#not sure what all the languages on the signage are

[dredgen-dumbass]

hey. lore ppl. tell me abt the state of languages after the collapse. there's no way humanity almost died and we all came back speaking english. worldbuilding is cool gimme

[rahuratna]

Thirst Trap

Genre: Fluff, humour, crack.

Characters: Nanami, Yuuji, Ino.

Summary: Ino and Yuuji unwittingly make Nanami IG-famous through a social media post. As the internet's thirst ramps up, Nanami remedies the situation by roping in the two young sorcerers once again.

CW: language.

"Now that's what I call ... "

"A good run!"

"Oh, hell yeah. You're not half bad, Itadori! Just stick close to me, and you'll learn plenty more!"

A warehouse stained with the remnants of dispatched cursed spirits, clothes rumpled and stained with the evidence of hard work and a new student brimming with the desire to prove himself. Now this was Ino's definition of a day well spent. The last, and most proudly worn feather in his cap was the fact that their successful team-up had been overseen by none other than Nanami Kento himself, the man who breathed inspiration into all of his endeavours as a sorcerer.

Speaking of which ...

"Hey, Nanami, what did you think of our work today?"

Striding along at a steady pace behind the two youngsters, the tall, ever-composed sorcerer looked up and adjusted his glasses.

"Hmm. You're both well-coordinated, considering that you've never been teamed up before. You've got good instinctual prediction of each other's movements and I'm quite certain that you may come up with even more effective techniques if you work together in the future."

Ino nudged Yuuji and mouthed the words "Here it comes."

"Having said that, Itadori, some points to consider."

The cheerful boy glanced back at Nanami and gulped.

"Err, yes, Nanamin?"

"Your instincts are important, but you can't always rely on them. Instincts are based on your physical senses and your ability to analyse cursed energy. It takes a great deal of focus to maintain a good hold on both these threads. If a curse user is able to fool your senses, then such instincts can be your downfall rather than your strength."

Yuuji mulled those words over, humming to himself. Ino clapped him on the back.

"You listen to Nanami and you won't go wr- "

"Funny you should say that, Ino. Because I'm pretty sure I taught you to practice caution at all times instead of throwing yourself head-first into a situation because your underclassman is watching you."

Ino winced and rubbed the back of his head, laughing sheepishly.

"Okay, okay. I admit it. Got a bit carried away 'cos Itadori was watching me. Won't happen again."

Nanami grunted in reply and the two younger sorcerers glanced at each other and grinned slightly. Yuuji's stomach chose that moment to rumble loudly in protest of its emptiness.

"Whoa, whoa. Can't have that. Hey, Nanami, what do you say we grab something to eat?"

"I suppose that would be acceptable. What do you propose?"

Ino turned excitedly to Yuuji.

"Since you're the newbie here, you get to choose! Only for today, though!"

"Seriously? Cool! I wanna eat ... hot pot on a day like this. That warehouse was kinda chilly."

Nanami nodded before consulting his phone.

"There's a good place not far from here. Let's go."

The place Nanami chose was somewhat off the beaten track. They left the main thoroughfare at some point, wandering through a maze of backstreets, food sizzling on outdoor grills, murky puddles and cosily lit bars. The restaurant they ended up at had no proper signage announcing the name of the establishment or any indication of their menu.

The food was, of course, incredible. Yuuji's eyes positively glowed with excitement as the steaming hot pot was laid out before them, the perfectly prepared ingredients on the side.

"Ooh, this is amazing! Nanamin, how'd you find this place?"

"I often come across good places to eat when I'm on missions in the area."

Ino shook his head fondly.

"Oi, Itadori, Nanami here is a massive foodie, you know that? You name any part of Tokyo and he'll tell you the best places to eat there. He even knows regional specialties in other areas that are pretty out there!"

Yuuji was now regarding his mentor with new reverence. Nanami coughed and re-directed their attention to the food.

"This is going to get cold. Shall we begin?"

"Oh! Hold on. Gotta record some of this."

Ino pulled out his phone, getting a few snaps and videos of the steaming hot pot from various angles. Now accustomed to his junior's need to record everything, Nanami sighed and began to add ingredients to the steaming soup base, softly reprimanding Yuuji who didn't want too many vegetables.

"It's winter and these are good for you. Make sure to eat the cabbage. It has roughage and the shungiku and carrots have a lot of vitamins. They also reduce inflammation of the muscles after a long day."

While the pot bubbled merrily, Nanami prepped their sauces in small porcelain dishes, mixing a little grated radish into the ponzu and adding some green onion to the sesame. He added ingredients to the main pot in a methodical sequence, placing the thicker parts of the vegetables first, followed by the assortment of mushrooms and the tofu.

Lastly, with Yuuji's mouth now practically watering, he handed over the thinly sliced beef for them to take, each dipping their portion for a few seconds until cooked, his deep murmur guiding them on correct timing. Ino had now set his phone aside and was just as hungry, digging in with relish.

When the meal was over, two stuffed and slightly drowsy youngsters followed Nanami out of the restaurant, the warmth of the food in their system buffering against the cold wind that caught at their clothes.

By the time Yuuji had been dropped back at Jujutsu Tech, he was ready to hit the bath and sleep for a solid ten hours. Loping towards the student dorms, he briefly checked his phone, shooting a quick text at Megumi.

Back from my mission. All good.

The reply came within seconds.

Did I ask?

I met Takuma!

Oh. He's cool.

Very cool. We had supper at a hot pot place.

With Nanami?

Yup. Apparently he's big on food.

I'm going to sleep now.

Check this out. Takuma sent it to me. He kinda forgot he was recording after a while.

Attachment: 1.

Shit, you're making me hungry dumbass.

Lol. Looks good, huh?

Yeah, whatever. Post it on your IG or something.

Humming thoughtfully, Yuuji entered his room and began gathering together some of his bath supplies. He paused at the foot of his bed, head bobbing to some unheard lyrics, fingers tapping against the phone screen that lit up his face in the darkened room.

After a few moments, he dropped the phone face down on his bed, exiting the room with a yawn, the basket of toiletries tucked under one arm. He promptly forgot about his casual IG post, right up until the next morning when he roused from sleep, eyes still slightly gummed together, fingers fumbling until they unlocked the screen so he could check the time ... and he shot upright in confused alarm, spying the flood of notifications that had come in overnight.

Now it has to be said, at this point, that being the easy-going, friendly type, Yuuji had made a lot of connections with others over time. Whether during his years at middle school, his sporting club days, or more recently, his time out and about in Tokyo on various missions, he'd managed to accrue a fair following on social media. While many of those who friended him and sent him the occasional inbox wouldn't be considered close to him by any means, his posts were often noticed and popular amongst them. Such was the nature of his personality.

And so, the video of Nanami with the hot pot, normally something that would fly under the radar if posted by anyone else, became an overnight sensation simply because it reached a much wider audience.

And what was the appeal of such a simple video, you may ask?

Imagine, if you will, a short video with simple tags, such as 'shabu shabu heaven', 'sooo good', 'too many veggies' and 'still so yummy, tho'.

Upon idly playing the clip (because it's a cold evening, and you might be craving some shabu shabu yourself) you're met with quite the sight.

First, a pair of hands come into view. Large, elegant digits, broad palms, perfect and neatly trimmed nails. The strong fingers handle the chopsticks with deft precision, stirring the steaming broth in the pot briefly.

Well now. Those hands would definitely be intriguing enough, but the effect is magnified as you witness the camera shift angle a little. The view pans up to the arms and body those hands are attached to, the subtle ripple of muscle in the broad shoulders that taper down to a slim waist, all wrapped in an expensive looking blue shirt, visible over the polished wood of the table. The man's face isn't visible, adding an element of mystery.

He begins adding vegetables to the pot, and now he really has your attention, because he has begun speaking.

And oh my. That voice.

The soft, smoky suggestion of reprimand as he softly lists the benefits of the food, the crisp enunciation of a man well-spoken, the low baritone that flows with marvellous richness across the riverbed of acoustic static from the bubbling of the pot.

You're captivated now, bringing your phone closer to your ear as you strain to hear more of those quiet, compelling, slightly authoritative tones. And then, the crowning moment of glory, the little gesture that takes this video from a solid nine to an eleven out of ten.

He rolls up his sleeves.

Setting down the chopsticks, those exquisite fingers unbutton the cuffs of his shirt with a practiced motion, rolling up the perfectly pressed fabric and folding it neatly just beneath the elbow on each side. The motion reveals perfectly sculpted forearms, the powerful flex of sinew beneath skin, veins tracing beneath the surface under the dusting of golden hair in the lamplight of the restaurant.

He continues his muted litany of instructions to whoever he is talking to, but at this point, the man could be reciting the Encyclopaedia Britannica entry on tortoises, on repeat, and you'd lap it up like the thirsty little tart you are ...

Ahem. Where was I?

Right. The video, which at that moment, was being watched by you (the imagined viewer) and Reiko from the sales department, and Haruka who you had lunch with just the other day, and Sara who loves to look up cooking videos on a Sunday afternoon, and Sukuna, who sometimes watched videos from inside Yuuji's mind with mild interest, and who momentarily thought "What a fine voice for a mortal worm", and ... you get the idea, don't you?

Ino received a panicked call from Yuuji that same morning. He'd been puttering about in his small apartment, popping some slices of bread into the toaster and frying up an egg for a quick breakfast, when the call had come through.

"Uh, Takuma-senpai? Hi, it's me, Itadori."

"Oh, hey! What's up? Did they team us up again? Sheesh. Didn't take 'em long."

"No, it's ... not a mission. It's about that video you sent me yesterday. The one from the restaurant."

"Hmm ... oh that one! Yeah?"

"See ... uhhh ... oh damn. How do I - So, look. I posted it on my IG."

"Oh, okay. And then?"

"So ... it kind of ... became popular?"

"People like hot pot that much?" Ino chuckled. "But I mean, what's the problem?"

"It's not the hot pot, Takuma-senpai! It's Nanamin!"

Having finally come to the crux of the issue, Yuuji's words were leaving him in a veritable torrent.

"They all saw him in the video and I didn't know! How was I to know? I didn't think they'd... and now there're all these ladies and girls and stuff and they're all ... it's a mess! And I don't know what to do and he's gonna kill me and - "

"Whoa, whoa, slow down, man. I can't make sense of what you're saying. One thing at a time."

"They think he's hot! They're all talking about Hot Pot Honey Muffin! That's what they're calling him!"

Ino promptly spat out his coffee in a fine brown mist.

"Hot Pot Honey what now?"

"Honey Muffin! I can't - Dude. Please, you've got to help me. If Nanamin finds out - "

"Okay. Okay. This is fine. This is ... Listen. Let me go check the video and the comments and we'll handle this. It can't be that bad. And even if that's the case, Nanami wouldn't be bothered by it. His face is not even in the video. Nobody can recognise him. He doesn't even go out that much."

"Oh God, I'm just ... okay. Go check it out. I'll send you a link to the post. Let me know."

After Yuuji had rung off, Ino took a breath and shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. It was just a harmless little video! He'd posted some of these before himself, and there'd never been an issue. So how bad could it be?

It was bad.

The comment section was ... interesting to say the least.

Who is that man? Anyone?

I'd let him stir my pot. Just saying.

That voice. Hnmnnghhh. Smack me on the wrist and call me nawty.

Daddy? Sorry. Daddy? Sorry -

Sir. One chance. Please sir.

Awjejdbavzbzbahsb pls ur bunny hash been a bad bad gurl

Unf, bouta make that ahegoa face rite now

And, rising above the cloud of steaming, churning, thirsty commentary, that rare peak of social media strata, the dreaded moniker that had found its place from the comment of one of the many new fans that Nanami had found for himself, Hot Pot Honey Muffin.

Ino, in spite of the chill that went up his spine and the momentary panic, knew what had to be done immediately. They had to show Nanami. Keeping something like this a secret would only make things worse with time.

True, Nanami wasn't the kind of man who drew attention to himself, but with the video now as popular as it was, it was entirely possible that someone in a shop, restaurant or one of his other frequent haunts in the local area might just recognise him. He would have to be warned, and even though Yuuji had long since taken the video down, it had been re-posted and there needed to be some kind of technical damage control.

Wracking his brain, Ino hit upon a great idea. Ijichi was known to have connections who could scour the internet for traces of curse activity that might be caught on camera and erase such evidence. Surely something similar could be done about this? If he phrased his request as something urgent, something that could affect Nanami's ability to do his job, then surely they'd take it into account?

With this new burst of inspiration, Ino threw on his jacket and headed out the door to Jujutsu Tech.

"And so ... yeah. That's ... how the matter stands. We're worried about someone recognising you because of how popular this became."

This was worse than he thought. Admitting to a mistake was always difficult when it was Nanami who was hearing you out. Standing in front of him in the staff lounge like two contrite five-year-olds caught with their hands in the cookie jar, Ino battled the instinct to hide behind Yuuji.

He was the older one here, and the one who had recorded the video in the first place. He had to bear the full responsibility for what had happened and be man enough to tell Nanami. How else would he earn his (eventual) respect and admiration?

The sorcerer seated before them heard them out in terrifyingly passive silence before sighing and removing his shades, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Just when I think nothing can surprise me any more ... "

"I'm so sorry, Nanamin!" Yuuji blurted out. "I ... I didn't know ... I mean ... "

"Well, what's done is done. May I see this video, if you please?"

Ino nudged Yuuji  who stepped forward and handed his phone over reluctantly. Their discomfort grew as Nanami watched, a slightly puzzled expression on his face. The video ended and he looked up at them, frowning.

"All right. I can see why you didn't think anything of posting this, Itadori. The video itself is ... ordinary enough. It's simply showing a portion of me and the hot pot. So, why the attention?"

"Uhh ... "

The younger sorcerers glanced at each other. Ino cleared his throat.

"Well ... see, the thing is ... in the video, you kinda come across as ... I dunno ... kinda hot? At least, that's what the viewers seem to think."

"Me?"

Nanami looked incredulous and Yuuji gestured meekly to the phone.

"Just ... read the comments, Nanamin. I took the video down, but people re-posted it, so ... You'll see."

And Nanami began to read. Ino winced as he remembered the top comment, the one that would probably be first on the long list.

Roses are red, violets are blue, Your voice gets me wet Just like shabu shabu

Nanami's eyebrows were rising as steadily as the steam that emanated from the tea pot at his elbow, long forgotten. He eventually handed the phone back to Yuuji, clearing his throat.

"Well."

"Yeah."

"So ... "

"Hmmm."

"Right?"

"Yes."

Yuuji waved his hands desperately.

"But ... we're gonna handle this, right Takuma-senpai?"

"Oh yeah, definitely. I was thinking, you see. Ijichi might be able to use his network to find and remove the content from all media platforms. He's been able to do it before. I can make a request."

Nanami folded his arms and thought for a moment.

"I see. Yes, that would be possible. However, I'm against the idea of using Jujutsu Tech resources and manpower for a request such as this. That same time and processing power could be poured into much more vital concerns. Who knows how many lives could be placed at stake while we use the tools we have for something like this? No. I think another solution must be found."

Ino's shoulders sank under the weight of the knowledge that Nanami was right, as usual. But that left few avenues for removing the video. How else would they prevent this from blowing up further?

"I get it. What you're saying makes sense. What are we gonna do, though?"

"Ah. About that." Nanami lifted a prim finger. "I have an idea."

Yuuji stared at him, dumbfounded.

"You do?"

"Yes. But we will require some help. And some ... expertise on putting together a video."

It was then that Ino felt an even greater chill settle into his very bones as he witnessed something truly rare and unprecedented, something that did not bode well for him and Yuuji at all.

Nanami smiled.

It was Nobara's skill with outfits and make-up, and Inumaki's talent for setting up a scene, that had led to their current predicament. Yuuji's hair had been dyed black, his eyebrows darkened. Nobara's contouring prowess had rendered his face rounder and younger-looking, eyes magnified behind very large, thick lenses. He wore a red t-shirt with a skimpily dressed anime girl printed on it and an oversized purple jacket that disguised his lean, athletic form.

Ino had also undergone a drastic transformation. His dark hair had been shaved at the sides, the top styled into extreme spikes, tinted acid green at the ends. He had been provided with a fake eyebrow piercing and an artfully applied temporary tattoo that curved up the side of his neck, appallingly visible by the standards of society.

They sat at one of the countertops in the student dorms, the background serving as an adequate stand-in for a kitchen in someone's home. Nanami was standing opposite them, wearing his usual blue shirt and tan trousers, his sleeves remaining unfolded this time around.

Inumaki gave one final check to the camera before giving them a thumbs up.

"Salmon roe."

And the recording began.

On the counter, various dishes had been set up, all prepared in advance. They looked delicious, but you wouldn't think so, judging from the expressions of the two young men seated in plain view.

Ino grunted irritably, giving the camera a thousand-yard stare that looked very incongruous on his normally cheery face.

"Do we have to do this shit?"

Yuuji stared gormlessly into space, before laughing obnoxiously and picking his nose.

"Yeah, cos Dad said if we did we could go to that one restaurant where the waitress looked like Hatsune Kiku."

Ino's scowl deepened.

"Tch. Typical. Shit for brains here is on about that dumbass idol again."

"Now, now, boys." Nanami's voice came from across the counter, deep, polished, and a huge contrast to the two choice morsels of hellspawn sitting opposite him.

"Eat your dinner. If you're both good, we'll go to that show next week."

Yuuji's face brightened immediately.

"You mean the one where they dress up in bikinis and wrestle in the mud?"

"No, not that one."

Ino smirked.

"Ha. In your face, rat-breath."

"Be nice to your brother."

"Whatever. What are you feeding us now, old man?"

"I made katsudon. And some vegetables on the side."

"But I wanna eat omurice," Yuuji whined, thumping his fists on the table.

Nanami chuckled. "Ah, you remind me so much of myself at your age, son."

Ino rolled his eyes before tugging a steaming bowl towards himself.

"Seriously? You were this much of a loser?"

"I meant that I liked omurice too."

"Daaaaddd, please can we have omurice."

"Eat what's in front of you. Come on."

Ino stuck his chopsticks into the bowl, churning the beautifully prepared meal into an unappetizing mush.

"Huh. It tastes okay. Now give me a nice hot barbecue and I'd be really stuck in, ya know?"

"Oh, Hatsune Kiku likes barbecue, but she says, in her interview with Doki Doki magazine, Issue five hundred and three, that she can't eat too much of it, 'cos it gives her gas and - "

"Can you shut the hell up about that green haired freak for like, two seconds?"

"Kiku is not a freak!"

"Are you two eating?"

This earned a blessed silence for a few seconds, while the two 'sons' masticated in a manner that was singularly unappealing. When they were done, Nanami produced two bowls of caramel pudding and slid them across the counter, allowing his hands and arms in their blue sleeves to be briefly caught on camera.

"Well, here's dessert."

"Oohhh, pudding." Yuuji grabbed the bowl and moved it around slightly, watching the pudding jiggle. "Hehehehe. It bounces just like Kiku's - "

"Oh, for fuck's sake, you creepy - "

"Language, boys."

"Urgh. I hope I'm getting paid for this. Hanging out with this loser is taking years off my life."

"He's your brother. You two have to look after each other when I'm gone."

"Like fuck I will. He's gonna become a NEET however you see it."

"Then it's up to you to set a good example for him."

"Ha. Me? The second you're in the ground, I'm gonna take the money and buy myself that sweet, sweet little Kawasaki Ninja, then I'm gonna hit the road."

"You'll see things differently with time. Look at me. I was the splitting image of you back then. I settled down nicely."

"Ugh, whatever. I ain't gonna settle down. Now where's my cash?"

"Finish your pudding first, son."

The video, released from a burner account set up by Inumaki, spread as quickly as the first one had. In the days that followed, gossip spread in social media circles about 'Hot Pot Honey Muffin' and his two god-awful sons. The rhetoric around him changed drastically. It turned out that having children, like the boys played so charmingly by Ino and Yuuji, was a huge turn-off to most people.

The two young sorcerers certainly served their time when it came to punishment. It took ages for the tint to grow out of Yuuji's hair and he cringed every time he saw Hatsune Kiku on TV. Ino developed a very strong aversion to bikes for a while and found it hard to stomach pudding. They both decided to deactivate their IG accounts for a while.

Nanami read some of the new video's comments shown to him by Inumaki with some satisfaction.

Can you believe those are his kids?

How the heck is he raising them?

And the younger one. EWWWWWWW.

The older one looks like he microwaves pigeons for fun.

Roses are dead, Violets are a lie, I saw your children, And my pussy is dry.

Nanami adjusted his shades before looking up at Inumaki and nodding gravely.

Success.

[yoongihan]

Happenstance - SCB - OneShot

pairing: 3rachaChangbin x femcharacter

genre: travel au, fluff, smut, little angst, strangers to lovers,

romantic trope: love at first sight (inspiration from this reel)

word count: ~18k

rating: M

warnings: mc invites strangers to dinner amongst other things (DO NOT RECOMMEND), kissing, penetrative sex, ridiculous amount of haggis discussion, food and drink, some language, changbin with fluffy hair, dressed in hoodies. honestly, i don't think there's too much concerning in this one, apologies if I've missed something.

a/n: fic #4 in skz as romantic tropes collab with @jl-micasea-fics. in case you read my answers to asks, this is the first story i started that i didn't finish until yesterday (I apologize for every single mistake that i probably missed). which means, this took me over seven months. i have no idea why something as 'simple' as love at first sight required me to write nearly 18000 words!! anyway, um, hope you like it.

--------

You don’t really mind being alone. It’s a lot easier to just pack up your stuff, yourself and go on your adventures when you don’t have to consider another person and their preferences.

It gets lonely, but it works for you.

At the train station with your backpack and one rolling suitcase, waiting for your train in London at Kings Cross station that will take you to Edinburgh. It’s a long journey, over eleven hours, but you saved up and for the very first time, got yourself a sleeper cabin. There weren’t any singles available, as the classic cabin comes with twin bunk beds, but you figure the extra space can’t hurt. 

Who’d go with you anyway?

You bounce on the balls of your feet, waiting for the train. This experience is less about the scenery as it’s mostly at night, but the getting to sleep in a bed (the sleeper seats aren’t horrible, but they aren’t exactly great if you really want a good night’s rest) on a train is something you haven’t gotten to do yet. 

You like Scotland and you haven’t been since you started this work. Inverness sits at the top of Loch Ness, and there are so many picturesque places to visit once you’re there. Then you’ll take the train back, but during the day, so you get to see what you couldn’t on the overnight train. 

You have one earbud in, listening to a soft playlist you made mostly full of Sufjan Stevens, Fleet Foxes, and Band of Horses. Only one earbud as you need to make sure you hear any important announcements and you also really enjoy eavesdropping, especially when everyone has a much more interesting accent than you. You’re glancing back at the announcement board as though something might have changed in the last minute (it would just be the worst luck if it got canceled…what would you do in London…go to a museum or something?). 

The train is arriving and you just want to dance around like a fool. No one should be this excited to sleep on a train, but you are. As you queue behind a few others, you glance down the track, taking in the people who will presumably be sleeping near you. It seems like a diverse group, some people dressed nicer than you, as though they are having a work meeting on the train (with computer and phone cameras…maybe they are), some look like they might already have on their pyjamas. There are heads of grey and white, long plaits of blonde and red, fluffy short black hair. 

All types. 

You board and glance at the signage, looking for the arrows to connect you to cabin 25. Slipping past a family of three who are speaking in what sounds like German to your unknowledgeable ear, you glance at the descending numbers. 

There’s a small scanner on the door (how far tech has come), and you scan your phone over it, the QR code for your ticket allowing you access. As you open the door, you look down at the male voices coming from the other end of the carriage. 

There are three of them. 

In your travels, you see a lot of people, but unless it’s a commuter-type train during work or drinking hours, you don’t run into men of a certain age, and certainly not on an overnighter covering the length of England. 

Certain age being mostly like twenties, mid-twenties if you had to guess. And though you’ve definitely seen a good-looking man a time or two, it’s rare to see them en masse like this. One is carrying two duffle bags, his hair a wavy platinum blonde. He is attempting to pull out his phone and scan like you just had. The second one is whining about the first one taking too long. It’s not really complaining, because he wears a smile in between the pouts. In fact, when he glances over the third’s head, he sees you and smiles brilliantly. 

You smile back, embarrassed at being caught staring, but if you blushed every time you did something socially forward, you would be a permanent tomato. 

The door finally opens for them and that’s when the third one turns around, presumably because he noticed the second one looking at you. He’s the shortest, and even before he turns, you notice that he’s very broad from the back, despite the guitar case blocking your view. 

When his eyes meet yours, your brain definitely tucks away the recognition that he’s wearing black-framed glasses, eyes a warm brown, black hair curly and fluffy, completely dressed in a black t-shirt, black joggers, and black sneakers (a motif one might say). You see all of that, but it doesn’t really connect.

Because something happens. 

No lightning from the sky, or voice, or whatever occurs when something big changes. You’re just oddly aware that your heart is beating at a rate that only occurs when you're winded, that your anticipation has gotten more like anxiety, and you would very much like to ask his name. 

So you disappear into your cabin, not sure of anything anymore. 

“It said four.”

“Well, there’s two, Chan.”

“But it said four.”

You sit on the bottom bunk, watching the fading sunlight out the window, your heart rate seeming to slow down. The fact that you can hear your neighbors’ conversation doesn’t bode well for your sleeping tonight. 

But you always pack earplugs. 

“Must be a mix-up. Find a…what do they call them?”

“Station agent?”

“Porter?”

“Train guy?”

You cover your mouth so you don’t laugh too loudly at the final suggestion. You stand up and start to unpack your few things; pajamas, toiletries, two books, and journal. You can hear one of them opening the door and calling down the corridor. 

“Yes sir.” It’s a few minutes (you’ve actually journaled a whole page by this point) when there’s footsteps and a response. 

“I booked for three people, for one of the cabins with two sets of bunk beds.”

“Ah yes…” There’s a clearing of one throat. “We only have a small amount of those, and unfortunately the original train set for this journey had to be changed at last minute. Mechanical issues. You were refunded.”

“That’s not very helpful as I still have only two beds and three people.”

Another clearing of the throat. 

“Yes, well, the train is fully booked. I can supply another set of sheets and pillows.”

“You’re saying our only option is one of us to sleep on the floor?”

“I am very sorry, sir.”

There’s a couple of very very deep sighs. 

“Thank you anyway.”

The ‘train guy’ must leave because you hear furtive discussion; with foreign words you aren’t sure about, but it seems like ‘rock, paper, scissors’ has the same rhythm no matter the language.  

You are on the top bunk, eyes moving from your book to your door. 

It’s dumb, even for you, but you feel like you have to. You have decent intuition about people, at least on a level if they are dangerous or not. And none of your neighbors set off your warning bells or mental red flags. 

So you jump down and open your cabin door, leaving it open in case you need to run back in and like, hide due to extreme embarrassment. 

One deep breath and you knock on their door.

It opens and the blonde stands there, you can see the other two behind him. 

“Hey neighbor,” the blonde greets you with a weary smile, but a smile nonetheless. It makes you grin more easily.

“Hi,” you introduce yourself. “Sorry to eavesdrop, but I heard…” You wave with your hand at the beds in their room. “I have an extra bed.”

All three of them sort of freeze at your words. You don’t blame them. You are an unaccompanied female on a trip, talking to three men you don’t know. Offering a place to sleep to a stranger. 

“You…aren’t serious?” The one who had been whining earlier spoke up first. 

“I think she is,” the third one…the one you actually can’t look at closely right now (though his voice is enough to set your heart rate back up to jumpy). 

“I am.” You shrug. “I know it’s weird. I don’t know you guys. But there’s dinner in the dining car in like an hour. We could have dinner? Chat? Make sure none of us is a serial killer?” 

Are you asking three men out? 

“One of you needs a bed. I have one. It’s not a big deal.”

“It is a big deal,” says the blonde. “But…” He looks at his friends (you assume, maybe they’re all together which makes your proposal of dinner even more awkward), “We do need a bed.” He looks back at you. “I’m Chan. We’ll have dinner, and no hard feelings if you decide to take it back.”

His smile is warm and you would swear in a court of law that this man is one of the safest humans on the planet. 

“Deal.”

“Jisung,” He points to the one that had smiled at you so brilliantly. He grins again, but it’s shy. 

“Changbin.”

Oh. 

So you meet his eyes again for a second time, hoping you’re prepared. 

It’s still there, maybe less surprising because you are expecting it. You know his name now. You know that he still hasn’t smiled at you (which feels tragic somehow), but doesn’t look angry or disgusted by you (a triumph to be sure).

He seems perplexed, which you can’t blame him for. Your offer is certainly perplexing.

“Nice to meet you,” you stutter a little, but deliver your name without too much embarrassment. “So, I’ll see you in an hour?”

There are verbal affirmations and some nodding and you hurry back, wondering if you can even focus on anything other than the fact that you might be sleeping with in the same cabin with one of them later. 

–

You question yourself as you walk to the dining car (you did your makeup and now you think you’re a little silly), wondering if they’ll even show. Like how damn strange are you to offer a bed to three men you do not know? They probably don’t even want to be near you now.

There’s a host at the front of the carriage and you give him your cabin number. 

“I’m waiting on someone…s.” And your ability to speak has been hijacked by your nerves. You’ve spent the last hour in your cabin, earbuds in so you don’t eavesdrop on anything you might hear from next door (not that they only speak in English, but still. It feels invasive). Your mind has tumbled over itself trying to understand what you had done, had said, and the eeriness of how the third man affects you.

Changbin. 

He isn’t your type, as pointless as you think having a type even is. You’ve never found impressive muscles all that impressive.

But...

“Someones? How many?” The host asks you and you feel weirdly interrogated by him, like maybe he doesn’t believe anyone would be sitting with you. That you’d lie about something like that. For what? A table to yourself?

“Um, I think, three.” Confidence would probably be a handy thing right now. 

“Three?”

You open your mouth to reiterate the number of guests when you feel a presence behind you. And you know, even though this is the closest he’s ever been that it’s him. 

“Three,” he states, voice scratchy. You feel his gaze on you. “The other two are coming.”

You swallow and look over. 

But…he is really attractive. 

He’s wearing trousers and a button-down. The dining car does encourage more formal dress and you’ve even slipped on a skirt and nice top for it. His hair is still fluffy and he still wears the glasses, which makes him look way more scholarly than he had just an hour ago. 

“Hi.”

He hasn’t given you much to go on if he feels the same strangeness when you meet eyes or even if he is aware of you beyond that you exist. But there’s a lift at the corner of his lips, a hint of a smirk or smile and it’s devastating. 

“Hey,” he replies, still with that half-grin. “You look nice.”

Oh god, he complimented you?!

“Um, thanks.” You try and pretend that your brain can engage quicker than it is currently. “You do too.” You gesture vaguely. “I like the glasses.”

You do not know this man and yet when the half-grin grows into a full grin, maybe a touch bashful, it feels very familiar and comforting. Like you’ve never seen him smile before and it’s beautiful, but also, that’s exactly how you feel he should smile.

What the fuck is going on right now?

“Jisung can’t tie a tie to save his life, so Chan’s doing it for him,” he explains before looking at the host. “Can we sit or do we have to wait until they get here?”

“We prefer the parties to be all present when–”

“Sure thing.” Changbin makes eye contact with you again and you know that he’s amused at the level of formality the host is emanating. “We’ll be here.” He gestures for you to move over to the side so the next people waiting can move up. He follows and leans against the carriage wall next to you. 

He’s not uncomfortably close by any means, but there’s not ample amounts of space in trains, so he’s close.

He smells good.

“So, what brings you and um, your friends to Scotland?” you begin, willing confidence into your voice and posture. He’s watching the entrance to the dining car but glances at you, the mirthful turn of his lips coming back. 

“Ah, well, inspiration.”

You straighten up. You don’t know what you expected, but that wasn’t it. 

“Really? For what?”

He regards you for another second or two, like he’s seeing if you’re really interested, or if you can be trusted. 

“What’s your guess?”

Way to put you on the spot.

“Damn, that’s unfair.”

He chuckles, crossing his arms over his chest (ARMS). “Yeah, how so?”

“Anything I say will be based on stereotypes. Like I met you an hour ago.”

“Still invited one of us to bed.”

His voice drops with those words and you wonder if he can see the shiver that goes through you (you try and not visibly react, but holy fuck). 

“Yes, well, no red flags.”

His eyebrows raise. “Really?”

You shrug. “Yeah. Unless my detection skills for serial killers are rusty.”

The half-grin again. “Hmm. How do you know your skills are even competent?” His eyes widened. “Have you met a serial killer?”

You laugh because he seems to legitimately think you might have. And there’s something really refreshing about the fact that he has no idea what field you’re in. Maybe you have.

“You first.”

He eyes you with concession. “Musicians. You?”

“Musicians? Really?” 

“No…” he points at you. “You have to say what you do.”

“No I don’t.”

That’s when his friends arrive, with you and a man you don’t know staring at each other in a mock-battle of wits.

“Interrupting something?” Chan says, nearly laughing.

“She…” Changbin starts then his shoulders drop. “I don’t even know.” He glares at you with no malice before going back to the host. 

“Hi again,” you greet them both. Also dressed in somewhat formal attire, Chan and Jisung are as handsome as the man you are thrown by. 

“Hi,” Chan replies and behind him Jisung waves in tiny . 

All of you are ushered to your table. You sit next to the carriage window even though it’s nearly too dark to see outside. There’s a moment of awkwardness as the three of them seem to nonverbally communicate as to where to sit. 

Changbin sits next to you. HIs arm brushes yours as he gets situated and it happens again: the heartbeat, the anticipation, but it’s mellower, more familiar. 

A server comes to the table and the next few minutes are spent in ordering food and drink. You all decide to get a bottle of wine to share.

“So, Changbin says your musicians?” you begin before taking a sip of the merlot, swishing it around in your mouth as though that would tell you something. You’ve done a wine tour or five, and you kinda get it, but you don’t really. It’s just wine. 

You can see both Jisung and Chan look at Changbin in surprise. 

“Oh, he did?” Chan asks, something underlying the innocuous remark. Teasing of some kind; as guys often do. “Yeah.”

“I saw a guitar.” They all look at you and you flush a bit. “I mean, when I saw you guys coming down the hall. There was a guitar case.”

“Observant.” You can just tell Changbin is paying attention. If only to figure out what you do.

“A bit.”

“Musicians…” Chan begins. “Is a little misleading. We can all play, but…” He takes a sip of wine. “We don’t play, like, one of us on drums, a bass, and an electric guitar.” 

“So, non-traditional.” You rest your chin in your hand. 

“We rap,” Jisung says, twisting his wine glass by the stem. “Me and Bin mostly, Chan does the beats, mixes.”

“Ohhhh.” You straighten up. “Okay, that’s awesome…so, do you have a gig in Edinburgh?”

“No, just to write,” Chan sighs. “We’ve been a little stuck lately and yeah.” He looks so despondent about it, so you pat his hand before taking another sip of your wine. He smiles at you like the physical comfort is normal.

“We have a deadline for a full album and we’re way behind,” Changbin explains further and you look over at him. 

“You all are represented and everything? That’s amazing.”

He waves it away as the other two verbally dismiss such an accomplishment. “What about you? What do you do?”

You grin at Changbin’s apparent annoyance that you’ve kept it from him for this long. The corner of his lips lifts in an almost smirk.

Fuck, it’s attractive. 

“Um. Content creator.”

There’s a collection of laughs from them.

“So are we,” Changbin says, leaning a bit closer. “Wanna be more specific?” 

You know you don’t have a great poker face, so when he gets that close, you’re sure all three of them can see that you’re affected. Your face heats, and your breath catches just for a split second.

When have you ever been this partial to a stranger before?

“Travel. Writer, vlogger,” you answer with a lift of your shoulders. He leans back and it’s like you can breathe easier. “I’ve never done a sleeper train before, so here I am.”

There’s a moment where they are all quiet, looking at you with various expressions of incredulity.

“You get paid to travel?”

You laugh at Jisung’s question. “Kinda? I mean, I go and make the content before I’m paid, hoping that someone will want it…monetize it, etc.” It’s always an interesting thing, to see what people think when you explain how you make a living. Some think you must be famous (not even close), or full of shit (maybe you are, but not about work), or some place along that spectrum. 

“That’s amazing,” Changbin speaks next, his tone more thoughtful than sarcastic or derogatory. 

“I’m jealous. I’m so freakin jealous,” Jisung pouts and then sips his wine. “Wait, so when you took a picture of the wine bottle and glass with your lipstick stain on it…it was for work.”

You nod. “It’s honestly the only time I wear lipstick. I kind of hate it most of the time.” You add credence to your words by wiping off your lips with a tissue from the tissue pack you always keep in your purse. Then doing the same to the glass. “Lipstick residue never comes off in the dishwasher…I used to wash for the local tavern in my hometown. The worst.” 

They’re all three looking at you again with various expressions. You think the expressions are positive, but you’ve only known them for an hour and most of that hour you were in your cabin, journaling. 

“Do you have a niche?” Chan asks, “Like a specific type of travel or anything?”

You shrug. “I like train travel. This is my first sleeper cabin, so that’ll be of some focus. But I have a few places in Edinburgh to capture as well.”

“And you can live off of this?” Changbin answers. “Why the fuck are we writing music?” 

You laugh with the others at his thunderstruck question. You turn a bit more toward him, watching how his gaze drops to your now-naked lips then back to your eyes. 

“Because you love it. I assume.” You feel your cheeks heat when he smiles at your sentimentality. The waiter returns to receive your orders, and you try not to smile too large that everyone orders something different. You hope they’ll let you photo each meal. 

“Why Scotland for inspiration?”

Both Changbin and Jisung look at Chan who shrugs, a bit sheepish. 

“Always wanted to. We spend most of our time in South Korea or Australia, so this seemed like something different.”

“‘Stairway to Heaven’ was written on Loch Ness, too,” Jisung offers.

“Yeah, in the house of the creepy af Aleister Crowley…” You lean forward and drop your voice. “You’re not going there, are you?”

“No,” Changbin chuckles. “But you know that story?”

“I’m full of useless knowledge,” you answer. 

“How long have you been doing this?” Changbin asks you. “The traveling and vlogging?”

“A while. The living off of it, only a few years.” You shake your head when he opens his mouth. “My turn. Tell me about how you three became rappers, musicians, a crew.”

“Gonna use it in your content?” Chan asks, a touch of amusement, but also more caution. 

You shake your head. “Not without permission. And usually my stuff is less with people and more places, food, drink. I will totally ask if I can take a photo of each of your meals.”

“I guess that’s okay,” Changbin says. “If you get part of my hand, though, I expect compensation.”

And with that joking remark, your eyes immediately focus on his hands. That’s not a feature you usually think much about in your attraction to men. It takes more about personality and smile, and maybe a lanky form. 

But it says everything about this whole strange experience that when you look at his hands, you actually shiver.

God, this is so damn weird.

“Of course,” You answer. “Also…you didn’t answer. How did you three meet?”

Again, both Changbin and Jisung look at Chan.

“You’re in charge, huh?”

Chan blushes, which is adorable. “I mean…kinda, but just cause I started us…”

“What he will never say is that he studied music production and then found us at the same school, basically said ‘fuck school let’s do our own thing’ and we’ve saved money on tuition and made money…though nothing like insane.” Changbin leans back in his chair, his arm falling to the back of mine before his eyes widen and he drops it. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’ve already invited one of you into my cabin…What are social rules at this point?” You just have no filter today, but the answering laughter from them is comforting. “Since you asked me, what is your niche? Like love songs?”

“Rap love songs?” Jisung asks, mildly disgusted. 

“Love songs is a pretty wide spectrum,” you argue. “From unrequited, to innocent, attraction to just sex, broken hearts, betrayal, cheating. It’s all over the place.” Your question isn’t all that random. Out of the corner of your eye, you’re watching Changbin the moment you mention ‘love’ as though he might say or do something that’ll give you indication that he’s also feeling the same lunacy that you are undergoing.

Nothing. Nothing but just him listening and having a piece of the rustic bread dipped in olive oil the server placed on your table. 

“She has a point. We do write love songs if that’s the umbrella,” Chan says and Jisung pouts again, but while he’s chewing on the bread, his cheeks full, and he looks just like a small woodland creature. “But I wouldn't ever market them as love songs.”

“Doesn’t fit the hip hop crew vibe?”

Changbin snorts. “Not so much.”

“So. What do you write about?” You plop your chin in your hand. “I admit my rap and hip hop knowledge is less than my obscure trivia about Boleskine House.”  

Jisung speaks up, “Just stuff we’re dealing with.” He glances at Chan. “Probably more about growing up and figuring out who you are more than anything.”

“Relatable,” you reply on an exhaled breath. All three of them smile. “Sorry, that was pretty obvious. I guess everyone is still figuring it all out, huh?”

The food arrives a few minutes later and after you get the perfect shots of all the dishes (there are a few with their hands because it’s too aesthetic not to do so) the conversation turns to places to see and visit in Edinburgh and the surrounding areas, things to do, etc. 

“Oh, I’ll definitely try haggis,” you say. 

“Really?” Jisung makes a face. “Isn’t it like…gross?”

“I tend to try most food at least once. I’ve already done blood pudding.” Which means you have to explain it to them. The trio of disgusted faces makes you laugh. “It’s not bad with ketchup.” 

“Bin would probably do the same, though.” Jisung points at him with a beef-laden fork. “He eats anything.”

You turn to Changbin, noting the slight reddening in his cheeks and narrow-eyed glare he gives to Jisung. 

“It’s called being adventurous,” you say in support. “And food is a gift.” You gesture to your plate. “Case in point.”

“A gift?” Chan prompts. 

“I mean, we didn’t have to have taste buds, right? Like we could just have evolved or been created, whatever your origin stance is, without. Food could just be sustenance, something we do without thought, like breathing. But we have all these receptors that give us pleasure.”

“Or disgust,” Jisung says before taking another bite, the cheeks filling out again. 

“Is there pleasure without pain?” 

“Jeez, we got deep,” Chan says, chuckling.

“Could be your next song. The listener will think it’s about life or sex or whatever, but it’s just the three of you debating about food.”

“Life or sex or whatever?” Changbin repeats, turning a little toward you. You make eye contact (maybe you’ve had too much wine), eyebrows up in curiosity. He gestures that you should continue. 

“All literature, and I’d include lyrics in that, boils down to being about love or death. Or simply sex or death.”

Again, it might be the wine, but you swear that when you mention sex his eyes focus more on you. There’s just a slight flicker. 

“And that’s not an original,” you quickly say before going back to your meal. “I learned that in the infinite amount of Lit classes I took in college.” 

“I guess that’s true.” Chan looks thoughtful. “Our songs about identity and growing up is pretty much about doing what you can before death.”

“Speaking of getting deep,” Changbin says. “We should go back to talking about food.” 

“Or pleasure?” Jisung teases. 

Chan cuffs him on the back of the head. He just grins at his friend like being physically chastised is commonplace. 

Probably is. 

It’s brief, the moment of melancholy that hits you when you think of this three-person friendship and how so much of what you do is solitary. 

You blink it away and take another bite of your sea bass, listening to them discuss Edinbrugh castle and the village they have an AirBnb in after two days in the city. 

“Please?” Jisung whines. “We can share the molten chocolate cake?” 

Chan rolls his eyes. “But I don’t want any.”

“I’ll share it with you, Jisung,” you offer. “That or the cheesecake sounds really good.”

“We could do both.”

You giggle at his excited expression. “We could do that.”

“Amazing,” Jisung is thrilled. “You are amazing.” 

“I am often lauded for my sweet tooth.” 

“Only for your sweet tooth?”

The lower tone makes you look at Changbin again. Chan is ‘scolding’ Jisung on the other side of the table about too many sweets and how he’ll be hyper and not sleep, so for the second time this evening, it looks like you and Changbin are speaking alone. 

“Only?” you ask to clarify.

He grins. “I mean, you just used the word ‘lauded’ in regular conversation. I feel like you might get compliments in general.”

“For using big words? Or weird ones? Not really.” 

“Well.” He regards you for a few seconds, eyes not leaving your face. “It’s impressive.”

Your face heats before you can deflect and you drop your gaze because his is overwhelming. 

“Thanks.” 

Dessert is ordered and when received, devoured (even by Chan). When the bill comes, there’s an argument about letting them pay for you, which is won by Jisung saying that since he ‘bullied’ you into getting dessert with him, they should cover it all. You acquiesce only because you convince them to let you get breakfast tomorrow morning (wow, isn’t that suggestive). 

You’ve never been walked to your door before by three men. Granted, they’re just next door and you’ve also never been walked to a train cabin door before. But you recognize that if anyone paid attention to your little party, they might be envious.

You’re kinda envious. Of yourself.

Three of you pause at your door. Jisung continues to the cabin before realizing that everyone else has stopped and readily looks abashed as he comes back the six feet. 

“So,” you begin, scanning your phone over the pad on the door. “I don’t think any one of us is an axe murderer.”

There’s a collective chuckle.

“Who uses axes anymore,” Jisung says before considering. “I don’t suppose that really helps my case.”

Chan pops him lightly on the back of the head again. “I think,” he says to you. “That whoever can just sleep on the extra bed. We’ll keep all our stuff and such in our cabin. If you’re still okay with this. It’s really alright if you’re not. Ax murderers or not, it’s your space.”

You glance at Changbin, remembering the warmth of his arm when it pressed against yours randomly through dinner. 

“That’s fine. I guess brushing your teeth in front of a stranger is pretty weird.”

You hear Changbin’s snort of amusement before looking at him again. It’s hard not to stare at him. It was actually good he sat next to you during dinner, so you had to make the effort to look at him, so it was easy to tell and force yourself not to. Because that’s what you want to do. Memorize everything about him. The line of his jaw, the placement of his dimples when he grins, the rapid-fire of his laugh. 

God, you’re going to need some serious time to process what is going on with you. 

“Yeah, just knock whenever,” you continue, forcing yourself to look away from him. “I’ll probably stay up for a bit to journal and take some notes.”

You don’t ask who will be using the empty bed in your cabin. It’s too weird, beyond what this already is, but you are trying not to give away the way one man keeps stealing your attention and focus. 

You have never done a one-night stand and you don’t think that in a train cabin next to his friends would be a good place to start. 

You bid them a good night and enter your cabin. You lean on the closed door and let out a huge sigh before hurriedly getting ready for bed in the worry that maybe one of them will show up soon.

Also, you probably don’t need all your underthings just out to be seen.

You settle in your pajamas (sweatshirt and shorts because you always forget to buy fun pjs) and situate your laptop and journal in the bottom bunk. More time passes than you think it would take a guy to get ready, but it is kind of early to go to sleep, so you work on just focusing on organizing and writing copy for what you captured today. 

You’re working on describing your supper in good detail when there’s a knock on your cabin door. 

You almost fall in your stumble to get to the door, opening it and staring.

“Hey.”

Changbin, dressed in a sleeveless t-shirt and nylon shorts, stands there, the half-grin in place. He has a small backpack over his shoulder. 

“Hi.” You step back to let him in, watching as he closes the door behind him. “It’s a good look.” You speak before thinking. 

He laughs, leaning on the door. “Thanks, I try.” His eyes drop to take in your sleepwear. “Also, a good look.”

“Scantily-clad lingerie is so overrated.”

“Is it?”

God, you really shouldn’t have wine.

“Um, I took the bottom bunk.” You point to the beds. “Hope that’s okay.”

“It’s your room. I’m just grateful to not have to sleep on the floor. Or try and drown out Jisung’s snoring.” He moves easily toward the beds, climbing up to the top, slinging his bag on the mattress. 

“No axes in there?”

He plops down, legs having over the side and his grin widens. “Just a tiny one. In case I need to defend myself.”

“From me?” 

“Or Dementors.”

It’s easy to laugh and it decreases the tension a little especially when he swings his legs as you move back to your little nest on your bed. 

“So. What’re you doing?” He moves so he’s laying down and looking over the side of the bunk at you. You look up, finding the fact that you chose to put the man on top of you (with space and a bed in between but still) probably a dumb dumb idea. 

“Working. Or more like brainstorming. I still need to figure out where I want to go, when, how, etc. I make itineraries, but really flexible ones because if I’m too rigid, I don’t have fun.”

“Makes sense.” He goes quiet for a second. “Can I…be really self-involved for a second?”

“Absolutely. It’s encouraged.”

He grins again and hurries down to the floor next to where you have tucked yourself in. He gestures to the open space at the foot.

You nod and he sits before offering wireless headphones. 

“Want to listen to something we finished last week?”

“Absolutely,” you say again, reaching out with almost ‘grabby hands’. He laughs at your enthusiasm and leans in to place the headset over your ears. Your smile fades with him that close. It’s a move, it has to be. There’s no way he doesn’t know what he’s doing. His face is about a foot or so away from yours and you want to touch his cheeks and feel if they are soft and smooth like they appear. He meets your eyes once the headphones are in place and there’s a softness in his curled lips. 

You absolutely want to kiss a stranger. 

He sits back and opens his phone to press play. “Too quiet?”

The instrumentation is soft, so you nod and he presses the side of his phone a few times before you nod again. 

You aren’t sure what you expected, but it wasn’t this. It’s not hip hop, with its intense beats and rhythm. There is synth and piano at a much softer, flowy-ier tempo. 

“Oh it’s pretty,” you say quietly. He smiles but then looks down at the phone as you listen. You wonder if he can sense where you are in the song with just watching the time counter move along. 

You wonder who does the higher notes, whose voice is harsh and rough, who sounds more like he could be in a choir. 

The song ends abruptly and you startle at it, glancing at Changbin. 

“We don’t have the ending quite right yet.”

“I think it should fade out,’ you say, again without thinking. “I mean, I know nothing about how to put a song together–”

“But you like music, so noted.” His smile is warm. “You liked it?”

“Very much. It’s…what I could understand cause I assume Korean?”

“You assume correct.” 

“It’s about dreams changing? Like how you wanted one thing and you realize that what you wanted has changed into something perhaps less impressive, but still matters to you?” Your eyes widen as you remove the headphones. “Or I could be projecting.”

He chuckles and reaches out for the headphones, his hand touching yours and you try to not shiver at the errant contact (can you still blame the wine?).

“No, that’s there. Maybe not as thought out as what you just said.” He fiddles with the headphones. “You’re really smart.”

“No. I just overthink.”

He makes a face at you, disapproving. “You’re smart. Take the compliment. The lauding.” 

You look away, feeling flushed. “Thank you.” Then you look back. “It’s really beautiful, Changbin. Like I was going to search for your music anyway, and listen and then decide how to tell you what I thought without being like super judgy or whatever, but wow.”

“Thanks.” He nods to your computer. “I showed you mine, you show me yours?”

The terminology (innuendo, wtf) makes you feel more than you should about trading work content with someone, but you nod and turn your laptop around, finding your YouTube channel and choosing a video from last year when you were in Barcelona, walking around to see every Anton Gaudi piece of architecture. He watches, occasionally glancing up at you.

“You don’t show yourself much.”

“Oh, yeah, well, it’s not about me. It’s about the experience. No one needs to see me to see the food, the sights.” 

“But they can hear you.” You do narrate quite a bit.

“Well, that’s done mostly after because then I can figure out what I want to say, clearly.”

“You have a nice voice.”

“Oh. Thank you.” You point to his phone. “Which voice are you?”

“Which do you think?” 

“That’s not fair. Our speaking voices don’t always match our performing ones.” You pout and he grins. 

“Guess.”

You sigh as though it’s a burden and he chuckles, eyes back on the video. 

“The low one. Like the raspier one.”

He smirks. “Good guess.”

“It’s nice. Like rough, but soothing too?” 

He stares at you as the video ends. 

“What?” Now you’re even more flustered. 

“Dunno. Kinda fascinated.”

You want to ask him. Does he feel it too? This weird something between you. But you actually think that might make the strange occurrence of him sleeping above you even more awkward. 

You turn your laptop back around and look at the screen like you can focus on anything but him. 

“I, uh, won’t be up much longer,” you begin, stuttering a bit as you can still feel his eyes on you. “So you can sleep soon.”

“We tend to late hours, the guys and me, so it’s more like I might keep you up.”

Your eyes dart to his, the tension back so strongly that you actually curl your fingers into the bedding as though it might keep you from reaching out to touch him. 

“Oh.” Smooth, very smooth.

He sits back, but doesn’t make any move to remove himself from your bed. “So…I feel like you should definitely see us at some point. Like come to Linlithgow when we’re there.”

“I should?”

He nods, resting on the opposing wall. HIs feet are still off, but the rest of him is on your bed. It’s intimate, a sleepover with a friend. 

A really attractive friend.

“Like after you do what you need to in the city…?” He glances at his hands then at you. “If you want.”

“I wouldn’t not want.”

He laughs.

“Sorry, that was terrible English,” you wave it away. “I wouldn’t want to disturb you guys though. You’re doing this to work.”

“Inspiration comes from all types of things. Including new people.” He looks like he might say more, but moves to get off the bed and you feel it acutely. “Besides,” he says as he starts back up into his bunk. “It shouldn’t all be work, right? All work, no play and all that?”

Why does he have to look so appealing saying the word ‘play’? You are so very tempted to say something about him staying in your bed, to play, to tease, to taste.

Too much. 

“Something like that.” If he hears the tremor in your voice, he doesn’t comment. 

You hear him settle in the bed above you and you try to focus on your work, though it’s not easy, hyper-aware of him as you are. 

“Hey.”

“Hmm?”

“This is dumb, but I’m really glad I got to meet you guys.”

There’s rustling and you look up to see him peer at you over the side of the bunk. He’s grinning. 

“It’s not dumb. And same.” Again he looks like he might say something else, but he just winks at you. “G’night.”

“Night. Sweet dreams.”

“Yeah, I hope so.” He laughs and rolls back over. You continue to do what you can; listening to the tinny sounds of whatever he’s vibing to on his phone, hearing each shift he makes in bed. You make decent progress and plan to record the audio sometime in your hotel room tomorrow night. You close down all your electronics, before getting up and moving to turn off the lamp light on the small table by the door. You carefully make your way back to your bunk.

“Again, night, neighbor.” His voice is impossibly lower and it makes you jump even if you assumed he wasn’t asleep yet. 

“Good night, Changbin.”

You curl up under the duvet and look outside at the pitch-black dark night before pulling the cord for the blinds and closing your eyes. 

–

When you wake up, the sun is just peeking over the horizon, the light diffused through the blinds right next to where you sleep. Despite being a little concerned that you might not sleep since you have a cabin mate, you actually wake feeling decently well-rested. Not that you are happy that the sun is making itself known in your face, but it isn’t the worst wake-up call. 

You stretch before reaching for your phone. You hear a deep inhale and it makes you freeze in your movements.

Right. A near-stranger slept in your cabin.

You stare up at the underside of the top bunk, mentally reviewing everything that happened yesterday. 

You are no closer to understanding why you feel so drawn to the man in your cabin than you were yesterday. 

With a sigh, you push yourself out of bed, stretching again once you’re on your feet. You move to the other side of the window, moving the blinds just enough so you can see out. 

It’s hard not to smile at the landscape that rushes by. The rolling hills, the sparse trees, the rock walls and hedges that provide simple borders. 

You hear the shifting in the top bunk and quickly drop the blinds.

He says your name, voice low and rough from sleep.

It takes you a second to respond, to make your voice not sound at all affected by just how much hearing him say your name in that tone warms you to near scorching. 

“Morning.”

You see him peer over at you, face flushed from sleep and eyes all squinty. 

It’s as devastating as when he’d been dressed up last night. 

“Time’isit?” he slurs, voice low and rumbly. 

“Not quite seven.”

He groans and rolls to his back. “Why up?”

You chuckle at the sleepy caveman speak. “Just woke up. Go back to sleep. I’ll be quiet.”

He snorts, rolling back over and propping himself up on one elbow, cheek to hand. “It’s your room. I can go back next door.” He blinks a few times as though you might be finally coming into focus. He smiles, as sleepy and cute as can be. “Though Ji and Chan might be violent if I wake them up.”

“Wouldn’t want you harmed,” you reply, and waves dismissively. “Go on, go back to sleep.”

He nods slow before letting his arm drop with the rest of him. You wait to see if he’s going to say more, but you hear the even breathing after a few seconds and it makes you smile. 

Seems like he’s good at that.

You gather your things for the day to take to the bathroom compartment down the hall (having showered the night before, but you aren’t about to change in the same room even if he is asleep). When you get back, you do some simple skincare and makeup before starting to pack everything up for disembarking in a few hours. 

There’s a loud thump sound from the other side of the wall, then muttered words (not English, you assume Korean) before another voice joins in and it’s not horribly loud, but it is noticeable. 

The other two must be awake.

“Changbin?” you say softly, not wanting to shock him awake. You move over to the bunks, again saying his name. Then you lightly touch his shoulder.

He hums before blinking his eyes open. He grins at you. 

“Missed me?”

“Of course.”

His eyes widen because you don’t argue and that makes you laugh. You point toward the wall. 

“Your friends are up.”

He turns, hair sticking out in all directions as he listens to the muted voices of his bandmates. He nods before sitting up. He searches the bedclothes before finding his phone. He points down toward the small nightstand. You grab his glasses as he opens his mouth.

“Can you–” He stops when you hand them to him. “Oh.”

You chuckle again and walk back to your suitcase, zipping it up and starting to fill your backpack with your journal and laptop and other vlogger accessories. 

“Hey.”

You look over to see him climbing down. He runs a hand through his hair, before shrugging.

“Thanks.”

“Oh. You’re welcome.” You feel your face heat with embarrassment. “Truly not a problem. Thanks for not being an ax murderer.”

He laughs before grabbing his bag from the carpet and moving toward the door. He pauses as he opens it then offers you his phone. 

“I…I can text you when we head to breakfast? If you want?” He is blushing slightly and you feel an immense amount of gratitude that he initiates the exchanging of contact information. You had been mulling over and over about the best way to make sure you could keep in contact with your next door neighbors (especially Changbin) and how not to make it obvious that you are interested (unless you should make it obvious…cause you are…right?…this weird connection is just…attraction…of some strange degree?) or awkward.

You nod to ease his discomfort and take his phone, fingers brushing and that definitely elicits some frissons. You input your number and hand it back. 

“Okay.” 

“Okay,” he says before giving you a large grin and heading out into the hallway. You look around the door to see and make sure he gets into his room. The door opens after he knocks and there’s a loud ‘Hyung!’ before he’s pulled in. 

You let out a breath.

Breakfast (preceded by a short ‘hungry?’ text from an unknown number - now not unknown) is much more relaxed than dinner was, the guys chatting about the cabin and decent sleep though Chan does complain about Jisung’s snoring to which Changbin who sits next to you again, says that you don’t snore with a familiar grin, discussing if they should store their bags and immediately go to Ediburgh castle, or check in at their hotel first then go.

As Jisung rants about how heavy their equipment is after prolonged carrying, Changbin leans over to you.

“Kinda silly, but promise me something?”

Is this it? Is he going to say something about the weird link that you feel…that he feels it too?

“Maybe.”

He scrunches up his nose at your cryptic response. 

“Don’t have haggis without me? I need moral support.”

It’s so not where your brain went that you have no idea what expression is on your face, but you laugh at the surprise of the request because only you are spiraling about this whole thing. He seems blissfully unaware.

Lucky him.

“I can keep that promise.”

He smiles back, squeezing your arm which repeats the tingles from earlier but more of them and you watch him, to see if anything in his face or reaction gives anything away.

Are you just the one losing your mind?

Perhaps it’s good that you’ll be on your own for a few days in the city before deciding whether or not to go meet up with them in Linlithgow (you refuse to admit that it’s 100% likely that you will). Maybe time away from him will fix your brain. Or whatever has you in such confusion. 

You all return to your respective cabins as arrival time is ahem, arriving soon. 

Changbin pauses by your door as the other two continue to their cabin. You stop half-way into the room. 

“Yes??”

He presses his lips together. “Nothing. Just seeing that you get in safely.”

“Going for the knight-in-shining-armor role?”

He doesn’t answer your teasing immediately, expression more contemplative. 

“Maybe.” There's a quick smile at the end of that, like he knows he’s being as cryptic as you were earlier. He takes a step closer, probably the closest that he’s been face-to-face with you. “That okay?”

Your breath hitches at his nearness and he has to hear it. His smirk is subtle, not as confident, but far more enticing. His eyes drop from yours to your mouth and back up so quickly that you almost believe you made it up.

But when he steps back, you’re sure you didn’t. Which means the butterflies in your stomach are not alone. 

Maybe he has a few too.

“Yeah. That’s okay.”  

He nods before walking to his cabin, looking back once then entering. You do the same. 

The train reaches Edinburgh Waverley station within the next twenty minutes and soon you are back on solid ground, less than 24 hours later, but, as you stand with the guys as they check their phone GPS, it is a very different you than previous. 

Even if it’s only you and not him. 

“So…” Jisung begins once they have decided they know where they’re going. “We’ll see you?”

You smile. “Most likely.” You glance at Changbin who raises his eyebrows. “Probably yes. I’ll let you know.”

“Have fun, then. Be safe, yeah?” Chan says and comes over to hug you like that level of familiarity has been established between all of you. You don’t mind. Not a bit, and you’re grateful that he is so unawkward about it. He’s warm and smells good, like sun-warmed grass. He releases you before hefting the guitar over his shoulder and heading toward the street level. Jisung, notably more reserved, waves at you before following Chan. 

You look at Changbin who hasn’t looked away. Feeling bold because ‘what the hell’, you open your arms in a blatant hug invitation, and he laughs before sliding off his shoulder bag and coming up to wrap his arms around you.

Oh god in heaven, wow. 

Chan was warm, but Changbin is searing. The weather this far north is chilly and though you’ve dressed for such a change, Changbin is far better as a heater than your hoodie. You hope you’re not being creepy when your eyes close and you breathe in; spicy and floral. You feel him turn his head a bit, his arms tighten, but then he lets go almost abruptly. You feel a whine at the back of your throat but you swallow it down. 

He tucks his hands into his pockets.

“Text once and awhile. Okay?” His smile is sheepish. “So this knight doesn’t worry.”

“Will do, Mr. Knight.” 

He jogs off, bag back on his shoulder, after his friends and they soon disappear among the crowd of morning commuters. 

You have many things to do but you don’t immediately start because if only for a moment, you feel bereft.

–

You spend four days in Edinburgh. You go to the castle though you’ve been before because it really is one of the loveliest sights in the country. You take your camera to The Writers Museum, showcasing it because it’s super interesting and also free admission. Not free really because you buy a ridiculous amount of souvenirs from the gift shop. You tell yourself and your followers that you’ll use them as gifts, even offering a few as a giveaway. 

You (on encouragement from a few comments) decided to do one of the haunted walking tours (there are several to choose from), checking with those in charge that your recording will not be a problem. They seem delighted for the free publicity and some spooky tales or shots will be a lot of fun.

You temporarily forget that you don’t like scary things.

It’s halfway through the tour and you are doing your best to record, listen and not gasp in terror or cover your ears like a child who doesn’t like what they are being told. You know your heart is pumping so fast because you feel it and why did you do this to yourself?

There’s a split second of you wishing Changbin was with you and hugging you again because that is your most recent memory of feeling safe. Hugs are naturally just a wonderful thing, but his had gone beyond that.

In your time alone in the city, you’ve given some thought to the strange draw you have to a stranger (though less of a stranger now). You definitely have found random people you run across in your travels as attractive. You aren’t blind. Beauty in people is just as soul-reviving as beauty in landscape and architecture. 

You’ve dated, but not lately. Your job can keep you away for periods at a time and though you’ve never been seriously tempted to be unfaithful, your partners have been more paranoid. That lack of trust bothered you more than any idiosyncrasies in dealing with combining two lives together. 

You have never seen someone in passing and felt like if you didn’t meet, didn’t talk, didn’t have a moment to interact; that you would spend your days living in regret. The desire to know someone has never possessed you at any point that you can remember. And now that you do know him a little? It just makes you want to know more. In a mental list, you have questions you want to ask him. 

He’s texted you. Photos of their time in Edinburgh; the castle and classic tattoo performance, all the food and drink, the statues that he and his friends sometimes pose like or with. You’ve texted back comments and suggestions. You’ve sent photos you wouldn’t use on your platforms; silly ones that would make the blooper reel if you had one for your life, ones that are just moments in your wanderings that you think he might like. You exchange song recommendations. You didn’t know he’d also like ballads, and softer songs. 

You’ve looked them up on youtube (they never mentioned their group name, but a search of ‘chan, jisung, changbin’ only brings up one group) and listened to their songs. It’s not your typical listening, but you like it. You buy an album digitally and when you just walk through the streets, you pop in your earbuds and listen to them. You look up lyrics when you have a moment, Korean being the dominant language in all their songs. You mull over the themes of their work, it makes you add new mental questions to that list. 

You get a photo of their little Airbnb when they are in Linlithgow. There’s pictures of the sun reflecting on the loch, the castle in the distance. Chan in front his laptop with music making paraphernalia. Jisung with his forehead furrowed, scribbling something on paper. 

Changbin making a duck face selfie.

>>Haggis soon?

The text comes in when you are in your inn room, editing more recent footage. Your time is coming to an end in the city and you’ve not said anything because you aren't sure they, or he, will still want you to come visit. Your original plan was to stay only a few days, maybe a day trip somewhere near, and then get back on the train to London. 

Plans change.

<<if you still want to? you’re supposed to be writing great masterpieces.

>> (pout emoji) 

<<not going well?

>>it’s okay. it’s really peaceful here and i get distracted by just sitting on a bench, watching people. 

<<i know for a fact that’s good for inspiration.

>>you’re avoiding answering my question. Are you coming to see us?

<<I booked a room for tomorrow night. Celebratory haggis for dinner?

>>YES

You’ve adjusted your train ticket back to London, giving yourself more time, but you can’t help but wonder what will happen when you go back home and he goes back to Korea. 

–

When you first ran into the trio, you weren’t nervous because you didn’t know. This time around, your heart is prematurely thumping like you’ve run all the way from Edinburgh. You’ve checked into your room at the pub/inn you’re staying at, then back on the street to view the centuries old architecture. It’s definitely a wet day, the clouds are ominous, so you’ve thrown your umbrella into your backpack and layered under your hoodie. 

You have plans for dinner with them; a local restaurant that the owner of their Airbnb recommended. There’s no reason for you to see them before that. But despite that knowledge, you keep your eyes peeled (what a weird phrase, honestly) for any familiar sightings. 

You walk along the street, trying to remember to look down because the streets are not even in these old villages and you wouldn’t say you’re clumsy, but you wouldn’t say you’re grace personified either. The buildings are magnificent though. The style sends you back to books you’ve read about tiny villages and murder mysteries that never scare you, just make you want to live in a cozy place and live a cozy life. 

You pause in front of the third pub you’ve passed by, wondering if going in for a drink would settle the buzz of nerves currently rippling through you. 

You hear your name.

You turn to see Changbin jogging up to you with a grin on his face, and he’s pulled you into a hug before you can piece together that he’s on his own, without his friends. 

“You didn’t say you were here yet,” he says, voice muffled by your hair before he draws back, still grinning. 

It’s stronger, the tether that you’ve felt since first laying eyes on him. You want to kiss him. 

Like really really want to kiss him. 

The urge startles you and you take a second to smile back, to cover that insane desire. You barely know him. What you know, you like, but you need to chill. 

“Hi.” 

Good job. Real eloquent and normal.

He laughs and squeezes your arm before letting go. He’s wearing sweatpants, a t-shirt, and a backwards snapback. 

It’s so casual and normal, and you feel a bit light-headed.

You almost move to hug him again. 

“Where’s the rest of 3racha?”

He shrugs. “Ji is currently down the rabbit hole of youtube, and Chan is frustratedly working on a track and does not want any outside input at the moment. I decided to go for a workout.” He smiles again, tugging on the straps of his gym bag that’s hanging on his shoulder.. “And I found you.”

His smile drops when you don’t say anything. 

“I mean, unless you’re working right now? I’m sorry. You probably are and–”

“No, I’m sorry, I just…” You trail off, trying to figure out how the simple ‘I found you’ with that amount of sincerity destroys you, in all the best ways, and you can’t share that with him. “I’m kinda always working, so please, distract me.”

That pretty rose color lightens his cheeks and you wonder if maybe your words carried more underneath them than just a casual ‘let’s hang’ vibe.

“Wanna go work out?” he asks, teasing. You look down at your all-terrain boots and jeans then back at him. “No?”

“I guess these aren’t god-given?” You poke his arm, trying not to laugh when he flexes. You think it’s probably instinctual. 

He eyes you suspiciously but there’s still that hint of smile on his lips. “Nope. Requires maintenance.”

“My maintenance is just the walking I do for work.”

He nods. “Wanna walk then?” He zips up his windbreaker, seeming okay with the change in plans. 

“You don’t…don’t you want to go build muscle or something?”

He shakes his head. “Not right now.” He nods in the direction you were heading. “Come on. I’ll show you a nice spot.” He takes your hand and starts walking. You don’t resist.

Why would you?

His hand is warm, a little rough with calluses (probably from those beloved barbells). He’s speaking but for a few seconds you don’t comprehend because it’s been ages since you’ve had your hand held; nothing beyond a handshake or someone maybe helping you in and out of a mode of transportation. 

And it’s just so nice. 

“We haven’t tried there yet.” His words finally come into being understandable, even though you are still fixated on your hand in his. “But I want to. I think pubs might be one of my favorite things about the U.K.”

“No pubs in Korea?”

He takes you down a narrow street, cobblestoned and a little smelly. The wind picks up because of the condensed space and you shiver. 

“You’ve never been?”

“To Korea? No. Not yet.” It’s on your list. As is most of east Asia. Perhaps now, knowing them, you might put your focus on affording that type of trip. 

“Pubs aren’t really a thing. Not like here. There’s bars, restaurants that you drink in, but it doesn’t quite have the same laid-back feel.” He pauses at the curb, waiting for a cab to pass. Then he continues on, still holding your hand and you think it’d be really easy for him to lead you anywhere. 

“Same. I mean, for the States. We have bars, clubs. I feel like coffee houses are close to the same vibe, but generally no alcohol.”

He’s led you to a small park, complete with wrought iron benches and trees that if it was spring or summer, would be full of green. Full of leaves and would block the view of the still lake beyond the bank.

“Oh.”

“Right? It’s really pretty.” He tugs you toward one of the benches that faces the lake, where the reflection of the local castle is near perfect, minus a few rolls that warp the shape of the towers when wind touches the water. He sits and you sit, staring at the picturesque beauty. 

He lets go of your hand and you have to hold yourself back from taking it again.

You pull out your GoPro, opening it before getting up to find a few angles. 

“I watched some of your videos. When are you putting up the Edinburgh ones?”

You frame the castle reflection before capturing it digitally. “Probably in a day or two. It takes awhile to edit and do the voiceover. Also…” You glance back at him. “I don’t like to post when I’m in the same place. In case there are any–”

“Ax murderers?”

You smile. “Yeah.”

“That’s smart.” He leans back on the bench, letting his small gym bag fall to the ground. 

Manspreading is something you normally despise, especially on public transportation, but as with everything else, Changbin is the exception. 

An image of you climbing onto his lap flashes through your mind, and you spin around to look back at the castle, mortified at your own thoughts. It seems invasive to think of him like that. 

“Which videos did you watch?”

“Some of your first ones.”

You turn back to him in horror. “You didn’t.”

He grins, as though pleased that he’s made you embarrassed. “There’s a lot more of you in those. How old are you then?”

“Gah, right out of university.” You shake your head as you walk back to sit on the bench with him. “I knew nothing.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“The editing is mediocre, the shots and angles are pedestrian, my voice is–”

He’s laughing. 

“I can’t believe you went back that far.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You didn’t listen to our first songs?”

“To be fair,” you begin, caught but ready to defend. “You have less songs than I have videos, because your songs take more work…” He’s still grinning and you shrug. “‘Wow’ is especially enjoyable.”

Now it’s his turn to look away and grimace in pain. “Yeah. If fans didn’t love it, ironically probably, I’d make that disappear.”

“Shows how far you’ve come.”

He looks back at you, eyes warming. “Same for you.”

The warmth is unnerving and you look back at the perfect view of water and architecture. “You come out here a lot?”

“I’ve been twice? Since we’ve been here. I don’t usually just sit and stare out into nothing. That’s more Ji’s thing. He’s the introvert.”

“And Chan?”

He sits up and rests his forearms on his thighs, watching a lady push a stroller while talking on the phone. “He’s a workaholic. Even more than Ji and I. Sometimes I have to wrestle him into bed so he can get some sleep.”

“Can you take him in a fight?”

He smirks. “He’s taller, but I’m stronger.”

You mimic his position, watching the branches seesaw with the wind. “Who wrestles you into bed?” The moment you say it, you recognize what else it could mean. That perhaps just being around him layers your words with implications that hint and tease and lure. 

You feel his gaze, but you stubbornly look at the trees, even though you’re sure he can see the heat on your cheeks.

“No one. Lately.”

You swallow and let your eyes drift to him. He seems undaunted by your words or even his response. You think you could ask him, right now, if he’s having the same feelings as you; a practical stranger. You think he would tell you the truth. 

But you hear the sound of a vibrating phone and he jolts at it, letting out a huff before pulling it out of his pocket to answer.

“Yeah?” The conversation moves into Korean and you do hear your name, but the rest of it is lost to you. You sit up, messing with the settings on your GoPro, taking a few shots, trying to capture the quiet in a photo.

“That was Chan.” Changbin tells you. “It’s early, but Ji is starving.” He rests his arm on the back of the bench, his fingers centimeters from your arm. “Hungry?”

“I can always eat.”

He smiles at that, standing up to grab his bag and fit it on his shoulder before offering his hand. “Same, really.”

If you post those castle photos, you aren’t sure what you'll caption them, as your biggest impression of that hour was holding Changbin’s hand. 

–

“You didn’t!?” You cover your mouth as you laugh, hilarity infecting Jisung and Chan as well. Changbin looks pained as he stares at his plate. “You looked it up. You shouldn’t have.”

“I always check what I’m about to put in my body,” he answers, lips in near pout. “I knew it was going to be unusual, but…”

Haggis sits on his plate, awaiting a first bite, and you think, it looks a bit sad that it hasn’t been partaken yet. 

It might be the beer you’ve all had, but the giggling doesn’t cease. You lean over and cut it open, taking a forkful without even asking him. Later, you’ll blame intoxication. 

“See?” You take a bite, chewing and grinning at him. Then you pause. “Okay, that’s excellent.” 

He doesn’t look very convinced. “I…”

You grab his fork, do the same and offer it to him. “No regrets. If you hate it, at least it is an informed opinion.”

His lips part at the beckoning expression you give him. The other two are still laughing, teasing him, but the way he looks at you seems to drown them out. Like it all fades and you swear you can hear how his breathing changes, as though his heart speeds up.

“Come on, you’ll never know unless you try.” 

He lets you feed him, something you’ve never done outside a few gigs babysitting as a teenager. And it wasn’t like this.

It takes far too long for you to drag your eyes from his lips, to look up to his eyes, to see if he liked the Scottish delicacy.

His thoughtful face is cute. 

You set the fork down, drawing back, as though you’ve finally realized just how forward, how flirty you’ve been. You know there’s nothing wrong with it, if he’s not bothered, but you feel bashful nonetheless. 

You aren’t usually this person. Not since you were in school, when opportunities to meet and date seemed endless. 

“So?” Jisung pipes up. “Verdict?”

Changbin swallows, turning from you to his friends. “It’s actually…pretty good.”

Jisung takes that as permission, grabbing his own bite, as does Chan. You coerce yourself into watching them, not him, as they make similar confused and pensive expressions. As you do, you muse that you aren’t sure how three friends could all be so handsome, each in their own way.

Why only one of them seems to be bewitching you.

He’s sitting next to you again, but it’s in a booth not separate chairs, and though you aren’t touching, you can feel the heat of him in the few inches between you. 

“Maybe not something I’d eat all the time,” Chan says. “But certainly not gross.”

Jisung nods. “Especially if I don’t think about what it is.” He even takes another bite. 

Changbin fiddles with his fork before taking a swallow of his pint. 

“I like it.”

You smile. 

The guys mostly talk music for the rest of the meal. Chan even apologizes to you, but you wave it off. You’re fascinated by artists of any kind, how they create. You sip your cider, listening to them, even when they forget you and speak in Korean. It’s a nice, hazy feeling. The coziness of the pub, the talking around you, voices with different accents, the music filling in any lull in conversation. 

Perhaps the cider is stronger than you thought.

“You falling asleep?” 

You tilt your head toward him. He’s removed the snapback, run his hand through his hair a few times and you want to do the same. 

“No.”

“You sure?” 

You are slumped against the back of the booth, warm and comfortable. In a distant part of your brain, you chastise that you haven’t taken more photos or video of the meal, but it’s nice. Nice to be here. 

“I think she’s fading.” You hear Chan. You shake your head. “How early did you get up today?”

“Not early…I just haven’t slept super well since the haunted walking tour thingy.” It isn’t until Changbin touches your bottom lip that you realize you’re pouting.

And that he’s touched you. 

“Was that fun?” Jisung asks, animated. 

“No. Not by myself.” You watch Changbin who has gone back to his food and beer. “Probably would be fun with someone.” 

He glances at you and holds your gaze for a few seconds before saying something to Jisung about his horror film obsession. 

You don’t fall asleep, but you are definitely close when you fight them for the bill. You win this time. 

The walk outside into the night is a good wake up, the air far chillier than when the four of you entered the establishment. You wrap your arms around yourself, not too cold, but not warm either. 

“Nightcap?” Chan asks. “I don’t think I can go back to working just yet.”

“I want to,” you say. “But I think I need to go to bed.”

“Rain check,” he says, smiling fondly. “Come on, Ji.” He wraps his arm around his younger friend. “First one’s on you.”

“Why me?” He complains as the two of them cross the street to a pub that sounds and looks lively. They both wave at you before disappearing through the doors. 

“I’ll walk you back.”

“You can go on,” you protest, shivering a little. “I know how to get back.”

He pulls up the hood over your hair, tightening the strings. “I’m walking you back.” He states again, taking your hand. 

You aren’t about to refuse.

“Don’t you want to go with them?”

He gives you a look that you can’t really decipher. When he lets go of your hand, you open your mouth to argue, but he wraps his arm around your waist to pull you close. It’s a second later that you feel a group of people walk by, nonverbally explaining why he does so.

You look up at him, your hand on his chest.

“They were–I mean–” He is blushing, before releasing you. “I didn’t want you to get bumped into.”

“Thanks.”

He nods, shoving his hands into his pockets to keep going. You loop your arm with his. He almost stumbles but doesn’t say anything.

Neither do you.

It’s a few minutes more until you’re in front of your lodging.

“Well…” you begin, but he enters. “Changbin I can…”

“I know you can, but I want to.” There’s a stubborn set to his jaw and mouth and you resist cooing over it because for someone who could probably lift you with ease, he’s adorable. 

You wave at the innkeeper, trying not to look shameful that you are bringing someone up the stairs with you. Not that there's anything wrong with it, but it does feel cheap, as though this person you’ve met days ago is just a fling. Not someone making sure that you are safe in your room, not someone that you find yourself thinking about hourly. 

Not someone important.

You stop in front of your room, pulling out the skeleton key and unlocking it before turning to your bodyguard. 

“Thank you for seeing me to my room, Mr. Knight.”

He smiles at the reference. “You’re welcome.” He moves to slip the hood off your head, smoothing your hair. “I hope you sleep better.”

“Me too.”

He swallows and you watch the movement of his throat with avid interest. “I’m gonna…I’m gonna work out tomorrow morning, but do you want to do anything? Together? I could help you record or whatever, if you wanted.” He’s got his hands in his pockets again, his windbreaker zipped all the way up, eyes wide and inquiring. 

“Fuck, you are so cute,” you breathe. His eyes get even wider. “Like, sorry, that’s…you are. Really attractive.”

“Oh. Thanks.” He’s so taken aback by your words that you giggle. That smirk returns, painting him far more confident than he just was. He moves a few steps closer. “Is that a yes?”

He is so close.

“Yes?”

He grins even more. “To tomorrow? Hanging out.” He takes one of the strings of your hoodie, tugs it lightly and wraps it around his finger. 

“Sure. I’ll put you to work carrying my stuff.”

He tilts his head down, his eyes dropping to your lips. “I can do that.” His nose touches yours. “And same by the way.”

“Hmm?” You can’t look away from his mouth.

“You’re also really cute. Attractive.” He pauses to let that sink in. “Pretty.” He moves so carefully and your eyes fall shut, sure to feel his lips on yours, but you don’t.

He kisses you on the cheek. Your eyes flutter open and he’s watching you, searching. He starts to pull back, but you grasp the collar of his windbreaker, halting his retreat. 

Your name falls from his lips, and you figure what the hell.

You kiss him. 

It’s a bit forceful, perhaps your coordination is off from the drinking, but his little grunt when your lips meet makes you soften immediately. Your grip relaxes, your hands seeking out the curls at the nape of his neck. You feel him tremble, then you feel his hands on your hips.

Your head falls back against the door as he licks into your mouth, apparently no longer caught off guard by your forwardness. He tastes a little bitter from the beer he imbibed, but the heat, his tongue curling with yours makes your fingers tighten as though holding onto his shoulders might keep you from collapsing. 

One hand captures you by the jaw, a gentle maneuvering so he can kiss you deeper. You hear his hat fall to the floor when your greedy fingers card through his hair, soft and silky. He takes a step in, and his hips align with yours.

It’s like fireworks explode under your skin. 

In case you questioned whether or not he was interested, you aren’t questioning now. He’s hard, pressed against you in a way that makes you hungrier than you’ve ever been. 

You absolutely crave him. 

His mouth leaves yours, and you whimper at the loss. There’s a dark chuckle, arrogant, before he graces your neck with soft pecks, ending with a nip and a suck, right near your collarbone, your hoodie pushed aside to let him taste. 

You stutter his name. 

There’s a pause in his ministrations, his thumb running along your lower lip. He raises his head as your eyes open. You can see a reflection of your desire in his eyes, in the focus of his gaze. 

His thumb pulls on your lip, as though seeking the wet heat of your mouth. Your tongue flicks the tip and his eyes go even darker. You think maybe he growls before slotting his mouth back over yours, tongue stroking and enticing. 

There’s a creak of footsteps coming up the stairs and you break apart, chests heaving with breathlessness. His face is flushed, hair and eyes a little wild, and you wonder if this is how he looks post workout, post other exertions.

A runaway thought about licking the sweat off his neck ping-pongs in your brain, but you won’t ever verbalize it. 

You both wait until the guest passes down the hall to their room before either of you speak. He leans down to grab his hat.

“Do we blame the beer?” you ask softly.

“You had cider.”

It’s almost petulant, his words, and it surprises a laugh out of you. His answering smile is soft, and he cups your cheek in his hand. 

“You should go sleep.” His index finger taps lightly on your ear, playful.

You want to protest, to invite him in, but this evening has already sped past any rules you’ve ever had in place for dating and sex. 

A moment to process, to think. 

“Yeah.”

He kisses you again, but it’s chaste and sweet. A good night kiss as though you two are familiar with each other. 

“Message me when you wake up?” His voice is barely a whisper. His nose slides along yours before he drops another kiss and backs up. “Sweet dreams.”

“Yeah.” You are incapable of anything more eloquent than that at the moment. He grins, squeezing your hand before heading toward the stairs. You open the door, still with your back against it, resistant to look away. 

“Night.”

“Good night,” you answer before finally shutting the door behind you. You allow yourself the cliche romantic moment of leaning and sliding down to the floor, completely enamored.

–

You wake and check your phone out of habit. 

Wanna do breakfast? 

It was nearly an hour ago that it was sent, but you hope it’s still an option. The overabundance of cider ensured you slept hard last night, which given how much the man at the other end of this text filled your brain, you are grateful. Because it’s a new day. Sun’s coming up and things that are easy and make sense late into the night, under the influence of alcohol, sometimes feel rather foolish in the light of day.

You want to see him. After last night, after kissing, touching…just feeling; you feel like the one time you’d had a crush in middle school.

The beginnings of crushing. That quickly turned painful and awkward (the epitome of middle school life), and even thinking of it dampens your present joy.

You shove it away, intent on appreciating that the strange inclination that appeared at just seeing Changbin seems to be somewhat reciprocated.

Yes. This pub has breakfast. Wanna meet me?

Give me 15. Have to shower and I’ll be there.

You did not need that mental image.

You may spend a minute more on your face this morning, but then your brain is taken over by thoughts of what to see and what to do for your channel. You keep a decently consistent upload schedule (the only way to keep viewers sticking around), and you posted the last one of your last excursion.

It’s time.

The worry from two seconds ago reappears. 

You find a table downstairs in the pub and order a tea (when in the UK). You check your instagram and TikTok platforms. You’d posted just the castle reflection (no location mentioned) yesterday and just looking at it again warms you.

“Hey.”

You look up from your phone to see Changbin sliding in the chair across from you. His hair is damp and curly, reminding you of that mental image you do not need to have. He wears not all black today, but a pale pink hoodie and dark jeans. He smiles once you make eye contact.

“Morning.”

You reply the same, your own gaze falling to his lips, which flusters you immensely, so you sit up, put your phone away.

“I didn’t know if you were coffee or a tea person.”

“Oh. Coffee. But,” he looks at your cup. “That actually looks good.”

You offer it to him. “Try. You should at least try good breakfast tea while you’re here.” 

He takes it from you, sipping it before staring off as he contemplates. 

“You can have it just plain. I always add milk and sugar. It’s good without too.”

He smiles. “Oh I can?”

You fluster yet again. 

“It’s cute. You’re like a tea missionary all of a sudden.”

He sets the tea back on your side as a server pops up for your order. Changbin orders a full Scottish breakfast (and tea), and you get porridge. 

“Good workout?”

He nods. “I haven’t really been diligent about it.”

“You’re traveling, of course you haven’t.” You rest your chin in your hand. “You enjoy it?”

“Yeah. I mean…” He blushes. “I could go on and on about everything to do with training, eating, all that. I don’t want to bore you.”

“As a person who knows very little, except to get some exercise to be healthy, I won’t be bored.”

He looks doubtful. “No?”

“Try me. I like learning stuff.”

He does know a lot. As much as you don’t think you will ever desire to be a gym rat in any circumstances, you find his enthusiasm wonderful. It’s perhaps one of your favorite things about traveling. A lot of it is solitary, but you do meet people, have conversations that only two strangers on a plane, train, or in a restaurant could have. People have passions, and they light up when they get to talk about them, or share them. 

You once had a two hour conversation with someone about red milkwood fruit and the best areas in South Africa to get it. 

It was really good. 

Food is delivered and Changbin’s commentary about leg day tapers off. You hide a smile as his focus becomes solely his meal. 

“I’d like to look at the castle today. I’m sure you’ve already gone?”

He chews slowly, but shakes his head.

“You haven’t?”

“All three of us had stuff to work on. Or wanted to work, so sight-seeing hasn’t happened yet. So, yeah, let’s go.”

“You don’t mind? I mean, I don’t want you to not work if–”

He interrupts you, saying your name. “You think I don’t want to spend time with you? After…” He’s the cutest thing when he blushes. 

You don’t suppose you look as cute when your face heats too. 

“So,” you save him from continuing, even though your voice definitely cracks, “The castle, and maybe a boat ride at the Canal Centre, the museum there too?” You meet his eyes. “You don’t have to do all of that with me if you don’t want to.”

He leans in a little (there are still two meals between you two). “I want to.” 

You can’t really find anything to say to that, not with that resolute tone that makes you want to crawl over the table (pretty sure the beans on his plate would stain your pants for eternity but it would be worth it) and continue where you left off last night. 

It’s a craving that your very nice porridge will not satiate.

And it’s a lot for you in your not very long time on this planet. 

He seems to feel the same if the way he’s looking at you is any indication, but he drops his gaze to go back to his meal. 

You do the same. 

When you’re outside after eating, he tugs on your backpack. You turn and he pulls it off you, sliding it onto his shoulders. His smile is a little cheeky and bashful. 

“You did say I could carry your stuff.”

“I did.” Can’t really argue with him about that. You open your phone to find the best walking route to the castle and let that lead you both. His hand slips into yours. 

You’ve never gotten to travel as part of a couple. This phase of your life started because you had wanted to see more than your state, and no one in your life was able to join you (commitments to jobs, partners, now kids). Traveling alone means no one puts any sort of expectations of what you do, when you do it, and where. It’s freedom.

But it’s terribly nice to walk hand in hand with someone down a cobblestoned street as you record the simplicity and antiquity of your surroundings. 

“Say hi!” you turn the camera on him and he doesn’t even hesitate, but gives a peace sign and a huge grin. You laugh that he’s so at ease with it, but remind yourself that he performs fairly regularly. 

To see them live would be an experience. 

“Did you know this palace is the birthplace of Mary Queen of Scots?” you ask him, camera still focused on his profile.

“I did not. Nor do I have a clue who that is.”

You laugh again. “Why would you?” You turn the camera back toward the castle in the distance. You do a quick speech about the little you know of British royals and history. “I’ll add more later,” you turn the camera to your face. “Edit this out, but keep in Changbin.”

“Wait, why?”

“Cause you’re cute and look good on camera.”

The blush is redder with the brisk wind. 

“I see how it is. You just want me for my looks.”

“Absolutely.” You may blush when you say it, but his answering laugh is worth it.

The castle is as castles are: drafty, wet-smelling, but still hold some sort of mystique due to age and grandeur. There’s a tour you follow, listening and taking the occasional note on your phone. Changbin is fairly quiet, though he mutters the occasional comment to you which makes you laugh a little too loudly and interrupt the tour guide. 

You really do try not to be the loud and rude American when you travel. 

“When I was little, I wanted to live in a castle,” you say to Changbin when the tour is over and you are just filming to get footage and B roll. 

“You don’t anymore?”

“Oh god no. It’s too cold. Too big. Too much to clean.”

He laughs and adjusts your backpack on his shoulders. “That’s not very romantic.”

“I’m not very…” You trail off, glancing at him as he looks out across the pond. The wind is up, ruffling his hair, and you think you might be a little romantic because your heart does swell when you look at him. 

“Hmm?” He looks back, and smiles.

“Never mind. Wanna head to the Canal Centre?”

“Sure.”

As you both walk that way, you see a group of people (possible power-walkers, is that a thing in Scotland?) coming down the road toward you. He takes you by the elbow and pulls you into a tiny alcove under the footbridge. You stumble into him as his arm wraps around your back. You look up to see him watching the crowd pass by before seeing your gaze. Pink tinges his cheeks in a faint blush. 

“There was–” He gestures with his other hand toward the now absent crowd. “It wasn’t a move, I promise.”

“It’s okay if it had been.”

One corner of his lips shoots up in a smirk-smile. “Yeah?” His arm tightens around you, pulling you flush against him. 

As you lean in to brush a kiss to his lips, your brain is reminding you that everything is on a deadline, and you should mention this to him. But the kiss (and he) is distracting. His hand is splayed in the middle of your back and he’s so warm. The kiss, that starts fairly chaste, morphs into heat, tongue and at least one moan. 

The moan is you.

“Public indecency charges in a foreign country are probably really difficult to get out of,” you mumble, mouth barely touching his. 

He chuckles, hand stroking down your back. “We probably shouldn’t find out.” He rests his head on the stone wall behind him.

You open your mouth to say something about your train leaving tomorrow, but he takes your hand and pulls you from the alcove to head back into the muted sunshine. 

The Canal Centre has options for 12 or 40 people, and requires advanced booking, so you and Changbin just wander through the museum before finding a spot in the tearoom to watch the boats pass. 

“It feels slower here,” he says softly as you look through the footage you’ve taken. 

You lift up your head and raise your eyebrows in question. He shrugs and takes a sip of tea in the dainty teacup. You gesture for him to hold that position as you snap a quick photo of his large hand wrapped around that delicate porcelain. 

“Just. Stopping for tea. Staring out at people. It’s all very calm.”

“We are kinda on vacation. Working here would be different.”

“I’m sure. But even that…people are out for lunch, just heading to the pub and spending time eating and socializing. We do that in Korea, but usually after work, late, for supper and drinks.” He sets the cup back down. “Just different.”

“America never seems to stop. Just get into your car, drive, work, eat as fast as you can, drive home, crash. Maybe go out, but I couldn’t usually muster up the energy post-work.” 

“I’ve never been.” 

“No gigs in the US of A?”

“Not yet.” He meets your eyes before looking back at the boats. “I’m a bit bummed we didn’t get to ride in a boat.” He points at you, with excitement. “We could book for tomorrow if you wanted.”

It’s an anvil on your chest.

“What about your work?”

He gives you a look, like ‘are you kidding?’ “For a boat ride? With you? I think I can take a few hours.” He leans forward, resting his arms on the table, one hand seeking yours. “More content for you, ms. vlogger.”

You let him take your hand and then you take a deep breath. “My train leaves tomorrow.”

His thumb, rubbing over your knuckles, stills at your words. 

“It does?”

You grip his hand in case he thinks of letting go. “I have to get back. Money wise, content wise, just…life.” 

He stares at you, expression unreadable. 

“I’m sorry. I would stay if–”

“You need to get back.” He nods before letting go. “And I have songs to write.”

There are several other people in the tearoom and you want to say things, but it feels way too private for this public venue. 

“When do you guys head back to Korea?”

“End of next week.” He takes a deep breath, eyes back on the boats. His jaw tightens and he turns again back to you. “Come to Korea.”

“What?”

“In your travels, come.”

“I mean, I would like to. It’s on my list.”

“Move it up the list.”

You laugh, bewildered at his insistence. “I’ll try. It’s not like it’s easy to get to from America.”

He takes your hand again. “Come. Please.”

It’s a lot. To not look away from the intensity of his gaze, those brown eyes entreating. 

“You gonna come to the States?”

“Yes.”

No question, no hesitation. 

“Oh.”

He says your name, then looks around. “Can we go somewhere and talk about this?” He takes out some British pounds and leaves them on the table. “Please?”

You gather your things and follow him out. He takes your hand and leads you back to the park from yesterday. He pulls you next to him on the bench, sliding your backpack onto the ground.

But he doesn’t speak. He stares back out across the water, his hand in yours. 

“Bin?”

He turns with a smile. “First time you’ve called me that.” He moves closer, his smile faltering. “Maybe I’m completely off, but this is something.” He gestures to the space between the two of you on ‘this’. “Right? It’s not, it can’t be just a hookup. I…don’t want to not see you again.”

It’s hard to speak. To follow the rapidity of what he says. 

“Right?” He forces a smile. “You weren’t just gonna fuck me and leave?”

You hide your face, embarrassed at his words. “I hadn’t even…I mean, I thought about…oh god.”

He rests his hands on your shoulders, saying your name again. “Talk to me. I realize I am not being at all cool and detached about this. But, when I saw you on the train, I…it’s so cliched and just bad romance movie shit, but I felt something.”

Your head raises up so quickly, his hands tighten in surprise. “You did?”

“Yeah. Like, I mean, you’re cute as fuck, but it was more than that.” He watches your face. “You did too, didn’t you?”

“I thought my heart was going to beat itself into exploding.”

He grins. “I don’t think that makes sense.”

“Yeah, well, it’s my first time.”

“Mine too.” He presses his lips together before speaking. “It’s big, right? Like I don’t know everything about you, but…”

“It feels like it? Yeah.” You feel your face heat. “It’s both super familiar and safe, but also, all the butterflies and anticipation and–”

He kisses you. “That.”

“Yes.” You kiss him back, and he holds you so close that you’re almost in his lap. 

He moves his hands to your face. “We travel, the guys and me. Perform. Then we lock ourselves in the studio for the rest of the year. You can be there, for any of that. As much as you want.” He presses a kiss to your forehead. “We’ve wanted to go to America for a couple years now, we have fans there…”

“I could travel with you guys?”

“Yeah. When you can.” He makes a face. “I mean, I’ll talk to them about it, but they know.”

“They know?”

He doesn’t let go of you, but his eyes do dart away, embarrassed. “They know that I’m into you. That something is going on.” He rolls his eyes. “Ji is especially annoying about it.”

You smile. “I bet.” You encircle his wrists with your hands. “So…long distance, huh?”

He swallows. “I’m game.”

“Me too.” It settles your heart and nerves to hear it. To hear that he feels and has been going through the same as you. That you aren’t alone in this. 

You aren’t alone, at all. 

His thumbs sweep along your cheekbones. “Okay.” His shoulders lower, relaxing. “Okay.”

You kiss him, letting go of his wrists and fully moving onto his lap, arms around his neck. He holds you close, mouth opening to taste you. It’s horribly public, but you don’t really care. 

How could you, in his arms?

When his hand slips under the back of your pants, he mumbles something against your skin.

“Hmm?”

“Thinking about those public indecency laws,” he says. 

You giggle as he looks up at you. “You say the sweetest things, Changbin.” 

He snorts but stares at you. 

You comb his hair off his forehead, staring back. “Pretty.”

He makes a face at you, but doesn’t look away. “I think we’re getting sappy.”

“Maybe a little.” 

You kiss his nose. “I like you.”

He smiles wide. “Yeah?”

“A lot.”

His wayward hand takes one grab of your ass, making you yelp and him laugh. 

“I like you too,” he murmurs, mouth tracing down the shell of your ear. “A lot a lot.”

—

Supper is with Jisung and Chan again, no haggis this time. The four of you opt for curry, and you are given a front row seat to Changbin’s ability to handle spice and how Chan and Jisung don’t handle it.

Though all three do way better than you as you ask the server for the least spicy curry on the menu. And even then, you make good use of the naan in the middle of the table. 

Changbin sits next to you, thigh flush to yours. His hand finds your leg often, resting on it, tapping a rhythm on your knee, fingers slipping to your inner thigh; hints of more, both casual and intentional. 

“You don’t mind?”

Chan glances at you from taking a swig of his pint. “Not at all. It’d be nice to have someone along. We have roadies, of course. But like…” He shrugs. “We put up with Ji, so you’ll be a breeze.”

Jisung glares at him. “I’m an angel.”

“I would check with you about anything I post, of course.”

Chan smiles warmly. “I trust you. Pretty obvious the moment you offered us a bed.”

It feels like years ago.

“I still can’t believe I did that.” You shake your head. “I’m lucky I’m not a True Crime podcast episode.” 

“Or Bin isn’t.” Jisung says. “All you’d have to do is get him working and like, you could sneak up on him so easily.” He chews then swallows. “Not that I’ve thought about it.”

“Feeling’s mutual, Ji,” Changbin volleys back, unbothered by his friend’s comment. His fingers lace with yours, resting on his leg. You try not to show how affected you are, but Jisung meets your eyes and winks at you.

Chan gives you a big hug after supper, outside the restaurant. “I’d say I’d get up and say goodbye, but I don’t want to lie.”

You hug him back, chuckling. “I appreciate the honesty.” 

He squeezes your arm. “Have a safe trip. We’ll see you soon.” 

“Yeah, you will.”

Jisung hugs you this time, long arms wrapped around you. He also wishes you a safe trip and elicits a promise from you that you’ll bring Flaming Cheetos with you when you come to Korea as he really wants to try them.

It’s an easy promise to make. 

There’s no excuse or question as to whether Changbin will walk you back to your room. He follows you in the main door, both of you not speaking. When you get to your room, he covers your hand as you try to unlock the door.

“Can I stay with you tonight?” he asks, voice no more than a whisper. “I’m afraid I won’t get up to say goodbye and–”

You turn around to kiss his cheek, silencing his stammering. “Yes.”

“Yes?”

You open the door. “We’ve already shared a cabin. Might as well share a bed, right?”

He enters, a bit timidly, glancing around. “You’ve already packed?”

“I barely unpacked.” You take your backpack from him, setting it on the floor of the wardrobe. You take off your shoes, setting them next to your backpack. You reach out for him, grabbing his hoodie to yank him to you. 

“I wasn’t…I wasn’t assuming that we’d…”

“You did ask if I planned to fuck you and leave.”

He coughs a laugh, hands settling on your hips. “I did, didn’t I? I was panicking a little.”

You kiss his chin. “I’m not assuming anything either. I just want to kiss you again.”

His eyes soften and he slides his hands under your thighs, the unspoken indicator to jump into his arms. You do so, legs around his waist as he covers your mouth with his. He moves you both to the bed, laying you down carefully, leaving your lips to taste and suck down your neck. He only breaks away when you pull on his hoodie in an effort to disrobe him. His laugh is light when he pulls it off, his t-shirt clinging to him in ways that should be illegal. He takes off your layers, peeling off the sweatshirt, t-shirt, then camisole. 

He stares.

You whine a protest. “What?”

He leans down, lips at your ear. His hands slide along your side, almost tickling. 

“I like your shape.” You tremble at the puff of his breath on your ear, shiver more when he nips at the lobe. He continues, pressing kisses along your jaw line until he’s back to your mouth, urgent. Your legs fall open as he lowers himself, a sharp intake of breath when you feel him. 

“I like yours, too,” you sigh into his mouth. 

There’s a rumble of laughter. “Which shape?” He lifts his head to grin at you. “My body or my dick?”

You slap his arm, flustered. 

He rests on his forearms, dropping soft pecks on your nose, cheeks, eyelids. “Just trying to clarify here.”

“Ridiculous.”

“You aren’t answering.”

You open your eyes, now to glare at him. “Both, obviously.”

His smirk is so satisfied, you kind of want to hit him again. He sits back on his knees and starts to undo the button of your jeans.

“Okay?”

You nod. “Your shirt first, though.”

He pulls it off, and you think your mouth actually waters a little. You sit up and he groans because he can’t undo your jeans now. But you have to touch. You have to map every line and curve of his body with your hands, taking in that warmth and softness. You kiss his chest, unable not to.

“I fully support all the working out.”

He giggles before trying to usher you to lay back down. He’s mostly successful though you have to kiss him again, taste his tongue and mouth again. 

He’s single-minded, returning to your jeans and dragging them off you before doing the same on himself. You’ve sat up, legs crossed, eyes just marveling at him and every reveal of skin that you get. 

“I guess it’s kind of late, but I haven’t been with anyone in months. I’m clean.” Just clad in his boxer-briefs, he sits next to you, his hand on your thigh, drawing up and down the length of it. 

“Years,” you admit. “But yeah, clean.”

He grasps you by the chin, bringing your mouth close. “Years?”

“I’m not a sexy rapper.”

He kisses you lightly. “True.”

You punch his shoulder and he doesn’t even flinch. He’s laughing into your mouth, kissing; his other hand cupping the back of your neck. You scoot closer, knees on either side of his hips. You roll your hips the moment you sink down.

His groan is music. 

“You have protection?” You ask in between kisses. He rests his forehead on your collarbone when you repeat the motion, biting your lip so you don’t echo his groan. 

“You don’t?”

“Years,” you repeat. He lifts his head to smile at you. 

“I do.”

“See…sexy rapper, with groupies all ready to throw themselves at you.” You tousle his hair, jerking when his hand drifts under your underwear, palming your ass. 

He rolls his eyes at you, but leans over to pull his wallet out of his discarded jeans, seeking the one condom he has. He hands it to you, freeing his hand to help lower you both back to the bed. 

Underwear tossed aside, latex rolled on; there are more kisses, and explorations of each other. He pushes in so gently, with whispered compliments and soft touches. It’s a different tone and color than his performative rapping. 

Softer, quieter. Private. 

Perhaps since it’s been years, it seems to happen all too quickly. You first then him. He’s collapsed on you, his breath harsh pants. You give into your earlier fantasy and lick away a drop of sweat off his temple. His hold on you tightens. 

“We should get some sleep,” you say, playing with his hair. 

“Don’t wanna,” he mumbles into your skin. 

You smile sadly, recognizing that it’s only hours left. He rolls off of you, planting a kiss on your shoulder. His eyes are half-open, sleep oncoming.

You roll to your side, curling up next to him. “I’ll wake you.”

He turns his head, meeting your eyes. “You better.” His eyes flutter closed. “I wanted to sleep next to you that night on the train.”

“Me too.”

–

“Hello friends,” you greet the camera with a smile. “I just arrived and have made it through customs, which is way better streamlined than in the States. It was a long flight,” you nod at some passengers you pass on your way to the arrival area. “But pretty uneventful. I think I slept nearly all of it.”

You look around once you go through the automatic sliding doors. 

“I can’t believe I’m here. It’s been almost six months and–” You break off when you hear your name above all the pandemonium of the Seoul International Airport. Your camera turns with you as you try to follow that shout. 

On Youtube, the video loses focus and there are muffled voices. The shot is of a far-off baggage claim and dozens of walking legs and shoes. When the camera is righted, it frames two faces.

You’re no longer on your own.

----

(c) yoongihan 2024. please do not steal, translate, repost, or whatever. stray kids belong to themselves and all idols used in this piece are just the inspiration for characters and do not in any way reflect the actual humans.

[punkshort]

Chapter warnings: smut (18+ MDNI), language, lots of smut, fluff, did I mention smut?

Epilogue

September 2005

"Are we almost there?" you asked Joel, who looked back over his shoulder at you from atop his horse.

"Almost," he assured you, turning back to the road in front of him.

He had wanted to keep it a surprise, but you saw the signs on the highway and figured it out a few hours into the trip. He was taking you to Yellowstone for "a few days", and it had taken you almost a full day on the back of a horse to finally get there. Your back and legs were sore, but you didn't complain. You were excited at the idea of getting away with Joel, just the two of you, the way it used to be.

You wondered where he was planning on taking you, having ridden by several campgrounds at this point as you made your way down the twisty road that led you through the entire park. You began to see signs for Old Faithful and your face lit up.

"C'mon, this way," he called over his shoulder as he steered his horse onto a road that led to a massive parking lot peppered with buildings. He led you past a visitors' center, a restaurant, and a general store until he stopped in front of a huge hotel.

"Whoa," you said, sliding down from your horse as you gawked up at the huge building, which was made to look like a giant log cabin.

"Me and Tommy came up a week ago and checked out the area, should be safe," he told you as he tied your horses to a railing.

"The whole building?" you asked incredulously. There was no way they could have gone through each room.

"Well, no, but we cleared the first floor and barricaded the stairs after we checked the hallways," he admitted. "Still should be on alert, though."

He led you up the steps and cracked the front door open, peeking inside for a minute before opening it all the way and letting you in. He held his rifle in his hands as he checked out the dining hall and kitchen before returning to you in the lobby. You had plopped down on a couch to rest, your head twisting around as you took in the artwork and informational signage on the walls.

"Tired?" he guessed, arching an eyebrow at you.

"A little," you admitted guiltily. "Guess I got too used to a life of luxury."

He laughed and held his arm out to help pull you up from the couch.

"C'mon, I already picked out a room for us," he said, leading you down the hall with his arm slung around your shoulder.

"I feel bad you did all this work and it's your birthday," you told him.

"You don't know if it's my birthday," he reminded you, and you shook your head.

"According to Maria's calendar, it's tomorrow," you said as you gave him a gentle poke in the ribs. No one was really sure what the actual date was. It had struck a big debate in a town hall meeting, various people swearing up and down they had kept track since the outbreak, but no one could agree on the same date. Maria compromised and picked a date in the middle, and it had been that way ever since.

"A few days all alone with you is well worth it," he said. Once you reached a door marked 19 all the way at the end of the hall, he dropped his arm from your shoulders and gripped his rifle.

"Lemme double check it's clear," he told you, pushing the unlocked door open and advancing into the room, doing a quick sweep before coming back out to the hall, ushering you inside.

"This is nice," you said, shrugging off your backpack and kicking off your boots. It was a standard hotel room: one king sized bed, a dresser, end tables, and a bathroom. But it looked like he had taken the time to clean it. You noticed there wasn't much dust on the surfaces in the room, and the bed looked freshly made.

"It's not much," he said as he walked to the covered window. "But this is why I picked it."

He flicked the curtains open so you could see outside. It was getting dark, but you could see a massive, open, rocky terrain directly outside your window. You squinted, trying to figure out what you were looking at when suddenly a huge gush of water shot straight up into the sky.

"Holy shit!" you yelled, quickly walking over to press your face against the window. Joel laughed. His timing couldn't have been more perfect.

You watched the geyser erupt for a few short minutes before it slowed and disappeared, and the quiet of evening enveloped the area once again.

"That was so cool," you said, looking up at him leaning against the window frame.

"We can get a better look tomorrow," he promised you. He pushed off the window to return to his pack, taking out a lantern and putting it on top of the dresser so you could see as the sun began to set.

"Is this where you and Tommy stayed when you came here?"

"No," he chuckled. "We were practically still kids. Thought we were tough roughin' it in the woods. First night we thought we heard a bear, next mornin' we booked the tiniest cabin you've ever seen, spent the rest of the week tryin' not to kill each other."

You laughed at the image he painted for you then flopped on the bed with a groan.

"Comfortable?" he asked you, standing up from emptying his backpack and turning around.

"Mhmm," you hummed, turning your head to look at him across the room. "Come here."

He strode over to you with a smirk and leaned down, his fists pushing into the mattress to hold him up on either side of you. He bent down to press his lips softly against yours, your eyes fluttering shut at the tenderness behind his kiss. You ran your hand up his exposed forearm, lightly tracing his veins under your fingertip while your other hand wrapped around the back of his neck, your fingers carding through his curls as you pulled him down further to you.

"Y'know, it's the anniversary of our first kiss," he mumbled against your mouth before pulling back and standing up.

"Oh, that's right," you said with a grin, then sat up on the bed as you watched him tug the curtains closed. You dragged your eyes up and down his body, thinking back to that night outside the bar and how much simpler life was back then.

"What're you thinkin' about?" he asked you, the corner of his mouth tugging up when he turned around and caught you staring.

"I was just wondering what would have happened that night if I went home with you," you told him. You giggled when his gaze darkened, his mind clearly taking what you said very literally.

"I mean, with us," you clarified. "And the outbreak. What our lives would have been like, if we would have even found each other that day..." your voice trailed off, leaving out the darker thought you had. What if Colleen had bit you?

Joel could tell you were overthinking when he saw your unfocused eyes trail around the room and your teeth sink into your lower lip.

"I always woulda found you, no matter what," he assured you. When that didn't seem to snap you out of it, he continued. "Besides, if you had come home with me that night, there was no way we were leavin' my bed the next day. I can promise you that."

That finally made a grin pull across your face and your eyes light up.

"Oh, yeah?" you pressed him, wiggling your eyebrows. You crawled across the bed, laying flat on your stomach and beckoned him to join you. He shook his head but walked back over to the bed anyway.

"Thought you were tired?" he murmured, his fingers gently trailing from the back of your neck down your spine.

"Not that tired," you said, turning your head to the side so you could look up at him standing above you. "Tell me what would have happened that night."

He felt his cock move in his jeans, and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from groaning. It always amazed him how you could bring him to his knees with just a few words.

He swung his leg over yours so he was kneeling on either side of you, his hips resting on the back of your legs. He ran his hands up your sides before slowly dragging them back down to your hips, giving them a squeeze.

"Assumin' I didn't fuck you in the elevator first," he said lowly, his fingers dipping underneath the hem of your shirt. "I think I woulda laid you on top of my kitchen counter, pushed that little black dress up," he said as he lifted your shirt up to your shoulders, his hands massaging your sore back. "Then I woulda fucked you with my tongue til you were screamin' my name."

"Hmm," you moaned, wiggling your ass enticingly. "You do seem to have a thing for kitchen counters."

He grinned as he gently yanked your shirt over your head, leaving your top half bare and pressed into the bed.

"What else?" you asked breathlessly, your eyes sliding shut as he continued to rub his rough hands along your sore muscles.

"You remember those red shoes you were wearin'?"

You nodded and let out a soft whimper when his fingers found a particularly tough knot in your back.

"When I saw those, I thought about fuckin' you with 'em slung over my shoulders," he said, his erection straining against his jeans now.

"I should've packed them before we left my apartment," you muttered with a half smile. "I'm sure they would have been useful in the middle of the woods."

"Oh, you wanna talk about what went through my mind in your apartment?" he asked, reaching underneath you to unzip your jeans. He could feel the anticipation bubbling inside him becoming unmanageable, desperate to bury himself inside you.

"What about it?" you whispered, lifting your hips so he could pull your jeans off, leaving you in just your underwear. He hissed through his teeth when he saw the lacy pair you chose to wear for him, leaving very little coverage. His huge hands stretched out over each one of your cheeks as far as he could before curling his fingers and giving your ass an aggressive jiggle.

"Shoulda at least packed those little red panties stashed away in your drawer," he growled, his hands massaging your ass before traveling down the backs of your thighs, his movements becoming erratic. He felt your body still under him, and he froze, wondering if he crossed a line.

"What the hell? You went through my underwear drawer?" you asked sharply without turning your head to look at him. He cleared his throat before answering.

"Well, I-I didn't mean to, I was lookin' on top of your dresser and the drawer was open..." Joel stammered, feeling embarrassed until he felt your body shaking under his hands, your palm covering your mouth to stifle your laughter. He exhaled harshly when he realized you were just messing with him, his mood quickly changing back to playful.

"Oh, you're gonna get it now," he said darkly, making you yelp when he grabbed the sides of your underwear and roughly pulled them down your legs.

You tried to turn over, but his hand splayed across your lower back, effectively stopping you with a tsk.

"Nah, I think you're good right where you are, sweetheart," he said as he hurriedly unbuckled his belt. You heard the telltale sound of a zipper, and you thought you were going to jump out of your skin. Not being able to see him but to hear and feel everything was driving you wild.

He only pushed his jeans down far enough to free his cock, stroking it in one hand while his other hand curled around your hipbone, giving you a firm but gentle tug. You immediately obeyed, lifting your hips off the mattress but keeping your arms and head flat against the comforter. Your breaths were shallow as you anxiously waited for him to touch you.

Joel watched your arms reach straight out, your fingers gripping the duvet as your braced yourself for him. He looked down to admire your ass propped up in the air. He kept a firm hold on your hip as he slid his cock between your folds, collecting your arousal all along the length of him. You let out a low moan when his tip pushed up against your clit, and he couldn't help the smirk that danced across his face.

"You like messin' with me, hm?" he asked, dragging his cock through your folds again before his tip found your entrance, and he paused.

"Answer me," he demanded, his brows furrowed as he stared at the back of your head. You felt a shiver run down your spine at his tone. It was one of the things you loved most about him: his duality. The way he could be so gentle and soft, but also rough and harsh.

"Yes," you said breathily, and you felt his cock twitch against your cunt. Before you had a chance to think, his hand came down on your ass with a loud smack, followed immediately by him sinking into you with one swift motion.

"Fuck!" you cried out, waiting as the sting from his hand and cock slowly subsided into pleasure. Your fingers gripped the duvet so tight, they felt numb. You panted against your arm, waiting for him to move.

Both his hands gripped your hips lightly as he tried to ground himself, the sensation of your walls squeezing him making him dizzy. He watched, slack jawed, as the red handprint he left on your cheek slowly faded. Once it was gone, he swallowed and steadied himself.

He pulled back almost completely and paused before he pushed back into you as deep as he could, eliciting a moan from your throat. The angle caused him to get so deep that his tip was pressing against your cervix, making your eyes roll to the back of your head with each deep, powerful thrust.

He began to roll his hips steadily, his grip on you tightening as you whimpered under him. He could tell he was hitting that sweet spot by the soft noises you made and the way you clenched around him, causing him to quickly approach his high.

"Joel," you whined under him, desperate to hear his voice, still unable to see him.

"Would you have let me fuck you like this?" he gasped, his head tilting back and his eyes sliding shut as he continued to fuck into you. "That night at the bar? Would you - "

"Yes!" you cried out, your hips bucking against him now, desperate for release. "I wanted you so bad that night, baby, please..."

A switch flipped inside him when he heard that name - baby. He groaned, his eyes flashing open, his jaw clenched as his fingers left deep bruises in your hips.

"Fuck, y'know what that does to me," he muttered, slamming his hips into you over and over until he felt your cunt flutter around him, and you choked out a gasp, letting your orgasm wash over you as he continued to jerk inside you relentlessly.

He felt your body sag, but you fought to hold your hips up on shaky legs as he chased his release.

"That's my girl. Such a good girl, always make me feel so good," he murmured more to himself than anything. A few more thrusts and he pulled himself out of you quickly, spilling himself all over your back as you panted for air underneath him.

You both collapsed onto the bed: you on your stomach, him on his back, as you each attempted to catch your breath.

"Jesus, fuck," he rasped, staring at the ceiling. You turned your head and gave him a quiet giggle.

"I should mess with you more often," you teased, pulling the hair back from your face.

"I'm gettin' old, you know," he said, turning his head to the side. "You might kill me."

You hummed as your fingers danced up his still clothed torso, your eyelids drooping. With a groan, he pushed himself off the bed to fish out a rag from his backpack, cleaning you both up before tossing it on the floor and shimmying out of his clothes. He collapsed into bed naked, pulling you against him and yanking the sheets over the top of you both.

He buried his nose in your hair, inhaling deeply before he drifted off to sleep.

You woke up the next morning to Joel's rough, calloused hands lazily drawing circles over your stomach. You were both still naked under the sheets, Joel's arms wrapped around you from behind as you slept on your right side, tucked against him. His warm breath fanned across the back of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine as you pressed yourself into him further. You were both barely awake, eyes closed as you enjoyed each other's gentle touch under the cool, white sheets.

Joel pushed his hips against your ass, craving your warmth while his hand slowly traveled to your ribs, stroking the old scars that served as a reminder of what you were willing to do for him. You sighed, eyes still closed as you pushed yourself back against his hardening length. His fingers continued to blindly trace your scars until he slid his hand down to your hip, pressing a small kiss against your shoulder. His beard tickled your overly sensitive skin, giving you goosebumps. Joel yanked the covers over you further, thinking your reaction meant you were cold. He returned his hand to your hip, his massive palm gripping it lightly while he encouraged you to roll your ass against him slowly, and you happily obliged.

His right hand spread across your stomach and pulled you close, while his left hand found its way from your hip to between your legs. He let out a soft moan when he felt your wetness collecting there, all for him. He kept his eyes shut and rested his face against the back of your neck, lazily teasing your clit with the pad of his middle finger. You sighed, your hands reaching up to grip the pillow you had been sleeping on as you continued to slowly rock your hips against his cock.

You could feel your slick spreading over your inner thighs, your legs still pressed together while Joel continued to work you slowly, like he had all the time in the world. You felt the telltale stickiness of his precum leaving a trail on your lower back while you continued to rub up against him.

You lifted your left leg in the air, your ankle resting on the side of his knee. Reaching down, your fingers wrapped around his cock, notching his thick head against your aching cunt and sighed with relief as he pushed himself into you. His hand left your clit to steady your hip against him, his other hand still pressed firmly on your stomach.

You both kept your eyes closed, savoring the slow, languid feeling of his cock sliding in and out of you, filling you up. You could feel every inch of him from this angle, fitting so perfectly inside you, rubbing his tip slowly and steadily against that one spot only he managed to find.

His left hand slid down your inner thigh, his hips still rocking gently against your ass, until his palm reached your knee. He pulled it up towards the ceiling, your foot falling onto the bed behind his legs, opening up your hips to deepen the angle.

You gasped softly and your grip tightened on the pillow. His chest was pressed up against your back, and you could hear the stickiness on your skin from your combined sweat with each of his slow thrusts and roll of your hips.

His hand remained on your knee, spreading you open for him as he steadily fucked into you from behind. You could tell by his exhale on your neck that his breath was coming quicker now. You felt the familiar coil tightening in your lower stomach, and you tipped your head back, mouth hanging open, eyes still closed.

Your movement must have finally made him open his eyes to look at you because he craned his neck over to claim your open mouth with his, his tongue lazily swirling around yours.

There was no rush. No frantic, hurried movements. Just the two of you enjoying a peaceful, serene morning.

You whimpered softly against his mouth. He could feel your muscles tensing under his hands, a sign warning him you were close. He kept his hand on your knee but reached his right hand down to your clit, two fingers working you back and forth until the coil finally snapped.

You moaned, the loudest noise either of you had made so far that morning, as your hips stuttered against him. He felt your release coating his already soaked cock as he forced his eyes open to watch you. He kept rolling his hips into you steadily while you came down from your high, gasping for breath and covered in sweat.

He was so transfixed on your face, so obsessed with the way he could unravel you, that he didn't even realize his own climax had snuck up on him. He groaned into your neck as he felt his thick ropes of cum shooting inside you.

Reality came crashing down quickly, his eyes widening as he pulled his hips back aggressively, watching the rest of his spend coat your back and the sheets.

"Oh, fuck," he gasped, scrambling to sit up on the bed. You gave him a confused look over your shoulder, still lost in the afterglow of your orgasm. He grabbed your ankles and twisted you around so you were flat on your back, pushing your legs apart and peering between them to confirm his fear.

"Fuck!" he said, more panicked now. You sat up when you realized what happened, looking down at the trail of cum that was leaking out of you and onto the bed.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to - fuck!" he said for the third time, his jaw clenching while his hand angrily raked through his hair.

"Wait, just calm down, let me think for a second," you told him, your hand over your chest. Your eyes scanned the room as you mentally did the math, trying to remember the last time you had your period.

"What's there to think about? Christ, I'm such a fuckin' asshole," he said as he stood from the bed and paced around the room, rubbing the heels of his palms into his eyes.

"I think it's fine," you said timidly, still counting the days in your head. "Yeah, it's fine. We're fine," you said more confidently now.

"How?!" he exclaimed, clearly still in a panic. You kneeled on the bed now, holding out your hands to try and quiet him down.

"Joel, there's only a handful days a month where this would have been a problem, and fortunately for us, this is not one of those days," you explained calmly. He looked confused, so you continued.

"I'm supposed to get my period in like, 4 or 5 days. I'm not ovulating, it's fine," you emphasized, and you watched as his eyes softened, absorbing your words.

"Oh, shit," he muttered, tipping his head back. His body sagged with relief as he flopped back on the bed, his hand on his heaving chest.

"Relax, it's okay," you cooed, running your fingers gently through his hair. He sighed and looked up at you.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he repeated, and you shook your head.

"Don't be. It was such a nice way to wake up, let's not ruin it," you said softly, leaning down to press a kiss against his lips.

"Mmm, it was, wasn't it?" he said, smiling against your mouth.

"Except now, you made a mess, and I need to clean myself up," you teased, sliding off the bed to head into the bathroom.

"Wait," he called out, and you turned around. "Before you do... c'mere."

You walked slowly back over to his side of the bed, his gaze raking up and down your naked form.

"What?" you whispered, his hand reaching up to grasp yours.

"Let me see," he told you, his gaze flicking down to your cunt and then back up to your eyes. Your breath hitched in your throat at his request.

"You already saw," you teased, and he grunted, dropping your hand and pushing himself up so he was sitting on the edge of the bed.

"I wanna see again," he said sternly, his gaze dark. His hands reached out to grip the backs of your thighs, pulling you toward him so you stood between his knees.

You placed your hands on his shoulders and took a step to the side, parting your legs. He watched with his lips parted as a trail of his cum dripped slowly down your thigh.

"Fuck," he whispered to himself, his hand coming down from your leg to palm his half hard cock.

"Oh, now you like it?" you chided him, but he just nodded and swallowed, still staring.

"Would it be bad if I wanna do it again?" he whispered, looking up at you.

"I'm not sure we should celebrate it, Joel," you muttered, your nails grazing his shoulder. You shifted your weight, trying to hide the familiar ache growing between your legs.

"You want it, too," he said, noticing how you tried to keep yourself from pressing your thighs together.

You bit your lower lip as you stared into his eyes, pupils blown wide with lust. Your gaze flickered down to his cock, fully hard now and waiting for you. His hands massaged the backs of your thighs, his eyes never leaving yours as he waited for your response.

You re-counted the days in your head hurriedly before you nodded.

"Just this once," you whispered, knowing it was a lie the moment the words left your lips. He growled, one hand sliding up your back while the other firmly held your thigh so he could twist you around, tossing you on your back behind him.

He crawled on top of you feverishly, a wild look in his eye as his mouth lunged down to cover yours. You could hardly keep up with his tongue before he dragged his mouth down your jaw, sucking and licking the sensitive skin on your neck.

"Joel," you whined, your legs spreading under his weight. It felt like his body was vibrating with excitement, the urge to claim you in the rawest sense taking over. He reached down to line himself up, and with barely any warning, buried his cock inside you all the way to the hilt, making you cry out underneath him. He groaned into your shoulder, his arms wrapped around you tightly, his pace merciless. Your fingernails left marks on his back as you held on for dear life, a stark contrast to the lazy way he fucked you earlier that morning.

He was lost in his own head, pounding into you like an animal, the thought of filling you with his cum driving him crazy. You whimpered, trying to adjust your hips to ease the sting with no success. It occurred to him he was being too rough when he heard the noise you made, and he slowed his hips, lifting his head from your shoulder to look down at your face, which was trying to mask the pain.

"I'm sorry," he gasped, rolling his hips a little slower.

"It's okay," you squeaked, your eyes screwed shut. "Keep going."

"Don't wanna hurt you," he murmured, holding your hip down and rolling his cock inside you more deliberately, the way he knows you liked.

"Not hurting me," you told him, forcing your eyes open and blinking back tears.

"Liar," he said, planting a soft kiss against your lips. You moaned and tipped your head back while he continued to thrust into you slower, your nails easing up on his back.

"Think you can come for me, sweetheart?" he panted, watching your face closely for any more discomfort.

"I-I don't know," you admitted, your brows furrowing in concentration. He pulled his hips back so his hand could travel between your bodies, the pad of his thumb brushing against your clit.

"How's that?" he asked, causing you to squirm underneath him and gasp.

"Better," you groaned as his thumb built up your second orgasm of the morning. "Yeah, like that, fuck - talk to me, Joel," you begged.

"You like it when I talk dirty to you?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"Yes," you hissed, arching your back as he continued rolling his hips into you.

"What'dya wanna hear?" he grunted. "Want me to tell you how tight your pretty pussy feels, even though I already stretched it out last night and this mornin'?"

You moaned and pinched your eyebrows together, his words washing over you, making you climb higher.

"Or you wanna hear somethin' sweeter?" he asked, his hips slowing a fraction. "Wanna know how much I think 'bout you all day? How I can't focus on anyone else when you're in the room, hm? How I've never loved anybody the way I love you?"

You felt the tears prick your eyes again, but this time it wasn't due to pain.

"Joel," you whispered, bringing a hand up from his shoulder to rake through his hair. His thumb picked up the pace and your eyes rolled to the back of your head.

"That's right, say my name," he groaned, loving the way he alone could make you come undone. "Wanna hear you scream it when you come for me, can you do that, sweetheart?"

You nodded obediently, eyes squeezed shut and jaw slack as you felt yourself about to let go. He felt your walls tighten around him, and he smirked, his thrusts picking up the pace again.

"Oh, fuck," he gasped, his hips stuttering. "C'mon, let me hear you."

"Joel!" you yelled out, just as you promised, your back arching off the bed and your hand yanking his hair violently as you felt the wave of your climax wash over you yet again.

"That's my girl," he said through gritted teeth, his hips snapping into you again, the hand that was previously on your clit found its spot back on your hip, keeping you in place.

"I'm gonna come, sweetheart," he panted, his vision getting spotty. "I'm gonna come in this tight pussy, make a fuckin' mess."

"Do it," you whispered, your body lax underneath him, eyes slid shut.

"Need you to say it," he pleaded, his voice pained. You opened your eyes and looked at him. His forehead was dripping with sweat, his eyes wild as he stared down at you, waiting for your permission again.

"Come inside me, Joel," you murmured. You felt the goosebumps pop up under his skin at hearing your words. He hung his head, giving you just a couple more thrusts before his body stilled with a deep groan.

"Fuck!" he growled, looking down as he throbbed inside you, watching as his slow thrusts eventually pushed his hot spend out, collecting at the base of his cock. His arms gave out, collapsing on top of you, catching his breath against your shoulder.

"Goddamn," he croaked, turning his face towards you after a minute. "I like bein' inside you after."

"Yeah," you whispered, your eyes closed, enjoying the feeling of having him everywhere.

"Happy birthday," you added with a smirk. He let out a huff that sounded like a tired laugh, and he gave your shoulder a quick kiss.

"Thank you," he muttered, dragging his lips over the curve of your shoulder, making you shudder.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked as his hand wrapped around your waist.

"No, I would have told you to stop if you hurt me," you said, opening your eyes to look at him. He searched your face for a moment before nodding and shutting his eyes.

You let him stay like that for a few minutes until the stickiness between your legs became too uncomfortable.

"Joel," you murmured, and he hummed in response. "I gotta clean up."

He let out a groan of protest before he shakily pushed himself up on his arms and slowly slid his cock out of you with a hiss, staring at the mess he left between your legs.

"Nuh uh, don't get any ideas, I need a break," you warned him, pushing on his shoulder so you could stand. He laughed, helping you up on unsteady legs.

"Couldn't do it if I tried, I ain't Superman," he joked as you wobbled towards the bathroom.

"Coulda fooled me," you called back over your shoulder before you shut the bathroom door behind you.

"I thought we were going to see the geyser again?" you questioned wearily as you watched Joel unhook a canoe from inside the cabin he had just broken into. He dragged it out onto the grass before turning back to find paddles inside.

"It goes off like every hour or somethin', we'll see it a bunch more, I promise," he said, handing you a paddle. You took it gingerly from his hand as he tossed his own into the canoe and began pushing it on the grass towards the water.

"You sure the horses will be ok?" you asked, not thrilled about the idea of floating down something called Firehole River.

"Yeah, they're good. I got them all set up in a shed. Plenty of food and water. You alright?" he asked, finally noticing the discomfort on your face.

"Yeah, I'm fine," you nodded. You wanted to do whatever he wanted to do. After all, it was his birthday.

"Don't look fine," he said, giving the canoe a final shove but keeping one foot inside so it didn't float away.

"I'm just not really good on water," you finally admitted. "I get sick, the waves make me nauseous."

"Oh, don't worry about it, sweetheart. You'll be alright. River doesn't have any waves, it's slow. But if you do start to get sick, we can go back."

You agreed, if only because he seemed so excited for whatever he had planned and you didn't want to ruin it. You took a tentative step into the canoe, your hand flying out to grab onto Joel when you felt it shift under you.

Once both feet were inside, you quickly sat down so your weight didn't rock the boat. Joel jumped in with ease after he gave the canoe a shove from shore, and he began to paddle north. It was a cooler day, but the sun warmed your skin to the point where you ended up shedding your coat after a few minutes.

"Hardly even need to paddle, current's takin' us fast," he said, setting down the paddle and leaning back, admiring the huge trees that lined the river. He turned his head to watch a small herd of deer drinking from the river as you floated by a clearing in the woods.

"This is actually very peaceful," you admitted, closing your eyes and leaning back against his chest.

"Feelin' sick?" he asked as he rubbed a hand up and down your arm.

"Nope, I'm good," you told him. "Where are we headed?"

"It's a surprise," he said with a grin.

"It's your birthday, you're supposed to be the one surprised."

"I seem to remember bein' surprised this mornin'," he teased, and you swatted at his arm.

"Fine," you grumbled, closing your eyes again.

All of the physical activity from yesterday and that morning must have caught up with you because the next thing you knew, Joel was whispering in your ear, waking you up.

You squinted up at him, the sun still powerful overhead.

"Must've wore you out," he joked as he tried to paddle the canoe to shore. Your body was still draped over his and clearly in his way, so you sat up to free him, stretching your arms with a yawn and looking at your surroundings.

"How long was I asleep?"

"Maybe half an hour," he said with a grunt when the canoe hit land. He stood up and hopped on the shore, leaning forward to haul you and the canoe halfway onto the gravel before reaching out his hand to help you up.

"What a rugged, sexy boyfriend I have," you giggled, and you swore you saw his cheeks flush when he smiled.

"C'mon, grab your backpack, we gotta walk a bit but it ain't far," he said, waiting for you to be ready.

"What's not far?" you tried again, adjusting your shoulder straps as you fell in step next to him.

"You'll see," he said with a smirk, and you rolled your eyes.

You walked for maybe 15 minutes on rocky, white terrain before you saw the steam in the distance. You squinted, trying to figure out what you were looking at. It wasn't until you passed by a sign that said "Grand Prismatic Spring" that you figured it out.

"Is this a hot spring?!" you exclaimed, and he nodded, the corners of his mouth turning up as your excitement bubbled over.

"Largest one in the country," he said as you got closer.

"Oh my god!" you cried out, unable to contain yourself when you saw it. It was huge. The steam was thick as it hovered over the water, but you could still see the size of it, and the colors. It had to be the most beautiful thing you had ever seen. The vivid oranges on the shore that faded to bright yellows, then greens to a deep blue took your breath away.

"Can we swim in it?" you asked him, and he shook his head.

"It's too hot, you'll burn," he told you regrettably when he saw your face fall. "But there is another spot a bit of a ways over there called Opal Pool. Me and Tommy swam it in when we were here."

"Sounds beautiful," you told him, leaning up to give him a quick kiss on the lips. "Lead the way."

It was only a ten minute walk from the hot spring to the small body of water. Joel warned you as you yanked off your shirt that it wasn't a hot spring, so the water was a bit cooler, but it should still be comfortable. You shimmied out of your pants, eager to soak your sore muscles in the crystal blue water.

You tested the water out briefly with your toes before going all the way in as quickly as you could, submerging yourself up to your collarbone. He was right, the water was a little chilly, but it still felt good. You turned around just in time to watch his fully naked form come in after you, a quick puff of air leaving his mouth once he realized the temperature before he made his way over to you and wrapped his arms around your ribs, pulling you close.

You hooked your legs around his waist and rested your arms around his shoulders. Leaning forward, you pressed gentle kisses against his neck and a contented sigh left his mouth.

"This might be the best birthday I've ever had," he murmured into your ear.

"I don't know," you said, leaning back. "That Beefaroni I found you last year was pretty good." He laughed before pressing a kiss against your lips.

"Yeah, that was a good one, too," he relented, bringing a wet hand out of the water to brush back the hair from your face. You leaned into his touch with a sigh.

"What would it have been like if we ended up living here, like you wanted?" you wondered out loud as you stared into his deep brown eyes.

"I'm sure there's pros and cons," he said, his eyes traveling down to your tits just barely concealed by the water. "This is definitely in the pro column." You laughed as you rested the side of your head against this shoulder.

"Woulda been harder to survive. Constantly havin' to hunt and trap. Woulda been lonely. Not that I feel lonely when it's just us," he corrected himself quickly, and you rubbed his arm, letting him know you understood. "Sometimes it's nice to have other people around, is all."

"And the pros?" you asked him, your breath raking over the skin of his throat.

"Pros are easy," he said with a smile, and his hold around you tightened. "Just you and me. And all this. No threats. No danger. Just... peace and quiet."

You hummed and brought your head back up to give him another kiss, your lips slotting perfectly against his.

"It's nice that we can have both," you whispered against his mouth.

"Just as long as you're happy," he murmured, pressing his forehead against yours.

"I'm happy," you assured him. "I'm beyond happy."

Tag List: @chiogarza, @sparklejumpropequeen-777, @shotgun-shelby @partyofone3413 @nana90azevedo @ninaminaromina

[hapan-in-exile]

Volume 4 - Post #1: Past is Prologue

Another installment in this ongoing serialized fanfic

GIF by pedrorascal

Genre: Mandalorian x Fem! Reader

Total word count: 2.2K (first post in Volume 4)

Rating: Explicit - smut, language, *NSFW*

A/N: Using 3rd person POV for this one. This episode takes place directly after the events of Volume 2: Post #4

__________________________________________

Flashback...

“Easy,” someone said in her ear, placing a steadying hand on her back. “Easy. Try not to move.”

Thulani wanted to insist she was fine, but that would be a lie. Her head was throbbing, there was a distinct ringing in her ears, and the ebb of adrenaline had her shivering. She lay crumpled on her side, unsure of how much time had passed since she had been thrown across the room and into a wall. 

She didn’t think she’d blacked out. But that was the funny thing about head trauma. You simply could not trust your memory to be a reliable narrator of recent events. It could have been several hours or no time at all. 

I can’t have been unconscious that long, she realized. 

While the Odbori district was located outside the city walls, this amount of destruction would require some attention from the local constabulary, regardless of who owned the place. It was an open secret that the building was a front for Black Sun’s unlicensed gambling tables. Which is the only reason her neighbors weren’t already climbing over the rubble to get a better look. Nobody wanted to get caught in the crossfire. 

But kriffing hell, a rather sizable portion of her apartment had collapsed onto the street!

One thing Thulani felt very sure about was that her shoulder had taken the brunt of the impact. It hurt like a mother fucker and did not appreciate being crushed underneath her. It had started to tingle from lack of circulation, and if she didn’t move it soon, it would go numb.

She shifted her weight to ease the strain, but that steadying hand on her back resisted.

“Easy,” he said again. “Be still.” 

She didn’t recognize his voice. It sounded…oddly distorted. 

The lens of her visor was chipped, but from this angle, Thulani had a very clear view of the smoldering remains of what had been her ‘Terms of Service’ signage. Only a few words had been left untouched by the wreckage, the largest of which proclaimed in bold: COMPLY. 

A very unsubtle message from the universe.

“Don't move until I've checked your spine.” Strong fingers pinched the back of her neck. It felt strangely intimate, and her whole body shivered. “Does this hurt?”

Unable to form words, she tried to shake her head no in response. But his other hand immediately reached for her chin to stop her. “Don’t do that.”

His voice was firm yet gentle. The smell of his leather gloves tugged at the edges of her memory. She knew this man.

“It’s not a spinal injury,” she lifted up her hand. “No sharp pain, and I can feel all my digits. See?” 

“Good,” said the Mandalorian. He made it sound like wiggling her fingers was a great accomplishment. 

She would have been annoyed, but there was something genuinely comforting about his voice. It was calm, and soothing, and kind. She could not recall hearing another voice that was so reassuring. 

“Does your head hurt?” his gloved hands probed her skull. “Any sore spots?”

“Ah!” She hissed. “There.” 

He made an amused hmmm-ing noise. 

“I probably have a concussion.”

But he remained silent, his fingers working. “Nothing soft,” he said after a moment. “Can you focus your eyes?”

“Yes. I can see where, under my 'Patient Code of Conduct,' I used the wrong character, so it actually says defecate instead of accommodate.”

For some reason, tears began pressing against the creases of her eyelids. It’s okay. That’s just the adrenaline crash. “But I guess I don’t have to worry about that…anymore.”

“Exactly. Try not to worry about anything right now.” 

An absurd snort of laughter burst through her nostrils. That voice. She wanted to trust it. She wanted to believe that everything really would be okay.

“I don’t feel any swelling,” he said moments later. 

It felt nice to be soothed and comforted. When was the last time another person had tended to her like this? 

Thulani flushed, reminding herself that this level of attention wasn’t necessary. She could sense as well as treat her own injuries. 

Any misgivings died on her lips when she felt his thumbs settle on either side of her vertebra between her shoulder blades. There was nothing sexual about his touch. However, she became keenly aware of his wide shoulders looming over her and how vulnerable she was lying on the ground. 

Yet, she did not feel afraid.

“Tell me if anything hurts or goes numb.”

“Mmm-hmm,” was all she could manage once his hands made their way down to her lower back. Layers of cloth and leather between them, but she imagined she could feel his fingertips pressing into her skin. She gasped when his thumb pressed into her tailbone. 

“Does that hurt?”

“No. Maybe. I’m sure it’s just a bruise.”

“You’ve got some glass buried in your hip and shoulder, but I think the concussion is the worst of it.” 

Ah! Yes, that would explain the excruciating pain…and the pool of blood I’m lying in.

“I’m going to lift you up now,” the Mandalorian said. “We need to leave before the roof collapses.”

He slipped his hands under her arms and, kneeling behind her, picked her up in one swift, effortless motion. She noticed he was careful not to let his fingers touch any part of her breasts and appreciated the gallantry. Honorable was not the same as trustworthy, but it was pretty damn close. 

The Mandalorian was quite a bit taller than she was, and her feet momentarily hovered above the floor before he set her down again. Once upright, she found herself standing with her back against his chest. 

“How’s your head?” he wrapped an arm around her shoulder to place a gentle hand on her temple. “Are you nauseous? Dizzy?” 

Thulani could feel his voice rumbling against her back. “N–No,” she murmured. It felt childish, but she couldn’t suppress the yearning that he might hold her. 

“I’m just not used to being on the other side of this dynamic,” she said aloud to herself as much as him. She needed to get it together. Her life was literally burning down around her, and here she was, swooning over some stranger. 

“How am I doing?” he asked from over her shoulder, taking her left arm by the elbow to inspect her cuts.

“Better than most warriors I’ve known. Maybe you missed your calling?”

A small huff of static crackled through the modulator when he laughed.

“We should patch up your arm, but I don’t think there's time.”

“It’s okay. I’ll get to it later.”  

“Worried I’ll start cutting some holes in your clothing?”

Um…what?

Thulani turned to face the Mandalorian. Her heart had skipped a few beats. Did he just…make a joke?

“I’m–I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I needed to insert the chest tube and—” 

"There's no call to apologize. Didn’t I just tell you not to worry?” 

There hadn’t been anything suggestive in his tone, but her stomach clenched suddenly in a wave of arousal. Stop this! What is wrong with me? She should at least wait until they were clear of the burning building before her thoughts turned to seduction. 

“Can you walk?”

Despite Thulani’s assurances that she could, she took one step and immediately swayed on the spot. 

“Careful,” he caught her by the waist before she could fall face-first back to the floor. “Let me help you.” 

The Mandalorian pulled the cloak from his shoulders and wrapped it around her. She didn’t realize she’d been trembling. Thulani looked up at him, surprised, and then he bent down, slid his arm behind her knees, and picked her up.

She didn’t know what to say. His arms were strong and protective. She wanted to rest her forehead on his shoulder, to curl up against his chest—the soft parts of him between the armor. Her life had taken a very unexpected turn in the past few hours, and she was so tired, and it would be so easy to simply give over to that strength and let him rescue her.

“I can walk.”

“No. You can’t. And I wasn’t exaggerating. The roof could come down any minute. We can’t wait for you to stagger out of here.”

“So you’re going to carry me across Dorumaa?”

“I promised I’d get you out.” He said it as though that explained everything. A man of his word.

“I didn’t expect such kindness from someone like you.”

“Someone like me?”

“Yes. I did just watch you immolate several people in my living room.”

She couldn’t believe that soothing, trustworthy voice came from the same man. Maybe it was some trick handed down by Mandalorian hunters, a voice used to convince his quarry to give themselves up, to coax them into coming willingly. 

You know, just like I’m about to… 

No. If he wanted her dead, he would have left her in the rubble. She was a needless complication. She knew his secret—that he was guarding a child so valuable Black Sun’s most loyal lieutenants had broken their chain of command, risked torture and hideous death, to capture him. 

Instead, he had stayed to save her.

The Mandalorian looked down at her upturned face. Pressed against his chest, she could feel him holding his breath in anticipation.

“I had to stop them from hurting the people under my protection,” he said evenly. Then, he nodded toward the slow trickle of blood dripping from her shoulder onto the floor. “Guess I wasn’t entirely successful.” 

What did he mean by that? Surely he didn’t mean her? She barely knew the man. And yet he had stayed and rescued her. I know almost nothing about him. But I feel like I know who he is down to the very marrow of his bones. 

“What happened to the kids? Are they okay?”

“Yeah, they’re hiding out at the tea shop down the street.” 

“Oh, that’s good. Madame Otessa is trustworthy. They should be safe.”

“I know. That’s why I sent them there.”

She laughed, “Aren’t you full of surprises?”  

“I’ll take that as a compliment since you sound pleased.”

“Yes. I am pleasantly surprised you didn’t leave me here to burn to death.”

“You saved my life. Honored my Creed. I make it a point to repay my debts.” 

Right. He feels duty bound to me. This was about honor and debts. She shouldn’t get her hopes up. Yet she found she did not mind being bound to the Mandalorian, whatever his reasons. 

Some people took offense at being saved. Thulani had been a healer long enough to know that some people had an extreme dislike of needing anything from anyone. Even if that person was not capable of reattaching their own retina, for example, they seemed to resent her as though it was a personal insult. As though her help only proved they could not restore the sight in their eye through sheer force of will. 

She was a healer. She did not expect gratitude. But she was nonetheless touched by the Mandalorian’s respect and admiration. 

“We should get out of here,” he said urgently.

“In the compartment where I hid Nito and the baby…there’s a bag. I’ll need it for what comes next.”

“And what happens next?” The hunter sounded deeply concerned about her answer.

“You’ll let me leave Madame Otessa’s Peony Pavillion to flee for my life?”

She had to get out of Dorumaa. Run for the next city, planet, quadrant, whatever it might be—because whoever had told Gwynn and Juss where to find the Mandalorian was not going to let her live.

His helmet tilted. “Respectfully, I think your odds of survival are better if you stay with me.”

The words echoed inside her mind. Stay with me. They promised safety. She knew that he was only helping her out of a sense of duty, and yet all she wanted was to believe in that promise. It had been so long since she felt safe. Not since that night, when the Queensguard had dragged her family out of their beds and forced them to watch while they executed every member of the Baqri household. 

Then her parents had been taken, and there was no one left to protect her. In the years that followed, though there were many times she prayed for it, no one had ever saved her.

So, while Thulani had every reason to harden her heart, she did not resent being rescued. She leaned into his warmth and found comfort in the strength of his arms, and she was not at all embarrassed to have needed it. 

“You’ll…help me?”

“Yes,” he said. “But I should warn you. I can get you out, but I can’t promise what I'm getting you into.” 

Thulani knew on some level that she should be worried he would turn on her. She found she couldn’t imagine it. Gods above, she trusted him. Her body trusted him. She had seen him burn Gwynn alive. She had heard the sickening crack of bone when he had snapped a man’s neck. Yet she was dead weight in his arms. There was nothing in her muscles or her skin or her nerves that told her she was in danger.

“That’s okay. There's nothing for me here anymore...and I don't want to be alone.”

The Mandalorian carried her away from the shattered windows. She felt his weight shift and put her arms around his neck for balance.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ve got you.”

___________________

Continue reading Volume 4 - Post #2: Gray Area

[stories-and-chaos]

Tarnished pt 15

[Helluva Boss AU where Blitzø’s childhood theft from Stolas’ palace is discovered and major consequences ensue for everyone involved.]

[Part 15/?? Word count 1431 Cw: language]

—————

Early that afternoon, a sleek limousine pulled up to ‘Slick Seduction.’ A sharply dressed imp in sunglasses popped out, fell on his face, then dusted himself off to hold the door open. A tall avian demon exited gracefully. His outfit was much more elegant than what was usually worn by the Sinners and Hellborn in the area. By royal standards it was downright modest.

The doors to ‘Slick Seduction’ opened before the royal demon had fully exited the car. He stalked through, looking for all of the realm like he owned the building. The imp glanced up and down the street as he followed his master inside. The limo stayed idling in the street.

The pair were escorted to the owner’s office. “Not every day I get a business offer from a royal,” the Sinner said as they entered the room. “So what did you have in mind, your highness?”

Blitzø froze at the door as Stolas took his seat before the desk. No fuckin way. “Hentai-for-hands?!”

The Sinner growled “what?!” as Stolas squawked, “I beg your pardon?” But there was no way Blitzø could have mistaken this asshole for anyone else. Deep red skin, one giant eye, and hands that ended in way too many magenta tentacles. The demon only had half of his original shiny black teeth; the ones Blitzø had punched out years ago were replaced with gold teeth.

Satan’s taint, not even thirty seconds in and you’re fucking it up dumbass. Blitzø cleared his throat. “Ah, hmm, sorry. I’ve seen you in passing before and you are very memorable.” The imp was sweating bullets as the wannabe Overlord laced his tentacles together. He hoped that jackass had seen enough imps over the years that he wouldn’t remember Blitzø specifically.

After a long moment, Slicker shrugged, the motion uncomfortably boneless. Now they knew why he had the tentacle motif on his signage. “Hentai’s an art form, just like the services I provide here. Back to business?”

Blitzø sighed inwardly in relief. Slicker’s avarice for a connection with Hell’s royalty outweighed any suspicions he seemed to have. They were betting on him wanting a boost in money or influence to get an agreement.

“Indeed. As my servants conveyed, I’m looking to acquire the services of someone…shall we say, outside of my household staff and their expertise. They’ve spoken highly of your establishment and the individual they hired last night in particular.” Stolas kept his tone lazy, reminding himself to talk like Stella’s friends who so annoyed him. “A female Hellhound I believe it was?”

Slicker pursed his lips in feigned thought. “Oh yeah, Deedee, Donna, something like that?” He pulled open a drawer in a filing cabinet and rustled through the papers. “D, D, D, ah, Dina.” He pulled out her file and made a show of reading it over.

“Well, sad to say we’ve got a binding contract, me and the Hound girlie. She’s agreed to work for me until she’s paid off all the money she owes. Fees from the kennel agency, job training, room and board. She’s been working at it but these things take time.” He closed the file and gave Stolas a look that would seem sympathetic if you didn’t catch the gleam in his eye.

Stolas gave a laugh. “Come now, how much debt can one little girl accumulate in a handful of years. I’m sure we can work out an agreement.” He rubbed his taloned fingers together, silently conveying he was willing to pay what the Sinner was asking for.

But the demon shook his head with a quick glance to Blitzø. Shitshitshit he does remember me. “No can do your highness. Her contract has a minimum employment clause; she’s gotta work for at least five years under me and she’s not there yet.” He spread his hands. “She’s tied my hands, I’m afraid.” He twisted his tentacles in knots to demonstrate.

Stolas was getting annoyed at his smarmy attitude, but he was sure he’d forgotten more about contracts and Hell’s laws than this Sinner ever knew. “Might I take a look at this contract? Just to confirm.”

“Suit yourself.” Slicker pulled the paper in question out and slid it to Stolas with a smirk. He looked incredibly confident about the situation.

Stolas read through it rapidly. It was better than he thought. Not ironclad, but tight. Then he spotted something next to the signatures at the bottom. He showed the paper to Blitzø, pointing to the notation in question. Blitzø lifted his shades to make sure he was reading it correctly. He gave Stolas a nod before resuming his bodyguard stance.

Now the Goetia smiled wickedly. “Everything does seem to be in order Mr. Slicker. My only question pertains to when the contract was signed?”

“Just after she arrived. Like the rest of my employees, I find it best to establish our business relationship as soon as possible.” Slicker still had his smarmy confidence, not caring about something so insignificant as dates.

Stolas nodded, looking over the contract again. “From what I understand that was before she would have been too old to stay at the Hellhound adoption agency, correct? Meaning Dina would have been a minor at the time.”

Slicker’s eye narrowed suspiciously. “And your point, your highness?” Blitzø didn’t even try to suppress his grin at this point.

Neither did Stolas. “Even in Hell, one cannot sign a contract until they reach the age of majority. Which means this contract-“ Stolas waved the paper in the air, “-has no legal merit.” He invoked a bit of magick and clapped his hands over the sheet. It disintegrated into a puff of fire.

Slicker turned an even deeper red in anger. “Ah yes, and you mentioned doing the same for your other employees?” A bit more magick and a snap of his fingers set of a cascade of ‘fwumps’ in the filing cabinet as any other invalid contracts obliterated themselves. “All of those are void as well.”

Stolas stood up gracefully. “It seems there is nothing keeping Miss Dina here, so we’ll be taking our leave.” The Sinner was desperately opening drawers to search through the remains of his files.

Of course, neither of the men trusted the bastard to inform his former employees of what occurred. “Let’s get Dina, Floof. Then we can spread the word.” Fortunately they’d coordinated with the girl through Scarlet in the early morning. She was waiting in the agreed room, awake and ready to go.

“Dina?” Blitzø knocked on the door which opened instantly. She looked so much like Loona he had to do a double take. She was smaller and slimmer with her hair cut short but the resemblance. “I’m Blitzø, the ‘o’ is silent. Let’s get you to your sister.”

She quickly slipped out. “You adopted Loona, right? She and your friends mentioned it.” Her voice had the same exhaustion as Loona’s when they first met.

“Yup. We can talk it all later though. Stick next to Stolas here; your old boss might still try something.” The prince wrapped an arm around the girl to keep her close. As they made their way back to the front door, they could hear a commotion from the office. Demons poked their heads out, rubbing sleep from eyes and generally looking confused.

They could all hear Slicker yelling about the contracts and losing employees. A crowd was gathering in the lounge. Blitzø, ever a showman, jumped into the tiny stage. “Ladies, gentlemen, and nonbinary specimen, the dumbfuck running this place messed up big time with your contracts. If you were under eighteen when you signed, it was never valid.” That woke everyone up and dozens of them stared at the office door in fury. Message delivered, Blitzø hopped down to rejoin Stolas and Dina.

They had just left the building when Slicker followed, yelling “YOU MOTHERFUCKERS WON’T GET AWAY WITH THIS!” Blitzø smoothly pulled out his favorite flintlock pistol from his jacket and thrust the muzzle under Hentai-for-Hands’ chin.

“Not much to get away with when it’s your fuckup. Now be a good little prick and back the fuck up before you lose more than some teeth.”

The demon backed up a pace. Blitzø motioned to the others to get in the car. He kept his pistol trained on Slicker. “This isn’t over, impy,” he snarled as Blitzø followed into the vehicle.

“Yeah, looks like you’ve got another appointment. Or thirty.” He pointed with his chin at the growing crowd emerging from the brothel. Then he slammed the car door shut and the driver peeled off.

—————

<<First <Prev Next>

[spiderh0rse]

freeman's mind notes pt8, e36-40 (plus secret e0)

e36

delighted to put his hands on a gun again even if there's blood on it

he wants more things to shoot

doesn't think he's fired a gun before (second assertion of this fact) but it does feel familiar

has had a reoccurring dream of being Snoop Dogg

thinks the barnacles were made by the biology department

someone in Biology named Heather than Gordon tries to hit on sometimes. She is supposedly stone cold

calls himself The Freeman again

everyone was proud of the pollen that killed people

"goat cheese massacre"

return of the Fall Damage. Bemoans the lack of shock absorbers and drugs

confused at why he's wearing the HEV suit

vaguely remembers the ResCas proper

would not drink neon hi c ecto cooler

he doesn't like liars

black mesa is NOT a tourist trap

he is right tbh. Trespassers literally do have rights. You're supposed to make any unreasonable dangers clear and obvious. Warn with signage or some shit

aims to think like a squirrel that has anger problems

the nation of Freeman

yeah this sequence of events is normal and leads to promotions

e37

had some job interviews in grad school. Never knew how to answer their questions

thinks of the building as alive AGAIN

oh hey we're in the part of the facility that Physics of the Crowbar did astoundingly well

gotta avoid the blood shower :(

this gunk BETTER not get in his hair

he doesn't want to smell like mcdonalds

GROWLS

meat chunks in his hairrrrrrr

he no longer likes orange

he's 80% sure cheetos aren't made like this

undertow fuckin with him

his values have sunk since he woke up

prepared for when he gets Alzheimer's. He'll escape room his way out of the retirement home easy

wants a sword cane when he's old

you just shot a SNOT MONSTER, sir.

he remembers everything? (he does not) (he thinks the string theory crowd got into AnMat)

plans to sell the satchel charges to Eddie

yes the magnum does grant godlike ego

he isn't an optimist

this is NOT a democracy he has a GUN

"BLAH!!!"

freeman have you butchered animals before or

would love to land in a ballpit

naptime :>

bat JUMPSCARE he CANCELLED THE CREDITS. SHOCK. AWE.

e0

new intro. Tram ride to some vending machines.

attempts to flirt with the hazard course hologram

doesn't comment on the HEV suit's voice this time!

he's not coming back to the hazard course

only getting HEV suit training because he's capable of physical activity

derides the game-based language of the tutorial

"hup! hoo! hah!"

i WISH there was rubber padding around the knees of the suit

fatphobia,,

he always wanted to be a hamster man

finds the long jump module cool

"nreeeeeeoooow"

could press buttons all day!

Slur count: five.

e38

back to cafeteria intro

he can't sleep :(

HATES the room's vibes

self hypnotizes again. Lmao

TANK OF ACID! SUPERB!

he is a CAT

his faux-southern accent sucks so bad. hillbilly but worse

no come on you can dodge an incinerator

liked the Addams Family. Identified with the Thing, he says.

concrete corridor agnostic

double dead end!

he feels like strangling something.

feels like he wouldn't mind the nickname Dr. Stranglelove

growls again

backup backup gun dependency does rely on state yeah

he wanted a banana milkshake

he's talkin specbio,,,

he remembers lasers are BAD

limbos on by that awful tripmine

"BLLLAAAAAAHHHHHHH"

e39

[incoherent raging] followed by "wait! I have satchel charges!"

deeply comforted by having this amount of explosives. Wants to draw a smiley face on one

welllll the radiation sign is a bit off the requirement but that's a half life note not a freeman's mind note. He should know though

claims his geiger counter is trendy and fashionable

we have reached the non OSHA compliant location

he is clearly being sarcastic here but he does talk about seeing what was probably a mall santa

jello knees..... He's in painnnnn

this isn't even a SPA

he feels like he's in a sub in the cramped metal halls

back to the classroom analogy

it IS the amps that kill you yessirre

part of the opposable thumbs club!

takes the time to study the trapped alien grunt. Says it could get a management job

he hates biolabs :(

goes through the Atom Experience

incoherent babbling

he Remembers that everyone wants him dead. Shoots a probably innocent guard

now plans to kill the whole world

he's a gun farmer :>

usually when stuff goes long he concludes that everyone wants him dead

he's honestly a little relieved that he doesn't have to guess if people want him dead or not

doesn't recognize the vox

GRAPPLING HOOK MENTION

e40

new intro, shotgun-elevator shaft

the eternal issue of understaffing: doing weird bullshit always

"superbus" w/e well superbia is pride so I'd imagine this is "greatness" followed by whatever words he isn't reading

he isn't reading them because he doesn't know latin

human body staircase,,

door conspiracy!

actually thinks before he pushes a button

"woah-hoho-oh..."

hiccups :(

he gets really nervous after killing people

oh the subtitles have suddenly cut out

his normal work was in quantum mechanics and general relativity

stumbles over his saying "I don't know"

"there's no actual right to privacy but it's implied by the rest of the constitution. And this gun,"

prototype cheese slicer or pita cutter- you decide

HE CAN'T HELP ANYONE IF THEY'RE NOT CALM

RELAX AND FOLLOW THE SOUND OF HIS VOICE

back to hitting any button he sees

he is never going to ask for yellow space maggots jumping at his face

a list of things that makes freeman happy: lasers, food, painkillers, bed rest, not being persecuted, getting his life back on track. Lasers may be listed first here but it is below the rest of these

avoids the gauss gun

seeing body parts lying around used to bother him

wants to sprinkle cloned body parts lying places and tape people finding em

big laser? Badass.

gonna shoot down a satellite with that baby

[kleptonancydrew]

Playing DAN and HAU next to each other is a great example of HER placing a game in a foreign country and then having a cast from everywhere else. We don’t see this in CUR, SAW, or CAP and it is also mixed with VEN, ICE, SPY, LIE, and TMB. I understand that in a global society there will be people from all around the world in a given spot but I feel in HAU specifically it is a slap in the face to the Irish to have a British cast. 

Others have spoken about the dismissive attitude towards the very valid concerns the Irish would have with the English. Kyler herself displays a common attitude of the English educated in not knowing of the atrocities the English enacted on the Irish. Donal is a presented as overly hating the English with no perceivable reason - so he seems unreasonable when anyone who knows about Irish history would know he is perfectly within his rights. 

He absolutely would have been an adult during the Troubles, and is at most a single generation removed from Irish independence. We do not know what he did or who he lost, but we know that he watched others be killed over these issues. All of those in the story were alive for the Good Friday agreement - which turns 25 next month. 

Another hit is the near complete lack of Irish in the story. We have some names sure, and Ogham runes, but the Irish language is beautiful and there has been so much work put into preserving it. It survived years of illegality and of people being outright murdered for speaking it. We know HER can integrate language, and they have in so many other games. Irish should be a part of this. (Also all signage should be in Irish and English because while there are two languages Irish should technically receive priority.) 

The Irish Diaspora is huge, mostly because of specific steps that were taken by the English to exterminate Irish language, people, and culture and replace it with their own. Irish potato famine you say? Yeah, we can blame the English for how bad that was. We can blame the English in general for the shift to farming the land rather than being more pasture based. 

Ireland has been essentially at peace for most millennial lives (and typically Ireland tries to stay out of outside wars - which is why the “military type” comment at the end of HAU seemed out of place) but as we have seen this past year a match could still set everything off. My dad, who has competed professionally in fishing, recalls not being able to fish in the waterways growing up because the English prohibited it. One of my grans ran a B&B where she educated English guests on what had been done to the Irish. Irish history is rarely taught properly (that is to say, with the Irish perspective in mind) outside of Ireland, which is a true shame. 

[littlebetesofeverything]

Welcome to Night Vale Ep

And we are back! My brain is getting mushy from studying vessels and keeping my alpha and beta agonists straight. So hopefully this puts me to sleep. Also can we have more Carlos now that I know they have a voice for him?

Valentine's aftermath? boo, I wanted a live play by play TnT

Why would it bring down the town? You know what, knowing some of the citizens I don't want answers.

That strange fiery orb is a star, Cecil. What airport is XTA? The Bermuda Triangle is my guess

That's what all TSA people say. Also, I like the kid asking how many people I've kissed will be sorely disappointed.

Health tip? sounds like they are describing tape worms and now I can't get Venom out of my head.

Okay, I get behind the glitter slander. I was a camp counselor once, that stuff is pure evil.

I'm pretty sure there is something different but I can't put my finger on it. I want to know how Cecil can put images on the radio.

the language of dance is a fun one but I worry about the signage based on if it is a solo or duet. Guess dance lessons are in your future, buddy.

There it is... Follow the money always works out.

I like the addition of traffic reports. Makes it feel more radio-like besides just the weather.

Lol the answering in yes and no reminds of tomorrow and my standardized patient answering closed questions

ohhh corrections time! Give me no context Cecil, I live for it.

Cancellation of art? yeah you complain about getting shut down

how do you activate valentine's cards is a question but the answer may not be

RIP Stacy, intern #5. Yeah I'm sure you forget because you don't have an intern to remind you. huh Cecil?

ELECT THE DRAGON!!! Hiram sounds like he could be nice as mayor. Love the smear campaign. I can't wait for election season in Night Vale.

If Fedex won't deliver, yeah it IS cursed. you don't fuck with FedEx.

a 2 cent increase? that is utterly price gouging.

God that Amazon ad is more terrifying now that it was probably meant in 2013.

Old town is a nightmare seems to track for Night Vale ngl

AH yes the cycle of good and bad days. At least that doesn't change when you go to Night Vale.

Are the love bombs really that bad, Cecil?

I think I will listen to one more, since it looks like episode 19 is split? It has A and B so I guess that should be listened to back to back. but first I need to get even comfier and plan out my outfit for tomorrow.

[venkidu]

Master Detective Archives: Revival Code

Summary: You awaken in an unknown location with a splitting headache, no memories, and a fuzzy blue ghost who calls himself "Yakou Furio”. What the actual hell is going on?

Rated M for language and canon-typical violence

Cross-posted on Ao3

*CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR ALL OF "MASTER DETECTIVE ARCHIVES: RAIN CODE" AND ITS ACCOMPANYING DLC*

Chapter 0, Part B

Ripples of pain shoot up your legs each time your feet slam into the ground.

You’re pushing and shoving your way through the crowd, eyes too focused on checking the signage hanging from the ceiling to really pay too much attention to the people around you.

Finally, you spot it - platform three!

You make one final push through the crowd and leap through an open door, tumbling onto the floor as Yakou zooms in behind you.

As you push yourself up off your hands and knees, you hear a clicking noise coming from behind you.

Holding a hand against your ribs in an attempt to soothe the stitch in your side, you glance all around you - you have no memories of being on a train, but judging from the lavish interior, you’re pretty certain that the Amaterasu Express is no ordinary ride. A plush, red carpet is beneath your feet, and dark wood panelling with gold inlay lines the corridor. Spaced evenly along the walls were wall scones in the shape of winged figures, casting a warm glow that travels throughout the space.

You’re still taking it all in when a disembodied voice startles you.

“Thank you for choosing the Amaterasu Express Direct to Kanai Ward. Our train utilizes Amaterasu Corporation’s state-of-the-art technology for an automated, safe, and comfortable service. There is no crew aboard the train. Thank you for your understanding.”

“Automated?” you repeat in confusion. “No crew?!”

The blue beachball-like form of Yakou appears to be leaning against the wall next to the door, arms crossed. He nods in understanding.

“It means the only people on board are the passengers,” he explains.

You wander over to a door that has a window set into it and peer through the glass. A large console computer, with flashing lights, blinking buttons, and several levers and switches is visible, but sure enough, no person is inside the room. You reach down and give the door handle a tug. Locked.

“This train has five cars. It will operate non-stop to its destination,” the robotic voice speaks up again. “Food and beverages are available in Car 2. Restrooms are available in Car 1 and Car 5. In case of an emergency, visit the Backup Control Room in Car 3 and contact Control Headquarters via the intercom. We hope you enjoy your trip aboard the Amaterasu Express on your journey to Kanai Ward.”

You walk over to a map that hangs from the wall in a gilded frame. According to the map, you’re in Car 5.

“Hey, Yakou, are you allowed to tell me when the last time I ate was?” you ask your spectral companion.

“Yes, I would absolutely be allowed to, Master! If I knew when that was,” he chuckles, rubbing the back of his head.

You scoff a little before your stomach makes a loud gurgling noise.

“It’s clearly been awhile,” you mutter, feeling slightly embarrassed.

Yakou floats over to study the map. “The dining car is in Car 2. Let’s go see what we can find!”

You nod. “Maybe we’ll meet some of the other passengers too?” you suggest.

Yakou shakes his head. “If I remember Kanai Ward correctly, the place was kind of on lockdown. It was impossible to leave and almost impossible to get in. In fact, now that I really think about it, I’m surprised there’s a train heading there.”

Yakou suddenly looks downwards, his tail twitching again.

“Yakou? Are you okay?” you ask.

He suddenly looks back up and gives you a big grin. “Yeah, I’m fine! Just thought I remembered something, but I’m probably wrong! Come on, Master, let’s go get you something to eat!” He zooms on ahead.

You feel a slight shiver run down your body, but the rumbling in your stomach forces the ominous feeling out of your mind. You follow the blue ghost.

“So do Death Gods need to eat?” you inquire as you walk alongside your companion.

“In a sense, yes,” Yakou replies.

You begin to ask what his form of sustenance tastes like, but he quickly interrupts with a “I’d rather not talk about it!” while frantically waving his arms in front of himself.

You giggle and shake your head as you reach the end of the corridor. A large white door with the same logo from your ticket stands in front of you.

You give a tug on the gold handle attached to the door and pull towards you.

You begin to step through, expecting to see a hallway identical to the one you just walked down.

What you see instead is a black, humanoid figure laying on the ground, one arm outstretched as if it were reaching for the door.

You yelp and slam the door shut and press your back up against the surface to hold it shut.

“Yakou,” you whisper. “What was that?!”

Yakou floats before you, eyes wide, form trembling.

“I-I think it was a c-corpse!” he stammers. “Master, you gotta open the door back up and check!”

You pause and stare at Yakou in shock.

“Why am I the one checking?! You’re the detective!”

Yakou begins to laugh nervously and waves his arms out in front of him.

“Okay, this is about as good a time as any to mention that when I was a detective, I did my best to avoid dealing with murder cases!

“What.”

“Yeah, I know it sounds totally crazy, but corpses totally freak me out! I mostly stuck to lost pets and cheating spouses!”

“Unbelievable!”

You’re trying your best to sound mad but you can’t fight the fear that is bubbling up inside of you and the tears that threaten to spill form your eyes.

“Yakou, what do we do?” you whisper, tugging on your hair.

Yakou stares at the door as he takes a long drag from his cigarette. His hands tremble slightly.

“We have to check behind that door,” he states. Upon seeing the panicked look in your face, he zooms closer to you and places a spectral hand on your shoulder. “I know, it’s scary, I’m scared too, but we can’t formulate a plan unless we know what we’re up against.”

You nod, swallowing the spit and snot that has gathered in your mouth from crying. “Okay.”

“I’m going to be right beside you the whole time, okay?”

“Got it,” you whisper.

You take a deep breath and pull the door open once again and tentatively step through the doorway. You notice that parts of the walls and carpet have black smudges on them, like they were brushed by fire at one point.

“Hello?” you call out meekly.

No answer.

“Okay, Master,” Yakou sighs, placing his hands on where you imagine his hips might be. “I’m going to teach you how to be a detective.”

You whip around to face him. “What?!”

“I’m going to teach you how to be a detective,” he repeats with more confidence. “I’m not much help physically-” He tries to pat your shoulder as if to remind you “-but I was a detective. I still have that knowledge. So, you’ll be my hands and I’ll be your guide.”

You sigh. “I guess we don’t really have a choice, do we?”

“Nope.”

“Okay, well, what’s first?”

Yakou rubs his chin. “Do you know how to check for a pulse?”

You shake your head.

“Okay, that’s fine, I can teach you! It’s really easy. Just take your index and middle fingers and hold them on the side of your neck, right under your jaw! Do you feel anything?”

You do your best to stay completely still for a moment, focusing on the vibrating sensation you feel underneath your fingertips.

You eventually nod. “It’s kind of like a beat.”

“That’s your pulse, Master - it indicates that your heart is beating and that you’re alive. But now, you gotta go check, erm…them,” Yakou gestures towards the blackened figure.

“Do I have to?” you whisper.

“I’ll be right beside you,” Yakou promises.

You do your best to take a calming breath before nodding. “Okay.”

You slowly crouch down next to the body and wrinkle your nose as a sickly sweet scent hits you. You reach out towards the figure’s neck, fingers trembling.

You let out a short gasp as you make contact with the skin.

You wait.

No pulse.

As you pull away from the body, small flakes of blackened skin stick to your fingers. A startled cry comes from your lips and you hastily wipe your fingers on the floor as you scramble away from the body.

You clutch your chest and lean against the wall as you struggle to calm your breathing.

Yakou floats up next to you. “No pulse, I’m assuming?”

You shake your head. Yakou sighs before giving you a confident smile.

“Well, hey, that was pretty brave of you for checking! I’m impressed, Master!”

“Thanks,” you reply shakily.

As you slowly push yourself back up, Yakou floats back over to the body and begins to circle it, occasionally pausing to take a closer look at the remains.

“Master, I hate to ask this of you, but can you come pick something up for me?” he calls out.

“S-sure,” you nod, hesitantly walking over to where Yakou is floating. “What is it?”

He points at something shiny laying partially under the corpse. “I need to check what that is.”

You sigh before gulping. “Okay.” You crouch down and slowly reach towards the corpse, managing to get a hold on the object without touching the body.

As you stand up, you turn the object over in your hand. It looks to be a silver badge of some sort, in the shape of an eye with wings sprouting from the sides.

“What’s this symbol?” you ask as you gently trace the image with your fingertips.

“It’s the symbol for the World Detective Organization,” Yakou explained. “The World Detective Organization is an extra-legal, extra-privileged organization devoted to ‘eradicating the world’s unsolved mysteries’.”

“So, you think this person is a part of that organization?” you inquire.

Yakou appears to nod, a grim expression on his face. “This isn’t good. We need to figure out who else is on this train. Come on, Master.”

You follow Yakou through the next door and into Car 3.

You’re about to ask if he has any idea about what may have happened when the words catch in your throat.

Two more bodies are in front of you. And this time, they both have very recognizable features.

They both appear to be male and wearing near-identical navy blue uniforms with intricate silver stitching. Both uniforms have WDO badges pinned to them.

“Shit,” Yakou mutters.

You gently reach down and check the pulse of the figure laying on its back - its face is blue, you notice, bile creeping up your throat.

No pulse.

You check the second figure - this one is laying on its side, arms outstretched.

No pulse.

“There’s still two more cars,” you whisper.

“But are there more people…” Yakou wonders.

You step around the two bodies.

“Only one way to find out.”

You rush down the hall and into Car 2.

There’s no other word to describe the scene other than chaos.

Tables and chairs are flipped over and torn, there’s holes in the wall, and broken shards of glass bottles are scattered all over the floor.

At the far end of the room, there’s a bar.

And a body slumped over it.

You and Yakou exchange nervous glances before you roll your sleeves up.

You know what’s about to happen.

You know you’ll place your fingers on their cold, clammy neck.

You know you won’t feel a pulse.

But one look from Yakou puts your body in motion.

You check.

No pulse.

But the body is clad in a navy blue and silver ensemble and there’s a WDO badge pinned to their arm.

“One more car, Master,” Yakou reminds you.

You carefully step over more shards of glass and into the final car - Car 1.

As you make your way down the corridor, nothing seems to be amiss - no holes or burn marks or broken glass, and most importantly - no bodies.

You get to the end of the corridor when you feel your heart jump - you think you see something in through the window of the second control room, but quickly realize it’s just your reflection.

Leaning against the wall, you look at Yakou, despair etched across your features.

“What do we do now?”

“An in-depth investigation, Master. I have something I need to tell you, but I need to confirm something about the body in the dining car first.”

[payalandrene]

Serbia's bad rap is unfair!

In Europe Serbia has a bad rap thanks to Milosevic, the two wars in the 90ies, nationalism, corruption and the Mafia smuggling alcohol, cigarettes and other goods.

But our only complaint is that there were too many mosquitoes; it is a particularly bad year for them. Luckily we have Odomos creme from India; no environmental friendly citronella for us!

Otherwise people in every village waved at us, honked their horns in approval or spoke to us in German and English they knew. The high unemployment rate meant many men were drinking all day at bars and cafes. Young people 30 and under spoke excellent English, despite none having been in England; they insisted that they learned from series, music and videos! It seemed no matter how small the village, there was a hip cafe that was a magnet for young people.

This meant that we managed to have interesting conversations with many. And once Milos, with the coolest campsite directly on the Danube, introduced us to Google Translate's conversation function, René was talking to everyone!

People did not want to speak about war, not even the Bosnian farming family who decided to stay on their land. They only said it was a tough time and they were not sure what the right thing to do was at the time. The father and others, who were old enough to remember Tito, felt Yugoslavia was better than Serbia. The country was big and strong and Milos, our new friend with a campsite, said that the multi-culturalism, 7 ethnicities and one language was beautiful.

Younger people didn't experience that time, but they are disenchanted today and say that they are not voting for someone, but against someone. Over Rakija, a young man in a bar in Negotin near to the Bulgarian border said that you were either a waiter, salesperson in a shopping mall or worked in the factory in town. Options were limited, even if you managed to go to university.

Our hosts, whether at a campsite, asking a farmer if we can set our tent on their land, or in a guesthouse were true hosts doing it from their hearts. Mirko, a Serb who grew up in Austria and came to Serbia five years ago was interesting to speak with as he is in between two cultures. The dealings with the authorities drove him batty - his campsite is near to the Euro6 Velo route, but a shortcut is muddy and barely passable - he's bern waiting for improvements for years. It definitely was one of the worst sections we'd riden on; otherwise the roads in Serbia weren't so bad and the Euro6 Velo signage was very good.

We also made friends with Milos, an engineer who got fed up with Belgrade 25 years ago and bought land on the Danube. While his campsite was rather basic, his hospitality was out of this world- he was good at always making sure you had another beer and cooked amazing Serbian specialties. We spoke about politics (despite him not wanting to), love and life.

During the most beautiful stretch of the Donau, the iron mountain, we stayed at Camping Asin from Melania - she is a school teacher who took early retirement and created a peaceful campsite. Melania is an excellent cook making a 5 star breakfast for her guests and sharing info about the local culture and history. She had lovely guests; we met a Romanian-American family and Russian families living in Belgrade because they oppose the war in Russia. A woman, who had been a teacher in Russia, organised the trip for the families and organised many activities for the children. She was heartened that we applaud her courage.

In a small village we stumbled upon a woman who let rooms and stayed with her. She was a fashionable woman just shy of 70 who turned out to appear on cooking shows and programmes on Serbiab television highlighting Serbian traditionsand rural culture (Google Translate Conversation is a dream!). She offered us a tasty dinner and homemade desserts! If you are ever in Novi Sip, outside of Kladovo, do stay with her. With Serbian music playing in the background she told us about her daughters, one who is a physiotherapist and the other a vet, showed us clips of her on Serbian television and explained that she likes having guests to share Serbian culture.

Finally in Negotin, we stayed with Bojan and his family. He loves bicycles and has extended his home to let rooms and place permanent, large tents in the garden. He also serves a tasty breakfast in thr morning and can give you all the tips you need for your tour!

The people we met in Serbia are all ❤️ - we will be back!

[3sixtysignsolutions]

Navigating with Ease: The Importance and Impact of Effective Directional Signage

In a world where first impressions matter, directional signage plays a crucial role in helping visitors, customers, and employees navigate spaces confidently. Whether in an office building, a hospital, a shopping mall, or a city street, well-designed directional signage simplifies movement and enhances the overall experience. Let’s explore the essentials of effective directional signage, why it matters, and how to make it work for any setting.

What Is Directional Signage?

Directional signage includes any signs that provide guidance, helping individuals find specific locations, rooms, or amenities. These signs can range from wall-mounted wayfinders to floor markers and free-standing signs. Unlike general informational signage, directional signs are all about guiding movement and making sure people reach their destinations with ease.

Why Is Directional Signage Important?

Enhances User Experience: Clear signage reduces frustration, enabling people to navigate an area confidently and independently.

Improves Efficiency: In high-traffic environments like hospitals and airports, efficient navigation saves time for both staff and visitors.

Promotes Safety: In emergency situations, well-marked exits and emergency routes are vital. Directional signs provide clarity and can prevent panic.

Reinforces Brand Identity: For businesses, directional signage offers an opportunity to reinforce branding with color schemes, fonts, and logos that reflect the company’s image.

Encourages Accessibility: Thoughtfully designed signage ensures accessibility for individuals with disabilities, creating a more inclusive environment.

Key Elements of Effective Directional Signage

Creating effective directional signage requires attention to design, readability, placement, and accessibility. Here are some essential components:

Clarity and Readability Use simple language, clear symbols, and high-contrast colors to ensure signs are easy to read. Avoid overly technical jargon or complex icons that may confuse users.

Consistency in Design Consistent design across all directional signage helps create a cohesive look and makes it easier for people to follow directions intuitively. Keep colors, font sizes, and symbols uniform across all signage.

Strategic Placement Signs should be placed at key decision points, such as entrances, intersections, elevators, and exits. Ensure they’re visible from a distance and not obstructed by decor or other elements.

Accessible Design ADA-compliant signage (or equivalent regulations in other regions) is essential to ensure inclusivity. This includes using tactile letters, Braille, and color schemes that accommodate people with color vision deficiencies.

Lighting Proper lighting ensures signs are visible in various conditions, from bright daylight to low-light environments. For 24-hour locations, consider illuminated signage or backlit options for clear visibility at night.

Durability and Maintenance Ensure materials are durable enough to withstand the environment in which they’re placed, whether it’s outdoors, in a high-traffic hallway, or in a location exposed to extreme weather conditions.

Types of Directional Signage

Depending on the setting and purpose, there are various forms of directional signage to consider:

Wall-Mounted Signs: Ideal for hallways and corridors, especially in office buildings, malls, and hospitals.

Floor Graphics: Great for directing traffic in large areas or during special events. Floor markers are commonly used in retail spaces to direct customers.

Pylon and Free-Standing Signs: Useful for outdoor areas, especially for indicating entry points, parking areas, and large buildings.

Digital Signage: Interactive and easily updated, digital directional signage can guide visitors with real-time information, useful in airports, malls, and large event spaces.

Overhead Hanging Signs: Perfect for large, open areas like airports or convention centers where visitors need guidance from a distance.

Best Practices for Implementing Directional Signage

Understand the Space and Flow of Movement Consider how people naturally move through your space. Conduct a walkthrough from the perspective of a visitor, noting where signs might be helpful.

Prioritize Key Points Identify the most crucial points of interest—such as restrooms, exits, information desks, and popular destinations—and prioritize directional signage for these areas.

Incorporate Feedback Gather feedback from visitors or employees to identify any confusing areas. Adjust or add signage as necessary to ensure smooth navigation.

Regularly Update Signage When floor plans or purposes change, signage must be updated to avoid confusion. This is especially important in rapidly changing environments, such as hospitals, schools, or event centers.

Optimize for Multi-Language Settings In locations with diverse visitors, consider adding multilingual text to cater to non-native speakers. This is particularly beneficial in international airports, large city centers, or tourist destinations.

Real-Life Applications of Directional Signage

Retail Spaces: Malls and retail stores benefit from clear directional signage to lead customers to key sections, checkout areas, restrooms, and exits. Floor markers and hanging signs are commonly used here.

Hospitals: Hospitals are often complex and can be overwhelming for visitors. Clear signage at every junction point is essential to guide people to departments, waiting areas, and emergency exits.

Universities and Campuses: Universities often cover vast areas, making it necessary to have both maps and directional signs pointing to key buildings, departments, libraries, and dormitories.

Corporate Offices: In large offices, particularly those with multiple departments or floors, directional signage guides employees and visitors to conference rooms, lounges, exits, and office areas.

Public Spaces: Parks, museums, and entertainment venues benefit from directional signage to indicate paths, exits, restrooms, and amenities.

Conclusion

Effective directional signage is essential in creating a welcoming, accessible, and easy-to-navigate space. It benefits not only visitors but also staff and management, reducing the need for verbal guidance and minimizing confusion. By investing in thoughtful, well-designed directional signage, businesses and public spaces can enhance user experience, improve safety, and reinforce their brand identity.

Implementing the right directional signage may require planning and adjustments, but the end result is a streamlined, intuitive space that people can navigate with ease and confidence

[lavelled]

she, illustrated.

Quick news: Isabelle Vezina-Dykema, 14, in Vermont, killed herself. There’s considerable aggression from unfamous dads who misread and lecture wishful signage. I didn’t ask for interference in a literary system. You can stop reading. My decision-making is mine alone. My knack for technology includes poetical child suicide data and attainable proof of the man who took my life.

The sickbed Prince who inherited childhood letters, tried to enact a forcible rape clause, created squared digital spaces to publish anatomically and spy in a Bird Cam, impersonated celebs with a sense of belonging, chatted as gal-pal Japanese housewife, Celica, bypassed exquisitely soft NDA laws all while he experienced marriage and fatherhood, says I can’t have readership?

Prince Henry uses cultural appropriation to tweet as Antonio Brown and recently erupted in a disgusting c-word rant. On Sep 29, 2019, Harry wrote:

My English paper do by tonight 12am need a prof reader make sure As and Bs #Eng303

google. This is linguistic racism. The married Englishman boasts the daft sexual legalese of a writer.

The Lunchbox Fund. A meal charity for children in South Africa. A charity that Sentebale, founded in 2006 by Harry, in the Lesotho language means forget-me-not—subtly mocking 9/11 victims—teams up with. Meg had fans donate to it at her baby shower, even though it’s his signature boinking code, specifically, a lesbian slur, of how a second child was boxlunched.

Anti-Social is a 2015 Hungarian-British crime film with the characters: Marcus, Philip, Emma, Kwame, and Rochelle. Knowing my well-publicized waystation, Duchess Meghan acted in it and a year later, fucked the Brit jailer. Google who the actress, Zita Téby, plays.

Speaking of Irishness, the regal derelict has affected social factors sans punishment for decades and it seems kid-glove young adult deaths are due to a non-code barcode that makes them feel helpless and strangely complicit: Shane Lunny, 17—Erin Gallagher, 13—Patrick McDonagh, 12—Lara Burns Gibbs, 12—Milly Tuomey, 11—Cathriona White—Dara Quigley—the pact of Kieran McKeon and Alexandra O’Brien.

Jamel Myles, a fourth grader at Joe Shoemaker Elementary in Denver told his mother he was gay then hanged himself on August 23, 2018, three months after the royal wedding. He was 9. Youngest suicide on record.

On May 15, 2018, Magyar Kozmetika Spa in California exploded from a homemade package bomb, killing Hungarian employee, Ildiko Krajnyak. From her boyfriend. FOUR DAYS before the royal wedding.

“Harry goes and heads to London.” You walked out your front door. Harry lives alone in England. Prince Harry was actor-writer struck out of California. His wife was megxited from England, Wales, Scotland, Ireland, Australia, New Zealand, Canada, India and the East Coast of the United States. The diapered jobbing princess vaudeville wedding tour has killed more girls, more students than the Sandy Hook shooting.

The TIG, her sex and wellness workshop. Cookbook ideas for a Hempseed Stew, Ginger Berry Crumble, and Awards Season Entertaining Tips because everyone can relate to it. I don’t want to seem dramatic or a justifiable age, but we’ve wandered into Single White Female when I say booklist Meg is ill. She’s yearned to be a princess for a long time. She poses near a British car wheel, types Spencer and London in knots, and this beaut: Just like a scene in When Harry Met Sally, you would look at Hikari and say, “I’ll have what she’s having.” What about a 1989 film?

Another link of output. On google her photo is shown with Misan Harriman, hence she’s the essayist. Catty remark to Princess Kate four years before her own bloody pulpit wedding.

Copy and paste; put tippity top of computer page:

https://thetig.meghanpedia.com/tig-talk-with-princess-alia-al-senussi/

Did a productive wife blog cause a media stir? In math lingo, she coughs up the pedo age of 17, trumped 4, Spencer at 3, she’s six:

https://thetig.meghanpedia.com/food-for-thought-2/

Rapper Lucas Coly, 27, the Prince of France, just shot himself.

I want a perfectly rational couple who don’t love each other to divorce.

K

[stands-pro]

Best Tips to Plan Custom Exhibition Stand

Best Tips to Plan Custom Exhibition Stand Participating in an event can be difficult as you’re juggling many things! First, having an exhibition stand can be the most fundamental element that will assist in establishing a lasting impression on your target audience.

The benefits of having an exhibition stand aren’t solely for promoting your business but can also help you stand apart from the crowd of thousands while also aiding in achieving your goals.

An attractive display stand will easily boost your image and appeal to many people. We have all the answers covered if you’re looking for when and how to create a custom-designed display stand. It is a good concept to keep clutter at bay when planning an individual booth display; we provide a simple and complete guide on designing a custom exhibition stand.

Understanding Custom Exhibition Stand Objectives

Your custom exhibition stand must be designed around your goals and objectives. It is important to fill your stand design with a manageable amount of content since it can only cause a sign of displeasure to the viewers. Make sure you outline your goals for the exhibition before determining the size, the budget, and the place of your stand. Be sure to write down the responses to questions such as:

Do you want to introduce a new product?

Do you want to make the audience aware of existing products?

Do you want to attract new customers?

Do you want to widen your suppliers?

Do you want to curate new networks?

Identifying Target Audience

Identifying your target audience is crucial in planning a successful exhibition stand. Your target audience is the people most likely to be interested in your product or service. To identify your target audience, consider your ideal customer’s demographics, interests, and behaviors. To determine your perfect customer, consider your ideal client’s demographics, preferences, and habits. After identifying your audience, you can modify your stand’s design to attract them. This may include using images and language that resonates with them, showing services or products that satisfy their needs, and giving them information that addresses their concerns.

Creating an Attractive Layout

The layout of your booth should be attractive and simple to navigate. Consider the traffic flow and position your items or offerings to draw people in. Utilize shelves, tables, or other display fixtures to make your products easy to access.

Use eye-catching graphics and signage to make your booth stand out from the other stands. Use bold colors and fonts that ensure your messages are easy to comprehend from an extended distance. Consider lighting options that emphasize certain areas of your booth and create a warm environment.

Maintain a Consistent Brand From Top To Bottom

Make sure your booth’s logo is consistent throughout the space. Your brand concept should be consistent across every aspect of your stand’s designs, from banners and images to giveaways and other items.

Consider Various Materials

The best material will enhance your image and create an attractive display stand. Exhibition stand builders shouldn’t hesitate to experiment with various materials to determine what is most suitable for your company and the image you wish to convey.

Make Use of the Correct Colors

The display’s tone and color options can help you stand out and increase the visibility of your message. Cooler hues like green, blue, and white look professional but don’t attract attention. Warmer colors, like red, yellow, and orange, are attractive. However, you should use them carefully as they can be overwhelming if employed excessively.

Use The Surprise Element

If you are trying to attract attention, place something inappropriate in the middle of your display space. Whatever you decide to display, try to provoke awe, excitement, and, perhaps most importantly of all, curiosity from your customers. Encourage customers to visit your business and get to know it.

Consider A Design With An Open Booth

There are numerous advantages of an open-design custom exhibition stand builder. Many exits and entrances are feasible, letting people interact with your display at their own speed. It also makes it easier for your staff to communicate with visitors at a time without causing any friction. The visitors and your employees will be able to maintain the social distance. To give everyone at your stand more privacy, you can distribute seating arrangements across the space.

If you are an exhibitor who wants a custom exhibition stand for your trade show, selecting professional stand builders is the best option. The best method to locate the right professionals is to go online and find the services offered by Stands Pro. We provide the best modular stands for exhibitions, all kinds of industries, and more. 

[shehan-mga2022mi6014]

Rules and guidelines for SMA competition

1.1 The “LANGUAGE” of Silent Manga

A Silent Manga is a visual narrative told without dialogue, that relies entirely on illustration alone. You may, however, make use of onomatopoeia by incorporating SFX into your art.

We welcome all emotions – happiness, sadness, and everything in-between. Like a good chef, the mixing of opposing flavors can sometimes produce the best results!

2.1 Page count

The page count for a single SMA entry is 17 pages or less. (The page count may change depending on the round so please be sure to always check the current round announcement page).

2.3 Working in digital

Please follow the same dimensions stated in 2.2 Canvas size.

All digital drawing tools are welcome in SMA (Clip studio, Manga studio, GIMP, Adobe Photoshop, Medi bang, Paint, etc.).

Please DO NOT use any copyrighted materials, imagery, or characters as part of your creation. However, pre-set tools like brushes and screen tones are welcome.

Preset photos or drawings of people and backgrounds are FORBIDDEN by the submission agreement as their use may be subject to copyright infringement. The ONLY exception is photos you’ve taken yourself.

3.2 What IS allowed

Speech balloons containing “!?”: Exclamations and other punctuation marks are fine, but always keep in mind that they ENHANCE your characters’ expressive emotions, not SUBSTITUTE them. For example, many artists draw expressive marks near characters’ faces, often without speech balloons.

Signs (e.g., Parking / Flower Shop / Restaurants, etc.): Signage is also OK, provided they are very common and universally understood.

Onomatopoeia: drawn letters that represent sound is welcome and actually encouraged in ANY LANGUAGE. In most Japanese manga, sound effects are usually incorporated into the art by the original artist in a unique style that sets the tone of the sound.

Entries from partners, groups, etc.

Multiple entries are WELCOME!

3.3 To take into consideration

Utilize the first page as part of the storytelling and not just a cover page.

We encourage you to make good use of a “double page spread” (a pair of two adjacent pages in a book). Treat the page spread as ONE WIDE CANVAS.

Complex stories are often difficult to incorporate in SMA. It’s a good idea to plan ahead, and think of a simple, yet effective story before you begin your final manga.

We want to see what “message(s)” the story clearly presents to the reader – evoking emotions and feelings to entertain the reader.

FLOW: Though manga displays the action on a single page, it is designed to be read as a “double page spread”, with the action starting from the right and flowing from page to page. This same rule applies even when reading manga on a smartphone or tablet. The key is to ensure the reader turns the page! Use effective “Hiki-goma” (the last panel before turning over the page to the following panel) and other techniques for effective storytelling.

4.1 Starting your manga

We recommend starting your manga as A SINGLE PAGE on the left side of the spread.

4.2 Layout

Your manga should be drawn from right-to-left (Japanese standard).

4.3 Image data

Preparing the image data of your work (data format). Please prepare the image data of your work according to the format below. (One image file for each page / two-page spread divided into two image files).

Image format: JPG or PNG format

File size: 1 file 2 MB or less

Image file name: Your image files should be labeled with a two digit number in sequential order based on the page number of the image file (Example: page_01.jpg, page_02.jpg, etc.)

Resolution: 300 dpi

Blaze

0 notes

[welcometojapanese]

Shodo

The art of Japanese calligraphy, also known as shodo, is based on the ancient forms of Chinese writing. What is now seen as beautiful script written in various styles on different kinds of paper, seen on restaurant signage, or even typed out on the computer, has descended from ancient carvings set in stone, bone, and secret bamboo letters.

The oldest Chinese script still visible today is and Oracle Bone Script. This script is written on bones and turtle shells that were a part of a Chinese spiritual rite. The bones and animal carcases were first burned and a sacrifice, or offering to God. Then using the bones a diviner, I'm not sure if there's a Chinese word for this, would then read the divination for the coming season or year, and record it. It was recorded by carving into the bones with other bones available from the ceremony. The scripts that we have found and can still access thus far are typically about the fortune of the coming harvest. Over time it became more common to use ink rather than carving bones or stone, and after hundreds of years, and a hop across the ocean pond, we have the calligraphy we know today. Otherwise known as, Shodo.

Shodo is a Japanese word that roughly translates to the way of writing. There are many different styles of writing that developed throughout the eras. All of which date back to the simple Chinese carvings, and led to modern Japanese calligraphy. The oldest one that I personally know about is known as Tensho. Tensho is sealed script writing. It is written with slow sharp gestures that seem to mimic the motions of carving in stone. Following Tensho came the shodo practice known as reisho. This style of writing is more delicate, even in the upright way you're meant to hold the brush. Reisho is also well known for it's many rules. Such as the way you hold your brush, the symmetry of the piece, the even flow of the lines, and possibly most importantly the fact that each piece is only allowed one tail. Meaning that each stroke that makes up a kanji must come to a full and complete stop, and only one may be waved, or flared, at the end. Reisho was also originally a carved script that utilized stone before ink became the more popular practice.

As ink script became more accessible the need, and desire, to send letters arose. When sending letters in China they did not at first use scrolls or any form of paper, but rather bamboo. In order to send private letters they would write their message on the inside of bamboo, close it all up, and seal it with clay before sending it. This way they would know if the letter had been tampered with or opened by anyone before reaching its target audience. This is known as (I cannot read my handwriting, or find any similar words in my search online, sorry. But seriously, what a cool way to send messages.)

After some time though a new era of calligraphy rang in. This time it was sousho, or cursive. This style was, as you'd expect, more flowy and interconnected. However with kanji being as complicated as it is it was hard to interpret the cursive style writing, amongst even those that spoke the same language. Thus, in the 9th century, the modern typeface known as Kaisho was born. This is the font that is used most commonly in Japan. It's found in books, taught in school, and is even the base internet font for kanji and kana. However there are multiple writing styles that fall under the umbrella that is Kaisho. So while they share the same name they can look quite different, and may very well one day evolve into their own era of shodo.

The popularization of ink brush calligraphy did not just travel from China to Japan, but is also popular in Korea, and as I've recently learned is growing in Vietnam, India, Taiwan, and of course here in America. Though from what I gather in comparison to American styled Japanese calligraphy, traditional calligraphy still being exhibited in Japan is somewhat more strict or rigid in its expression. By that I mean Japanese calligraphers are likely not going to take the same liberties with kanji as Americans do such as splatter paint styles, or using more eccentric tools and such. Though maybe that has to do with the fact that in America pursuing calligraphy would be more of a hobby, whereas in Japan shodo is or can be, a profession.

Words of Interest:

Shodo- way of writing

Oracle bones- bones used in a spiritual rite for the sake of divination / Oracle/ fortune telling

Tensho- seal script

Reisho- clerical script

Soshou- cursive script

Kaisho- regular script

Kotobuki- large scroll type or hanging script meant to wish a long happy life

Fude- brush

Sumi- ink

Reiwa- current Japanese imperial era meaning order and harmony