not knowing he would make you zero, not knowing you would be standing there, time and time again, verbally beaten by his own parents as he looked away, unable to fight.

And you would escape.

You would run.

He would come back.

An endless cycle until you broke it.

Then he started the endless cycle again, broken as it was, his whispers to your cheeks, I love you, cheeks that were dried of tears because you were cried out and left with a mechanical heart, I love you, heart to heartless because of wasted time, I love you, time wasted but you still loved him, no matter what you did.

Did that make you pathetic?

Did that make you stupid?

Did that make you the loser?

I love you.

Why did it matter?

Even winners die.

I love you too, Jungkook.

"Get your hands off my tits."

"Why?"

You glared at him. Jungkook grinned and spun you around, hair still a little damp, kisses on your face that made you cringe as your naked bodies tumbled on the bed, him doing it on purpose, your grumble against his kisses, should have known, his smirk against your scowl, thought you knew me well by now, capturing his lips to shut him up, sinking into his arms and the ocean that was Jeon Jungkook, the one who made you want to run through the maze of life instead of aimlessly walk down the path.

His hands on your face, staring into your eyes.

You looked back, into those eyes that once had everything, but you.

And yet, he chose to lose it all and have nothing, but you.

It didn't really make sense, being in love.

You searched for regret, but there was none to be found.

"Am I forever your waste of time?" Jungkook whispered, breath drifting over your lips.

You smirked.

"Always was and always will be."

I know you said I was a waste of time. But I was your waste of time and that was all I ever wanted to be.

"Let me at least..."

"Ah, f-fuck, Jungkook!"

Your hands faltered a little, rolling the condom down while biting your lip, gasping as his two fingers plunged into you, him moaning at the wetness, thrusting slowly and deeply.

"What, you think I can't feel good with only your dick?"

"No," Jungkook snickered, pulling his slick fingers out of your pussy and bringing them to his face, cocking an eyebrow. "Just want a taste."

You rolled your eyes as he shoved his fingers into his mouth, sucking them off, eyelids fluttering.

"You're so annoying."

He grinned around his fingers, slowly pulling them out and tracing his wet lips.

You narrowed your eyes.

You don't have to take me back. I understand now, you know... I get it. Everyone... everyone will tell you you're crazy and to not to take me back.

I'm not taking you anywhere.

I... I wouldn't blame you. I promise.

Jungkook, please, shut the fuck up.

Your hands on his chest, smacking your hips down, his head thrown back on the pillows, breathless moan at your tightness, matching his sound with your own, stretching yourself out and feeling him swell even more at the pulse of your walls wrapped around him, rolling your hips into his, wet, intense smacks, his right hand flying up and wrapping around your left wrist, watching you through his lashes with effort, losing himself in your pace, no need to ask because you could see it in his face, his open mouth and glazed over eyes, fingers slipping down, curling your nails into his skin.

“P… Please…”

Raking your nails down his chest, his back arching and eyes closing, groaning in pleasure and pain, fucking him into your mattress so hard that the bedframe squealed, setting your jaw and closing your eyes too, savoring his fullness and thickness, sinking into the ocean of pleasure that was Jeon Jungkook, the one who made you feel like no one else, the one who could make and unmake your mechanical heart, funny how that worked, your nails in his skin creating crescents of lust, your eyes snapping open as you felt his chest rise, his back arching, his hands flat on the bed and thrusting his hips up into you, one eye partly open, black hair pushed back, open-mouthed smirk on his lips.

That dark brown orb partly obscured by his lashes, but revealing all to you.

You ticked your chin at him.

“Look at me.”

His eyes fully opening, pupils dilated, hazed over with lust and stubborn love.

“Nothing is more important to me than loving you,” he panted before sinking his teeth into his lower lip, mole underneath flashing, smacking his hips up into yours hard and fast, and it took no time at all, staring at his face and the way the moonlight cradled his strong jaw and toned muscle, catching the low light and bringing out the fervor in his gaze, filling you just right, pleasure blossoming from your core and yet concentrated tightly at the same time, moan of his name falling from your lips, spilling out from your lips and in between your legs, covering him with the sweet scent and harsh squeezes of orgasm, even wetter now, his eyes rolling back, cock twitching, satisfied hiss of your name spilling out with spurts of cum filling the condom, his length shivering inside you, your thighs closing in and holding him in the air so you could feel it all.

His pleasure and him.

I won’t make it to heaven. I don’t belong there.

It’s not like I belong there either, Jungkook.

Are you sure? Only an angel would take me back.

I didn’t take you back. Only your body walked away. Your heart never left me, did it?

“You sure you don’t want to get a couples tattoo with me?”

“I’m still trying to wrap my head around how your dumb ass wants to get ‘loser’ tattooed and how you think that’s romantic.”

He pressed his right forearm against your left and grinned, watching you suck in a breath as he pushed into you again, other condom already in the trash, new one on, your right leg against his chest, sandwiched between your bodies.

“But yeah, if you want, I’ll get a ‘lover’ tattoo.”

He paused, blinking rapidly. “Really?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? Why not?”

“You never wanted a tattoo before.”

Now you raised both eyebrows. “Did you ever ask me before?”

Jungkook looked down at you, hair a mess, smile blossoming on his face, somewhere between giddiness and mania, diving down and showering you with kisses, you smacking his arms and telling him, you’re bending me in half, the fuck are you doing, and he laughed, lifting both your legs now, I’ll show you bent in half, placing them between his arms, leaning down, sinking in as deep as possible, your moan and his moan mixing together.

You’re still here.

Of course, I am, this is my fucking apartment. Ugh, your black eye looks even uglier than before.

You don’t… you don’t want me to leave?

Did I say that? Uh… why are you crying?

F… Forget I said a-anything…

Hey, stop. Don’t cry. Don’t cry, Jungkook, please…

“Fuck, you feel so good, fuck…!”

Your hands in his hair, teasing grin on your face, and he was looking down at you, I love your smug smile, fuck, your fingers combing through his hair, pushing it back and away from his face, letting him see your smug smile without any obstructions, you always fuck me so well, Jungkook, the smile breaking out over his handsome features, breathing erratic and labored, hard and rough and deep, you rising your hips to meet him for every loud smack, exhales and moans blending together, tight, wet, full, your grip on his hair tightening, closer, closer, racing to the edge of the cliff and the edge of the world, Jungkook in your hands, taking him with you, or was he the one who was leading you?

“Jungkook…”

Breathless as if you were running, winded from the pleasure, tightening around him, his head lowering, your name washing over your cheeks in a hot gasp, putting more weight on you, nearly folded in half but it felt better this way, gratifying in how hard he could fuck you in this position, staring into those dark brown orbs, his body on yours, knowing he was yours, always was, always will be, and you were his, always was, always will be.

Head pressing into the pillows, moaning his name again, loud and unashamed, the overwhelming feeling taking over, muscles tense and nerves on fire, pouring it all into the pleasure, pulsing around his jerking length, his moan of your name on your skin, shooting shivering strings of cum into the condom, massaged and milked by the strength of your orgasm, locking him in your embrace and his arms closing in, lips on lips, a fierce kiss dominated by shuddering aftershocks, trembling in each other’s hold and taking the other’s breath away, blazing hot all over even though this frozen world cared about no one.

The kiss lasted a long, long time.

It fell apart slowly, leaving you both lightheaded from the intensity.

“You’re a waste of time, Jungkook,” you whispered, heated. “But you’re my time.”

The side of his lips quirked upward, sweaty, panting, chuckling.

“That’s all I ever wanted to be.”

--

masterpost

[certifiedskywalker]

How to Make the Right Decision in Five Simple Steps - Bucky Barnes

On the daily, people are thrust into situations that force them to make a choice, sometimes a series of choices. Since meeting each other, you and Bucky have struggled to decide when to speak up, when to tell your truths to the other.

WARNINGS: implied sexual intimacy

PART ONE: How to Make Small Talk in Five Simple Steps

I. Identify your end goal.

“Alright, James,” you drawled as you walked towards your home. The streets were no longer as busy, bathed in an orange sunset glow. “Tell me-”

“Not James.”

“Not James?”

Bucky shook his head, but you saw the barely-there hints of a smile on his lips. It made him look softer, as did the golden hour light. “My full name...it makes me feel...old.”

“Old!? You’re what, one hundred and ten?”

“One hundred and six,” he corrected, his blue eyes meeting your gaze for only a moment before he focused back on the path you both walked. “Plus, it’s what Raynor calls me.”

“Not Mr. Barnes?”

As you asked, teasingly bumping your shoulder into his. Though, you quickly found that to be a mistake as your right arm collided with his left. Immovable and metal, the impact knocked you to the side. Before you could even yelp in fear of falling, Bucky’s hand shot out, fingers gleaming with their dark alloy, and held you in place. When you found your footing and a degree of stability, you looked up into Bucky’s blue eyes.

They were wide with concern as he asked, “are you alright?”

“Y-Yeah, just,” you warily glanced to his gloved left hand, “I forgot.”

“Oh,” he pulled his hand away, “already?”

“It’s not every day a handsome man reveals he has a Vibratium arm.”

“Vibranium.”

“I was close,” you sighed, holding out your hand. Bucky’s brow furrowed at your waiting, open palm. As if to convey a secret message, you waggled your fingers at him.

“What is it?”

“Give me your hand,” you said sheepishly, as warmth spread across your cheeks. His face lifted with the clarity you supplied, yet he hesitated to give you his left hand. It remained fixed at his side until you pressed. “So I don’t forget, again.”

Wordlessly, Bucky nodded and relented. His gloved hand reached out to your bare one and, now knowing the limb was metal, you were not surprised by the strength of his grip. Though, as if he could sense your thoughts, Bucky’s hand went lax in yours, almost limp. That was until you gripped it tighter and pulled him along to walk again.

“So, Mr. Barnes, what-”

“Not that either,” he interrupted, his eyes meeting yours for the briefest of seconds.

“You’re no fun,” you teased before you felt a pang of regret strike in your chest like a shock. “Sorry, I shouldn’t be joking, after all you’ve told me.”

“No, I...I’m not...who I told you about, that’s who I was but he wasn’t even really me. The Winter Soldier,” Bucky’s voice dropped as he said the name and he eyed distracted passersby, “is...he’s my history. I’m trying to make up for that.”

“Reparations. The court ordered therapy.”

“It’s a start,” Bucky agreed.

His tone was serious, lined with a cold edge that made you frown. Only when you glanced up at him did you feel your worry ebb. You caught his side profile perfectly as sunlight shone between two skyscrapers. His visage was cast so wonderfully, he looked nearly ethereal. Then, as you continued to walk side by side, the light was blocked behind more grey buildings. Their shadows fell across your shoulders and the sidewalk. In that same moment, Bucky looked down at you.

“And I like that you joke, that you forgot,” he said as your breath caught. Even in the shade of the city, Bucky looked lighter. Perhaps it was the lingering bits of a smile that played on his lips. You weren’t sure. “But, uh, sorry. I keep cutting you off.”

“Oh! It’s alright,” you swallowed hard, “now I just gotta figure out what to call you.”

“By my name? Bucky?”

“I mean like a nickname,” you clarified, but Bucky’s brows were knitted once more.

“It’s kinda already my nickname.”

“But my nickname, for you,” you stressed, instinctively squeezing the hand of his that you held. You frowned when you realized he might not have felt it.

“Why do you need a special one?”

“You know, now since we’re,” you paused then, as you felt your tongue may trip on the next word and because you weren’t sure if it was even the right word. “Friends.”

A moment of silence passed between you and it took all you had to tear your eyes from Buckys. When you did, your gaze fell upon a nearby building facade that looked familiar. At the sight, your heart sank. Mid-stride you stopped and turned to face Bucky, ready to give him the news. Though, before you could, he spoke up.

“Friends?”

“Yeah, friends,” you echoed, though, in your head, your words sounded more like a question. Bucky’s expression was unreadable, only adding to your hesitation.

“Friends,” he repeated slowly as if testing the word out.

His lips curved into what you could only describe as a forced half-smile as the other half of his mouth remained fixed in a frown. It was almost as if he could not decide how he felt about the word, its power in defining whatever your joined hands and the way you looked at each other meant. You couldn’t decide either. Now that you knew Bucky, you wanted to know more, to know why he let you hold his hand and why he looked at you with such softness that you stomach fluttered so. You wanted him, or did you want the idea of him that you had in your head, the idea of Bucky that you created when you met in the waiting room?

But rather than face that indecision, you glanced to the apartment complex doors that stood still to your right. “Um, well, this is me.”

“Oh,” immediately, his hand dropped from yours. “Alright.”

You lingered a moment on the bottom step leading up to the porch. Bucky’s eyes were trained on you as if waiting for something, longing for something. Though, Bucky was too much of a gentleman to ask, to feed it. You felt it too, heard it whispered in a little voice in your head. Invite him upstairs, you fool!

“I’ll see you, same time next week?” There was a teasing tilt in his voice as he asked like he knew how much it sounded like Dr. Raynor or Dr. Briam. You, now broken out of your thoughts, smiled.

“I’ll mark the appointment in my calendar,” you said, playing along. “Or, you could text me. You do have my number, after all.”

“Maybe. I still don’t know how I feel about smartphones.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re proving that ‘old dog, new tricks’ saying right when you say that, you know.”

“I’ll see you later, Y/N,” Bucky said, the corners of his mouth slightly upturned as he turned around to walk back the way you came.

You watched him go before you climbed up the stairs to your apartment building door. As you fiddled in your pocket for the keys, you looked back in his direction. You swore that your mind was playing tricks on you. You swore that this day was long and emotionally taxing and it must have been your brain’s way of telling you it was time to rest.

But you could not shake the sight, the look in his face when you saw that Bucky Barnes had looked back too.

II. Gather information to best weigh your options.

“What’s that?”

Bucky looked up from the small notebook in his hands as you sat in the seat, your chair, beside his. “Good afternoon to you too.”

“Is it your diary?” You feigned a dramatic gasp and pressed a hand to your chest. “Are you writing about me?”

A small, breathy laugh, almost true, fell from his lips. “I wish.”

Then, it was your turn to chuckle. “I think the proper response is ‘you wish’.”

“No,” he held your gaze and you felt that Bucky was seeing through you. No, not through you but into you, into your heart and soul. “I meant I wish.”

“Well then,” you took a quick breath to replace the one Bucky’s words knocked from your lungs. “What are you writing about, Buckaroo?”

“No.”

You grinned. “What?”

“No to ‘Buckaroo’ or whatever the Hell you just said. That can’t be my nickname.”

“Worth a shot,” you sighed as you leaned back in the chair. Bucky let out an amused huff and you savored the lightness of the sound. Comfortable that the almost new nickname diffused the tension, you let your body curl into your seat. Though, your eyes quickly landed on his hands, how they rested in his lap and held tight to the small notebook. Bucky let out a trembling breath and looked back at you.

Your eyes snapped to his and you saw only a heavy glaze of seriousness in the blue. “It’s my...it’s how I’m making amends.”

“Dr. Raynor has you journaling?”

“It’s more of a list.”

“A list,” you leaned towards him, intrigued. “Of good deeds?”

Bucky’s eyes flicked from yours to your lips and back again. It was a momentary slip of his gaze, but it did not ease the trembling of your next breath.

“No,” he replied, letting his attention fall to his notebook. “A list of names...”

He trailed off and raised his head, fixing his eyes on the too-high windows of the waiting room. And, just like that, Bucky was out of your reach again. His mind was towards the glass a dozen feet above from where you both sat, lost in some fogged memory. The other day, when he told you his name, his past, and about the Winter Soldier, you asked him if he remembered what he did in his ‘living weapon’ state.

All of them, he told you; though, in that moment, you weren’t sure to who or what ‘them’ referred to. Now, you had a sinking heaviness in your gut. You did not want it to be true. You did not want this heft of knowing more if it hurt Bucky. Them, the victims. His victims.

“People that you-no, not you. People that he hurt in the past when-”

Before you could finish, Bucky looked at you. Sadness carved lines in his face like scars, all around his mouth and eyes. He suddenly appeared older and your resolve broke. You had a feeling that knowing more about the real Bucky would melt your heart, but this felt more like an ache. It was clear he felt the same pain.

“Hey,” you reached your hand out and wrapped your fingers around his forearm. “You can’t change the past, only the now. And you’re trying to do that, right?”

“I’m trying, but...it’s not...better.”

“The guilt?”

Bucky only nodded in reply, his eyes never once leaving yours.

“I mean, I don’t know what Raynor is having you do but, if this way,” you tipped your head towards his notebook, “if it isn’t working, maybe it’s time to try something else. Try to make them feel better than you do.”

“How?” You frowned at the croaking desperation in his voice. Instinctively, hoping to comfort and console, your grip tightened around Bucky’s metal wrist.

“Give closure if you can, hope to others,” you shrugged, “just be there.”

“Yeah,” Bucky nodded and you saw the corner of his mouth twitch up slightly as he looked at you. “I would have never thought you’d be so wise.”

A forced laugh spilled from your lips. “It’s the therapy and the trauma.”

“We both have baggage,” Bucky sighed, letting his eyes fall to the carpeted floor of the waiting room. You let your gaze follow his and saw how near you two were to each other. Your foot was close to his and smaller in comparison.

“It’s what makes us human, right?” You nudged his foot with yours as you asked and, when you looked back at Bucky’s face, you saw his eyes on you.

“Right.”

For a moment, you saw him as you did last week: walking away from your apartment building, eyes fixed on you as he looked over his shoulder. Was he thinking of that same second glance back? Was he too overcome by the desire to know more about you as you were about him? Or was he thinking that you knew too much, that it was only a matter of time before he scared you away for good?

You wanted to ask. You wanted to know. The way he was looked at you was tortuous. Yet, all that you managed to get out was: “you didn’t text me.”

As soon as the words left your mouth, you wanted to pull them back in. Bucky’s face fell and his brow furrowed, and you wanted to scream. Or cry, or both. Both would do the trick.

“I didn’t mean to-” you began but stopped when Bucky started to speak.

“I was going to but I thought-”

“James.”

In turn, you and Bucky shifted your attention to Dr. Raynor. The woman poked her head out from behind the door of her office. Her displeased expression only grew more pointed when her dark eyes fell on your hand on Bucky’s wrist. Immediately, you pulled your fingers away, as if her sharp gaze stung your skin.

“I’m ready for you,” she grumbled, before retreating into the dark of her room. You glanced back at Bucky, whose eyes remained fixed on the now open door.

“You should go,” you murmured, and your voice proved to be enough to coax Bucky’s attention towards you. “Best not to keep the Grinch waiting.”

“I wanted to, I,” Bucky let out a sharp exhale through his nose. “I will text you.”

“Sure you will,” you said, hoping that your teasing tone outshone the hurt that lingered in your chest. “I’m sure you will, Buckaroo.”

“Still no.” Bucky stood up and looked down at you. “And I will. I’ll…”

You waved a hand at him. “Just go. I was kidding anyway.”

Bucky frowned but didn’t press the matter further. Instead, he started towards the door to Raynor’s office and, this time, as he walked away, he didn’t look back.

III. Consider the consequences.

“Can I walk you home again?”

At the sound of his voice, you jumped as you walked out of Raynor and Briam’s offices. With eyes wide and mouth agape, you stared at Bucky, who you hadn’t seen in weeks. At your shocked expression, he reached up and scratched the back of his head. He was nervous.

And he should be. “Bucky?! What...where have you been?!”

“It’s a long story,” he sighed, letting his hand fall back to his side. You eyed him, unwilling to let him talk his way out of his sudden, frightening absence. It was difficult to do: Bucky was still as handsome as ever. His hair looked softer in the light of day, outside of the grey of the waiting room, and his blue eyes were brighter than the last time you saw him.

“Well, I’ve got time for you to tell it,” you said, breaking from the trance his features put you in. You crossed your arms over your chest and tried to stay stern.

“Y/N, it was a matter of national importance,” Bucky assured, a small quirk pulling up at the corner of his mouth. Though, you were unamused.

“I’ve been waiting alone...I was worried. You just...disappeared. Without a word!”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to worry.” Bucky nodded and a bitter laugh slipped from your lips before you could stop it.

“You didn’t text me,” you whimpered, your sternness melting under the heated pain of missing him. “And I’m not kidding this time.”

“I know,” he whispered, his eyes falling to the sidewalk before he continued. “I know and I want to explain.”

A long, strained pause fell over you both as you loitered before the doorway, staring at each other. Before you could speak up or try to tear your eyes from Bucky’s, a man, a new client of Dr. Raynor, started up the steps. To avoid being bumped into, you stepped forwards and nearly collided with Bucky. His hand reflexively reached out, shining under the sun, and held you still, secure.

“Sorry,” you murmured, as the new client disappeared inside the office. Your eyes flicked from Buckys to his hand that lingered on your upper arm. A shock of surprise rushed through you when you fully realized he was without his gloves. You turned your gaze back to Bucky’s and studied his somber expression. “No gloves?”

“Like I said, I want to explain.”

“You wanna tell me your long story in the doorway like it’s small talk?”

“No,” Bucky soothed, sensing your anger, “I want to walk you home if you’ll let me.”

You took a long, debating breath and glanced over Bucky’s face. There was nothing but sincerity in his eyes. You had not seen them so clear before. No longer were they as fogged and distant as the windows in the waiting room. Originally, you thought learning more about him would make Bucky feel less far away, but then he left. Now that he was back, he was closer than ever.

You weren’t about to push him away.

“Okay. Tell me your story, Jimmy.”

Bucky scoffed, “Jimmy?”

“I don’t know,” you exclaimed, throwing your hands in the air. “James, Jimmy. It works, sort of. You being away threw me off my game.” You started down the stonework stairs and Bucky followed suit. As you both began to walk in the direction of your apartment, you felt as if everything was back as it should be again.

“I missed you too.”

At his words, you pressed you lips together to keep from smiling too broadly. Heat spread along your cheeks as you snuck a glance up to Bucky. His eyes were fixed on you still, watching, reading, and smiling. Really, truly smiling.

You swallowed hard and turned your eyes back to the sidewalk. “As much as I would love to hear about how much you missed me, you have a story?”

He sighed, “yes, and I have this friend…”

“Sam?” You asked, hoping you remembered the man’s name from when Bucky told you about the Falcon so long ago.

“Yeah, Sam.”

Then, he told you everything. He told you about John Walker, the shield, and the serum. He told you about a baron named Zemo and Wakanda’s Dora Milaje. He told you about the Flag Smashers and fighting for what’s right. He told you about the Wilson’s boat in Louisiana. He told you about how he didn’t want to put you in harm’s way.

“That’s why I didn’t text you,” he explained, “the Flag Smashers were using an app and their phones. They called Sarah, Sam’s sister, threatened her and her kids.”

“But they’re okay, right?”

“Yeah, they’re fine,” Bucky said with a fond glint in his eyes. “Played with the kids at the party.”

“Party?” You asked, a grin spreading along your lips. “I see how it is. You didn’t text me because I wasn’t invited to the after-party, huh?”

“No, actually, Sam wanted to fly you out.”

“What?!” You glanced at Bucky and stopped mid-stride. “He knows about me?”

“Of course. I told him about you,” Bucky smiled softly as he stopped. His hands were shoved in his jacket pockets, shoulders back and relaxed. He looked so wonderfully put together, more confident than before. “How could I not?”

“I don’t know,” you mumbled, bashfully flicking your eyes around the sidewalk. It was only then you realized you were outside your apartment building. It felt too soon.

“Well, I did.” Bucky stepped towards you, hands slipping out from his pockets. You eyed the hand that was his flesh, the rough skin of his palm before you met his gaze.

“Then, why didn’t you ask me? Fly me out?”

“Would you have wanted to come?”

“I…”

At your hesitance, Bucky leaned in closer. You could smell the leather of his jacket and notes of smoke. His blue eyes were searching your face and you felt another rush of warmth rise up and spread like gentle fires across your skin. The feeling stole your breath away, dulled your every thought until only Bucky remained.

“Would you have come?”

His second ask conjured an image in your mind: one of smiles and his arm around your waist, holding you to his side as party-goers danced. You saw kids and Bucky smiling as they threw fake punches at him and laughed when he played along. Then you saw his hands, both flesh and metal, cupping your face at the end of the evening. An evening like the one that surrounded you both.

In the soft light, you saw only Bucky, what you knew and didn’t know about him; but not a single regret. Not a single consequence.

“Yes,” you finally replied. “I would’ve.”

You were so close that you felt Bucky’s gentle sigh of relief against your skin. “Then I should’ve asked. Should’ve texted.”

“You said that you would,” you pointed out.

“You’re right. So, I guess I owe you one.”

“One text?” You smiled and Bucky shook his head.

“One text, one invitation,” Bucky’s eyes flicked to your lips then back up to meet your gaze. A lump formed in your throat at the sight. You glanced to the door of your apartment complex and then back to Bucky.

“So, if I invite you up, you’re obliged to accept?”

IV. Make your decision.

You made the choice to invite Bucky Barnes up to your apartment, but you did not remember how you led him to the door. Adrenaline dulled the proposal in your memory. For that, you were glad because, otherwise, you would have panicked as you and Bucky rode up to your floor in the elevator. Tension would have swallowed you whole, drowned you.

Before you knew it, you were inside your apartment.

“It’s nice in here,” Bucky mused, glancing around your small studio.

You mirrored his movements, eyed the exposed brick walls and scattered posters. What furniture you had was older and a small TV was precariously sat on a coffee table with a mess of wires behind it. Your kitchenette was untouched, but your garbage can nearly overflowed with trash from prepackaged meals.

“It’s not much to look at.”

“It’s cozier than my place,” Bucky said, turning to look at you from over his shoulder, “it looks like the guys’ apartment from that one show. Amigos?”

“Amigos?” You raised a brow at him as you shed your coat and draped it over the back of your favorite chair. “Never heard of it.”

“No, that’s not the name,” Bucky snapped his fingers, trying to magically summon the proper title. “It’s about friends, in New York. They live across the hall and go to some coffee shop all the time. And they’re all white.”

You laughed, “you mean F.R.I.E.N.D.S?”

“That’s it,” Bucky groaned, “it was on Steve’s list.”

“Steve’s list?” You walked into your small living room as you asked, settling on your couch. With practiced ease, the cushions gave in to your weight and you felt a rush of comfort soothe over your slight nervousness.

“That notebook, the one I used for my amends. It was Steve’s before,” Bucky wandered further into your apartment until he stood in your living room, stood before where you sat on the couch. “He made a list of all the things he missed. Movies, types of food, music, and TV shows. A lot of pop-culture things that I still don’t know.”

“Clearly,” you teased. Your light tone caught Bucky’s attention back to you. His blue eyes were darker in the limited sunset light that shone through your windows.

“I’d like to know more,” he pressed, “more about you.”

Your mouth went dry at his words but you managed to squeak out: “then ask.”

Bucky nodded and took a seat on the couch cushion beside you. You turned to face him, waiting for his questions and found yourself dumbstruck by the softness in his face.

“How would you describe yourself?”

A laugh slipped past your lips. It was laced with the sweet memory of the second time you and Bucky Barnes ever spoke to each other. That stupid magazine quiz. When you managed to collect yourself, you saw that Bucky wore a closed-lipped smile.

“In lifestyle quiz terms or in my own terms?”

“Up to you,” Bucky replied, throwing his left arm over the back of your couch.

“Hmm, I don’t know...maybe like a well-read owl?”

Bucky let out an amused huff. “You like to you read?”

“Sometimes. There are a few books I like,” you gestured to the somewhat sparse bookcase in the corner, “but it’s mostly just stuff online now.”

“Ever read The Hobbit?”

“That’s an oddly specific title,” you observed, unable to help the slight grin that pulled at your lips. “Why The Hobbit?”

“I know there are movies out now, a few years ago. But I read it,” Bucky took a breath, “when it first came out.”

“Wow,” you exclaimed, “that’s very hipster of you to say.”

“What do you mean?”

“There really is so much you don’t know,” you jested at his question.

“You mock me, but at least I’m not addicted to my phone.”

“Careful, you’re showing your age,” you laughed. When he failed to return your expression, your chest tightened. “What’s wrong?”

“Does that...does that make you nervous?”

“Your age? No,” you shook your head. “How good you look at a century old? Yes.”

Bucky smiled and his cheeks pinked, but his eyes fell to his lap. “But everything I told you, about me, my past, you’re not nervous? You’re not...scared?”

“No,” you replied quickly, “no, Buck, I’m not scared of you.”

Bucky didn’t respond and, for a moment, you feared that he hated that nickname too. Yet, rather than say so, he stared into your eyes with his lips slightly parted, waiting. At the sight, you felt a wonderful twisting in your gut as Bucky leaned in.

V. Assess the outcome(s).

You made the choice to invite Bucky Barnes up to your apartment, but you had no choice to make when it came to wanting him. You were stupid in believing there was any choice before. There was no decision to make. Not when Bucky already felt right.

Not when his hand, when the rough skin of his palm pressed ever-so-gently against your cheek. His thumb traced across the apple of your cheek as his fingers moved to hold your jaw. Just as they did so many tantalizing times before, Bucky’s eyes danced along your lips before he met your gaze once more. It was a silent question.

“Bucky,” you murmured, tone dripping with want.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

The one word is all he needed to hear. Bucky leaned in further, tilted your face up with his thumb and forefinger, and pressed his lips to yours. It was a careful kiss. As if he is scared that you lied, that you were scared and would pull away swiftly. When you lingered, Bucky tipped his lips away from yours and took a breath. You did the same and smiled.

“Was that your first kiss since before World War two?”

Bucky blinked and lifted his slightly hooded eyes to meet your gaze. His pupils were blown and his breathing incredibly slow as he drank in your pleased expression. He had lovely eyelashes, you noticed. They framed the lightness of his eyes so perfectly.

“Any complaints?” His voice was low and sent a shivering shudder down your spine.

“No,” you replied in a desperate breath.

Bucky smiled and leaned in again, captured your lips with his. His hand remained against your jaw with his fingertips kissing your neck. Your own hands traveled up along his broad chest to his neck. His skin was deliciously warm, a sharp contrast to the cool metal of his left hand when it found rest on your waist.

A gasp slipped out of your mouth at the sudden cold, but Bucky was quick to swallow the sound. He trailed searing, no longer careful kisses from your lips to your jaw to your neck. You were a wire made live by his touch. To keep the current, you moved your hands from his neck to his soft, short brown hair. You tugged on the strands, eliciting a muffled moan from his lips.

“Buck,” you mewled as he dragged both of his hands down to your hips and pulled you into his lap. At the sound of the nickname, his wandering touch paused and he let his lips brush along your skin. A barely-there touch.

You looked down at him, saw his kiss-swollen lips, and met his want-filled eyes. Despite the clear desire in his expression and the lust that pooled in your stomach, he seemed suddenly restrained. Worried that maybe he felt this was all too much too fast, you let your hands fall to his shoulders. He did not seem distant but his silence made you wary to continue.

“What is it?”

“I should’ve texted you sooner, doll,” he whispered, pressing his thumbs into your hips. “Wanted to the day I got your number but…”

He trailed off and, to keep him in the moment, to keep his eyes on you, you moved a hand up to Bucky’s face. “Stay out of your head and I’ll stay out of mine. Just be with me now, okay?”

He stayed quiet, watching you as you leaned down and pressed a kiss to his lips. As you did, Bucky’s hands tightened on your hips and pulled you flush against him. You didn’t moan then, but when his fingers, both of metal and flesh, slipped under the hem of your shirt, an involuntary whine escaped you. Bucky smiled into the kiss before you trailed more down his jaw.

“Okay,” he murmured, far too smug for your liking. You pulled your lips from his skin and eyed him vexedly.

Before you could tease or provoke, Bucky craned his neck and kissed you hard. You felt his thighs shift beneath your own and, in a flash, your back was laid against the couch cushions. Bucky’s weight slightly rested on you, pressing against your body marvelously. Heat lingered in the paths of his hands as they explored still covered tracks of your skin. His lips followed suit and you melted completely into bliss.

VI. Daybreak.

Light slipped through the window and cast your bedroom in an orange sunrise glow. You weren’t entirely sure how you and Bucky ended up in your bed. Well, you did, but you were still lost in the haze that surrounded the actions of the night before. Parts of your body still tingled, electrified by Bucky’s lingering touch.

You could feel it still, a tickling that emanated from where Bucky’s skin remained pressed against yours. His arm was slung around your bare waist, warm and snug. With your head on the pillow, you turned to study Bucky’s face. Sleep looked good on him.

His eyelashes fanned out against the peaks of his cheeks, which made him look angelic. You tried to remember if you had ever seen him so at peace before. Images of the waiting room danced before your eyes. You could only recall the relief that flashed across his face when he told you about his nightmares. Though, compared to the relaxed brow and softness laid before you, that expression was far from peaceful.

Unable to help yourself, you trailed your fingertips along the length of Bucky’s forearm that was wrapped around you. Under your touch, you saw the muscles beneath the skin flex and his hold on you tightened. When you glanced back at Bucky’s face, you were met with a pair of sleepy blue eyes.

“Mornin’,” he greeted, his voice gravelly from disuse.

“Morning. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I’m a light sleeper.” As he spoke, his arm around your waist squeezed once more. Now, your side was pressed to his chest and the scruff on Bucky’s chin prickled against your skin.

“You sleep okay?”

“Yeah,” he beamed, lifting his head from your pillow. “Better than okay.”

You smiled right back at him. “No nightmares or anything?”

“Not last night,” he said lowly as he leaned forwards and pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Didn’t have a chance to.”

You reached a hand up to his hair as Bucky trailed gentle pecks along your jaw. A hum of contentment rose up your throat as he moved against you. You trailed your fingers through his messed hair and sighed. Bucky pulled away at the sound and peered down at you.

“What?”

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, gently brushing your hair back with his left hand. The coolness of the Vibranium woke you up fully and you reached a hand out to grab his wrist.

“And you’re intolerable, James Buchanan Barnes.” You intertwined your fingers with his metal ones and grinned. He returned the expression as he pinned your hand against the space beside your head.

“No jokes, no teasing,” he persisted, “you’re beautiful.” He pressed a kiss to the column of your throat and you sighed a thank you.

“You are too.” Bucky pulled back just enough to meet your eyes again. “I mean, why else do you think I talked to you in the waiting room?”

A laugh rumbled up in Bucky’s chest and you felt the vibration of the sound against your own. “I thought it was because I was new.”

“Well yeah, and handsome,” you grinned. Bucky’s eyes drank in your expression and you couldn’t help but let your mind wander back to that first meeting. “You looked lonely.”

“Until you,” he murmured, echoing your words from long ago.

You nodded under his softening gaze. “Until you.”

[lockefanfic]

Business Trip: Pt 42 - Plan

From the moment she stepped into the car you knew what Minatozaki Sana wanted.

You couldn’t say you were surprised - not given her open and declared desire for you. Nor could you really blame her, given the circumstances - you were both young and just so happened to be well-dressed and in a fancy car; not to mention being on the verge of yet another important operation. The adrenaline was high. So was the sexual tension.

She was wearing a short, black velvet dress that looked more like an elongated blazer than anything else. It left her long, creamy legs bare, making it difficult for you to keep your eyes on the road - especially when she began to touch herself.

Again - you weren’t surprised. You had assumed she would make her move at some point later in the evening, perhaps afterward, perhaps even at the cocktail party itself. She wasn’t one to hold back. She wasn’t one to give a damn about slipping a finger beneath the tiny black shorts she wore under her dress, even as she sat in the passenger seat of a car driving through the busier streets of downtown Tokyo.

When you pull up to a stop light you knew that was when she would try to take the next step. You knew she would try and steal your attention away from the ridiculously expensive high performance car you were driving through one of the world’s most beautiful cities. You knew she didn’t care about the cocktail party, or looking for leads on Seulgi and Yeri. You knew Minatozaki Sana well enough to know that she wasn’t going to stop until she got what she wanted, and what she wanted right now was you.

You knew what she was doing, could see her legs squirm and writhe softly in your peripheral vision. But it wasn’t until she let the first soft gasp of pleasure escape her lips that you took your first glance over at her.

Those long, perfectly sculpted legs of hers quivered slightly under your gaze, sending delicious looking shocks of movement through those full, round thighs of hers. She was wearing black lace gloves when she stepped into the car, but one of them was on the floor now, her naked right hand busy between her legs.

Your gaze travels up her body, past the gleaming gold buckle of the wide belt at her waist and the black blazer wrapped tightly around the curves of her chest, past the thick black choker over her long, graceful throat - until you reach her face. 

Sana always had full command over her expressions. She could look like she stepped out of an anime one moment and then suddenly become a sultry seductress the next - a switch to be flipped at her whim. You found her adorable and cute most of the time, although admittedly, so were most of the girls in your life, to one degree or another.

It was in her sultrier moments that Sana’s facial expressions were unmatched. When she was seducing you, during foreplay, and especially during sex itself - sex turned Minatozaki Sana’s face into one of the beautiful sights on Earth. Mouth slightly open to gasp or moan or shriek; eyes half-lidded, sometimes shutting in the deepest throes of pleasure; full cheeks flushed and rosy, like a visual representation or indicator of the pleasure coursing through her veins. No one else came close. No one else could even try.

She catches your eyes and holds your gaze. You couldn’t have looked away even if you wanted to. 

The gasps leaving her full lips quickly turn into soft moans as her fingers slip even deeper into the flesh between her thighs. After fucking herself with her own fingers for a few long seconds, she lets them slip out of her, shiny and glistening in the dark interior of the car. She slowly begins to circle her clit with her slick middle finger. Her other hand, still gloved in thin black lace, reaches over the centre console and to the belt at your waist.

The stoplight turns green. You press down the gas pedal. So does Sana.

Her right hand works with remarkable, impressive dexterity at your belt, quickly undoing the buckle. She pulls down the zipper - almost scarily quick - and she quickly slips her slim, still gloved hand into your boxers. 

You gasp. Sana moans. Her fingers slip once more inside herself.

You sigh as she touches your rapidly hardening shaft, the sensation of the thin black lace against your cock a new and novel sensation. Her slim fingers give your cock a few rubs over its top before sliding her fingers under it and pumping it slowly. She wastes no time. Your cock, quickly stiffened to full attention, seems to share in her eagerness.

Sana pauses her handjob for only a moment to pull your boxers down, roughly, as though she were angered that the cloth had the gall to keep her from what she wanted. Your cock springs free. An airy gasp of need leaves Sana’s throat at the sight of it, as though she were seeing it for the first time.

Her gloved hand returns to it, her grip warm and tight. 

“Please,” she says, her first word to you that evening. It is light and desperate and needy. “Pull over. I need you now.”

Lesser men might have found as secluded a spot as was possible in the bustling downtown core of Tokyo so that they could give Sana what she so desperately desired. An especially reckless man would have pulled over right at that moment and let the mewling young woman have her way with them, right there in a flashy car next to a busy sidewalk.

But you were not such a man. You weren’t some stranger to Minatozaki Sana, new and unwise to her wiles and her plans. You had history with this woman. Her history with you and your work was deep and tumultuous, but it was the way she projected one image to her colleagues and the general public whilst wearing another one behind the scenes that frustrated you the most. 

There was no better example of these masks than the way she treated Momo; ostensibly appearing utterly devoted to their friendship but in reality only insofar as it did not relate to you - when it did, the fangs came out, even if the older Japanese woman had no idea she was being bitten. It angered you, the way she treated Momo. It infuriated you.

But she was also a top tier member of your team - smart, reliable, and dependable. She was friendly, bubbly, always enthusiastic and eager for a good time shared with friends. And that was saying nothing about her beauty - cute and adorable one moment, sultry and sexy the next. Sublime from head to toe. Minatozaki Sana was as close to perfect as was seemingly possible. 

She was a beautiful spider in a perfect web. It was easy to get caught up in the complex, sticky strands she was continually weaving. Everyone else saw only the brilliant, shiny strands of diamond-laced silk and thought it a beautiful work of art even as they found themselves caught up in its strings. Only you knew of the venom she was hiding beneath it all.

She was simultaneously someone you wanted and someone you wanted to keep away. She was attractive and repulsive, soothing and vexing, good and evil all at the same time. She loved you and she hated you and she wanted you for herself and no one else; a part of you wanted the same.

And it made you want to see her work for what she wanted.

“No,” you say, softly - and Sana’s grip tightens around your cock.

“What?” she gasps, “please… I need it, I need you, please-”

“No, Sana.”

“Why not!?” she cries, the words sounding more like a plea than a demand. “I need you… oh! I need you inside me, right now oh god please, oh god, oh god-”

“No,” you repeat, even as the pumping of the mewling Japanese girl’s hand on your cock and the quick movements of her own hand between her legs intensifies.

“Why, please, fuck, oh fuck, I need your cock in me, I’ve been such a good girl, fuck I need you to fuck me right now, make me take your cock oh god-”

“Not until you make yourself cum first,” you state, plainly, as though you were giving her a new assignment at work. 

It doesn’t take her long to follow your order. She must have been right on the edge. Your demand must have thrown her over it.

“I, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck I need you so bad, I need your cock in me I need it fucking my wet little pussy oh god I’m so wet for you, so wet and tight oh god oh god oh god fuck!---”

When she orgasms the sound she releases fills the small cabin of the Ferrari with a wordless, beautiful sound that comes close to music - light and airy, high and low notes, a song sung by a siren who had achieved, at least temporarily, a respite from the need that had been building in her body.

But as her song ends its last notes turn into notes of longing. The respite was temporary. The need remained, and she needed to fill it.

“Are you done?” you ask, as nonchalantly as you could. You shift gears. You change lanes. You do your best to ignore the woman a foot away from you, still trying to find her way out of her post-orgasm haze, her hand still wrapped around your hard, leaking cock.

“No,” she answers.

She unbuckles her belt, and with the grace of a black widow gliding along the intricate diamond strands of its web, she leans over the centre console, grasps your cock with her right hand, and takes you into her mouth.

The feel of her hot, wet mouth and that skilled, quick tongue on your shaft causes a spasm of pleasure to shoot up your spine - and it causes your foot to involuntarily straighten on the pedal, sending the car speeding down the thankfully mostly empty street.

You cruise for a few blocks, uncaring now of ensuring you were on the correct path to your destination - caring only about making sure the car wasn’t swerving into other lanes or crashing headlong into a wall or tree. To say it was difficult, given the bobbing of the young woman’s head on your cock as she took you in and out of her mouth, was an understatement. It was dangerous and reckless - and ridiculously arousing.

When you mercifully reach the next stop light you let a long sigh escape your mouth. To the driver in the car next to you you must have looked like some tired young executive eager to get home after a long day’s work. Your sighs of pleasure could have been mistaken for sighs of weariness, your expressions of bliss for those of exhaustion. 

You let your eyes drift closed for just a second as Sana’s tongue works its magic in your lap, swirling around and under your head, just the way she knew you liked.

Pedestrians cross the street, mere feet from you, each of them seemingly unaware of the lewd act taking place in the seat of the expensive red car they were passing. Were they to look closer they would have only seen a young man at the driver’s seat, sighing at the prospect of waiting another few minutes for the light to turn green again.

Inside the car, your sign turns into a groan. Her head keeps bobbing. Her tongue keeps working.

“Fuck, Sana,” you hiss, not quite able to finish the sentence. 

If she heard you, she must have ignored it. Or maybe she did, because her only response to your expletive is to redouble her efforts. Her hand, still slick with her own juices, joins the party. She fondles your balls with wet fingertips, teasing and cradling them.

The light turns green. The car gathers speed. So does Sana.

You last only another block before you begin looking for an alleyway or parking spot. You were well and truly trapped in her web, now. The black widow claims another victim, and was now merely waiting for the right moment to finish it off.

You find a dark alley, as hidden as could be from the main, bustling street you were currently on. You throw the car into park. 

Sana lets your cock slip out of her mouth. In a frenzied rush she strips the black shorts off her hips and kicks off the black heels she is wearing. She quickly undoes the belt at her waist before sliding over the center console and straddling you in the small, cramped driver’s seat.

She unbuttons her blazer. No bra, no panties. Only her.

Eyes glazed over with need and lust, she reaches between you to point the tip of your slick cock at her dripping folds. She dips her hips, takes you inside her, and you both feel the air rush from your lungs.

Ferraris, it appeared, prioritized performance and speed on the road over a comfortable sexual experience. Who would have thought? But not that you gave a damn, not that you cared as Sana ground herself against your hips, taking your cock in and out of her wet, hot, slick pussy as fast and as quick as she could given the cramped space of the sports car’s cabin.

No build up, no slow ramping of speed or intensity in her movements. From the second you are inside her she is riding you as though her life depended on it, fucking herself on your cock with smooth, fast movements, as though reaching a mutual orgasm was the only goal she had ever wanted in her life.

She crushes your lips with hers in a frenzied kiss, caring little for subtlety or affection. She wanted her tongue in your mouth and yours in hers. Nothing else mattered, not your comfort nor any last shreds of resistance in your mind about the propriety of what you were doing. 

The fangs were in. The venom was spreading.

You slip your hands into her open blazer, eager to partake in the wonders of her beautiful, perfect body. Your questing fingers quickly find her round, soft breasts, squeezing them none too gently, extracting some measure of revenge for the liberties she was taking with you. She responds with a deep, needy moan straight into your mouth, her tongue following closely behind as it continues its duel with yours.

You find and pinch both of her taut, tight nipples. You continue to squeeze her breasts roughly, enjoying the feel of the warm mounds of flesh filling your palm and the little gasps of pleasure and pain that escape her lips because of it. Her nails dig painfully into the back of your scalp and the nape of your neck. Her pussy tightens and pulsates. She moans. You sigh. The response of your bodies is to seek more and more - always more.

Sana finally releases your mouth as your cock reaches a new depth inside her. She lets out a long, loud moan directly into your ear. You couldn’t have cared less if people walked in from the street and watched you two fucking. She could have opened the car’s quickly steaming windows to scream out her pleasures directly into the alleyway for all of Tokyo to hear, and you wouldn’t have given a damn about it.

She straightens her torso as best she could - she wanted to give you a show, wanted to put her body on display for you, as if you weren’t already completely and utterly enraptured by it, weren’t already rendered completely helpless by the silken strands of her web and the poison in her bite. 

Your hands push the blazer from her shoulders, exposing more of her body to your hungry eyes. Perfect, creamy vanilla skin; round, bouncing breasts; full, thick thighs flexing with effort as she rides you faster and harder with each bounce of that perfect body. She was beauty and perfection and lust incarnate. 

You knew she wasn’t good for you. You knew you had to struggle and fight your way out of the sticky, entangling strands of her web before it was too late and escape was no longer a possibility. You knew the pleasure she had injected into your veins was in reality a form of venom - a venom that bent you to her will and made you powerless to fight her charms. You knew you had to fight it. 

But it was so easy to let go, so easy to lose yourself in the pleasure and the beautiful silken strands of her web, so easy to give in to her charms and indulge in her body - so easy to let the black widow have her way, just one last time. You could stop her the next time she tried, surely. One more time couldn’t hurt. How could you resist, how could you stop, when you were already as far as you were? Just one more time, one last time, then you would stop her, set her straight and tell her to stop playing her games. One last time...

She nears her peak first - mercifully, because you weren’t sure how much longer you could hold on.

“Oh fuck I’m gonna cum all over your fucking cock oh god oh god-” she hisses, the filthy words escaping her mouth in a breathy hiss. Her pace, bouncing up and down and grinding forward and backward - doesn’t stop or slow down. It increases. It speeds up. She rides you harder and harder, her softly bouncing breasts and warm thighs and tight, slick pussy beckoning you to join her in bliss.

“Oh fuck, god I’m so close, you’re so big in me, you’re stretching out my pussy so much oh fuck, oh fuck, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum oh god cum with me cum inside me please oh god fill me up, fill my pussy with your cum, oh god, oh!!-”

The filth coming out of her mouth is interrupted by your hand at her throat. You start with a soft grip, your fingers wrapping around the black lace choker she wore - but when the startled look in her eyes is quickly replaced by perverse pleasure, you find your grip slowly tightening around her windpipe. Not nearly enough to keep her from breathing - but enough to cause her pussy to tighten even more around your thrusting cock as its owner is aroused even further by the imagined threat of losing consciousness.

It said a lot about Sana, you thought, that she was so much into choking - particularly when she was nearing orgasm. It was probably the same reason she loved having sex in public, if your previous liaisons at her apartment, the resort in Hawaii and in a public washroom in Seoul were any indicator. She loved playing dangerously. And a dark part of her loved and craved the possibility of being caught doing it.

That was what turned her on the most - the possibility that others might see how wanton and lustful she really was under the friendly and adorable facade she usually wore. It was why she was always ramping up the intensity of your sessions, choosing ever more public and ever more dangerous times to seduce you. The threat of that side of her being revealed to others, others who only knew the cute, bubbly side of her - it aroused her like nothing else ever could.

She orgasms with a strangled cry that barely leaves her constrained throat - and you follow her willingly. The feel of her body tightening and pulsating around you suddenly becomes too much for you to handle, and your cock spasms as it sends thick streams of hot warm cum deep into the slick walls of her pussy.

The feel of you cumming at the same time as her - the feel of your pulsating cock spurting hot semen inside her body to splash wetly against the walls of her pussy - intensifies and multiplies the pleasure overtaking Sana’s body. For a moment she blacks out. Your grip around her throat tightens involuntarily as you cum, and her moans are cut short in a frightening gasp. Her mouth is held open in a wordless, soundless ‘o’, her eyes shut unwillingly. For a moment you thought you’d hurt her, caused her to pass out. Her body trembles at the pleasure. You feel your body do the same.

For long glorious seconds only the feeling of Sana’s body wrapped around you is all that exists in the world. When it is over Sana slumps onto your chest, sapped, at least temporarily, of the energy she usually possessed in limitless supply.

For a single, dark moment you consider walking away from it all - quitting on the operation and your job and all your other responsibilities. You consider taking her back to your hotel room and spending the rest of your life happily entangled in her web, doing nothing more than fucking and indulging in every single one of her whims. Perhaps those two things were one and the same.

But something deep inside you convinces you to fight her venom. The realities and responsibilities of the world return, unwelcomed, to your mind. Even as she is no more than a sweaty, breathless body atop yours, you realize that every time you gave in to her whims you risked becoming ever more entangled in her web. You had to fight back, had to resist the spider’s bite while you still could.

But each time she bit her fangs dug just a bit deeper, and her venom became just a little harder to fight.

--

It took Sana a while to find the black lace glove she had torn off her hand before she started to touch herself. It was a dark alleyway and the Ferrari didn’t have any cabin lights that could help, so you ended up having to use your phone’s flash to help her locate it.

“Yatta!” she exclaims upon finding the elusive glove. She slips it back on her hand with a wide smile at you, her eyes large and bright, like some character in an anime or manga.

She did so with her blazer still open, revealing plenty of the creamy curves of her breasts - in addition to the fact that the sinful evidence of your recently sated lust was still warm and wet between her thighs.

But such was the dichotomy that was at the core of Minatozaki Sana. She was at once both an angel and a devil, and sometimes she wore the clothes of one while in the world of the other.

“Sana,” you begin, wanting to finally begin a conversation.

“Yes?” she asks, her tone innocent, even if she replied whilst tucking her breasts back into her black blazer and buttoning it up.

“We need to talk. About-”

“Let me guess,” she interrupts, letting out a sigh and turning her head quickly to get rid of a lock of messy hair that had fallen into her eyes. “This is about why I’m here, and not Momo or Mina?”

“Well, yes,” you reply, caught somewhat off guard by her forthrightness. 

“You’re wondering what underhanded scheme I’m pulling, and what I had to do behind the scenes to make sure Momo is at the airport and Mina is busy with an unexpected phone call, leaving me the only option to come with you?”

“Yes,” you admit. Momo had left for the airport an hour or two ago for some business related reason, and Mina was busy with a legal matter that had arisen with JYP’s legal department in Europe.

Sana finally finishes buttoning up her blazer. She brushes stray locks of hair aside and smooths down her clothing, trying to make it look like she didn’t just have rushed, dirty sex in the driver’s seat of a car mere minutes before.

“I’ll let her explain to you herself,” she says with a soft sigh. She reaches for her purse and retrieves her phone, dials a number, and passes it to you. The screen indicates that it is Momo she is dialling.

“Go ahead,” she says, a sad look in her eyes, “talk to her.”

You take the phone, not quite sure what this was leading up to.

“Hello?” comes Momo’s voice on the other end.

“Momo? It’s me.”

“Oh, hey. They just touched down. We should be there on time. Has Sana filled you in on the plan?”

You look over at Sana, but she is looking out the window, seemingly avoiding your eyes. You cannot see much of her face, but from what you could tell from her body language she seemed a little upset - and perhaps a little hurt.

“She was just about to. Do you wanna start?”

“Sure...” Momo says, a little confused by what was going on on your end. “Anyway, I’ll meet you guys at the venue for the fundraiser. I’ll be bringing guests. We have intel that a very important potential target for us will be there…”

Momo goes over the outline of the plan with you in deep detail - it takes almost half an hour for you and her to hash out the specifics. When you end the call, you hand the phone back to Sana, who takes it and shoves it back in her bag. There is still a look of hurt disappointment on her features.

“Someday I hope you’ll start to trust me,” she says, a hint of sadness in her voice.

---

It wasn’t difficult to differentiate the legitimate attendees from the gangsters.

Everyone was dressed to the nines, but the gangsters each stood out, in their own way. Some were covered in intricate, detailed tattoos; others wore expensive silks and furs; some seemed to carry an entire small country’s gross domestic product in jewelry on their fingers, ears, and necks. They had a swagger, a confidence to them that the other law-abiding attendees did not have.

It also helped that they all seemed to congregate on the second floor of the swanky restaurant that had served as the fundraiser’s venue. A particularly scary looking bouncer stood at the only visible set of stairs to and from the balcony, arms crossed over his large barrel chest, looking a bit like a miniboss that had to be fought before one gained entrance into the final dungeon.

“At least it’s easy to see where we need to go,” Sana remarks, taking a couple of champagne flutes from the tray of a nearby server and passing one to you. 

You had arrived at the party a half hour or so earlier and you had both made attempts to make small talk with fellow attendees, hoping to find a lead on Seulgi and Yeri - it was clear, however, that there wasn’t anyone on the ground floor who might have known anything about the two fugitives.

“Yeah. That dude at the stairs might be a problem, though,” you reply, taking a sip.

“It shouldn’t be too hard to distract him. Follow my lead.”

“Wait, Sana. There must be another way up there. Maybe we can go around back and-”

Minatozaki Sana was having none of it, though, and before you knew it she had already looped her arm in yours and had begun dragging you towards the stairs.

“Wait here,” she says to you under her breath as you both near the guard, who was momentarily distracted by something else in the crowd.

You watch, curious, as Sana begins to walk towards the guard. Almost immediately her entire demeanor changes - gone was the thoughtful, determined colleague of a moment ago. Now she was all sexiness and allure, taking care to accentuate every single step of her long, perfect legs with a generous swing of her hips. She casually brushes her hair over her shoulder. On her face is the look of slight annoyance that fashion models wore on runways. It was a determined look. A look of a woman who knew precisely what she was doing.

Until she tripped over her feet a few metres from the guard.

“Eeek!” she shrieks as she falls to the floor, looking a bit like she’d just been shot by an unseen cartoon supervillain. The flute of champagne in her hands crashes to the floor, the loud crack of the glass breaking attracting the attention of every pair of eyes in the vicinity.

The guard at the stairs immediately moves to help her, seeming genuinely concerned and perhaps feeling a little lucky at the prospect of helping a gorgeous young woman in distress. You smile, slyly, as you slip past him and up the stairs. 

You make eye contact with Sana before you head up the stairs. She shoots you a wink before immediately making as big of a scene as she could.

---

Finding the target was simple. It wasn’t hard. In a group of loud, raucous type-A personalities, she was at the centre of it all. The queen bee atop her hive of drones. Despite the dangerous and intimidating auras of those around her, it was obvious at first glance who was in charge.

Roseanne Park - better known simply as Rose to those in her line of work - looked for the most part like any other high-class, well-dressed attendee at the cocktail party. She was young and beautiful, with a lithe build and cute, innocent-looking features. In her sparkly, short pink dress she looked much like any other girl in her twenties, out at a club looking for a good time.

But as you stood there and watched her interactions with those around her, you saw past that. There were glimpses here and there, in the glares she gave others when they weren’t looking, or in the obviously forced and faked reactions she gave to the underlings that buzzed around her, trying to gain her approval. Glimpses of who she really was. Glimpses of the danger that lurked just beneath the surface, less of a bee and more of a shark that was quickly growing tired of the small fish that circled her, oblivious to the danger she posed to them.

Momo had told you they had intel Rose would be here. As one of the members of Blackpink, you knew she would have the best chance of knowing anything about Seulgi and Yeri.

Your approach to her corner booth, where she sat with a half dozen of her underlings, is blocked by a man that you took to probably be her bodyguard. If they had ever decided to make a live action movie out of Overwatch, you’d found their Hanzo right here. 

He raises his right hand to your chest to physically block you from moving any further.

“I’d like to speak with Miss Park,” you state, as strongly and firmly as you could. This was the type of guy who could smell weakness. You knew if you wanted to have a shot with speaking to Rose that you had to get past him first, and he was unlikely to let you pass if he was even slightly suspicious of your intentions.

“Is she expecting you?”

“No. But she’ll want to hear what I have to say. I’m from JYP.”

Hanzo narrows his eyes as he searches for a sign of weakness in yours. You feel your inner self wither under his gaze, but you somehow keep up the front long enough for him to feel satisfied that you weren’t a threat to his boss.

“Wait,” he states. An order, and not at all a request.

Hanzo walks over to Rose’s booth and steps past the loud, raucous drones to whisper into her ear. Her gaze finds and settles on you as Hanzo informs her of your presence and intentions.

The girl takes a sip of the glass at the table. For a brief moment, there is a wicked flash in her eyes, like that of a shark that had finally found worthy prey. She says something softly to Hanzo, who returns to you a moment later.

“Your phone,” he states. Again, not a request - a demand that implied there was no choice in the matter.

You slip your phone from the inner pocket of your blazer. 

As you do, you make note of the text message from Momo that informed you that she had arrived with the guests. 

Clearing it from your lock screen, you hand the phone to Hanzo and he inspects it briefly before he motions with his head for you to follow him towards the booth.

“All of you, out,” Rose states as you approach, words firm and direct, eyes locked on you and not even bothering to care about the inconvenience of her underlings. Another order. In this world, it seemed, nothing was ever merely a request.

The drones get up and leave, brooking no questions. Each of them gives you a dirty look on the way out, unhappy with being so rudely interrupted. Rose’s eyes remain locked on you.

“Come, sit,” she says, her charming tone and Australian accent lending her words a soft, inviting tone, even if there was an underlying venom to it all.

You take a seat next to her. Hanzo leaves your phone on the table, face down, before giving Rose a short bow of respect and returning to his post.

“I’m told you’re from JYP,” Rose begins, taking another sip from the glass at the table. She crosses her long, thin legs in front of you, slowly, turning her body to ensure you could see her every action. She holds the glass in her lap, ensuring she is pushing her small, cute breasts together with her upper arms. There is a sly smile on her lips that reminds you, strangely, of Sana’s.

“I am. And I’ve heard things about you.”

“Is that so?” she answers, pretending to be at least a little surprised. “And what exactly have you heard about little old me?”

“I’ve heard of your work with Blackpink. And your involvement with Red Velvet.”

At the mention of Red Velvet a slight, barely noticeable change appears in her face. It is small and fleeting - but unmistakable. 

“I’m not quite sure I follow,” she lies, “I don’t have any involvement in that world.”

“That’s too bad, because if you were at all interested in that world I would have something to offer you.”

“And what might that be?”

“I’m relatively high up at JYP,” you state, looking off into the distance where the cocktail party was still in full swing, trying your best to appear nonchalant. “I could, much to my dismay, become the victim of a hack into my phone that could then give you access to all of our servers and the company secrets within them.”

Rose sets the glass back on the table. Her smile widens slightly. You’d gained her attention, it seemed.

“And in return, what would you want from me?”

“We’re tracking two fugitives from Korea - former members of Red Velvet. Boss says I have a promotion waiting if I bring them in. I’m sure either you or people you know have either found them or know where they are.”

“It’s your lucky day, I think,” she answers with a small chuckle. “I happen to know exactly where they are - or rather, my girls in Blackpink do.”

“Then I think we can arrange something,” you answer. “You give me Seulgi and Yeri, I give you access to the JYP servers.”

“We could,” she says, her gaze finally leaving you and returning to the half-empty glass of amber liquid at her table. “Or we could take you and your date and force that information out of you both.”

She motions with her head towards her bodyguard - who is holding Sana in front of him with a firm grip on her upper arms. Sana struggles against his grip, but it was obvious there was no way she was going to escape his clutches.

Rose chuckles. It is a laugh with little mirth, and plenty of implied threat.

“This is quite hilarious, I must say - did you really think you two could waltz in here, two complete strangers, and start sniffing around hoping to find Seulgi and Yeri? Did you really think we didn’t know who you were the second you stepped through that door?”

The conversation had taken a turn for the worse - but you were still confident in the evening’s plan.

“Alright, there’s no need for this. Let her go, she’s just a date. She’s not involved in any of this.”

Rose smiles to herself, and then at Hanzo.

“You and the boys go have fun with her,” she hisses, all trace of humor leaving her face in an instant to be replaced with a dark and sinister smile. “Just make sure no one can find what’s left of her afterward.”

Hanzo begins to drag Sana away, but the loud jingle that leaves your phone stops him from going any further.

“Ah, right on time,” you say, picking up your phone from the table where Hanzo had placed it. You bring the phone to your ear.

“Ah, yes, Officer Miyawaki. We’re upstairs, on the second floor. Corner booth. Yes, she’s here. Pink dress. See you soon. Okay. Bye.”

Rose and Hanzo are struck in momentary confusion. 

“Officer?” Rose repeats, “What the hell is-”

The sound of a loud commotion erupting from the stairs to the second floor interrupts her mid-sentence. You smile as you watch three women approach the booth. Hanzo releases Sana to confront them - and as she catches your eyes Sana lets a smile appear on her lips as well.

At the head of the group of three is Sakura Miyawaki - following her are Nayeon and one other woman you didn’t know. As Hanzo raises his hand to stop her, just as he did with you, Sakura bats it away sharply with the back of her hand. The bodyguard looks stunned, as though suddenly not knowing quite what to do, his tough front having no effect on the tiny but determined woman confronting him. Hands on her hips, Sakura speaks sternly with a raised voice in Japanese, and while you couldn’t understand what she was saying, the fact that the man quickly backs away sheepishly implies that whatever she said had certainly put him in his place.

Sakura approaches the booth with a look of serious determination on her cute features - a look you had not known she was even capable of.

“My name is Officer Miyawaki Sakura, Tokyo PD. Are you Roseanne Park?” she questions, firmly.

“Y-yes,” Rose answers. The haughty, confident demeanor of the young woman had begun to crack in the face of this unexpected turn of events. “But you can’t do anything to me here. I haven’t committed any crimes in this country.”

Satisfied that you’d led her to the right person, Sakura turns to let a second woman approach the table - a tall, beautiful young woman who looked to be of mixed descent. While dressed in casual clothes, the holstered pistol at her waist and the credentials she flashes from a folded leather wallet soon make it clear who she was, even before she introduced herself.

“Roseanne Park, I’m Staff Sergeant Somi Douma of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. I’m here on behalf of the governments of Canada and the Kingdom of the Netherlands to place you under arrest for the crimes of invasion of privacy, illegal surveillance with intent to blackmail, and willful, malicious, and repeated harassment of individuals.”

“The Netherlands? Canada? What are you talking about-”

“We have evidence of you committing crimes in both countries. Please stand.”

Rose hesitantly stands on shaky legs, but the look of shock on her face remains, even as Officer Douma approaches her, gathers her hands behind her back, and places handcuffs on them. She begins to read the confused young woman her rights as she leads her out of the restaurant, Officer Miyawaki leading them both and clearing a path through the look of confused attendees.

A wide smile on your face, you rise and give Sana and Nayeon high fives as you leave the booth.

You briefly think about giving the confused and shamed Hanzo a cheeky one-liner on your way out, but you settle instead for raising your palm to his chest, just as he did to you - before turning it into a patronizing pat on the shoulder before you walk away.

---

You had to admit that you felt more than a little proud of your role in capturing the first of the four members of Blackpink. You smile widely as you watch the still-protesting Rose being forced into the back of a waiting police cruiser by Officer Douma, before she herself gets into the passenger seat. Sakura takes the wheel, and the car heads off, presumably to the Tokyo PD central precinct.

You meet with the rest of the team in the parking lot of the restaurant - along with a former colleague.

“Boss!” Park Choa says, her face gleaming and bright in the dark Tokyo evening. She rushes towards you and envelops you in a hug, wrapping her arms around you and squeezing tightly. You reciprocate, happy to be near her once more.

“This wouldn’t have happened without you,” you say when you finally part.

“Oh, I didn’t do much. It was getting pretty lonely in Europe... but I heard about how you got involved with Blackpink, and after I heard that one of them was wanted in the Netherlands, I thought JYP might want to know. After we found out Rose was here in Japan, JYP put this plan together. Mina was happy to take care of the legal issues and ensure the right authorities were informed,” she says with a nod towards Mina, who had met her at the airport. “JYP was the real brains behind this operation.”

“But how was Canada involved? That officer was a Canadian,” Jihyo asks.

“Rose was the one who harassed and threatened Wendy’s family in Canada in order to blackmail Irene into doing their bidding,” Momo explains, “and she’s wanted there too. I guess Rose was in charge of all the overseas intimidation and threatening that Blackpink was behind. She just hid behind the fact that she didn’t actually commit any crimes in Korea or Japan.”

“Officer Miyawaki has assured us that we’ll have time to question Rose about Seulgi and Yeri,” Nayeon notes. “It will be a matter of time before we crack her and she squeals about where we can find the rest of Blackpink, too.”

“Well, tonight sounds like a win,” you state, finding agreement in the smiling faces of the girls around you. “I think we deserve to celebrate.”

The girls cheer loudly before starting to find cabs that would take them downtown to party the night away. As they leave the parking lot, Momo grabs you by the arm and leads you quietly towards the black sedan that she had used to pick up Choa from the airport. Nayeon  waits nearby, an unreadable expression on her face, as though she were anxious to see your reaction to what Momo had to show you.

“We have one more guest tonight,” Momo says. “You’re probably wondering how we knew that Rose would be at this party.”

“Now that I think of it, yeah,” you admit.

Momo gives you a slim smile before opening the rear door to the sedan.

In the backseat is Irene, her face bandaged, hands handcuffed in front of her. There is a determined look on her battered features.

“She’s volunteered to help us find the rest of them, too,” Momo states.

--

Author’s Note: Happy New Year!

The plot thickens! I had to think long and hard about how I wanted this chapter to go. I was tired of the OC being constantly screwed over and backstabbed so I wanted him to have an active role in actually getting a win lol.

[maplecornia]

chapter 25

𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 2.19K

𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢: romance | slice of life | fluff | angst | bts x female!reader | ot7

𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: You watched them from the sidelines ever since you were a young teenage girl. Now you’re grown up, they’ve returned after 2 long years and everything has changed. What happens when you pull back the mask and find the darkness within? What happens when you see that they’re broken?

𝔞/𝔫: idk about you, but i really like this chapter, i think it's super FLUFFY

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: cliffhangers | angst | fluff | slight mentions of self hatred | depression | mental health illness | self harm | occurs in the year 2024 | set in a timeline where BTS went to the military together | slight language

tags: @kookaine | @fangirl125reader | @kookiebbyxx | @taradevonne | @rae-bear |@mangminnie | @pixiekooo

"You're an idiot."

"How was I supposed to know it was that high?! You're lucky I didn't drop your cake."

You smile, you can't help it. Spending the day with him wasn’t as bad as you thought it was. The time at the cafe was enjoyable, even when he decided it was a smart idea to try and climb on top of a wall, you found yourself content and happy.

It was definitely better than being alone.

"If you did, you wouldn't be standing." You mutter, trying to keep your voice smooth and calm. He lets out a soft gasp, turning to you in mock fear.

"You're scary."

"Maybe." You purse your lips, but can't keep the sly grin from spreading on your face.

When he asked you to spend time with him, you didn't imagine that it would be this fun. He took you to a cafe, and as soon as you started talking it was as though the two of you had known each other for years. Glancing over at him, you study his features just like you did the first time you saw him across the hall.

He's the type of person you feel comfortable with, someone you can rely on.

"You know what I just realized?" he says, pausing in the middle of the sidewalk. You turn to him, raising your brow.

"What?" You ponder when he doesn't finish his thought right away.

"We never introduced ourselves." You chuckle as he runs up to you before holding out his hand. Looking at it with a skeptical look, you hesitate before taking it.

"My name is Hwang Sunoh, it's a pleasure to meet you, madam."

You smirk, shaking your head at his overdramatized accent.

"I'm Yen Lin...well I suppose here you'd call it like, Lin Yen." You respond and can't help but smile at his giddy grin.

"It's nice to meet you."

Hwang Sunoh.

It's surprising how just yesterday, he was someone who had dampened your day. Now, he's able to bring a smile on your face without hardly lifting a finger. You can't help but feel a bit free. When you're around people like him, things just seem so easy. It's hard for you to remember that there was a time when you didn't feel this way.

It's hard for you to realize that the world can be cold.

Releasing him, you turn to start on your path home but freeze.

Your heart begins pounding, your palms turning cold as you notice the figure standing in front of your apartment complex. Shocked, you step back a bit, trying to make out his facial features, but his back is to you.

"It can't be..." You murmur under your breath.

There's no chance it can be him, can it?

Memories of the day on the bridge. The moments where he held your hand. That faint crinkle to the sides of his eyes when he smiled...The body is the same, the hair has the same curl, his jawline holds the same flawless curve.

Sunoh looks from you to the stranger with curiosity.

"Do you know him?" he questions, peering into your face, but you don't answer. You can't answer. Your throat has gone dry and you find that it's hard for you to breathe.

What if it is him? What would you do then?

You never thought you'd see him again, but what happens if he found you?

Swallowing hard, you walk forward, but the figure turns around and you balk, freezing once more.

It's not him, but someone else.

Someone even more surprising.

"Tae?"

Once he catches sight of you, he rushes forward, pocketing his phone.

But why? Why is he here?

As he draws closer, you can see that his eyes are locked on you, that he doesn't pay much attention to anything else. His eyes are full of worry, and his brow is furrowed with resolution. For a moment, you forget about Sunoh standing next to you, you forget about everything else. Once more, it's only you and him.

His feet pounding as he reaches a stop next to you, he takes you by the shoulders and lowers his face so that he's eye to eye with you. Eyes wide, you blink at him, forgetting to breathe for a moment.

"Are you okay?!" Confused, you don't answer him at first. Taking that as a bad sign, he begins to examine you, looking up and down for any injury, any scar, anything to show that you had been hurt in some way. Pressing his hand to your forehead to check for a fever, he growls a bit in frustration. "You weren't answering your phone, do you know how worried I was?!"

Taehyung?

Worried about you?

Someone tell me I'm dreaming.

Stunned, all you can do is look at him, unable to move an inch. Sunoh, extremely confused, looks between you and Taehyung, trying to piece two and two together. For one, why is an idol fussing over you as though you were a lost kitten? For another, how did you know a member from the most renowned and respected group in Korea?

Smiling a bit to himself, he can't help but chuckle.

Yen, you're more impressive than I thought.

That small sound catches Taehyung's attention.

As soon as he realizes the two of you have company, he pulls away, his grip tightening on you almost protectively. He turns to Sunoh, his brow furrowing with foreign hostility. At the reaction, Sunoh steps back a little, chuckling nervously.

"Ah...hello?" he mumbles, but all Tae does is raise his eyebrow, unamused.

"Who is this?" he asks you, and you finally wake up, turning to your new friend. Eyes wide, Sunoh looks to you as though you are the only one who can save him.

"Oh, he's my friend." You answer for him, edging a bit closer to him so that Taehyung doesn't attack. Nodding to him, he smiles nervously and holds out his hand once more, introducing himself.

"I'm Hwang Sunoh, nice to meet you."

Taehyung doesn't say a thing, doesn't even take his hand. He looks at it as though it were a thing he found in the trash and regards Sunoh with an icy glare. Apprehensive, Sunoh chuckles weakly, and pulls back from him, rubbing his neck.

"Uhm...Sunoh, why don't you go on ahead? I'll get my things later, okay?" You say, offering him an escape and he takes it gratefully. Stepping back a bit, he bows to Taehyung before making a break for the complex. You chuckle a bit at his frantic flee before turning back to Taehyung.

He's not really looking at you, his gaze distant and almost respondent. Confused, you squirm underneath the uncomfortable silence, wondering what exactly he needs. Why he's here. Biting your bottom lip, you try to catch his eye, but he avoids it.

"What was that about?"

At your voice, he looks up, his eyes dark and unreadable. For a moment, you wonder if he's upset, and it makes you a bit frustrated. What is there to be upset about?

"Who is he?" he asks again, his voice deep and demanding. Biting the inside of your cheek in annoyance, you cross your arms. Just because he's having a bad day doesn't mean that he has to take it out on you.

"He's my neighbor..." Once you realize you're giving in to his tantrum, you shake your head. "Why does it matter? What's wrong?"

He looks at you with those eyes, causing you to lose your cool and almost squirm under his gaze. But you don't look away, what is there to be ashamed of? You didn't do anything wrong. Rolling your eyes, you shake your head and brush past him.

If he's not going to say anything then there is no reason for you to stay.

Taehyung rolls his eyes at your stubbornness and grabs you by the arm, turning you around. You open your mouth, ready to say an angry retort, but with one fierce look, he shuts you up. Taking your hand, he pulls you behind him. You try to pull away, only managing to when he stops.

"Kim Taehyung, what the hell do you think you're doing?" You demand, but all he does is offer you a sideways glance before turning to the sunset.

"Look." He murmurs, and you narrow your eyes at him before obliging.

You let out a small gasp, finding it hard to breathe. How can you when met with beauty such as this? He smiles at your expression, his eyes tender and affectionate.

"I wanted to show you." He explains, even though he knows that you can hardly hear him.

He has taken you to the small overlook in front of your complex. It offers the two of you a beautiful scene of the sun setting on the Han River. It's almost as if the sea is swallowing it, melting it into a palette of oranges and reds almost as if it were the mere paints dripping from a canvas. Smiling, you step forward until you reach the bar that protects you from falling over the edge.

Turning to him, you regard him with curious eyes.

"You came here just to show me this?"

Blinking, he doesn't answer you at first. He doesn't know what to say. If he were to say the truth, that his mind was clouded and he needed to find a way to clear it. If he said that he wanted to see you because you were the only one who could free him from the voices that continue to tell him he's not enough. If he said that he came to remove you from his mind...

What would you do then? Would you still look at him the same? Or would he lose you all over again?

Clearing his throat, he tears his eyes away from you. Perhaps this way, it will be easier to lie.

"No, I came because I was worried." He mumbles. Noticing your confused expression, he sighs, running his hands through his wind-kept hair. "You weren't answering your phone."

For a moment, as the sun catches his face, you're distracted from the beauty nature has to offer you. Instead, you focus on him. A beauty that is impossible to describe in mere words. A beauty that is impossible to touch, impossible to keep, for fear that it would be lost as soon as you touched it. It's like the light. Though you may try to hold it in your fingertips, after a while, it slips away. It always slips away, it never stays.

He will never stay.

Swallowing the growing lump in your throat, you turn away. It hurts too much. In some ways, this is worse than when he was a country away. When he didn't know you existed. At least then, you knew that you had no chance of losing yourself to someone you'll never meet. But now...

Now he's so close, but he feels so far away.

Will it always be this way?

Will you always have that impenetrable wall between the two of you?

Where he will always be the idol, and you will always be the fan?

In the distance, you can spy the same bridge that you met him on. The same bridge where your world was changed. Turning to the man beside you now, you entertain the thought that he's the real man in the mask. Smiling at the notion, you chastise yourself. It can't be him.

After all, the universe can't be that kind.

"Taehyung?" you murmur, hoping he doesn't catch the thickness in your voice, or the lump threatening to break.

"Hm?" he responds absentmindedly, and you close your eyes at the sound of his voice behind you. If you wish hard enough, will the two of you be able to stand side by side as equals?

Or will he forever be that far?

"Why did you give me your number?"

The question catches him off guard, and he opens his eyes, turning to look at you. Though your back is to him, it's wracked with tension and unspoken words. Almost as though you were preparing to be let down.

Again.

He bites his bottom lip, trying to choose the best words to say to you. When he notices the way you clench and unclench your hands at the sound of silence, he smiles softly before stepping forward.

Standing close, mere inches away from you, he takes your hand gently in his fingertips. Before you have a chance to pull away, he brushes his lips lightly across your knuckles. Speechless, you find your heart constricting with unimaginable longing.

After a moment, he raises his eyes to yours, his lips still pressed against your skin. A sultry look, you find your breath shortening, your heartbeat fluttering an unheard tune. He smiles at your wide, innocent eyes before lowering your hand and using his to brush back your hair.

"Well, we're friends. Aren't we?" he responds, his hand resting on your cheek for a moment before he releases you and steps away.

Always a considerable distance apart.

From the moon and the star.

𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔢: you know even though love alarm was the worst thing since tomatoes, i still couldn't help putting the characters in the story ;-;

chapter 26 here

check the Infinite Stars masterlist for more chapters

check my BTS masterlist for other BTS content

check out my masterlist for other kpop fanfics

[dancing-the-hellfire-rumba]

Seen ✓ - 1

REWRITE OF “Can You See The Stars”

Pairing: Sam x Fem!Reader Warnings: fear of being kidnapped Word Count: 2.4k Series Summary: On her way home, Y/n finds an abandoned, cracked phone on the sidewalk. Anxious about the well-being of its owner, she picks it up and texts the first contact she finds; Sam.  A/N:This is my second attempt at the story everyone loved, with an actual pllot in mind this time. So, attempt number two, better writing, better story. Have at it kids.

I have tagged the old taglist for this first part. Let me know if you wanna be removed/ added

Beta: The lovely @percywinchester27​ . Thank you so so much hon :) Masterlist

Chapter One: you sure know how to fuck me up on a friday night

Y/n   |  Sam

The road to independence is uphill, and Y/n knows this better than anyone. She’s done it all. She’s gone through jobs at a similar speed with which she goes through books, worked two or more of them, while also studying for college… She knows how it works, and it’s really fucking difficult to balance emotional baggage the size of a city, an underage sister and college, while also trying to keep, not only yourself, but another person, alive, under a safe roof with food in your stomachs.

Currently, she’s only working one job, at a dive bar owned by a friend of a friend as a waitress.

It’s a difficult job, and Y/n has struggled with it, but the hardest part is not the endless knowledge one needs to mix drinks –on the nights Joel takes time off and she has to take his spot behind the bar- or the carrying up to twenty pounds of glasses and drinks and delivering them at the right table without soaking herself or anyone else with copious amounts of alcohol. Any minimum wage worker will tell you the same thing- clients of any kind fucking suck. Especially if you’re a young woman at a dive bar after midnight.

Another thing she’s struggled with is not having too much money, which is why she’s needed multiple jobs in the past, so she has to use public transport- buses specifically, to go to and from work. And that is exactly where she finds herself, a couple hours after midnight, at her bus stop, five minutes from the bar, when she finds a phone which, unbeknownst to her, will flip her world upside down.

It sits on the pavement of the bus stop, limp and sad. The screen is cracked a significant amount, and for a second she figures someone got rid of it and was too much of an asshole to throw it in the trash. But the second that thought crosses her mind, the screen lights up with a concerning text.

dude where the fuck are you?!

The contact reads “Sam”, and Y/n stands over the phone staring at it. She’s concerned. What if the phone’s owner is in trouble? The device may have fallen from their pocket on the pavement and cracked because they were running from someone and never made it home, and now whoever is texting them is worried for their well-being. Anxiety grips her heart.

It’s instinct that brings her to kneel down and pick it up. She can’t possibly know when the owner lost it, or how long the phone has been sitting there, but there’s an overwhelming urge to contact this Sam person and let them know what’s going on. Of course, the voice in Y/n’s head tells her that this all could just be a product of her anxiety, but it beats leaving it there and having it be stolen by a passerby.

Whatever, right? Best case scenario, she contacts the owner, who is perfectly safe and sound, and they take their phone back. She’s not really planning to pocket it. It’s fairly damaged anyways. Her own three year old, beat-up, 100$ phone is in better condition.

The bus arrives, and Y/n picks up the phone and boards it.

As she sits in her usual seat in the back, alone in the bus apart from an elderly man asleep with his head on a window and a cap on his head near the front, she starts speculating, eyes glued to the black device in her hands. Who’s the owner? Who is Sam to them? Perhaps a partner? A friend? How did the owner lose their phone? Why would this Sam sound so concerned, and most importantly, is the owner okay?

The heavy weight of dread weighs her chest at the thought of the phone’s owner being in trouble and without a phone. She must contact Sam immediately.

Hey, is this Sam?

As she awaits for a response, her curiosity is killing her. The intrigued part of her, reasons that she should snoop, it’s alright, she’s only looking for more information about the owner. Like whether or not they’re a woman or a man- which, sadly, matters when you’re walking alone in dark streets like the ones around this area- and perhaps their age –because, again, it matters if they are a teenager or a forty-year old adult.

The lack of passcode indicates someone older, with nothing to hide, or perhaps someone less technologically savvy, again, someone who may not be very young. The lockscreen is the most popular Led Zeppelin icon, and she instantly respects their music taste, and the home screen is some generic western movie from the 90s with Clint Eastwood. The chances of this belonging to someone younger further decline.

There’s a grand total of four downloaded apps in the phone. There’s an email app, a scrabble app, a microphone recorder and a dating app, no other sign of social media. Someone over 18 years old, definitely.

Soon, she’s tapping on the dating app, and opening their profile page. Holy shit, she thinks.

A guy, the tall, dark and handsome kind. Spiky hair and a smolder-like smile, sharp edges everywhere on his face apart from his gentle, olive-shaped and colored eyes. His lips are full, his nose straight, and his eyelashes long, dark and thick. He’s a real-life dreamboat, the kind you see in movies and Cosmopolitan articles about sex. He’s sitting on a black muscle car, a Chevrolet, with his thick thighs barely contained in blue jeans.

Dean Winchester, the app writes. 28. Male. Likes: old cars, beer, hard rock, westerns, she figured that much, bacon burgers. Dislikes: pop music, modern horror movies, uncomfortable beds. Not looking for anything serious, just a night of fun ;), and wow, okay, he sounds a bit like a dick. The very Red-blooded American Male kind, that enjoys BBQs and winking at women from across the bar. She’s had enough of those during her line of work; she can recognize them from a mile away.

Whatever the case, her moral compass couldn’t allow her to pass up on the opportunity to possibly help someone in trouble. She ignores her urge to roll her eyes, and scrolls a little, finding other pictures of the same guy, when suddenly two separate notifications appear, the phone itself vibrating. One is from the app, which has now received a picture from this girl, Jamie, one which she certainly doesn’t plan on opening, seeing as it’s followed by a winky face. The second one is from Sam.

jesus dean how drunk are you

yes it’s sam. your brother? remember?

No, this isn’t Dean, uh.

My name is Y/n. Your brother lost his phone at a bus stop, near a bar.

i should’ve figured. dean rarely ever uses punctuation.

nice to meet you i guess

Nice to meet you, too.

So basically, uhm, I thought you might help me return his phone to him? I got worried, because this was dumped on the sidewalk, I thought he may be in trouble or something.

knowing him he probably dropped it while being too shitfaced to function.

gotta admit i’m impressed though. most people would’ve pocketed it by now.

I mean, it’s not much use to me with such a cracked screen haha.

yeah i guess.

i don’t know about getting it back to him though. i’m in kansas right now so i’m not close by. i don’t think i can help you.

he doesn’t use social media either.

Crap.

What the hell am I supposed to do with this phone then?

keep it probably.

You sure there’s no other way I can reach him?

i mean i can give you his email but i’m not sure he’ll respond.

I’ll take it. Thank you :)

no problem :)

As she looks up the bus stops, and she quickly realizes this is her stop. Throwing profanities loudly enough to wake the older man at the front of the bus, she scrambles for her things, haphazardly thrown in the seat next to her, and gets off the bus. She pats herself down, making sure she hasn’t forgotten anything as the doors of the bus shut, and starts down the road to her apartment complex.

She could probably navigate this road blind. There are many ways to reach the apartment she’s renting from the bus stop, but her favorite goes through the park. It’s a large area, full of big trees with thick foliage and leaves that brown in the fall. The paths are paved and winded, and the park benches are stained with dark wood stain and curve comfortably. She enjoys coming here in evenings she has off, watching the sun descend behind the top of the trees with a good book.

The air smells like oncoming rain now, and with headphones deep in her ears, she walks taking deep breaths and enjoying the clear atmosphere that seems so unlike the roads that surround the park. As soon as she spots the first raindrop falling from the sky, she pulls her hood over her head and smiles.

It’s minutes later, when single drops have picked up to a drizzle, that she gets a sinking feeling, her hair standing up on edge at the back of her neck, shoulders knotting closer to her ears. Someone is close to her.

With the wire pinched between her thumb and index, she pulls one earbud off and pays attention to the surrounding sounds. Sure enough there’s a second pair of footsteps behind her.

Fuck, if she gets kidnapped or attacked right now, she’s fucked. There are no witnesses, and at this time of night screaming for help would be futile. She checks her bag, but her paper spray is nowhere to be found.

Yeah. Definitely fucked.

Her hands go deep in her pockets, going for her phone, but as she hears the footsteps behind her picking up speed along with hers, she panics and grabs Dean’s instead. She doesn’t look for her own, there’s no time for that, so she does the first thing she thinks of.

She texts Sam.

I think I’m being followed.

what?

Yeah

wait what’s going on? are you okay? who’s following you?

I’m walking home from work. I can’t see who it is, but they’re definitely on my tail.

how are you even typing right now??

is there any buildings around?  somewhere public to get in?

It’s 3 am. Everything is shut and I’m in the middle of a fucking park, Sam.

Fuck, I’m fucked.

what are you doing at 3 am in the middle of a fucking park then?!

A hand falls on her shoulder and she goes to scream, before she’s quickly spun around. Her free hand is curled in a fist, ready to fall on the attacker’s nose, when they speak.

“Y/n! I thought it was you!”

“Connor?!” She squints and pushes her hair away from her forehead, heart just about ready to fail out of the fright she’s gotten. “Fuck’s sake, dude, what the fuck are you doing sneaking up on me in the middle of the night like this?!” Rain still falls on her, grounding her to the present, the fact she won’t have to fight for her life and corporeal integrity sinking in slowly.

Her neighbor smiles a crooked smile, watching her place a hand over her heart and taking a deep breath. His fluffy blonde hair is damp under the light rain, light green eyes glowing under the street lights. She’s so angry at him right now, she legitimately thought she was gonna die for a second there.

“I’m sorry for scaring you,” he says, dropping his hand from her shoulder. “I didn’t think to call out to you.” A shrug.

“It’s okay,” it’s really not, but there’s no point in staying angry at him. Besides, she figures she’ll be a little safer with him walking next to her all the way back to their apartment complex.

On the way back, they catch up. Connor is back in town after a long week and a half at his sister’s wedding. He’s in a brand new relationship with the guy he’s been pining over for like 9 months now, and he got a job at the bookstore, close to their building, he’s starting next week. He was out for a drink, he offers as an explanation, and was returning home, when he bumped into her. The park is also his favorite route to take.

The key dangles from her hands and finds a home in the lock and twists, while Y/n waves at her neighbor.

“Have a good night, Connor.”

“You too, Y/n.” It’s delivered with a wink and a bright smile.

The motions of dropping her bag by the kitchen counter, dumping the keys in the small bowl and hanging her coat on the hanger are delivered on autopilot in quick succession. Shoes toed off, hair pulled out of her lazy bun, she falls unceremoniously on her thrifted couch, feet suspended on the hand rest. Emmy must be asleep, the only lights on in the house are the fairy lights over the couch, setting a soft glow over the furniture. Y/n sighs. What a day.

Seconds before she falls asleep on the couch, a phone vibrates and it’s definitely not her own. Her eyes snap wide open, and she curses, fumbling with Dean’s device.

The messages are seven, and they all share the same panicked tone. Upon reading them, Y/n facepalms and curses, guilt weighing her down. Poor guy.

y/n?

what’s going on?

are you okay?

y/n

what the hell is going on.

you’re not replying.

please text me if you’re safe.

My God, Sam, I’m so sorry.

It was a neighbor/friend, he sneaked up on me.

you sure know how to fuck me up on a friday night.

I’m genuinely so sorry, Sam, I had no idea it was him.

it’s okay

you were scared.

i am starting to question your choice in friends though.

Y/n grins for the first time that day. It’s wide and full. Sam sounds like a guy she’d hang out with.

Hahahah yeah.

I promise, Connor’s odd, but he means well.

well i have to go

but i’m glad you’re safe

Again, I’m really sorry to make you go through that.

it’s fine really.

Thank you.

Goodnight :)

Night :)

 ---

Part 2

A/N 2: Tell me how you’re liking the rewrite! 

Old Can You See The Stars taglist: @shutupiminlooove​ @sammysgirl1997​ @kymberlytorres​ @bambi95-blog​ @demonic-meatball​ @thekarliwinchester​ @littlekay15​ @li-m-ii​  @thinspo-isuppose​ @carryonmywaywarddemigodwitch @ellen-reincarnated1967 @moonlitskinwalker​ @marichromatic​ @illuminatus42​ @lazy-author​ @mirandaaustin93​ @hauntedsiriel​ @pilaxia​ @devilgirlsarah​ @nobodys-baby-now​ @captiveties​ @calamitychaos @midiocris @wordswillscream​

Sam taglist @kymberlytorres @theboykingsam @depressed-moose-78 @andi-mendes-barnes​ @captainmarvelcorps​ @nerd-in-a-galaxy-far-away​ @nellachain​

[fallintosanity]

i’m mean to my favs

i’m sorry prompto i love u

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11

Noctis floated high above his city, its nighttime lights glittering below and sending bright flashes through the crystalline glaives that surrounded him. The look of awe on his younger self’s face when Noct had called on the power of his ancestors and leaped off the balcony had almost been worth the knowledge that this was the same power which would kill him as soon as he returned to the present. At least he’d get some use out of it beforehand.

The city looked different enough from up here that it took him a minute to figure out which direction Prompto’s house was. Prompto had lived in a comfortably middle-class neighborhood on the outskirts of the city, several miles from the Citadel. The route by car took some twenty minutes or more depending on traffic, but flying up here, able to bypass the complex street grid, Noctis made it in under ten. He dropped to the street in front of the little house and stared in dismay. Prompto’s front door had been smashed open, and golden light spilled out onto his tiny front patio. The acrid scent of daemon miasma hung in the air.

Dismissing the Armiger, Noctis ran inside. He knew in his gut that he was too late, but he searched the house anyway, nearly tripping over the smashed remnants of the kitchen table. A curtain rod had been yanked down and shattered, the handrail of the stairs to the second floor broken off partway up. As he raced to Prompto's bedroom, a cheerful tune started playing - Prompto’s ringtone.

The bedroom was an even bigger mess than the rest of the house: the desk and chair in splinters, the window broken, schoolbooks tumbled everywhere. Noctis could imagine all too clearly what had happened. Prompto would have gone for his usual run after getting home from his part-time job, showered, and changed into pajamas, then sprawled out on his bed to do homework. Whatever had broken into his house had done it fast, leaving him no time to call for help before barging in and grabbing him.

The phone was still ringing; Noct found it buried under a tangled mess of torn bedsheets that had been dragged from the bed most of the way to the door. The name on the screen was Prince of Naptime and he choked down a laugh that was more hysterical than he could afford right now. That had been an in-joke between him and Prompto for most of the second half of senior year; he’d all but forgotten about it in the years since.

He hit the answer button, and his younger self’s voice immediately said, “Prompto? Are you okay? Where have you—”

“Not Prompto,” Noctis interrupted. “Give the phone to Ignis.”

“But—”

“Now,” Noctis said, putting a bit of his father into it, and was relieved to hear shuffling and rustling noises.

“Noct?” Ignis asked.

“Looks like Ardyn got him,” Noctis said without preamble. “Or… Ardyn’s daemons, probably. Everything’s torn up.”

Ignis huffed out a sigh. “We’re down to ground level at the Citadel, but everything’s still in disarray. It will be some time yet before we’re able to reach the garage and a vehicle.”

“Okay,” Noctis said. “I’m going to see if I can figure out where they went.”

“Keep this phone on you,” Ignis said. “We don’t have access to tracking resources, but we can at least get in touch with you.”

“Got it,” Noctis said. “I’ll call you back when I have an idea where I’m going.” He hung up, dropped the phone into a pocket, and hurried back through the house to the street. Worry churned in his gut as he went, along with a swirl of guilt. Even though he knew there was no way they could have done anything to stop this - Ardyn had probably made his move the moment the sun went down, so Noctis would have been too late even if he’d left when Young Noctis had first said something was wrong - he couldn’t help but feel it was his fault Young Prompto had been taken. Noctis should have pushed his dad harder, should have insisted on getting out there and looking for Ardyn.

King Do-Nothing, Gladio had said, bitterly. Regis had sat on his hands and waited, and it had put Prompto in danger. Noctis couldn’t afford to waste any more time.

He burst out onto the street, then skidded to a stop in confusion when he saw an elderly woman peeking around the curve of the fence. She held a cell phone in one hand; Noctis could just make out the emergency numbers already dialed on the screen, waiting for her to push the call button. She eyed him up and down, then asked, “You’re Crownsguard, aren’t you?”

Close enough. Noctis nodded. “Did you see what happened?”

“Daemons,” the woman proclaimed. She pointed to a house a little ways up the road, whose windows had a clear view of the street in front of Prompto’s house. “It was about half an hour ago. I was eating dinner when I saw ‘em running up the street. They broke into the Argentums’ house and dragged that poor boy out.”

“Where’d they go?”

She pointed in the opposite direction. “Out toward the factories.”

Noctis took off running. “Thanks!” he called over his shoulder.

As he ran, he pulled out Young Prompto’s phone and shot off a quick text to let Ignis and the others know which direction he was going. The phone buzzed with replies almost instantly, but he ignored them in favor of pouring on more speed. Half an hour was a hell of a head start, even on foot, and he briefly considered calling the Armiger again and flying - but the factory district was full of tall buildings and deep shadows. If he was in the air, it would be too easy to miss daemons clinging to the darkest spaces. On the other hand, nothing said the daemons had to stick to the direction they’d started out in. If they’d turned down a side street once out of sight of the old woman…

He shoved that thought down. Daemons, even ones under Ardyn’s control, generally weren’t that bright. They would take the shortest path between them and wherever their destination was, which meant their destination was something in this direction. He had to believe that - Insomnia was too big a city, too easy to get lost in, for any other option.

Despite his fears, he couldn’t keep up the sprint for long, and had to settle into the ground-eating jog he’d used with his friends in the wilds of Duscae and Cleigne. Slower, but sustainable. The occasional nauseating whiffs of daemon miasma in the air reassured him that he was moving in the right direction, and he could only hope that he was gaining ground.

He was deep in the factory district, jogging along an uneven sidewalk on the edge of a worn-down road, when he spotted bright red blood drops on the sidewalk. Fresh, still gleaming. His stomach knotted at the thought that Young Prompto was injured and bleeding - but at the same time, hope surged through him. He had to be close. Despite the burning ache in his legs and lungs, he picked up speed again, dress shoes slapping the pavement in a steady rhythm.

Then shadowy figures passed beneath a flickering streetlamp half a mile up the road. Noctis squinted, struggling to make out the shapes - but he’d fought too many bussemand not to recognize their distinctive cavorting gait. Calling a sword to hand, Noctis flung it as far as he could, warped, and did it again, this time landing on the wall of one of the massive factories only a few hundred feet behind the daemons. This close, he could see the squirming, struggling figure one of them held tucked beneath its arm.

Prompto.

Noctis flung the sword again, warping in and taking out the rearmost bussemand in a single hit. He took down the second with a spear through the chest before it realized what was going on, and beheaded a third even as it squealed an alarm. Two more leaped at him, but Noctis phased through their attack and zeroed in on the one holding Young Prompto. He warped close, calling daggers to his hands and slashing at the bussemand’s chest and shoulder, forcing it to drop Young Prompto in a heap on the ground in order to defend itself.

It wasn’t enough. Noctis ran the bussemand through, then pounced on the remaining daemons, weapons flashing as he ripped them apart. They were almost hilariously weak, probably struggling just to hold their forms within the protective bounds of the Crystal, and dispatching them took maybe ten seconds. When they were gone, their bodies dissolving into miasma wisps, Noctis turned back to Young Prompto - and froze.

Ardyn Izunia stood there, one hand wrapped around Young Prompto’s throat, the other holding the boy’s right arm stretched out to the side. Young Prompto looked terrified, blue eyes huge, thin chest heaving with stifled sobs. He wore nothing but a pair of King’s Knight pajama pants and his old green-and-white wristband, his bare feet bloody, bruises swelling around his ribs where the bussemand had held him. Ardyn was clearly putting painful pressure on his throat and arm; he was trembling and tear tracks marked his cheeks.

“Ah, Noct,” Ardyn purred, as though they were meeting casually at some diplomatic function. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

“Get away from him,” Noctis snarled. He called the Armiger, the crystalline weapons flashing grimly in the dim streetlamps, but Ardyn held Prompto in front of him like a shield and Noctis didn’t dare attack.

Ardyn looked down at the boy trembling in his grasp. “Really, now,” he said. “All this effort, and for what?” A knife appeared in his hand in a shimmer of red, and Ardyn continued, “Such an empty little thing.” The knife flashed, Prompto yelped, and the familiar wristband fell to the ground, sliced clean through, revealing the barcode tattoo stamped on his wrist. Ardyn met Noctis’s eyes over Young Prompto’s head. “I’m surprised you care. There are so many more where it came from, after all.”

Noctis bit his tongue. He couldn’t rise to the bait, not when Ardyn had his hand around the boy’s throat. Instead, he demanded, “What are you after, anyway? First the attack on the Citadel, now this?” He was about to say more - but stopped as he realized the expression that had crossed Ardyn’s face at his words was surprise.

Still, Ardyn recovered quickly. “You know what I want, Noct.”

“Then let’s do this,” Noctis challenged him. “Let Prompto go and we’ll fight. You and me.”

Ardyn laughed. “Where’s the fun in that?”

As he spoke, Young Prompto moved, his free hand coming up in front of his stomach. His hand was trembling, but he caught Noctis’s eye and folded down two fingers. It took all Noctis had to keep his gaze on Ardyn, to say, “So you don’t want to fight after all? Coward.”

Young Prompto folded down one more finger, then another. Noctis braced himself.

“I want to spread the Starscourge—” Ardyn began, just as Young Prompto folded down the last finger. Noctis flung every glaive in the Armiger at Ardyn’s head even as Young Prompto went boneless, all his weight on Ardyn’s grip on his throat. Unprepared, Ardyn let go of him, then flung up his arms to block Noct’s attack. Red light shone around him, Ardyn’s Armiger flashing into existence, and Noctis called his own glaives back—

Gunshots rang through the night, followed a moment later by the rumble of an engine and the squeal of tires. Ardyn jerked, miasma-tainted blood spraying from a hole in his forehead, his shoulder, his side. Gladio’s voice yelled, “Noct!” and Noctis lunged forward, grabbing Young Prompto by the arm and shoving him behind himself, toward the sound of the approaching vehicle.

Ardyn straightened, his face a nightmare of yellow eyes and oozing miasma, his mouth a rictus grin. “A party,” he murmured. “I’m afraid I’m not dressed for one. I’ll see you soon, Noct.”

Noctis flung the entire Armiger at him once more, but Ardyn was already gone, his body dissolving into daemonic wisps and vanishing into the shadows.

[221bdisneystreet]

klancemonth2018 film week prompt #2: whisper of the heart au

here’s my second prompt for @klancemonth2018: a whisper of the heart au! lance gets an unexpected visit from keith, who’s returned to their hometown and has some things to say... :3c

The first thing that Lance saw when he woke up were plastic stars, their dull neon-green glow fading away, glued to the ceiling.

The muted, foggy hues of an indigo dawn poured into the bedroom, the light of an impending morning peeking through the wide cracks of the window blinds. With a yawn, Lance rubbed his groggy eyes and slowly lifted himself out of his bed. The atmosphere was exceptionally silent, the only noises being the sluggish, spring-like creaks of the mattress. Lance glanced down at himself, realizing he was still in his T-shirt and jeans. What was he even doing last night that made him forget to change into his more comfortable pajamas? He glimpsed at the clock on his phone. 6:24 AM.

An internal groan echoed in Lance’s tired mind, yet despite his desire to fall back onto his soft mattress and return to deep slumber, his body only forced him to trudge out of his bed and towards the window. Spending weeks of sleepless nights writing a full-length novel and ultimately screwing up his internal clock was starting to catch up to him.

Lance pulled the blinds up and pulled the window open. Outside, the chilly and crisp November breeze tickled his cheeks, and clouds rolled along the vast sky. In the distance, a few horns and car engines punctured the overall stillness of the environment. Lance leaned out and inhaled the autumn air, the pleasant scents of fresh dewdrops and fallen leaves filling his chest. When he exhaled, a puff of cold air left his lips, and he could feel a slight shudder travel down his spine. He glanced down at the streets. The curbs were lined with parked cars and the street lamps still flickered faintly with their golden light, but other than that, the roads and sidewalks were lifeless and quiet, completely devoid of movement.

That is, except a boy riding a red motorcycle, its engine sputtering noisily, up to Lance’s driveway. Lance squinted and craned his neck a little further out to get a clearer look at the unexpected visitor. The boy was dressed in a red leather jacket and black jeans, complete with a crimson scarf, cherry-red sneakers, and black gloves. He removed his helmet and waved at Lance with an excited expression on his face, the morning wind ruffling that jet-black mullet of his––

Lance gasped, his eyes so wide with shock that he felt they were about to bulge out of his sockets. He nearly thought he was going to fall out of the window that very second.

“Keith?!”

His voice echoed so loudly that he swore he must have woken up the entire apartment complex. With a grin, Keith nodded excitedly at hearing Lance’s recognition and gestured him to come downstairs.

“Uhh, umm,” Lance stuttered, hurriedly looked around as he struggled to recover from his surprise and gather up his composure, “I-I’ll be down in a second!”

Without any hesitation, he slammed the window shut and ran out of the bedroom, nearly stumbling on his way to the front entrance. After hastily slipping his shoes on, he rushed outside, the front door closing with a loud thud. As he raced down the steps of the building, he could feel his heartbeat speeding up and his head spinning so fast that he wasn’t sure if he was walking on air or earth.

“Keith, what are you doing here?!” Lance asked, shivering in the frigid air and huffing out shallow breaths in between his words. “Am I still dreaming? I thought you were––”

“I’ll explain everything later,” Keith interrupted. “But I want to show you something first! Hop on!” He motioned towards the open backseat of his motorcycle. Lance gaped at him and wrapped his arms around himself. Was this all real? He still had to be sleeping and imagining things, right? Maybe waking up at the crack of dawn or stepping out into the cold was making him delusional or something.

“Oh wait!” Keith quickly took off his jacket. “You’re gonna freeze out here just wearing that. Here.” He draped the jacket around Lance’s shoulders, his fingers brushing against Lance’s neck for a fleeting second. At that moment, a tender warmth bloomed within Lance’s cheeks, but he wasn’t sure if it was because of the jacket or because of that weird feeling that fluttered in his stomach whenever Keith even made the slightest contact with his skin. Lance clutched the jacket close to his body before he noticed Keith was wearing a T-shirt.

“Wait, what about you? You’re gonna be cold, though.”

“Ehh, don’t worry about it.” Keith waved off any concerns. “Come on, we have to hurry!” He held out an extra helmet towards Lance.

Despite Lance’s still-persistent worry over Keith and his lack of protection against the cold early morning, he didn’t want to pry and keep him waiting. Not when Keith was way too eager than usual. Without another word, Lance quickly slipped his arms into the jacket sleeves, grabbed the helmet and put it on, and took his seat behind Keith, who put his own helmet back on and started firing up the engine again.

Once Lance wrapped his arms around Keith’s waist, they began to speed down the road.

Traffic was relatively calm and light, with only a few cars and trucks and a public bus or two populating the road. Almost all of the stores and local businesses that flanked the streets were still desolate and dark, not yet ready to wake up to a brand new day. A sparse number of pedestrians roamed the sidewalks.

Lance’s heart was pounding. He still wasn’t sure if he could believe it, and he could feel his grip on Keith tightening a little more, just to convince himself that this was all real. Keith actually was here in the flesh, sitting right there, and Lance really was holding onto him. But how was that even possible?

“Shiro said my technical abilities are unlike any other student he’s ever mentored, but he feels that I could still use some major improvement in my art,” Keith explained over the roar of the engine, as if Lance actually asked the question out loud. “He said there’s still something vital that I’m missing in my inspiration. He wanted me to discover it on my own before he can take me in as his pupil, so I decided to come back here and finish high school first. I think...I already realize what he means...”

When they stopped at the next red light, Keith briefly glanced over his shoulder, his gaze directed at Lance. The corners of his lips curved up into a gentle smile.

“And I wanted you to be there to realize it with me.”

When the light changed to green, Keith turned back to the road and continued driving up an incoming slope.

“Anyways, I managed to book a flight back home a day earlier than expected, and I wanted to surprise you once I returned. Honestly, I was really nervous you weren’t gonna be awake at this hour, and deep down, I didn’t even expect you to be. But when I came to your apartment, there you were looking outside your window!” Keith let out an amazed but relieved and joyful laugh. “Isn’t it crazy? It’s like...it was meant to be!”

Lance’s breath nearly caught in his throat. Meant to be…

Was it really?

Lance leaned closer, resting his chin on Keith’s shoulder and closing his eyes. His mouth drew up into a soft smile.

...maybe it really was.

“I still can’t believe this is actually happening…it’s like a dream come true or something.”

And if this dream truly was reality...well, he never wanted reality to end.

Lance wasn’t sure how much time had passed now. How long he was nestled against Keith’s back, how long he was bathing in Keith’s warmth and breathing in his scent, how long he was getting lost in Keith––

The drone of the engine cut off as the motorcycle came to a halt.

“Hey, Lance. We’re here.”

At the sound of Keith’s soothing voice, Lance slowly lifted his head and opened his eyes. They were at the foot of a grassy hill, the motorcycle parked at the beginning of a hiking trail. Keith took his helmet off, smoothing his hair down. As he removed his own helmet, Lance had to suppress a giggle at how messy Keith’s helmet hair was. It was...cute, for sure.

“Come on! It won’t take too long to get to the peak.” Keith began to run up the path, and Lance quickly followed right behind him. Sure enough, they reached the top of the hill in probably about ten minutes, Lance roughly estimated. Keith bent over, trying to catch his breath.

“Whew, we made it just in time,” Keith said before taking another deep inhale.

Gulping in as much air as he could, Lance ran his fingers through his hair, his eyes wide with awe as he gazed out at the horizon. The hill was overlooking the city, the roofs of buildings and skyscrapers visible yet distant. The clouds were becoming more scattered, and the horizon was beginning to glow a brilliant orange against the light blues and grays of a clearer sky.

“Why’d you bring me here, Keith?”

“Whenever I want to feel inspired, I always come up here with my sketchbook, right before sunrise. Once I catch the first glimpse of sunlight, I just...wanna start drawing. It’s kind of become my sort of special place.”

Just then, Keith took Lance’s hand, carefully weaving his fingers in between Lance’s own, and smiled gently.

“And I wanted to share my special place with you.”

The warmth in Lance’s cheeks had now returned with full force, skyrocketing like a firework exploding in dazzling colors and booming volume.

“Keith…”

“Hey, Lance. Look.”

Keith pointed straight ahead, and Lance looked out over the hill. Just then, the orange hues of the horizon became brighter than ever as the first rays of sunlight peeked out. As the sun slowly rose up from the horizon, it dabbled the sky and painted the city streets with an inviting, golden glow. The hilltop was not exempt from being washed over with the first signs of daylight.

“Oh my god…” Lance whispered, a smile lighting up his face and a sense of astoundment sparking in his chest. He never thought he would be this high up to see a sight this beautiful for the first time in his life...and right next to the person most special to him.

Being on top of the world, when it was awakening to a new day, with Keith by his side...it was perfect.

“Keith, I haven’t seen anything this beautiful in a long time,” Lance said, letting out a quick laugh. “I’ve been missing out…”

“My mom told me that you finished your first story while I was gone. She was really happy with what she read, and she’s really proud of you for not giving up for one second.” Keith gave Lance’s hand a quick but tight squeeze. “And...I’m really proud of you, too. I knew you could do it.”

Lance could feel his heart singing with delight. No, with immense euphoria. Just hearing Keith saying that he always believed in Lance, even when Lance didn’t believe in himself...it felt reassuring to know that Keith never ever wanted to give up on him.

“T-thanks, Keith…”

Lance took a deep breath, keeping his gaze at the sunlit landscape.

“I’m...I’m really happy that you and your mom have been a support system for me. I’ve spent so much of my life wandering around aimlessly, trying to figure out what direction to go in with my future. But I finally realized what exactly I want to do. I’ve set myself down a path where I can be satisfied and happy in the end.”

“...hey, Lance?”

Lance turned to Keith, who now looked oddly nervous.

“This might sound weird but…” A deep redness blossomed in Keith’s cheeks as he hesitated. “Do you see the two of us spending the rest of our lives together?”

The question nearly sucked out the air from Lance’s lungs, and his eyes grew wide with surprise. The heat in his cheeks burned even more than before.

“I-I could be a famous painter, and you can be a novelist,” Keith stammered. “And we can live together and work alongside each other and have our own place and, umm, all of that cool stuff. But yeah...d-do you see ourselves doing that? Please be honest.”

Lance sucked in a slow but quiet breath. Once he let it out, though, he smiled softly and nodded. He absolutely could see themselves doing all of that. It’s what he wanted for so long.

“I-I’m sorry, that was really awkward.” Keith rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “Did that sound corny?”

“It was pretty corny and awkward,” Lance giggled. “But you’re more of a painter and not as much of a writer, so it’s cool.”

“That’s true,” Keith said with a relieved smile. He burst out into an excitable laugh. “Oh man, this is great!”

Then, Lance shrugged off Keith’s jacket, keeping one half draped over his own shoulder.

“Here, you must be getting cold.” Lance started to wrap the other half of the jacket around Keith’s body, enveloping him in a shared warmth.

Suddenly, Lance gasped as Keith abruptly pulled him into a hug and shouted those four words.

“Lance, I love you!”

[prettyfunkyunorganized]

An Unexpected Path

I FINALLY HAVE SOMETHING TO POST!!! I’m so glad. I missed yous guys.

This is a pretty self-indulgent piece, a reader insert that is also a legit self-insert, but it made me happy so here we are. Hopefully the random little specifics in there won't be too much of a nuisance for you all. 

The whole thing is based on @monstermatchmaker ‘s post for me, found here.I LOVE MY SATYR SO EFFING MUCH, THANK YOU AGAIN! 

No smut, just a meeting and some sweetness. I hope I can keep writing about his darling guy, I adore him so much and hope some of you will too! Kinda long as usual - 4k words. 

It had been a grueling week filled with enough bullshit to drive you to the breaking point. Now that it was over, all you wanted to do was hide on your couch and drown out the world with some sort of silly distraction – Netflix and a pile of blankets probably. But no. That could wait. Everything you had looked up over the past few days about improving your mood or getting away from negative thoughts said ‘get outside and get moving.’ And so you were. You had promised yourself you would go for a walk after work and goddamit you were keeping that promise, tiredness be damned.

With a deep sigh you rubbed your face and began to wander absently down the street, toward the tree line not far from your housing complex. Living on the far side of town may not be exactly convenient, but you did have a nice view, now that you were taking the time to notice it. Maybe you should do things like things more often.

As you wandered down the sidewalk, toying with the drawstrings of your hoodie, your eyes began flitting from tree to tree, admiring the shapes and slopes of the branches. You had almost tripped twice already, but you just couldn’t stop staring at the forest to the right of you. It wasn’t until an old lady snapped at you that you pulled your eyes away.

“Watch where you are going, you little brat,” a woman with a fierce scowl snapped at you. She couldn’t have been more than 5 feet tall, but she still scared the shit out of you.

“S-sorry,” you stammered, giving your best apologetic smile.

“Ugh,” she huffed as she began to walk away, “millennials!”

The older woman’s comment made you purse your lips. “Baby boomers,” you grumbled sarcastically. You turned on your heel and looked back to the trees, deciding that maybe just standing still and staring at nature for a few would be safest, but something new caught your eye. A path, one that you hadn’t seen before. You squinted and raised an eyebrow. “Huh.”

There wasn’t much of a path, but there was definitely a patch of bare dirt that led right in-between two thick trees. “Well,” you whispered to yourself, “I’ve got some time, and it’s still light, maybe a little risk would be a good thing. Something to break me out of my safe little box. Or I could get lost and die.” You rocked back and forth on your feet, fretting and cursing at your indecision. Maybe if you just went in to see how far the path went? But not go far enough that you couldn’t see the road anymore? Maybe that would still be safe?

“I’m a pansy, and I need to branch out, and do something that scares me,” you said to yourself firmly. “It’s almost literally a walk in the park.” You chuckled and smiled at the dumb joke that popped into your head. “Gotta walk on the wild side.”

Despite the fact that no one was there to hear your silly pun, you still flushed bright red and bit your puffy lower lip before stepping onto the path.

The breeze wasn’t quite as strong here, but it had a tinge of sweetness to it – a far-off note of something that smelled fresh and flowery. Or maybe fruity? The scent was enough to give you the courage to press on, convincing you to keep going and keep looking forward. You weren’t noticing how quickly the sun setting or the way the little dirt road dissipated back into a grassy field. All you could focus on was the pleasant fuzzy feeling that kept washing over you and the beauty of the blossoming vines around you.

But then the sunlight disappeared. Suddenly. Seemingly without warning. Everything was suddenly dark and cold and confusing. The path was nowhere to be seen, much less the road back home. All of the trees looked the same. You couldn’t tell which direction you had come from. The flowers were gone, oppressive twigs in their place, poking and prodding you.

You’d fucked up. You were lost. No one would know where to look for you. You were completely, utterly lost.

And terrified.

You were completely, utterly terrified.

Every inch of you was trying to remember how to breathe, arms wrapped around your torso as you slumped into a tree and slumped into the ground. Sobs shook you so violently your throat hurt, but at least maybe someone would hear you that way. You couldn’t think straight, no matter how hard you tried, so you stayed where you were, crying and shaking, hoping someone would find you.

By the time you looked up again, it was even darker. Not pitch black, but close, making the fear in you rise up even more. You took a few trembling breaths and blinked the bleariness from your teary eyes. Your glasses were a mess, but your fingers were so cold that cleaning them was proving overly difficult. They were still smeared and mucky when you put them back on, but now you could see a light. A flicker, more accurately. Then it flared up again. And again. Then there was a big burst, and a string of lights came into view, almost like street lamps.

A part of you was still feeling sarcastic – somehow – and thought, ‘Oh great. Now I’ve found a crazy evil forest ritual or something. Wonderful,’ but you pushed that aside. “Fire like that means people, people means help. I – I have to try.” Your voice was feeble, high-pitched, and fumbled at every other word, but the sound made you feel a little better. You stumbled toward the lights, shivering and sniffling. Soon you could hear soft voices and the occasional laughter which eased a bit of the tension in your shoulders. You weren’t alone anymore, at the very least. As you neared a break in the trees, you took a moment to scope out what you were walking into.

There were a handful of people mingling in the middle of a fire lit circle, maybe 30 or so. They all seemed to be in good humors, most lounging around on lawn chairs or grabbing a plate of food from a long line up. By all accounts, it looked like you had just stumbled upon a late-night potluck. And everything smelled amazing.

Definitely not a demonic ritual. So what if they all had horns? Lots of chill species had horns. No big deal. And kids didn’t go to evil rituals, right? There were a bunch of kiddos running about. Surely these pople would help you.

Right?

“H-hello,” you called out in a raspy voice once you reached the edge of the clearing. One or two of the heads in front of you looked around as if confused. You took another step forward and cleared your throat before trying again. “Hello?”

“Did I just hear a – oh shit!” A tall man swiveled around and saw you shaking by the trees. He jumped up onto his . . . feet? You couldn’t see him very well through your dirty glasses and the dark, but he definitely didn’t have human legs.  

The man came darting over to you, drawing the attention of many of the other people around him, sparking whispers and confused murmurs. A wave of awkwardness washed over you, but not nearly as much when the six-foot man in front of you hunkered down and grabbed your shoulders.

“Are you okay?! How did you get here? Are you alone? Holy crow, you’re freezing! How long have you been outside like this? Come here, come here! Come warm up.”

He grabbed your hand and pulled you toward the crowd. You wanted to curl in on yourself. It was one thing to have a bunch of strangers giving you judgmental stares, but having this guy hold you and steer you had every muscle in your body tense. You’d always had a problem with people touching you, especially men, but you kept your mouth shut. He was trying to be nice. And you had dealt with this irrational, unintentional, uncontrollable fear all your life. He’d let go soon. You’d be fine. Your hand might tingle for a day or two, but you’d be fine. Eventually.

“Here,” the man said mercifully letting go of you to gesturing to the chair he’d been sitting in, “set yourself down here, and I’ll find you a blanket or something.” He scuttled off into the sea of unfamiliar faces, leaving you to squirm uncomfortably under their gazes. One woman in particular was giving you a very foul look, pulling a few children away from you.

Now that you were in the light, you realized that all the people around you not only had horns, but long, curved, hairy legs, too. What was the word, what was the word . . .? Something with a ‘s,’ right?

“Excuse me,” the only guy who didn’t seem to be wary of you said, weaving his way back to you. He rushed back to your side and hastily threw a blanket over you, leaving you to clumsily trying to find your way out of the darkness again.

“Thanks,” you said softly once you had positioned the giant comforter on your shoulders and not on top of your head.

“Of course. Feeling better,” he asked, smiling brightly at you. His mildly goofy smirk was infectious, and you couldn’t help but smile a bit, too.

“Yes, thank you,” you said with a sigh.

“How did you find – ” he started, but then an overly loud throat clearing noise but him off. The crowd parted, and an imposing man with a grave face came toward you. You shriveled into the chair. He was older than the other male, and much less happy to see you.

“Why are you here,” he demanded, voice tight and irritated.

“I – I was just taking a walk, and then I got lost,” you explained.

His brow pinched. “Where?”

“Um, along the road, down by 11th and Spring Junction, but – ”

He scoffed, “You did not get here by following any city street.”

“Right,” you fumbled under his imposing stare, “I meant to say that I was going down the road then I saw a path and started to follow it. I don’t really know what happened, but my mind got really fuzzy and I just kept going. Almost like I was following something.”

“Damn it,” he barked angrily, turning to the onlookers behind him, “someone left one of our passages from the main road open! Who here used the portal by 11th and Spring today?”

No one spoke at first, but there was plenty of whispering, and a group in the back made the classic ‘ouuuUUUU’ noise you might hear on The Jerry Springer Show.

“Um, Remus,” the other man by your side said tentatively, “that’s the one the kids from Spruce Elementary come in from usually. It was probably just one of the little guys.”

“’Little’ or not, the passages must always be covered. It is of the utmost importance,” their leader said in a low tone. “Next weekend all of our satyr children, k through 12, will attend another lesson on the importance of keeping our gatherings hidden.”

A collective groan came from all the small children and a few adults, too. Sounded like nobody liked this Remus’s lectures.

“Satyrs,” you whispered as you remembered the name of the beings around you. You had always been bad at names.

It seemed the younger man had heard you and chuckled. “We’re not all as stuck up as this one,” he murmured, jerking his head at Remus. You bit your lip and tried not to laugh.

“As for you,” the scowling older satyr said, turning back to you, “I suppose I cannot fault you for stumbling upon us. It sounds as if you may have been influenced by one our . . . well, never mind. We would appreciate it if you wouldn’t discuss what you have seen with anyone else. This is a satyr community affair, and we would like to keep it that way. Do not try to find us again.”

“Of course,” you said nodding, “I promise I won’t go wandering down random, unmarked paths again anytime soon. Or ever, probably. Been a hell of a night . . .”

He slumped a bit and rubbed the bridge of his powerful nose. “And I will ensure none of our paths stay open again.”

“I’m sorry if I interrupted,” you blurted out as Remus began to turn away. “I didn’t mean to cause any trouble, and I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”

“Hm,” he grunted looking you over doubtfully, but eventually his face relaxed just a touch, and he gave you one curt nod. “I am glad to hear it. Felix?”

The younger man jumped and looked up, “Yeah?”

“You seem unfazed by this girl, will you take her home?”

“Yeah!” His excitement was apparent and made you blush, but he quickly tried to stifle his emotions after getting a disapproving look from Remus. “I mean, uh,” he stammered, “yeah. I can do that. No biggie.”

Remus only shook his head and walked away.

“Well,” you said slowly, “that was . . . something.”

Felix snorted, “Yup. He’s a lot. Always has been, always will be. But he’s a good boss man – keeps us safe and helps us all find jobs and houses and what not. Good guy, just also sorta . . .”

“Frightening,” you offered.

“Holy shit yes,” Felix laughed, getting up from his crouched spot beside you. “Come on, let’s get you in a car with a heater, you’re still shivering.”

“That sounds awesome,” you huffed, burying your face in the big blanket.

The two of you maneuvered around the edge of the potluck, trying to make a beeline away from everyone else, but one woman came rushing toward you with no signs of stopping.

“Felix,” she chirped.

“Not now,” he moaned, trying to usher you away a little faster.

“Felix! FELIX!”

He cringed and slowed down, placing himself between you and the other woman. “Hey Mom,” he said with a strained smile.

“What is going on here,” the middle-aged woman squeaked, eyes wide with concern.

“I’m taking her home,” Felix said simply.

“Why you,” she gaped.

“Remus asked me to so you can’t say no,” he responded quickly, exactly the way you sputter excuses to your mom when you’re about to get in trouble.

“I – but – oh fine,” she sighed, looking at you as if you might infect her with something, “just be careful.”

“Careful,” he laughed, a warm and boisterous noise, “of this cute little human?”

“CUTE,” his mother practically bellowed.

Felix tensed. Visibly. “I – I didn’t say cute. I said little.”

“You said cute AND little!”

“Look, I, um, uh – I should get her home. Later Mom! See ya at home!”

Felix grabbed your arm and hauled you toward a row of cars so fast you were could hardly keep up. The guy had to be about a foot taller than you, and his legs were absolutely longer, but soon you were tucked away in an old blue car.

“Sorry about them,” Felix said, his head on the steering wheel, making an exasperated noise.

You giggled, “Don’t be, that’s just how family is.”

“So your family’s like that, too,” he asked, turning to you.

“Well, I get the impression my family might be a good bit smaller than yours, but they’re still plenty overwhelming when they want to be. Especially my aunt and her fam.”

He let out a long groan, then snorted. “Don’t even get me started on aunts!” Felix put the car in reverse and double checked that the heat was cranked on high, then headed down the dirt road away from the clearing toward town. A quietness fell over the two of you that you usually would have thought uncomfortable, but you were too busy stealing glances to notice.

Yet again you were in the dark, mostly, but you could still make out the incredible horns on Felix’s head. They were massive, the ridges touching the sides of the car. Their curve was beautiful, a flared spiral ending a gently rounded tip. The moment before the car’s light went out you noticed just how dark they were – like charcoal with that slightly shimmering veneer.

There was once or twice when Felix seemed to dip off to the other side of the road or swerve a tad, making you glace over a little worriedly. You could have sworn his eyes were pointed in your direction, but there was no way. Right? Maybe he was just marveling at how disheveled you looked. You could feel tangled hair brushing the back of your neck. Ick. Although, he did keep schrooching down every time you looked at him so . . . maybe he was –

No way. He could get any girl, why settle for you?

“So, uh, where am I heading,” Felix asked, turning onto the city street.

“I’m on the far end of 9th,” you said taking off your glasses to try and clean them again.

“On the way to Spencer’s Auto?”

“Yeah.”

Felix laughed. “No kidding? Ha! You’re like two blocks away from all us satyrs! Most of us are in the old Victorian houses or in the nearby apartment complex.”

“Really,” you frowned. “I’ve never seen any of you around.”

“Yeah, we keep to ourselves. Too much, if you ask me,” he shrugged.

“Well, I’m kind of a homebody, too, so I shouldn’t be surprised. I don’t see much of anybody,” you admitted.

“That’s a shame,” he said glancing at you.

You sighed, “Yeah, everyone tells me I need to get out more.”

“No, no! I didn’t mean it like that,” he said quickly. “I just meant it’s a bummer that I’ve never seen you before. You seem really – ” Felix stopped himself and cleared his throat. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“That’s okay,” you laughed, your face flushing, “you were going to say something nice, weren’t you?”

“Yeah,” he said hesitantly.

“Then you don’t have to apologize for being nice,” you assured him.

He chuckled and gave you a small glance. “Right. I just, well, I didn’t want to come on too strong or anything. I’ve been told I do that.”

You shrugged. “I think you’ve been just fine.”

It was a short drive now, only a few minutes to your house, but it gave you just enough time to peek at Felix and see his features in the street lamps. His skin was a soft brown with dark brunette locks tied back in a low ponytail. His curls were looser than yours, but definitely still wrapped into little coils. There was scruffle all along his shapely jawline, somewhat thicker at the sideburns. He had glasses, too, which, for some reason made you happy to see. You couldn’t see his eyes well, but they seemed dark and warm.

Guy was handsome. Really handsome. Handsome enough to make you feel super timid.

Thankfully, the two of you were parked outside of your little house only a moment or two later. You slipped the blanket off your body and folded it as best you could in the cab of the small car. Much to your surprise, by the time you were finished, Felix had come around to your side of the car to open your door for you.

Something your stepfather had once said popped into your mind: “If a boy never opens the car door for he’s no good. Find a polite one. You deserve a polite one.”

Felix was polite. And sweet. And funny. And tall. And just stupid cute.

Shit.

“Thank you,” you said, cheeks burning as you got out of the car and stood up. There wasn’t much space between you, little more than a foot between you.

“Of course,” he beamed. “Pops always said if you want to – ” He stopped himself again, bowing his head and scratching the back of his neck. “Oops.”

“’Oops’ what,” you asked, your head lolling to the side.

“I was just about to blurt out something dumb again,” he chuckled. “Always had a problem with that.”

“Felix,” you giggled, “the only reason we met is because I was dumb enough to wander into the forest willy-nilly just before sunset. You can say just about anything and it still won’t be as stupid as what I did.”

He looked right into your eyes, his smile bright and his irises a deep, deep brown. You noticed all Felix’s freckles, dozens all over his face, trickling down his neck. He made your breath hitch.

“That wasn’t your fault,” he said quietly, as if sharing a secret, “we were doing a spring ritual – one that’s supposed to help with new growth and all that. All the surging magic and sunlight and stuff would attract any human to the area. You couldn’t help yourself. No one could.”

“Wait,” you gawked, “really?! I got caught up in some spell?”

“Yup,” he laughed. “Sorry.”

“Well, at least I feel less idiotic now,” you said shaking your head with a smile. You looked back to Felix who was leaning on the car door, looking from the ground to you, the ground to you. “I bet whatever  your dad said to you wasn’t dumb either,” you hinted.

A flush came to Felix’s cheeks, but he relented nonetheless. “My dad always said iif you want to impress a pretty girl, open the car door for her. Everybody opens the door to the restaurant, but no one remembers the car door anymore. That’s the way to stand out, he says.”

You bit your lip and tucked your hair behind your ears, taking a moment to reel in the fact that he called you pretty. “Your dad sounds like a very smart guy,” you replied.

He laughed again, leaning a little closer to you, but not far enough that you felt the need to shy away. “So I don’t want to be too forward,” he said, “especially since we didn’t exactly meet under normal circumstances, but would you ever want to maybe, like, get a drink sometime?”

The smile that spread across your face was so wide your lips and cheeks stung. “Th-that sounds great,” you stammered, “but – ”

“Awesome,” he cheered, bouncing on the balls of his feet once excitedly. “When are you free? I know this really fun place down by the railroad and . . . ” His face fell dramatically. “And you said ‘but’ didn’t you?”

“Well yeah but I – ” you began.

“Nah, that’s okay,” Felix sighed. “I get it. You don’t have to explain. I’ll just head out then. Maybe I’ll still see you around or something? If that’s not – ”

“Wait a sec,” you blurted before he could get back to the driver’s seat, “I wasn’t going to say no!”

“You weren’t,” he asked, his body no longer drooping so sadly.

“No,” you giggled, “not at all! I was just going to say that I don’t drink, so if we could do something that isn’t at a bar that would be kinda nice.”

“Oh,” he said looking confused for a moment before reeling back and yelping, “OH! So you don’t drink booze then?” You nodded. Felix burst out laughing and shook his head. “I gotta stop jumping to conclusions like that.”

“It’s okay,” you said waving your hand casually, “don’t worry about it. You still want to do something sometime?”

“Absolutely,” Felix said earnestly. “Can I get your number?”

“Definitely,” you said, beaming as you typed your contact information into his phone. Felix glanced it over and grinned. “What is it you,” you asked worriedly.

“Nothing, nothing,” he said, trying to regain his cool, “I just really like your name.”

You went bright red and found that you couldn’t get a single word out. You’d heard that before, but it sounded so incredibly genuine when he said it. You’d never felt this giddy.

“Night,” he said giving you one last smile before turning back to his car.

“Night,” you squeaked, a bit too late. Your heart was still fluttering wildly.

@collinssie @watch-your-grammer

[folklore-musings]

Camera Shy (Part One)

AU. Jughead is an aspiring photographer. His final project requires him to shoot nude photos of someone who inspires him. With no one else to ask Jughead asks Betty. Insecure of her body Betty is quick to shoot the idea down, until Jughead reminds her that she owes him. - Bughead leading to eventual smut.

Read on AO3 here

A/N - I’m terrible with summaries but I hope you guys like this. This idea came to me a few days ago when the Cole photographer photoset was going around. Enjoy! 

Betty sits at their usual table in the library, tapping her pen against her notebook as she waits for Jughead to meet her. He’d texted her a while ago mentioning that he had something important to ask her.

Every few seconds Betty’s eyes glance towards the door, wondering where the hell he could be. She was going to be late for her Women’s Studies class. She was never late for anything – a characteristic she was proud of.

Another five minutes flew by and she just couldn’t wait any longer. Betty starts to pack up and leave just as Jughead stalks over to her table, trying to catch his breath. “What did you do, run here?” She asks, shuffling her notebooks into her backpack.

“Sorry,” he breathes. “I can’t feel my toes it’s so fucking cold out there.” It’s the middle of March and spring is close on the horizon, but Mother Nature wasn’t getting the picture. Jughead brushes the snow off his beanie and rubs his hands together, using the friction to regain the feeling in his fingers.

Betty looks at him with a hint of annoyance on her lips. “What was so important that I had to meet you here, when you know I have a class in ten minutes?”

Jughead sits down across from her, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “I have a favor to ask you.” He clears his throat. “Before you say no, just hear me out. Can you do that for me?”

Betty nods, her eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “Sure Jug, but you know I’d do anything for you.”

“Don’t speak too soon Betts,” Jughead shakes his head and continues on. “I received the final project for my Photography class and well, it includes having to capture nude photographs of someone who inspires us.” Betty’s cheeks flush. There is no way he expects her to take her clothes off for him, especially in front of a 1080 pixel lens. “I was wondering if you would possibly consider modeling for me. I can’t ask Archie, because that’d just be weird. And I know Veronica agree to it, but I don’t want to cause any tension between her and Archie. So that leaves me with you. Plus, you kind of owe me.”

She scoffs. “Excuse me? What do I owe you for?”

“Don’t you remember senior year and all those late nights I spent helping you write and rewrite your thesis until it was absolutely perfect?” Betty drops her eyes from his steely blue gaze, the memories resurfacing. She’d never drank as much coffee as she did those last few weeks before obtaining her bachelor’s degree.

“Yes,” she mumbles through tight lips. “But that’s different. I didn’t ask you to take your clothes off and pose like the statue of David.”

Jughead exhales deeply. “No, that you didn’t. But if you had asked me to, I would’ve.”

“Bullshit.” Betty says, standing up and tossing her bag over her shoulder. “I’m sorry Jug, but I’ve gotta get to class. I’ll see you back at the apartment later.”

He lifts the beanie off his head and shakes the remaining slush from his hair. “Fine. At least promise me you’ll think about it, alright?”

Betty nods and looks at her watch. “Okay I will but I really need to go.” She pulls her hood on over her ponytail and dashes out of the library, thanking each and every God she knows that her class is in the next building over. If she sprints she knows she can make it on time.

She slips into her seat seconds before her professor starts to lecture. Betty struggles to free herself from her jacket, sweating despite the below freezing temperature outside, earning herself some glares from her surrounding classmates. Hastily, she digs her notebook out from her backpack and begins to scribble the notes posted up on the screen.

Throughout the entire lecture Betty is unable to keep her focus on the board ahead. Instead she finds herself scanning her eyes around the hallowed auditorium. The lighting is harsh and the room is too hot for her liking. Her sweater clings to her skin in the most uncomfortable of ways. Betty groans under her breath. Why does Jughead always have to do this to her?

His bad timing is impeccable. Betty barely hears a word her professor rambles about, too occupied with the thought of Jughead’s request. She’s not even comfortable looking at herself in the mirror naked, let alone having Jughead snap nude photos of her for a class project. Retrieving her phone from her bag she texts Veronica all about the situation, wanting to know her friend’s take on the idea.

Ronnie: I say go for it.

Betty: Easy for you to say, he didn’t ask you.

Ronnie: Ahh, but he considered me and chose you instead. Maybe he secretly wants to see you naked?

Betty: I highly doubt it. He’s never once shown any interest in me or my body, V

Ronnie: Say what you will, but I think you should do it. With your body and those cheekbones? Hell his professor will probably be knocking down your door to see the real deal.

Betty: Please don’t say that.

Ronnie: Betty I’m kidding. Just try it out, OK? Do a test run. You may be more comfortable in your own skin than you think.

Betty sets her phone down and stares at the nearly blank notebook page in front of her. She draws her lip between her teeth and sighs. She is going to kill Jug for dropping such a bomb of a question on her before class. She shouldn’t have bothered to come at all with the way her mind is reeling, feeling a little claustrophobic in her own skin.

She glances around the room for a clock, forgetting the watch she has clasped around her wrist. Unable to locate one, she picks up her phone and checks the time. Betty still has over an hour left of lecture and she can’t find any willpower to concentrate. Quietly, she packs up her things and sneaks out the back door, softly closing it shut behind her.

She grabs her phone from her bag, dialing Jughead’s number as she walks down the snow covered path leading to their apartment just outside of campus. “Pick up,” she mumbles under her breath, making sure not slip on the ice hidden beneath the snow. The wind whistles in her ears, burning her cheeks and making it hard for her to breathe.

“Hello,” Jughead answers on the fourth ring.

“Took you long enough,” Betty breathes into her receiver.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in class?”

Betty huffs and puffs; reaching the part of the path that breaks off into an incline. She really wishes she would’ve worn her boots today instead of her sneakers. “Yeah I am. I was a little too distracted though, thanks to a certain someone.” She’s gasping for breath into the receiver, pretty sure her phone is permanently frozen to the side of her face.

“Shit Betty I’m sorry. I should’ve waited to ask you. Are you on your way home?”

Betty nods, realizing he can’t actually see her. “Yeah, I am. Want to order some takeout? I’m sure Chinese doesn’t cover the cost of the class I just missed though.”

Jughead laughs and Betty feels her knees quake at the sound. “I will buy you all the Chinese you want. Lo Mein and Sesame chicken as per usual?”

Betty grins, he knew her so well. “Yes please. And extra brownie points if I get to have both fortune cookies.”

The line goes quiet, Betty quick to assume that the call must have dropped. She’s about to put her phone away before she hears him speak. “You drive a hard bargain Cooper. I’ll see you in a few.”

“Thanks Jug!” Betty hangs up the phone and shoves it in the back pocket of her jeans. She can see their apartment complex from where she stands, guessing she has about a half mile to go before she’s home. Despite the snow, the sidewalk is littered with footprints, creating a cushion for each step she takes, saving her from the ice that hides below.

Once she’s home she stomps her shoes on the welcome rug, shaking off any lingering slush. She’s soaked through to the bone. Desperately craving warmth she decides to shower while Jughead’s out picking up their dinner.

Betty leans in past the curtain and turns the knob for the shower, letting it heat up while she undresses. Before stepping in she looks in the mirror, studying her body in a way she hadn’t before. Her shoulders were too broad and her breasts were too small. She traces the curve of her jaw, wishing her chin wasn’t so pointy and angular. Standing there staring at her reflection, she’s suddenly hyperaware of the flaws her body possesses. There is no way she could pose in front of Jughead, completely unguarded and exposed. She rarely enjoys being photographed with her clothes on. She can’t imagine having to take them off.

The bathroom mirror begins to fog, steaming over with tiny water droplets. Sighing, Betty rips her ponytail from her hair and steps inside, letting the hot water wash away her insecurities.

[publicagency]

Speak Here

Speak Here: The Spa, the Station, the Space in-between

The Spa

A sharp right turn and I depart from the rows of tightly stitched houses into a valley of beige towers and parkland. The pavement switches from grey stone to yellow brick. A line of hedges rises to my waist, cordoning pedestrians away from vehicles. Bollards, bars, and bumps collaborate to narrow the cars to one lane. This bend from The Avenue onto Willam Road leads downhill from an integrated urban fabric to a stark modernist plain. This is the boundary between the private dwellings of Tottenham and the housing estate of Broadwater Farms, known by its residents as ‘The Farm.’ Built in 1967, this complex houses an estimated 3,800 people in a cohort of residential towers and low-rise blocks. The buildings balance on concrete stilts, straddling a hollow ground floor of dimly-lit, desolate parking lots. The excess parking is evidence of an imagined middle class lifestyle, which contrasts from the realities of the low-income families and pensioners who live here. This spatial miscalculation has been adapted by residents as a covered short cut between buildings and a shelter from the rain. I spot a group of teenage boys standing in an empty parking space. They have their hoods up, perhaps to gain privacy from the security cameras perched on nearby lampposts.

I pass two small playgrounds and a grassy courtyard with benches – all are empty. Signs direct me to the enterprise office, community centre, and health clinic, all three of which are closed on this Saturday afternoon. As I follow the curve of Willam Road, I notice a bus stop and directly opposite, a long barn-like building. The drawn blinds and metal doors make it difficult to decipher the interiors. In one window sits an electric “Nail Spa” sign beside a pair of plastic hands, each nail modeling a different colour. I knock on the door and am greeted by a buzzing group of women and girls. The salon owner, Dionne is attaching fake eyelashes to a client, her friend Tony is standing by the microwave heating up a soup, and two young girls are waiting for their mother to return from her errands.

Dionne invites me to take a seat by the girls. I introduce myself and explain that I am researching the march to the local police station in response to Mark Duggan’s death this past August. Tony expresses disdain for the journalists who have been lurking around The Farm, probing for details of the violence and is eager to recount the overlooked peaceful events. Both Tony and Dionne were friends of Mark, and they helped organize the march from The Farm, gathering people in one of the main courtyards make signs and begin the walk (See Fig. 1). They were confident that the police were expecting them as they believe that the Farm is consistently monitored. Tony points to the lamppost across the street, ‘See that camera? The police can see us right now.’ Over the past thirty years, they have lived with a heavy police presence that shapes the narrative of The Farm, witnessing episodes of violence and participating in demonstrations. The women did not premeditate the route, but rather followed their usual path to the High Road. To command attention, they walked down the middle of the road, and upon arriving at the station, blocked vehicles from passing. After several hours of waiting, their demand for a high level officer to speak with Mark’s family members was unmet. Crowds amassed and latecomers set off the violence.

As we talk, chairs are reconfigured as visitors come and go and beauty services shift, the teenage boys I had seen earlier peer in to say hello, and a young woman drops off flyers for her church party (See Figs. 4 and 7). As the only semi-public, hang-out space open on this Saturday afternoon, this small room takes on multiple roles: it becomes a place for people to stop by for a visit, to share food, to publicize events.8 An hour passes, and I leave with the mother who returns to retrieve her girls. They offer to lead me along the same path as they marched to the police station. It is a twenty minute walk that winds up and down narrow residential corridors, avoiding the four-lane, fast- moving traffic of Bruce Grove (See Fig. 6). As we turn off The Avenue onto Sperling Road, we pass a corner with a fish and chips shop and a mini-market, where they stop to buy snacks. We make quick turns down Moorefield and onto St. Loy’s, landing on High Road, half a block north from the station. Along our walk, the built forms and ensuing street life does not seem relatable to the spatial lexicon of The Farm. There are no swaths of unused or empty spaces. Shoulder to shoulder two-storey homes offer ‘eyes on the street’ to the houses they face and the many people walking by (Jacobs 1972). Illuminated corner shops with large glass storefronts and displays that spread onto the sidewalk offer a clear sightline to the activity inside and blur the border between the commercial and the public realms. This walk to the high street frames the Estates as a sealed enclave, with a distinct spatial language not in dialogue with the surrounding area.

The Station

With my back to the police station, I can see identical billboards: one is across the High Road, perched on a roof; the other on eye-level, pinned to the side of small brick building on the corner with Chestnut Road. They feature a close-up photograph of melting margarine in a landscape of green beans, paired with the invitation to ‘go for it.’ The High Road is the commercial vein of Tottenham, the area most devastated by the riots. On either side of the station, the streetscape is pockmarked with storefronts shuttered with plywood, while an assortment of 99p stores, betting agencies and mini- marts are open for business. In this context, the dual margarine ads seem insensitive to the recent physical and economic loss. Lampposts lining the road are dressed with ‘I Heart Tottenham’ flags, part of the local council’s campaign to restore “community, consumer and investor confidence.” I turn around to face the station’s solid, 4-storey red brick mass. Security cameras line the facade and closed beige blinds, similar to those lining the Broadwater Estates shops, belie which parts of the station are currently in use. The building wears a skirt of iron fencing at the street level, with dust ruffle of grey metal grates that block access to its basement. Over the front door, a loose metal gate hangs over the glass like a suspicious eyelid. Upon entering the station, I take a seat on a chair that is attached to the wall. There are two men waiting ahead of me, one lingers by the phone booth in the far corner and the other is seated beside me. The waiting room has a similar footprint as Dionne’s spa, but lacks opportunities for eye contact between strangers (Figure 5). The layout’s control logic and sparse furnishings favor efficacy over intimacy. I face a blank wall, while to my right, a mother and teenage daughter make sobbing pleas to the officer through a plexiglass panel. The young officer explains he cannot take any action, and advises her to consult a private debt collector. As I try to avoid their crying faces, my attention turns to a single stale chip in the windowsill next to me. The bright fluorescent lights overhead and security cameras in all corners do not make for an appetizing place to eat a meal. When my turn arrives, I step up to the counter and speak through a small metal speaker. I ask if I can meet with a Safer Neighborhoods liaison for the Broadwater Estates. While the officer retreats to consult his colleagues, I notice that there is a large sticker branding our communication interface. It reads:

‘SPEAK HERE Sonic Windows Communication Hygiene Security

TEL: (01424) 223864’

The label embodies a modernist design ethos of order through separation, and person- to-person exchange as potentially harmful. When the officer returns, he slips me a memo paper with the address of the Tottenham Station secretary and instructs me to write a letter. She will then pass my request to the appropriate department (See Fig. 9). In this public reception area, both publicness and privacy are in short supply: the space for communication is confined to a sterile metal circle in earshot of others and a prescription size piece of paper is the invitation to speak further.

The Space In Between

Public space can offer a gradient of openness and intimacy. Setback from the total exposure of the street, the spa and the station function as semi-public rooms in response to everyday needs for social exchange and claims of citizenship. In ‘The Public Realm,’ Richard Sennett forwards a concept of closed and open systems that shape built form. He argues that closed systems although ‘harmonious,’ are stagnant and irresponsive to patterns of use. Whereas open systems are ‘incomplete’ and ‘unstable,’ and can lend themselves to adaptation over time (Sennett 2008). Inherent in the open system is the possibility for a conversation between spatial form and individual use: a mutuality that circumvents structures from becoming irrelevant and posits public space as a conduit for expression, exchange and change.

In the march to the police station, women and children appropriated the street as a public communication line, exposing layers of irresponsive systems in built and social form. Learning from this spontaneous appropriation of space between the spa and the station, it becomes evident that a public realm rooted in an open systems approach is needed to offer a more generous invitation to ‘speak here.’ A way to mitigate the hard boundary between the neighborhood and the Estates, the street as a potent form of public space and ‘cityness’ (Sassen 2005). Could a mediating line of communication along this path expand transparency, communication and offer a public form ‘made‘ by its users (Sassen, 2005)?

References

De Sola-Morales, M. (2011) ‘The Impossible Project of Public Space’, In Favour of Public Space: Ten years of the European Prize for Urban Public Space, Centre de Cultura Contemporània de Barcelona and ACTAR: Barcelona.

Broadwater Farm Exhibition: Heroes and Homemakers, viewed 20 October, 2011, <http:// www.broadwaterfarm.info>.

Hall, S. (2001) ‘To Economise and to Localise: Austerity and a real life view of the Bankside Urban Forest Project’, unpublished conference paper submitted to the Economy Conference, Wales School of Architecture, 6-8 July.

Haringey Council, viewed 25 October, 2011, <http://www.haringey.gov.uk/index>. Jacobs, J. (1972). The Death and Life of Great American Cities. Harmandswoth: Penguin. Lefebvre, H. (1984) The Right to the City Oxford: Blackwell.

Lewis, P. (2011) ‘Tottenham riots: a peaceful protest, then suddenly all hell broke loose’, The Guardian 7 August, viewed 3 November, 2011, http://www.guardian.co.uk/uk/2011/aug/07/ tottenham-riots-peaceful-protest.

Low, I. (2011) ‘Elemental Chile: Alejandro Aravena and the South African Experience’, in Architecture South Africa, Jan/Feb.

‘Moving On: Building a Better Future for Haringey’, Haringey People (October-November 2011), p. 16.

Sassen, S (2005) ‘Cityness in an Urban Age’, Urban Age, Bulletin 2 Autumn, viewed 3 November, 2011, http://urban-age.net/0_downloads/archive/Saskia_Sassen_2005- Cityness_In_The_Urban_Age-Bulletin2.pdf.

Scott, S. (2011) ‘The voices of Tottenham are being marginalised’, The Guardian 16 October, viewed 20 October, 2011, http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2011/oct/16/voices- tottenham-marginalised.

Scott, S. (2011) ‘If the rioting was a surprise, people weren't looking’, The Guardian 8 August, http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2011/aug/08/tottenham-riots-not-unexpected.

Sennett, R. (2008) The Public Realm, unpublished paper for QUANT.

Space Syntax Limited (2011) ‘First Findings: 2011 London Riots location analysis, Proximity to town centres and large post-war housing estates,’ 15 September, viewed 25 October 2011, http://spacesyntaxnetwork.files.wordpress.com/2011/09 ssx_2011_london_riots_20110922.pdf.

1 Broadwater Estates is built on a river basin of reclaimed agricultural lands. To avoid potential flooding, the residences hover one-storey above the ground, leaving a layer of dank, empty space at the street level. In a Google street map of the area, Broadwater Estates is a grey void – no streets bisect this mass of city, its footprint is proportionate to nearby parks.

2 Originally built for offices, this structure now houses four small shops, which includes a catering business, a hair salon, a grocer and a hardware store, as well as an arts and crafts workshop that is open on weekdays.

3 Haringey Council

4 Inside the spa, there are thresholds of publicness and privacy. Upon entering, you can take a seat in a row of chairs, where you can watch the manicures and nail drying taking place. More private procedures such as piercing and waxing take place on a bed in the far corner, that can be curtained off for privacy. When not in use, the curtains are drawn and the bed becomes another place to sit or lounge.

5 Mark Duggan was a 29-year-old man who grew up in the Broadwater Farm Estates until the age of 13. Although he did not reside at the Farm as an adult, he was integrated into the social life and was regarded as an “elder,” a well known community figure within the estates.

6 Mark’s family learned of his death from a television newscast, rather than being informed directly by the police. The motivation behind the march was to demand an official acknowledgment by high-ranking police officers of Mark’s death in police custody and to draw attention to the police’s failure to communicate with members of his family before releasing his name to the press.

7 In his article about the demonstration outside the police station, Guardian journalist and Tottenham resident Stafford Scott articulates the frustration of protestors with the police’s lack of open communication: “All we really wanted was an explanation of what was going on. We needed to hear directly from the police. We waited for hours outside the station for a senior officer to speak with the family, in a demonstration led by young women,” (Scott 2011).

8 When I return the following Saturday for a manicure, I am able to talk in more depth to Dionne about the history of her shop and the different community functions her business plays. Dionne rents her shop from the Enterprise Centre of the Haringey Council at a subsidized rate. She hopes to relocate to a bigger space so that she can accommodate the number of visitors she has stopping by each day, in addition to her customers. She explains that the teenage girls like to come site at the shop to learn how to paint nails, to get life advice, and to have a place away from their families to socialize.

9 ‘Moving On: Building a Better Future for Haringey’

10The waiting area perpectuates everyday tragedies due to over-determined, under-considered form. For example, there is nowhere to privately to cry and there is no graceful way in which an officer can hand you a tissue.

11 I returned to the police station three times, I wrote one letter, made two phone calls and in total spoke to four officers. Unfortunately, I was never able to speak with an officer able to address my inquiry about the policing strategy of the Broadwater Estates and any community communication strategies.

12 An example of planned optimism is embodied by the public housing design by Elemental in Santiago, Chile, in which half of the house is built to the highest quality that the budget allows, but the infrastructure and footprint will facilitate improvements and expansion as the inhabitants improve their economic status and their housing needs evolve (Low 2011).

13 An initial report by the Space Syntax Group finds a relationship between areas where riots occurred and proximity to post-war housing estates. The Group specifically correlates the outbreaks of violence to the frustration and isolation caused by the “over-complex, under used spaces” of modernist architecture (Space Syntax Group 2011).

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Rainy Night’s Escapade

So we had to write a short story for my creative writing class. Anyone who’s familiar with my writing might know that I’m not good at short stories. I like to go long with even simple concepts. After a few weeks of mulling on ideas I finally came to something. I wrote it down and was quite proud of what I turned out. I presented it to my professor hoping for some praise, and was of course refused right out. I figured however that I’d post it anyway. So alas, Rainy Night’s Escapade. (GDOC version here)                 “12th and Medical. This is the 12th street and Medical Avenue stop. This is the final stop for this route.”                 El stepped off the bus, her suitcase tumbling down with her. She planted her feet firmly on the pavement below as the bus drove off. She was left with only the lonely bus stop, some desolate buildings, and a light drizzle. She looked up at a cracked mirror hidden in the bus stop to inspect herself. Seeing her unnatural fire-red hair brought a bit of a smile to her face, as it had brought ire to her parents. She might’ve looked like she was headed to a concert if she weren’t buried under so much luggage. Aside from her suitcase she had a worn backpack and an underarm bag with straps squeezing down on her oversized jacket. Her right hand carried the shiny red suitcase behind her, while her left managed a hefty guitar case. She smirked up to the mirror and began her trek into the darkness of the city.                 The soft rain seemed to match the lifeless state of the city around El. As she made her way down the road, she glanced side to side at the dark husks of buildings 5 stories or more. Cradled by the night, they appeared to be forgotten, perhaps even simply ghosts. Aside from the erratic flickering of the occasional streetlight and the quiet moisture of the rain, El found herself alone with her thoughts. She passed a more stable streetlight and glanced over at her shadow, hating how it reminded her of her mother. No amount of change gave her a new shadow. She didn’t want to recall her strict family, but she found her thoughts drifting to them anyway.                 Eleanor grew up in a picturesque household, one suffocatingly so. Life was about being a good person, performing well, and abiding by the morals in the book. While a nice concept and an ideal nobody could be blamed for, any break from this path was met with harsh repercussions. In elementary school Eleanor found herself bewildered by the other kids’ talks of violent movies and curse words. When she inquired about these subjects to her parents, she found herself being harshly reprimanded. The succulent world of taboo topics held an allure to her however, and over the next 10 years Eleanor climbed into that world to the distaste of her family. Her parents had lamented how their polite little girl had become this dyed-hair rebel, and their relationship would only become worse.                 Eleanor, what a plain name. Thus, all of Eleanor’s friends began to know her simply as El, a nickname her parents loathed. This brought a smile to El’s face in the dark city. Her new name and attire indicated an identity all her own, chosen by her. As her wardrobe grew darker and more outlandish, she became less recognizable as little Eleanor and became only recognizable as El. This put a spring in her step. El is El, belonging to nobody else. Though suddenly she came to a stop. The rain felt heavier on her head. El briefly set down her belongings to draw her hood up.                 Though alone now, El didn’t originally intend to take this trip by herself. In high school she met a guy she felt truly connected with. While not her first boyfriend, she felt something different about this one. He understood her more than the others, and for once El’s picture of herself included someone else. He was there for her during her worsening battles with her parents. He was the one who talked her into leaving it all behind, starting anew in the city. Yet when the night came, she didn’t find him waiting for her, but in his room, interlaced with an unfamiliar shadow. Thus El’s picture of herself became just her once more.                 With her hood now up, she fumbled in her jacket pocket for her mp3 player, grabbing it and flipping to her rainy-day playlist. She re-burdened herself with her bags and continued her quest into the night. The rain slowly grew into a proper storm. The street and accompanying sidewalk began to sink below the level of the buildings. On either side of the road grew a concrete wall. Water was pouring in from the sides and behind her, running down the gradual slope into the dark abyss in front of her. El saw a doorway in the wall a bit ahead of her, marked only by a protruding metal piece trying desperately to keep water from entering it and a LED bar crying out in apparent Morse code. With no real destination in mind and being faced by inclement weather, El decided it was as good a turn as any.                 El entered the claustrophobic tunnel. Her earbuds battled against the echo of rain in the stone tunnel. The occasional lights overhead led her farther and farther into the stone passageway. Her resolute trek eventually rewarded her with an exit, the urban cave spat her out. El stood now at the entrance to a cityscape labyrinth, a network of tight passageways going between tightly packed buildings. She looked up to see sheets of metal haphazardly covering the walkways to try to mitigate the rain, but in effect they just created more intense downpours in the gaps between them. What stood out most of all, was that these buildings had lights on. El began wandering about in the mishmash of walkways, and for the first time in this city she found people. Whether they were inside the buildings, walking around, or loitering about, they were there. Despite the late hour, many of the stores she passed by were quite busy. El stopped and scrounged some change out of her jacket to buy an ice cream. Vanilla cone in hand, she sat on a nearby bench to plan out her next steps. El took out her earbuds to listen to the pitter-patter of rain trying to mask the quiet sounds of late-night commerce. She looked around hoping for clues to her next move.                 The people meandering up and down the maze of pathways provided no real indication. El was amazed she’d made it this far, now if she could only figure out the next steps. Many of the nearby buildings were apartment complexes, but El doubted they’d be too quick to take in a poor high school runaway. She figured if she could find some kind of job, she might be able to negotiate her way from there. She walked back over to the front window of the ice cream parlor. The sullen looking lady slid the window open.                 “Was there some kind of problem with your ice cream?” The employee asked in a vaguely annoyed tone.                 “Oh no no! It was great! I was just wondering and hoping if you had any job openings.” El responded in her most polite tone complete with a smile.                 The lady looked visibly relieved that a possible problem had passed. “I’m afraid not sweetheart, but if it’s a job you’re looking for there’s a posting board down the lane. It’s mostly lost pets but there’s a job opening or two always posted there.”                 El quickly thanked the lady and regathered her belongings. She had a bit of fervor in her walk as she went the direction the woman had pointed. The curve of the path eventually dropped her off in a mild rectangular clearing. El scanned the walled in clearing. She found a large set of chained up double doors facing her, but upon glancing around she found the board.                  The board was a drippy mess at this point, despite being under a veranda, the humidity had still gotten to most of the posted papers. Flipping past lost pets and religious callings, El looked underneath at the job offerings. She found very few, but most of them required little experience. A few fast food places, an animal shelter, some convenience stores, all jobs that a high school student should be able to land. El went back and forth between the animal shelter and a convenience store offering, feeling that for now she was allowed a bit of room to be choosey. A sudden voice spoke out behind her.                 “Looking for a job young lady?”                 El turned around. In front of her was a rather dapper man in a fairly nice suit. Behind him were two other suited men, who looked like bodyguards. One of them was holding an umbrella over the man in the front. The front man’s sickly handsome grin and cleanly combed hair made her worry.                 “On that board you’ll only find low paying wage jobs.”                 “Is there a better alternative? And I mean better, not just higher paying.” El snapped back, asserting herself.                 “Oh, very much so. You’re a bit thin, but some people like that type.” He turned to the man holding the umbrella for affirmation, then back to El. “Take that jacket off, let’s inspect you.”                 El’s fears seemed to be confirmed. She backed up, looking around for an escape. However, her initial impression of this place as a dead end seemed to hold true. The only way out was directly behind those men. She started loosening her grip on her bags, preparing to fight for her life when another voice called out.                 “Hold it! She’s one of my wards.”                 Another man appeared behind the suits. However, this man was vastly different. He hobbled in on a cane. The new man that appeared had dark skin and stark white hair, both bushy on his head and in a long beard. His hunched body and beard covered most of his casual brown blazer and slacks. His right hand was tightly gripped onto the wooden cane, while his left hand was gnarled and deformed. The sight didn’t give El much hope in her savior, but he appeared to set back the suits quite a bit.                 “I’ve told you time and time again, I can’t stop you from coming here, but you’re not involving my wards in your dirty business!” the older man shouted resolutely.                  “My apo-“ before the scumbag in a suit could finish his statement the old man shoved past him.                 He faced me. “Do you remember the way back? No? Follow me then.” He said it all so fast that El didn’t have room to respond. When she saw the bodyguards parting for the elderly man she decided it’d be in her best interests to go along with him. El tightly held onto her stuff and dashed out following him. Once out of earshot of the suits, the man spoke.                 “With all of your belongings like that you look an easy target.”                 “Thank you very much!” El stammered out, tension releasing from her body.                 “Bah, I’d only be worth thanking if I could get those types to never come back.”                 “You did save me though, Mr. Uh-“                 “Dwight, Dwight Carver.” The elderly man responded.                 “Thank you, Mr. Dwight.”                 “Leave out the mister. Now young lady, I assume you’re a new runaway here with no place to stay.”

                El got quiet, while not surprised she was figured out, she was embarrassed being called out by her savior like that.

                “Let’s make good on my word. I’ve got room for you types as long as you can promise to behave.”

                El peaked up. “Wait really?”

                “Why do you think those men listened to a hobbling old man? You think they were scared of me? They were scared of what would happen if they fought with me. Enough people in the area respect me or feel they owe me that if those men raised a hand against me, they’d fear for their lives.”

                “I don’t have much money though.”

                “I didn’t expect you to, the place I’m offering isn’t the type you’d resort to if you had money.”

                Dwight kept going with a strong sense of direction, he took corners and burned through pathways with surprising speed for someone in his condition. Eventually he took a turn out of the cityscape maze into a more open area with only a sparse few buildings, most of which were incomplete. He approached a particularly wide incomplete skyscraper and knocked on the door.

                “While I won’t charge you money, I do expect you to get a job and make something out of yourself. I’m here to help people get on their feet, not babysit helpless imbeciles.” Dwight stated, unmoving from his position facing the door. Suddenly the door to the skyscraper swung open, a large Asian man holding it open. Dwight hobbled in, unfazed by this mighty man. El hesitantly began to step inside, and the man closed the door behind her, locking it. The inside looked like it could potentially be some kind of entry lobby, but devoid of any of sense of completion or comfort. The windows were boarded up, so the room was only lit by a few lightbulbs forming a path to the elevator and staircase. Dwight walked up to the elevator shaft and pulled a rope. After a few seconds El could hear the vague sound of a pulley. Dwight turned to face her.

                “I can’t offer you comfort or luxury here, but I can promise a safe place to sleep if you abide by the rules.”

                 El looked up at Dwight, the low lighting made him look incredibly stern, matching the tone of his voice but totally mismatching the content of his words. She was lucky to have met such a man.

                “Thank you, that’s more than enough.” El quietly said.

                 The sound of a pulley came to a stop and the Asian man pulled open the elevator door. Inside was a wooden platform held by ropes, while matching the shape of the elevator shaft, it lacked the walls or roof of any proper elevator. Nevertheless, Dwight comfortably stepped on the platform and motioned for her to follow. With a few creaks El and her luggage fit on the platform. The Asian man pulled the rope dangling outside the elevator, and after a few seconds the makeshift elevator began to rise.

                “You play that guitar?” Dwight inquired, in the softest tone she’d heard him use.

                “Only a bit, I’m trying to get better though.”

                “When you feel confident in it, I’m sure the kids would love to hear you play.” About 5 floors up the elevator came to a stop, as there ceased to be walls of an elevator shaft. Around El and Dwight were a bunch of people of various ages and races. Young men of foreign complexions, exhausted looking women holding young children, even a few people of El’s age. Then they all spoke in unison.

                “Welcome back Mr. Dwight!”

                “Bah! It’s too late for this kind of noise. Also, it’s not me you need to be paying attention to. Ivan find this young lady a room!” Dwight said, stepping off the platform without facing any of them. A big man with pale skin approached El.

                “New ward? Follow me.” He said in a heavy accent. He began to walk to a nearby staircase. The congregation looked at El with warm eyes, whispering words of welcome. El followed the large man to the staircase, where he offered to carry her suitcase.

                 “All of us here were brought in by Mr. Dwight.” Ivan causally spoke.

                “Does he own this place?”

                “I’m unsure how he came into possession of this tower, some rumors claim he owned the company it was being built for. Somehow or another he came to be in charge of this place, and now he invites lost souls like us to stay here while we put ourselves together.”

                “Does everyone here have nowhere to go back to?”

                “Da. I ran away from a drug syndicate. Wong downstairs lost his family to some territory spats. We also have runaways, immigrants, and unlucky mothers. Everyone has some kind of story, but we’re here to write our next chapter.”

                “I’m… just someone who got fed up with my old life.”

                “I’m not much different, da? You have your reasons, we all do. What matters is here we can build our new lives. Some of us have some dirty pasts, but we’re trying to get past that. You’ll find that you can trust and depend on anyone here.”

                El grew quiet. She reflected on those she grew up around. Those people who would ridicule and hurt people for their petty reasons. She couldn’t imagine what was going on behind her old boyfriend’s smile. Now here she was, depending on people once again. People she didn’t know. People from worlds different from her own.

                Ivan spoke up again. “You don’t have to put faith in us right away. We’ll earn it. All I ask is that you keep an open heart.” Ivan reached the top of the stairs and turned to El to smile. “We’re in this together. So let’s help each other out, da?”

                El arrived on the next floor and looked around. It was a quiet square with a perimeter of doors evenly spaced from each other. There were some people about, a young woman holding a baby, a man with a dark complexion flipping through a book, and 2 young kids playing.  El noticed some of the doors had signs attached to them. Ivan approached an unmarked door and opened it.

                “There’s no locks, lights, or furnishings, but this is the last floor to have proper windows. From here on up it’s just holes and no glass.”

                El walked in the barren room. It was a small box with only a door and a window on opposite sides, but something about it already felt warm to El.

                “We have a mattress we can loan for a while, but policy here is your first paycheck goes into your own bedding.” Ivan smiled to El. “I’m going to go grab the mattress, if you need any help feel free to ask anyone.”

                Ivan walked towards the stairs as El set her stuff down. Ivan promptly returned with an old, small mattress and set it down in the room with a few worn sheets and a pillow. After he took his leave El began to look around her new home. She went back down to the floor below, finding it to be a more crowded version of the one she lived on. Below that was a set of barren floors. She returned to her floor, and guitar in hand started to inspect the floors above her. The next 2 were once again the same design as the two below, but devoid of people save for a few playing children and some supervision. Beyond that she found incomplete floors reaching 3 more stories up.

                  El found herself on the 10th floor staring out the incomplete wall into the night sky. She sat down, dangling her feet over the edge as the rain slowly came to a rest. She opened her guitar case, taking out her cherry red Les Paul, tuning it and strumming into the quiet night. The quiet city didn’t respond, but the emanating warmth of the people below her got through to her anyway. El began to finally understand the feeling of home.

[sequencefairy]

Mouthful of White Lies

Ichiruki. Angst. Post-TYBW, before 686. Canon-compliant in the worst way. Consider yourselves warned for ichi//hime and implied ren//ruki. Also, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it ishihime. Thanks to @leohzy and @hashtagartistlife for the read-through. ~2100 words.

I can’t find you in the body sleeping next to me/what happened to the soul you used to be.

[ AO3 ] 

Fall rushes in on the cold wings of a storm that strips the leaves off the trees and tosses them into soggy piles up against doorways and into the gutters. Ichigo scuffs his feet through the piles on his twice daily walk between the campus and the apartment complex where he lives. It rains in icy gusts that chill him to the bones and make him hunch his shoulders and turn up the collar on his jacket. He walks, hands stuffed into his pockets and head down, earbuds pushed into his ears to discourage any friendly overtures that aren’t already put off by the scowl that darkens his brow and twists his mouth.

Kurosaki Ichigo, substitute Shinigami no more, is twenty-one years old, ginger-haired, and outwardly, completely happy with his life. He’s got a job and an apartment, he’s got papers to write and exams to study for and a girlfriend to dote on, who dotes on him in return, but there’s something missing.  Ichigo has never been the kind of person that spends a lot of time on self-examination, but he is intimately familiar with the shape of the thing that is missing – it is a little under five feet tall, possessing eyes the colour of a twilight sky and is the reason he used to get up in the morning.

Ichigo turns off the sidewalk, and heads into the apartment complex, where his flat waits, dark and cold, to welcome him home. He toes his shoes off at the door, and drops his bag and his keys on the floor next to them. The rain falls in sheets against the windows, and Ichigo flips the blinds closed, preferring not to look out at the sodden city. He hates the rainy season.

He pads through his flat, opens the fridge, decides there’s nothing of worth inside it, closes the fridge, and stands, aimlessly, in the middle of his dark kitchen. He should eat. He should study. He should call Inoue. He should - do a lot of things. Instead, he stands, shoulders slowly hunching forward, in the middle of his kitchen, until the ringing of his phone shatters the silence.

Ichigo startles, and then flings himself towards the entryway and his bag. He fishes his phone out and accepts the call without looking.

“Yo,” he says, and there’s a startled inhale on the other end of the line.

Ichigo?

Ichigo responds with his own startled inhale. He hasn’t heard that voice in almost three years. “R–Rukia?”

Yes, you idiot. There’s a huff of fond exasperation in her voice and Ichigo smiles despite himself.

“Something I can do for you?”

Meet me down by the river, she says, I’ve got something to tell you.

“You – you’re here? In Toyko? What?”

Are you going to meet me or not?

“It’s pouring rain –”

So bring an umbrella.

She hangs up without waiting for his answer and Ichigo stares at his phone in the palm of his hand for a long time before tapping out a quick text to Inoue, telling her he got caught up at the lab and that he’ll call her tomorrow night (the lie sits heavy in his stomach, but he can’t possibly tell her the truth) and then rummages through his closet for the only umbrella he owns.

The rain has abated somewhat by the time he reaches the riverbank. He strolls down the empty path; mind racing as he tries to imagine what she could possibly have to tell him after three years of no contact. They’d agreed that it would be too hard, that they wouldn’t do this – she would go on with her life and he with his, because the gulf that separated them was too wide to cross. She was a spirit being, he was a living human - and he remembers the inflection she’d placed on human, because it was the same one she’d used the last time she’d tried to push him away for his own good.

Last time, he’d been young and foolish and utterly in love with this girl who had come into his life like a thunderclap and was being taken out of it by force. He’d refused to adhere to her direction and had instead taken on the entirety of the seireitei to get her back. This time though, this time, there were no tears in her eyes, there was no trembling bottom lip, there was only her eyes like flint and her voice steady and resigned, and the icy whisper of her reiatsu swirling around his ankles.

She’d left him standing in front of the clinic, and she hadn’t looked back. Belatedly, Ichigo had reached out, his fingers grasping empty air for the sleeves of her shihakusho. He doesn’t like to remember the way he’d said her name, but it rings through the memory, the syllables cracked and his voice thready like he’d been winded.

When vehement denial finally gave way to a vicious and spiralling anger, Ichigo stumbled to Urahara’s shop in the middle of the night and pounded on the door until the man himself came to answer. The usual flashfire of his rage then simmered through weeks of intense sparring sessions that left Ichigo battered mentally as well as physically. Urahara had a particular talent for needling Ichigo to just past the brink of his own self-control - far enough that Ichigo would have to wage a battle on two fronts, but never far enough that there was any danger that Ichigo would lose control entirely.

At the end of the anger, there were the increasingly desperate (more like pathetic, he thinks now) requests to Urahara to open the gate, to let him through, to give him the chance to see her one last time. Urahara had steadfastly refused, and Ichigo’s rage had been broken back to an all-consuming melancholy that washed everything out to grey and left him fumbling for normalcy any way that he could find it.

Inoue had been the balm that he’d applied, liberally, to the gaping wound in his chest. She’d done the same thing she’d always done, gentling him like you would a nervous yearling; curling her fingers firmly but loosely around his, letting him drown himself in her skin, and all the while, shoring up the crumbling bits of his soul. They’d fallen together in the quiet way of two people grieving similar but unrelated losses, and Ichigo will be grateful forever for the way Inoue doesn’t push him into anything, for the way she wants him to take it slow, the way she understands him - she knows the whole story (more or less) and sometimes, he thinks, she might know it better than he does.

(He’s never heard the whole of her story, but he knows her and he knows Ishida, and he knows that distance makes things difficult.)

And yet, even now, three years later, he still sometimes dreams about Rukia - the way she laughed, the way her fingers felt, carding through his hair, the way her voice would turn to smoke and embers when they were alone. In the dreams, he no longer has to long for the feel of her skin, for the taste of her on his tongue. The dreams come much less frequently now than they did at the beginning - when the loss was still fresh, and the wound still raw - but now they come as a surprise and leave him gasping awake, his heart racing and his skin tingling with the leftovers of the vision.

When Inoue is there beside him when he wakes up, he pulls her close and buries his nose in the scent of her hair - warm vanilla and soft honey and so different than the cool hint of gardenias that used to follow in Rukia’s wake.

(When she is not, he slides out of bed and out of his skin and flings himself from rooftop to rooftop until he is too exhausted to go any further.)

Ichigo knows Inoue is too good to him, that she deserves better than this, better than him, better than someone who wakes up with someone else’s name in his mouth and the ghostly imprint of their hands on his skin. Inoue deserves someone who loves her for all that she is, not someone who is only capable of loving her with the pieces of themselves that don’t already belong to someone else.

But, he supposes, she only loves him with the pieces of herself that she didn’t give to Ishida, and so, he thinks, they are probably a better match than even they realise.

He rounds a bend in the path, and there she is. She’s in gigai – he can tell because she’s not shimmering under the rainfall - and her hair falls like a river of midnight ink down the back of her yellow coat – the same yellow coat, he’s sure, she was wearing that day they went skating. The very same coat she was wearing the day before she left for seventeen months, the day before his brain caught up with what his soul knew from the moment they met.

She turns before he can get any closer and Ichigo’s steps slow. Her face is the same, though her hair is longer now, and when she lifts a hand in greeting, that too, is the same. Ichigo raises his own hand in return and if his steps quicken now that she’s noticed him, it’s entirely unconscious on his part. He reaches her before he knows it, and it turns out that her eyes are the same as they always were too, and so is the soft curve of her mouth into her barely there smile.

“Rukia,” he says when gets close enough, and she inclines her head. “I thought you were too busy to come down the gensei to visit?” Ichigo tries to keep his voice teasing and light, but does not entirely succeed. His phone vibrates in his pocket, he ignores it.

“I am,” she says, and there’s a catch in her voice that makes Ichigo’s gut roll. She looks down and away and the feeling intensifies. Rukia lets the silence between them drag out a few beats longer than is comfortable before continuing. “I wanted to tell you first,” she says, and Ichigo catches a flash of gold in her hand when she brings her hands together, and wrings her fingers. “Ichigo,” she says, and then she looks up at him.

Ichigo’s breath catches in his throat. Rukia’s eyes flare wide, and there’s a heart-stopping moment where the rest of the city drops away and Ichigo remembers another night on another riverbank. He half expects the fizz-bang of a firework to send colour wheeling into the sky, but the night remains silent and still.

“Why are you here Rukia?” Ichigo asks, ignoring the way his palms have gone clammy. Ichigo’s phone vibrates in his pocket again, this time in the series of buzzes that means it’s a phone call, not a text. He ignores it again.

“Ichigo,” Rukia repeats, and the next words she says are impossible. So utterly impossible that Ichigo asks her to repeat herself. She does. Something gives inside Ichigo’s chest, and his stomach plummets to his feet.

“Are - are you sure?” Ichigo’s voice is hoarse. He clears his throat.

“Yes, of course I’m sure,” Rukia answers. There’s a finality to her words, and Ichigo’s phone buzzes in his pocket again. He wants to throw it into the river. Instead, he grits his teeth and looks down at her again.

“H-how?”

“Well, you see –” Rukia drawls, and Ichigo glares at her. Rukia sighs, and she presses a hand to her stomach, letting her thumb caress the soft swell of her belly under her coat. Ichigo wills his gaze away from her hand, and turns to look out over the water. The low hanging clouds reflect the light pollution from the city and lend an eerie blue glow to the air.

The silence grows and Ichigo itches to fill it. There are words in his mouth that would hurt her, words that would burn this tentative bridge Rukia is offering, and oh, Ichigo wants to say them. He can taste them on his tongue. He can feel them stoppered against his teeth and it takes all his self-control to swallow them down, to clear his throat and turn back to her, to reach out, touch her shoulder and wish her well. He can feel his teeth grinding when he smiles, and Rukia, surprised, smiles back.

“It was nice to see you,” he says, and Rukia nods, and it’s perfunctory, their goodbye, and this time, this time, Ichigo knows he won’t see her again. He turns, and walks away, leaving Rukia in the newly re-started rain - and if there’s a vicious kind of glee that surfaces in the back of his mind at leaving her in the rain, waiting for him, well, he’s only (mostly) human.

He doesn’t feel her leave, but when he turns back just before the path turns, she’s gone.

[lawncareallamericanturfbeauty]

A beautiful yard can not only be a source of joy to you and your family but also enhance the aesthetic appeal of your home. Here, we have presented some creative landscaping ideas to add elements of interest, functionality, texture, and color to your yard. Create a beautiful and timeless landscape that’s a treat to the eyes as well as easy to maintain!  Landscaping Ideas to Increase Your Yard’s Appeal  1. Go for Native Plants  Just like grass, which should be chosen based on suitability to the region, you should choose native plants that call for less upkeep. Choosing plants which are native to a specific area or grow well there, would keep your pruning and water costs down, and your plants would thrive.   2. Create Curved Lines  Landscapers often create edging around driveways, sidewalks, the house foundation, and flower gardens. Creating the edging as curves instead of perfectly straight lines lends character and appeal, and so, is one of the most interesting landscaping ideas. Since the edging is permanent, your landscape looks great all-round the year. This is quite an easy way of turning your lawn from plain and boring to beautiful.   3. Get Potted Plants  Adding pots into landscaping lowers the maintenance needs of a yard as well as boosts its versatility. With potted plants, you can add color to various parts of your yard easily, and you can move them from one place to another easily too. For some added interest and color, match flowers to the season. Go for red and yellow flowers in the fall, and white and pink flowers in the summer and spring.   4. Combine a Wide Range of Plants  Select a broad range of plants, the flowers of which bloom at different times. Hence, ornamental leaves would be visible throughout the season. If all flowers blossom at the same time, your yard would look appealing during that timespan but would lack color during remaining time of the year. Consider going for a perennial such as Rozanne geranium as it blossoms from the month of June through October.   5. Plant Lavender  Lavender adds a pop of color, a relaxing aroma, and you need to water it once or twice every week only, if the climate you live in doesn’t have regular rain. Lavender also acts like a bug repellent, hence consider planting it near the patio.  6. Connect the Attractive Elements with a Walkway  Rather than trampling down your lawn and creating a makeshift walkway of dead grass between the garden, fire pit, patio, create a visually appealing path with concrete stepping stones, decorative brick, natural flagstone, or crushed stone.   Create a walkway, pathway, or any other feature of landscaping using material which is similar to or the same as that used on the house’s exterior, like stone or brick, as this will tie the walkway to your home aesthetically. Alternatively, use the material for creating an attractive edging along your walkway.   7. Create a Natural Water Feature  Add a water feature that looks like it’s a part of the surroundings. It can be a self-contained, small unit standing alone on the patio. You can employ natural stone for building it, or you can go for the same material or stone that’s on the house.   Avoid using too many materials as the effort may not be effective. A good practice is not using more than 3 elements in an area, or the region may look too congested.   8. Lighten Up Walkways and Focal Points  You would want your beautiful landscaping to be visible even after sunset, and that’s why you need landscape lights. Installing outdoor lighting is one of the best ideas for landscaping your yard. These lights have many roles to play – showcasing interesting elements in the landscape, illuminating sidewalk and steps for safety, and enhancing the appeal of the home.   Types of Landscape Lighting  Following are some of the chief types of landscape lighting you can choose from:  Step Lights  There’s a risk of tripping and stumbling on outdoor steps and stairs at night. Step lights are a solution to this issue. Installed immediately nearby steps or directly into steps, step lights facilitate safe passage during nighttime.  Apart from boosting safety, the lights increase the visual appeal and overall look of the stairs and steps too.  Deck Lights  If you have a deck or patio outdoors, especially in an area that’s otherwise area, it’s a must to install deck lights on it.   The purpose of these lights is making the whole deck surface visible at night.   Although the primary purpose of deck lights is enhancing safety by creating a clear, visible boundary, these lights can act like the primary lights for entertaining too.   Postmount Lights  Postmount lights are formed by mounting outdoor lanterns on the top of tall posts.   Known as piermount lights sometimes, they are great options for fences, entryways, and gates. Consider placing them in regions where your guests assemble, like a patio or deck, to make sure sufficient light is available for everyone.   Columnmount lights are a similar option. These lights do the same job, but are mounted over brick, concrete, or stone columns rather than posts.   Path Lights  A lighted path guiding your guests to the door creates a welcoming ambience. You can do this by installing path lighting. This is the most common type of outdoor lighting and is used for lightening up driveways, walkways, and paths making up the landscaping of your home.   Other applications of path lights include framing a particular region of the yard, highlighting a foundation or pond, or emphasizing a specific feature in your yard.   Bollard Lights  Bollard lights – the heavy-duty version of path lights – does similar jobs, including illuminating driveways, walkways, and pathways.  They have some decorative elements that make them a popular outdoor lighting option. As these lights are larger compared to path lights, they usually comprise more complex ornamentation and designs.   For illuminating paths, small bollards are the right option, while larger bollards make a suitable choice for framing gateways and entrances.  Spotlight  The most versatile outdoor lighting type is the spotlight. You can use them for highlighting natural features like shrubbery, flowers, trees, or other plants, or for emphasizing man-made features like buildings, sculptures, or architectural elements of other types.   Owing to the powerful illumination offered by spotlights, they also make a good choice for security lighting.     Summing Up  Now that you know these front and backyard landscaping ideas, try them out to take your lawn décor to the next level. These garden landscaping ideas can make your yard a safe and appealing place even after dark. The types of outdoor lighting discussed here would help you choose the lights for your yard.  If you want your yard to stand out, we can help you with our professional Architectural Landscape Lighting Services. All American Turf Beauty is a reputed lawn care company based in Iowa with expertise in landscaping and outdoor lighting installation for homes. If you have a landscaping project in mind, we’ll love to hear about it! Give us a call today!   The post 8 Amazing Landscaping Ideas to Make Your Yard Stand Out appeared first on All American Turf Beauty, Inc..

https://allamericanturfbeauty.wordpress.com/2019/07/22/8-amazing-landscaping-ideas-to-make-your-yard-stand-out-2/

[lokis-mischievous-writer]

HLB Lighting Design light the iconic new Walterdale Bridge connecting the city, nature, and people

The new Walterdale Bridge in Edmonton, Alberta, Canada creates a striking new entrance into the downtown and a unique gathering place in the heart of North America’s largest urban parkland.

The bridge is a gracious, single span, twin through-arch steel structure, spanning 206 m (greater than the length of two football fields) from bank to bank across the North Saskatchewan River in the heart of Edmonton. It carries three lanes of northbound vehicle traffic, a sidewalk to the west of the roadway and a separated footbridge or shared-use path for pedestrians and cyclists to the east. The project also included the realignment of two major roadways to connect to the new river bridge alignment. The result is a signature structure that blends with its natural setting and creates a landmark gateway to the city’s downtown.

The new bridge creates a public space on the river at a pivotal location where the duality of the city and nature are experienced and celebrated. The approaches to the bridge on the north and south banks reinforce the signature quality of the bridge through evocative landform and planting. Though it is a bridge for both cars and pedestrians, the experience of each mode is separate and enjoyable in its own way.

The curved shared use path on the downstream, more pastoral, side of the bridge arcs away from traffic, where pedestrians and cyclists feel closer to nature. The path narrows at its middle and widens as it gets closer to both river banks. The entrances to the shared use path include a wooden boardwalk adding warmth and connection to its river valley setting. Along the west side of the shared use path, a continuous high-back bench softens the prevailing winds and noise from traffic. The pedestrian experience is welcoming and enjoyable. There are places on the bridge and banks to linger and watch the river go by.

For cars, the approach to the bridge is dramatic. As cars approach, there is a wonderful procession down the hill through the river valley’s forest, then a dramatic reveal of the iconic bridge and Edmonton’s downtown skyline. The arches announce that you’re going somewhere special. They draw you in and frame views of the river valley and the downtown.

The bridge is designed to last for at least 100 years and was the most complex infrastructure project ever completed in Edmonton. Not only is it an incredible feat of engineering to design, but the construction process was also challenging as well, requiring close collaboration between designers, builders, and the City of Edmonton.

This is so much more than a transportation project. Seamless integration between engineering, architecture and the public realm is considered at all levels of scale, from the overall global level of the structure and roads down to the pedestrian experience. The people of Edmonton have embraced it as a destination gathering place, a highlight in their daily commute, and a backdrop for meaningful moments like engagements and wedding photos. It has quickly become a signature part of Edmonton’s identity and will continue to define the city for decades to come.

Project Team

City of Edmonton: Client DIALOG: Bridge design and structural engineering team leader, architecture, landscape architecture and electrical design ISL Engineering and Land Services Ltd.: Prime consultant, project management, roadway design COWI North America Ltd.: Bridge design sub-consultant Al-Terra Engineering Ltd.: Roadway design sub-consultant Thurber Engineering Ltd.: Geotechnical and materials testing Spencer Environmental Services: Environmental assessment and permitting Turtle Island Cultural Resource Management: Historical resources impact assessment and aboriginal consultation HLB Lighting Design: Lighting design

https://hlblighting.com

[albinzadamski]

Scenes from Prague & The Emergence of Overtourism

The city of Prague has intrigued me since my brother told me tales of his adventures from when he visited in the late 1990s. One of my most fun friends is also from the Czech Republic so when she asked me to come visit her, I was more than happy to make the trip. I started by spending three days in Brno then we drove together to Prague to explore it for another three days.

  Prague is a beautiful city, but if you really want to appreciate the architectural beauty of the old town, you need to do it in the early morning, because once the cafes begin to fill at 9 a.m. and for the rest of the day (at least when I was there in June) the main squares of Prague are so completely overrun with tourists that I just wanted to escape it, which brings me to some reflections on overtourism, but I’ll share more on that at the end of this post.

One morning I got up early and walked around the main city and squares between 7 and 9 a.m., there were very few people out and about so I felt as if had the streets to myself.

                    Prague is filled with stunning architecture, but the one design element I kept noticing was the constantly changing patterns in the pedestrian sidewalks around the city, all of them made with the same gray and white cobblestones but in varying patterns.

          Despite my aversion for the overcrowded streets of old town by day, I confess Prague at night is really magical. Walking around the city feels like a fairy tale with the old world lanterns lighting up the misty sky and the curving cobblestone paths. The pictures don’t quite capture the inky blue sky that lingered long after the sun set. The color was surreal, it was if you were in a giant movie studio and that deep blue was being projected on a screen above you.

        Prague is known for its nightlife and I could see why! For hours into the evening, the streets were filled with people into the early morning hours since the cafes and clubs are open late into the night.

My traveling companion Ingrid and I found the best underground bar I’ve been to called Black Angels in the Old Town Square. I have no pictures because inside it’s forbidden to be on your phone so instead you order a drink and spend your time talking to the people all around you (imagine that) while you soak in the dimly lit interior filled with traditional Czech crystal chandeliers and gilded framed works of art hung on thick white stone walls. As you soak up the ambiance, you’re entertained by the elegantly dressed and multi-talented bartenders mixing libations while you listen to the live piano player, it’s an enchanting place in the style of the 1930s, like one you’d find during the Prohibition, and a highlight of my visit.

When in Prague I loved looking at all the Czech crystal, you see in everywhere in storefronts and shops. After three days of looking I found one store off the beaten path and inside bought a set of highball glasses.

    I’m always on a quest for the best local dish, so like the three days I spent in Brno, I had my share of goulash and beer! And you’ll find so many vendors for the traditional dessert trdelnik , a sugar coated dough that’s filled with any topping you choose.

    One impressive place we visited was the Vyšehrad Fortress, just outside the old town, it was a great place to escape the massive amounts of tourists crowding the main city streets by day.

        Vyšehrad is situated above the river with beautiful panoramic views of the city, we were lucky to have perfect visibility and blue skies.

    Vyšehrad wins for having the most beautiful church doors.

    A great place to spend an afternoon was down at Naplavka by the river where a series of boats are anchored along the Vltava river serving beer and wine. Notice the special guests that kept us company.

        On my last afternoon we took a walk up to the famous Prague Castle complex – make the hike up the hill and you’ll enjoy the panoramic views of the old city below.

                I have to give a shout out to the doors of Prague, there were so many that made me stop just to admire the details and snap a photo.

      I’m always a sucker for a centuries old door!

    I did love my visit to Prague but truth be told, I was overwhelmed by the amount of travelers in the city. I was there in June and during my stay I noticed an onslaught of tour groups that took over, with tour guides holding sticks up in the air guiding massive crowds of people from place to place. I was only able to enjoy the main parts of the old city in the early morning hours and in the late evening hours because there were just so many tourists during the day. As a result, the old town part of the city was unpleasant by day and if I hadn’t made the effort to see Prague in the early morning hours I would have left with a distaste for this historic place.

The central streets of Prague were so unbearable on our first day that we ducked into a small proprietor’s shop to get away from the crowds. Inside, my traveling companion Ingrid (who is a citizen of the Czech Republic) started a long conversation about what has happened to the city in the last decade. Tourism has robbed the once authentic streets of their cultural charm. Now they are filled with global brand stores and souvenir shops, many selling Czech Republic memorabilia manufactured in China.

What is overtourism? It’s when a place becomes so popular to tourists that its businesses and infrastructure can no longer handle the influx of travelers that takeover the streets, hotels, and cafes, making the destination unpleasant due to the excessive amounts of people visiting. It’s happening in Santorini, it’s happening in Machu Picchu, it’s happening in Barcelona, in countless other places, and it was present in Prague.

What is the reason for overtourism? Mostly it’s because travel has become cheaper. I admit I’m the first to take advantage of a great flight deal. I’m an advocate for budget travel, and most often I rent from Airbnb for reasons I’ve written about.

I’m thinking about overtourism more carefully as I plan future trips. I always want to avoid the sea of sameness that I found traveling in Europe and renting apartments in both Bergen, Norway and in Prague. I much prefer the rent a room method I tried in Seattle or the personal spaces I’ve rented in Austin and Brussels and Oslo where it’s clear from the host’s profile and the way the property is decorated that the space is curated with personal items, rented to supplement income, and is not a place owned by a corporation or property hoarder constantly turning over their dozens of lofts decorated cheaply in all IKEA products for easy profits.

Countries are fighting back against overtourism and local governments are taking action and getting creative in their efforts to control tourism. This article by Nomadic Matt proposing solutions to overtourism directly addresses the issue in an insightful way.

Travel in the off season, support businesses run by locals outside the touristy areas, and show respect to the local culture. Don’t make your trip about the Instagram moments, but rather about the experience of exploring a new place and immersing yourself into a culture for the education it brings.

Have you witnessed overtourism in any of your recent travels?

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from Home Decor Collection https://centsationalstyle.com/2018/09/scenes-from-prague-the-emergence-of-overtourism/