#which means my accent has to be um. Good.

[dont-offend-the-bees]

how have i been cast as a vladimir twice in the same show

[loveinhawkins]

Steve grabs the bag before Eddie can. “No, I’ve got it.”

Eddie glances at the transparency of the plastic bag: the outline of his battle vest pokes through it, neatly folded.

He sidesteps the rest of the group as they troop out of the RV. Steve’s still standing his ground by the driver’s seat.

“Uh, Steve, I can see what’s in there. That’s mine.”

“Yeah, but—” Steve huffs, still holding the bag tightly, and he almost seems… embarrassed. “Like, just. Don’t look at it right now, I’ve got it. I’m gonna dry clean it. Later, I mean.”

Eddie laughs. But Steve remains deadly serious.

“Uh, that’s nice and all, but I don’t think dry cleaning gets out… um, blood and…” Eddie pokes his head out the RV door, to where the kids are hauling weapons and tanks of lighter fluid with Robin and Nancy—a sight he steadfastly tries to ignore before he panics ad nauseam—and asks, “What’s your word for, uh, Upside Down related, uh, you know—”

“Slime?” Lucas offers.

“Sludge,” Erica corrects.

“Goop,” Max says decisively.

“Shit,” Dustin says.

Eddie nods. “Helpful, thanks.”

He turns back. He’d intended for all that to get Steve to crack a smile at least, but if anything, he looks worse; the expression on his face has shifted into evident guilt.

“Steve,” Eddie says, caught between being amused and… honestly, touched. “Relax. It’s fine, man.”

Steve keeps frowning. “But it was—”

“—not important.”

Steve huffs again, like he’s saying don’t lie.

Eddie changes tack. He hasn’t missed the fact that Steve’s change of clothes from The War Zone means that, sure, less skin’s on show, which is probably better for Eddie’s heart but, more importantly, his bandages are ‘conveniently’ concealed—which is decidedly less good for Eddie’s heart, so maybe they both cancel each other out.

If ever there was the time for sincerity…

“Maybe I care less about the damn vest, and more about the person wearing it.”

The pinch in Steve’s brow lessens. “Oh,” he says, soft, and then a little of his usual bravado comes back when he asks, “you sure?”

Eddie waggles a hand back and forth. “Kinda. It’s borderline.”

Steve chuckles. He puts the bag down on his seat, very carefully, as if it’s breakable, and Eddie’s heart does a little skip.

“Well. I still feel bad,” Steve insists. His tone’s light, but he fixes Eddie with a pointed look, don’t test me on this, Munson, ‘cause my stubbornness will win.

“Okay,” Eddie concedes, hands up in surrender. “Tell you what, Steve. What if I wore something of yours, to make it even?”

Steve wrinkles his nose, but he’s smiling. “What, and deliberately mess it up?”

Eddie nods gravely. “Like, it’s not quite Upside Down conditions, but whenever I cook, it gets pretty close.”

Steve’s smile grows. He makes a show of turning around in search of something.

“Huh, I must’ve forgot to pack my wardrobe.”

Eddie clicks his tongue in theatrical disapproval. “Yeah, that’s a pretty big oversight, dude, should’ve thought it through.”

“Guess it’ll have to wait for next time.”

And yeah, they’re joking, but still. Eddie doesn’t want to tempt fate.

“Next time? Nah, I’m praying all this shit is a one time thing.”

“No, I meant—” Steve hesitates, like he’s inadvertently stepped out of the joke, and he doesn’t know where to go from here. “Like. Whenever you come round.”

“Is that an invitation?” Eddie says; he hopes the quip is enough to cover his surprise, the long-buried thought—ridiculously high school, but true in spite of it: no-one’s ever invited me to…

Steve rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Oh, sorry, did you want it hand-written? The red carpet treatment?”

“Well, if you’re offering…”

“I’ll go get my quill,” Steve deadpans.

Eddie laughs. Says, only partly kidding, “It’s just, I’ll need some time to think it over.”

“The… invitation?”

“What item of clothing I’m taking, duh.”

“Right, yeah,” Steve scoffs, “major decision.”

“It is! You have whole ensembles, man.”

“Ensembles,” Steve echoes, but it’s got more of a French accent to it; Eddie suspects it’s a by-product of Steve helping Robin study, ‘cause she seems to be the only one who’s a polyglot in their contingent. “Get out of town, Munson.”

“Oh, like you don’t know. I swear, in winter, there’d be actual bets placed on what sweater you were gonna wear each day.”

“Uh-huh.”

Eddie hams it up, “Didn’t you wonder why so many girls were waiting to see you drive into school?”

“You’re an idiot,” Steve says, and he waves Eddie aside, about to jump out of the RV. “Lemme know when you’ve made your selection.”

Eddie knows he should leave it there. They’ve had their laughs, and it’s made to be forgotten about in the face of much more important things.

But that’s always been his problem, really. He can’t bite his tongue in time. He can’t help—

“The red one?”

Steve turns around, one foot off the step. “What?”

“The, uh…” Eddie clears his throat. It’s either say nothing or go all in. Fuck it, the shire’s burning. “I’ve decided what to—um. The red sweater?” Steve just keeps looking at him, so he adds, tentatively, “The one you’d wear near winter break?”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, I know the one you mean.” He falters on the verge of speech, his lips twitching into a surprised little smile. He drawls, “You sure you weren’t placing those bets yourself, Munson?”, but it doesn’t sound mean, and his ears suddenly look a little pink, and maybe, maybe—

“No comment,” Eddie says, aiming for comically flat, but Steve’s smile is contagious.

“Okay, it’s a deal.” Steve steps outside—throws over his shoulder, “It’s yours,” oddly sincere; and Eddie wonders if they’ve really been talking about clothes at all.

[yourbestprincess]

Mein Kleines Mädchen

Older!König (40s) Young!reader (18- early 20s)

Giant age gap but y’know, size kink, slightly hyper fem!reader, reader is a female, König is rough and also has a cute little German accent and calls you cute pet names in German, König is also your dads bestie but not anymore! Creampie, slut-shaming but also praise , fingering.

Hope I didn’t miss anything! XD

(Gentle reminder that König is HUGE, I'm pretty sure he's 6'10 which, if you're average hight, is ginormous.)

You’ve always thought König was overly attractive, but you would never do anything…I mean he was your father’s best friend.

He always eyed you when they hung out, which was rare because he was always deployed.

König was way bigger than you were, he merely towered over you when you two would talk. Which, to say the least, you loved.

You thought he was so attractive. From how big he was to his greying ginger hair to his blue eyes which looked at you in such a way that made your stomach flutter.

****

He was finally coming over today. You were finally in collage now, in your eyes a grown woman.

He was staying the night according to your dad because he got kicked from his apartment from being gone so long, to which you weren’t complaining.

It was so early; almost too early, but you heard a knock at the door. Even before he knocked you felt his presence. Your heart pounds as you peak out of your window to see his car. You walk down the stairs, only in an oversized white t-shirt that covered your tight black shorts. You clear your shirt of any wrinkles before looking through the peephole and opening the door.

“Guten Morgen, schatz.” He smiles softly. you notice that he’s still quite dirty.

“Oh, ‘morning König.” you smile back softly before letting him in, your heart still pounding in your chest, it feels like it’s gonna run away.

He gives you a lousy side hug and drops his bags on the stairs before giving you a forehead kiss.

“Mm.” He breathes you in “Schatz, where is your father?” He backs away slightly to give you some sense of personal space.

“He’s working today until about 8:30. Sorry, I should probably let you settle in and shower I know you’re tired and-“

“Shh, liebling. Stay with me, I suppose I need some company, ja?” He looks down at you, reaching his calloused hand over and putting it on the side of your head in which you lean into.

“Okay, well first let me draw you a shower.” You bite your lip gently before leading him into the upstairs bathroom next to your room. He follows you, humming something you swear you've heard before.

"Du bist so ein liebes kleines Mädchen" (You're such a sweet little girl) König snickers while trailing so close behind you that he's basically hovering over you.

He thought you didn't understand what he was saying. You really touched up on your German before he came back from whatever mission he was on. You knew he said things to you in German before, but he never thought you'd know. Not until now. Your blood wastes no time making your cheeks hot and red with straight fluster.

He grips your arm and turns you with his mere strength. "Oh dear. Du verstehst jetzt?" (Oh dear. You understand now?) He tilts his head, squatting down to your hight.

You try to look down but he forces you to look up at him with your practically pathetic puppy eyes. "Ja...since you got deployed again. I should've told you, but I just wanted to know what you were saying to me."

His eyes feel like they're staring sharply into your soul, like he was looking straight into your heart. He knows that your heart grows and yearns from him. "Ja? Good girl." His accent spills out more when he's eager.

"C'mon lieb." He stands back up letting you finish showing him to the bathroom. You turn on the shower and make sure its the perfect temperature for such a man. You set out a towel and an unopened bar of soap.

"Okay, there you go. You can..um meet me in my room when you're done." You say with just a little bit of excitement in your voice.

"Ja, liebling." He says with a soothing voice rather than before.

As you wait in your room, you change into a pink see-though lingerie dress with a matching pink thong. To top it all off, you wear some white thigh high socks. You sit pretty on your bed and wait for him to get out of the shower.

****

You hear a knock at your bedroom door. "Hey, Liebling? Can I come in?" You ignore it for a second but before you can cover up he busts through the door.

"Mein gott liebe. Scheisse... don't do this to me. You know I can't hold back." His is heavy. It's obvious that blood went to his dick just from looking at his towel.

"I don't want you to hold back." You say as he steps into the room. His hair wet and towel barley covers his v-line. He sighs and walks closer to you.

“Mein schatz…What a fucking tease are you? Gut Gott.” He towers over your small frame, lifting up your legs and pressing kisses on your thighs as he props them up on his shoulder. His cock is fully hard, it’s throbbing and oozing out pre-cum.

“Bitte…König. You know how many years I’ve been waiting for this..” Your panties are so soaked that it’s visible. Who knew you’d be such a slut for the man who was there when your father wasn’t.

He moves your panties to the side with his middle finger. He pushes his middle and ring fingers inside you and rubs his thumb on your throbbing clit. You cry and whine under his touch. He knows how bad you need him.

“Is this too much schatz? If it is, how am I going to put this cock in you? It craves you, you know that liebling?” He takes his hand away from your wet entrance and lets the towel fall to his ankles. His cock springs up, you can see pearls of pre-cum dripping onto your bed. He gives his drooling shaft a couple of pumps before spitting on his middle and ring finger to wet your entrance just enough to fit his massive cock.

“Ready liebe?” He shoves the tip past your entrance making your shutter and whine from the size.

“Ja, you’ll be okay mein schatz.” You bite your lip and cry with him going deeper, trying to fit his 8 1/2 inches in your tight pussy that’s just taking him so well.

“König…s'too much..Bitte! Pleasepleaseplease!…” You whine and moan from the pain. Your thoughts are clouded with pure white pleasure. You know how wrong this is, but, Mein Gott, is it worth it. You're gripping his back and begging for god knows what.

“Nimm es einfach wie ein braves Mädchen, ja? Getting close for me already, Gut gott." (Just take it like a good girl, yeah?) König can't help but notice how pathetic and weak you are under him. His blunt tip pushes against your g-spot over and over again until you're crying and going cock-dumb over him.

" Du liebst es einfach, wie eine Schlampe gefickt zu werden, nicht wahr? What a good fucking girl for me." (You just love getting fucked like a slut, don't you? What a good fucking girl for me.) You can feel his thrusts getting sloppier and heavier. His breath begins to hitch and he can't help but whimper just a little from how tight his Liebe is.

"König...gonna cum right now.. Vati... fuck- feels s'good..." Before you can even think about getting close, he pulls out of you and sits down on your bed, getting comfy before motioning you to sit on his lap. You slide off your panties and see-through dress, craving that skin to skin with him.

"Ja, that's it Mein Schatz, ease down on me, you've got it Liebe" As you sink down on his fat cock, he notices that it makes an indentation on your tummy.

"S'too much König... too big." You barely make out in whimpers and cries. He continues to thrust deeper into your sopping cunt. You really hope your dad isn't gonna come home anytime soon.

"Shh, It's alright, you'll be okay Mein Liebe. Just let me use this pretty pussy, ja?" He pushes his cock so far up into you that you were genuinely surprised on how he was able to bottom out in you. His thrusts are sharp and fast with so much power that you moan everytime he thrusts. König knows you're close from the way you're clenching down on him and how loud your moans are.

"Bitte... I need to.." You cry out before König's thrusts become sharper and somehow even faster.

"I know, I know. I'm gonna come with... scheisse- come with you, okay?" He can't stop grunting now, its all pleasure now. White pleasure clouds his visions.

"Christ- Ich liebe dich schatz- fuck. I always have. And look, now I get to fuck this little body of yours and even fill you up with my cum, eh?"

His vision returns to you, already cumming on his cock. So pathetic, you can't even speak. You're too entranced at cumming on his thick cock to even think. And now here he is, filling you up with his potent cum. He pumps and twitches just a few more times until you two ride out your orgasm.

****

"Was I too much Mein liebe?" He wraps his big arms around you as you snuggle into him. warm sheets cover your bodies.

"You were perfect. Everything and more than what I was ever expecting." He wraps you into him even tighter, pressing kisses on your forehead and soft lips.

"Ich liebe dich auch, König."

Your dad's gonna be so pissed when he finds out his little girl is getting fucked by his so called best friend.

[j2hoes]

Foreign Exchanges. (Anthony Vaughn x Reader.)

Summary: Moving school in the middle of the year is never easy. Let alone from an entirely different country. Despite Y/N trying to garner the least amount of attention possible, she still manages to catch the eye of a certain brunette.

Word Count: 1.5k

Gif Not Mine . Requests are open!

Warnings: Mature language.

A/N: My first Ant fic and I’m debating making this a series but you’ll have to let me know what you think! Anyway just a short one to start us off but there’ll be more soon. Don’t forget requests are open!

“I’d like you all to offer a warm welcome to our new student Y/N Y/L/N, she’s moved here all the way from the UK! So let’s show her some of that Hartley spirit.” The teacher, who introduced herself as Jojo, announces to the class. All of them staring at me with blank stares. “Go ahead and say a few words.”

She nudges my shoulder gently before I can decline the offer. Encouraging smile on her face. There are no smiles from my classmates however, only bored faces who couldn’t be less interested in my arrival. For which I’m grateful. I’d seen this school on the news prior to my enrolment, I know these students are brutal. I mean, a sex map? Dad wasn’t too happy about sending me here though he didn’t really have a choice, no other schools were admitting students this late into the term.

“Um hi, I’m Y/N. It’s good to be here I guess.”

“Does anybody have any questions for Y/N?” Jojo offers, attempting to find a way for the class to get to me.

Numerous hands raise and I let out a groan internally. It’s bad enough that I’m stood at the front of the classroom like a new shiny toy but to now be subject to whatever ridiculous questions these teens can come up with is a new form of torture. One that I am really not looking forward to.

Jojo points to her first student, allowing them to be the first to ask. “Why don’t you have a proper British accent?” The girl seems genuinely curious, eyes focused on me as she combs her fingers through her orange hair. Stickers adorn her face along with colourful eyeshadow to match her bright outfit. She has a gentle aura surrounding her, which makes me relieved as I realise her question wasn’t meant in malice and more so pure interest. Maybe these kids won’t be so bad?

“Um, I think the accent you’re think of is the Queen’s English. There isn’t many people that talk like that really, maybe a few down south but I grew up in the North East. None of us talk posh.” I tell her, watching as she seems to take notes as I speak.

“Thank you Quinni, Spider what about you?” Jojo asks, pointing to the tall blonde that is hunched over at the back of the class.

His eyes flicker up to me, giving me the once over though he doesn’t seem too impressed by my presence.

“Yeah, what is it with you and all the other poms having bad teeth?” The boy pipes up, I notice the two boys next to him laugh. Though the one in the baggy outfit makes eye contact with me and a flash of guilt appears on his face.

“I don’t have bad teeth actually. Nobody I know does and to be perfectly honest, that stereotype is deeply rooted in classism and while the UK faces a major cost of living and wealth gap crisis, I don’t think it’s funny to joke about things like that. Do you?” I retort, causing h the pink haired girl and her friend to applaud my mini speech. Both offering cheers.

“Okay any more questions that aren’t going to cause arguments?” Jojo asks, a few hands lowering as they don’t want to get in trouble. “Yes, Amerie?”

“Do you miss home?”

“Yeah, yeah I really miss it.” I start, thinking of everything that I had to leave behind. I know this was the best decision for my family, but I do hold a slight resentment towards being here. “Don’t get me wrong, Sydney’s great and all, but I miss my friends, my house, my pets, I even miss the shitty pub from down the street.”

“Thank you Y/N, I feel like we’ve got to know you a little bit more now, so feel free to take a seat and we’ll get started.”

The only open seat is next to the girl that Jojo called Amerie. Smiling as I take my place, I open my notebook and begin to doodle swirls and other patterns across the page. Focusing on that rather than the subject being taught. It’s some form of sex education by the sounds of it. However, it seems very outdated and heteronormative. Nothing worth listening to anyway.

Upon hearing the bell ring, I begin to pack away my things and watch as a few students mutter things towards Amerie. “Map bitch.” “Cunt.” and “Crazy bitch.” Just to name a few. I realise that may be the reason she had nobody sat next to her and figure it may be best to avoid her if I want to stay under everybody’s radar.

Finding my locker, I begin to turn the lock with great difficulty. Back home, the numbers simply connect and the door clicks open, that doesn’t seem to be the case here though. Fiddling with the dial, I hear the bell signal the beginning of the next class and I huff, annoyed that I’m having this much trouble with a stupid locker.

As the hallways clears out, I continue to twist and pull at the lock. Bag dumped on the floor as I try with all my strength to pry the door open. With no such luck, I throw a quick kick to the locker beneath mine, leaving a dent in the door slightly. Slumping with my back again the metal, I find myself face to face with the boy in the baggy outfit.

Not previously noticing how cute he was, dark hair hidden beneath a beanie, a couple of curls escaping. Boyish grin plastered across his face and piercing brown eyes staring directly at me. I won’t even try to deny that Australia has one up on the Uk in terms of boys, they’re just so much cuter over here.

“What did the locker do to you?” He jokes, taking the slip of paper with the locker code out of my hand.

“Bloody thing won’t open.” I mumble, stepping out of the way as he demonstrates how to open it with ease. My cheeks tinged pink as I fear my outburst may have been unnecessary.

“I thought you Brits were supposed to be good at containing your emotions anyway.” He leans against the locker beside mine, watching me as I stuff countless books into the small space. Normally this would make me uncomfortable, yet there’s there’s something about him that makes me feel warm and calm.

“Nah we love our fair share of violence.” I tell him, smiling as I do so, remembering the amount of fights that used to take place on my estate daily. Providing free entertainment for all the neighbours. “We’re polite, but piss us off and we’ll knock you into next week.”

He laughs, folding his arms across his chest as I close the locker door. His eyes gaze over me as I turn to face him properly. Noticing the small cross necklace hanging from his neck, I can’t help but imagine what it would look like against his bare skin.

“You religious?” I ask, nodding towards the chain.

“Nah, I’m Ant.” He brushes off my question and tucks the necklace beneath his shirt. Clearly a touchy subject that perhaps I shouldn’t have brought up. So instead I attempt to lighten the mood.

“Ant?” The word escapes my mouth as a slight giggle, unable to hide the amusement his name brings. “And your mate’s called Spider?”

“Yeah, stupid right?” He chuckles, playing with the straps of his bag. Almost as if he’s nervous. “We’ve been best mates our entire lives. My real name’s Anthony but nobody calls me that. Same with Spider, his name’s Spencer. Kids started to call us Ant and Spider when we were like six, guess it just stuck.”

“That’s cute.”

Picking up my bag, I throw it over my shoulder. Figuring I should probably head to my next class despite being extremely late already.

“Hey, about Spider.” Ant reaches for my arm, clearly sensing that I’m about to leave. “I just wanted to apologise, he can be a bit of a dick but he’s a nice guy deep down.”

My arm tingles where he’s touching it, feeling the slightest of move of his fingers. As though my nerves are on fire. Suddenly hypersensitive to any little movement he makes. I know I shouldn’t be feeling things this intensely, hell, I’ve just met the guy. Yet he sparks an excitement in me that I haven’t felt in a while.

“Honestly it’s sound. You don’t need to apologise.” I assure him, offering a smile, I see his shoulders relax. “I can handle a prick like him any day.”

“Yeah you certainly shot him down quick.”

As he removes his hand from my arm, I’m quick to begin walking away. Cheesy grin on my face as I recall the interaction in my head despite it only happening seconds ago. I feel dizzy with excitement, my feet feel like they’re walking on clouds and I almost miss the shout from behind me as I go to turn the corner.

“Hey, do you wanna get high?”

[entitled-fangirl]

Two idiots in love. (P5)

Joel Miller x anemic!reader

Summary: Henry and Sam interrupt the trio's plan. And Joel says something that will either make or break what he has with the reader.

Warning: blood, guns, Infected, fighting, cursing

Masterlist

Part 1 and 6

.........................................................

Joel was on his knees behind Y/N, digging through her hair, checking the injury on the back of her head. "Well, good news. Just a little scrape. Head bleeds more than the rest of the body, so it only looks like it's bad."

She hummed before looking over her shoulder at him. When she felt him staring at her, she completely swiveled on the ground to face him. His eyes were studying her closely.

She sighed, "…why do you do that?"

His eyebrows furrowed, "Do what?"

She wasn't sure how to even explain her thoughts, so she dropped it, "Just… nothing."

Joel didn't want to push her anymore than she already had been today, so he dropped it, too. "Go lay down, Darlin."

She smiled, standing up, "…There's that accent again."

He scoffed under his breath, standing too. 

This seemed to be the longest Ellie had been quiet. So, she took it upon herself to break the moment, "How long are we gonna be here?"

Joel sighed, "We'll survey the roof in the morning."

Then he started scattering glass around the door, leading all the way to their makeshift beds, which consisted of old couch cushions. 

The sound of glass falling was killing their ears, and finally, Ellie yelled out, "Joel!"

He stopped, "What?"

"What are you doing?"

"I don't want someone sneaking' up on us while we're sleepin'."

"Oh! I get it. Crunch, crunch, crunch." She got a smirk, "Are you sure you're gonna hear it?"

"Of course, I'll hear it. That's the damn point."

…

Joel woke up to the sound of Y/N's panicked voice. "Joel…?"

"JOEL!"

His eyes opened.

Ellie was held at gunpoint by a man in his twenties.

Y/N was still seated on the ground with her hands up in surrender.

Joel turned.

A young boy held a gun to Joel's head.

The man spoke up quickly, "Eyes on me."

Joel simply stared at him, determining his next move.

The man continued, "You don't have to worry about what to say. We don't wanna hurt you. We wanna help you."

Joel's voice was strained, "Okay…"

"Okay… um… I don't know what the next step is with something like this, but… if I lower my gun… We didn't hurt you, so you don't hurt us, right?"

Joel's eyes never left the man. "That's right."

The man tilted his head in panic, "That's a weird fucking tone, man."

Ellie spoke up, "That's just the way he sounds. He has an asshole voice. Joel, tell him he's okay."

"Everything is great."

Y/N looked over her shoulder. "Joel…"

The man was confused, "Fuck. Okay. I'm gonna trust you."

He began to sign to the boy. They communicated back and forth a few times before he spoke up again, "Okay. But if you guys try anything… yeah?"

Silence ensued before the man motioned for the boy to step back. 

Joel's jaw clenched when they didn't pull their guns away, "Can I sit up?"

"…Yeah. Slow. Get up slow."

Joel did so, keeping his hands raised, "Who are you?"

"My name's Henry. That's my brother, Sam."

…

The five sat in the building around a lantern, eating rations.

"Where did you get these?" Henry asked.

"From Bill," Ellie answered. "He's dead."

Joel reached out, giving the rest of his portion to Sam, who took it happily. He motioned to Henry.

Henry spoke up again, "He says thank you. I'm guessing you don't have much, so, this means a lot."

Ellie smiled, "How old is he?"

"He's eight."

"Cool. I'm Ellie."

Henry's eyes moved to Y/N, waiting for an introduction. 

She felt his gaze, "Oh. Uh. Y/N."

When Joel didn't answer, Ellie slapped his leg.

He grunted. "I'm Joel. Look, you ate, we didn't kill each other, let's call this a win-win and move on."

Henry nodded, "Well, I'm betting that y'all came up here to get a view of the city and plan a way out. And when the sun's up… I'll show you one."

…

"Highways. Downtown. Us." Henry pointed out on his makeshift map. "This whole are belongs to Kathleen."

Y/N spoke up, "She's in charge?"

Joel wrapped his arm around her waist slowly and unknowingly, as if instinct. She in turn, leaned against his side.

Henry nodded, "Leader of the resistance. So. How do we get across?" He signed to Sam.

Sam wrote on his paper tablet the word tunnels.

Joel scowled, "Kansas City has a subway?"

"No, maintenance tunnels."

"Alright. Great plan. So what do you need me for?"

Henry sighed, "You noticed anything strange about this city?"

Ellie hummed, "No infected?"

"Oh, there's infected."

Y/N connected the dots, "But not on the surface…"

Henry nodded, "Exactly."

Joel was growing angry, "So you want US going in a tunnel?"

"Everyone thinks that it's full of Infected, but I know it's not. They cleared it out like… three years ago."

Joel scoffed.

"Okay, so maybe there's one or two. That's why you're here."

"And what if there's more?"

"Like those ones that see like a bat?" Ellie asked.

Henry stepped back, "Wait. You ran into a clicker?"

Ellie smiled, "Two of 'em."

"And you're still alive. See? If it gets bad, we turn around."

Joel's scowl never left, "So THAT'S your plan?"

Y/N grabbed Joel's hand. "Joel…? Can we..?"

He leaned down, "Yeah, uh. Give us a minute"

The two walked out of the room into the hallway.

Joel sighed, "I don't know about this, sweetheart."

"Me neither."

He stared at her, "Tell me what's going on in that little head of yours."

"It's dicey but… it's all we have, isn't it? And that would make four people dependent on you."

He nodded, "How do you know we can trust this guy?"

She smiled, "Look at him, Joel. He wouldn't hurt a fucking fly. The guy is harmless."

"What if he harms you?"

She stopped. "Is that what you're worried about?"

Joel sighed, "I'm always worried. About you," he stops, trying to cover the meaning of his words, "…and Ellie. You and Ellie."

"Well," she continued, "Trust me about this one thing. When have I steered you wrong?"

Joel stepped back in thought, "That one time when-"

"-Yeah. Okay. I heard enough." She walked past him into the room. "Henry, we'll do it."

Joel was so blindly in love with her. 

…

Here they sat in a safe room in the tunnel, waiting for daylight to end.

Y/N still hadn't recovered from yesterday's events, so Joel was insistent that she rest.

But when she tired to lay on the ground, he held her up, dragging her over to the table as he sat in a chair.

He pulled her into his lap, "Floor's too cold. You'll get sick."

That's how she ended up asleep in his lap, her head tucked in the crook of his neck as she slumbered.

"You know," Henry said, "I didn't take you as the… caring type."

Joel scoffed, "What?"

"With your… your wife," he pointed to Y/N in his lap, "and your daughter," pointing to Ellie.

Joel's voice hardened, "This isn't my family."

Henry stepped back from the chair, "Sorry, man. I… I just thought-"

"-well, you thought wrong."

He thought Y/N was asleep, but she wasn't. 

And she heard every word.

…

The group exited the tunnels, beyond happy that their plan was working.

Ellie smiled, "So, cross the river, and then what? Where are you guys gonna go?"

"Don't know yet," Henry thought, "Probably gonna head toward-"

Gunshot.

They all ducked.

Joel grabbed at each person, "Move. Move! GO!"

They hid behind a car.

Henry was panicked, "Where is that coming from?"

Joel turned, "Shut up."

He turned to Ellie and Y/N, "You don't move, and he's not gonna hit you. I'm gonna go around, try to get in the house through the back."

"But if you go out there, he's gonna kill you." Ellie protested.

"It's dark and he has shit aim. No one is gonna kill me." He leaned towards her, "Do you trust me?"

She nodded.

He turned to Y/N, "You'll be alright."

She leaned in towards him, "Just… be careful."

He reached forward, taking a strand of her hair in between his fingers and studying it, as if it will be his last chance to. "I will be."

…

Joel's voice was heard from their hiding place, "RUN!"

Y/N's head perked up, "Ellie. We gotta go."

Headlights.

And soon, a snow plough began clearing out the cars leading up to the four.

They ran as fast as they could, hearing Joel firing at the car from his place in the house.

He managed to hit the driver, making the vehicle crash into the house.

It caused an explosion.

Joel watched carefully trying to locate Y/N and Ellie through the smoke.

Kathleen exited her vehicle, soldiers following suit.

And the four were hiding behind a car.

Henry spoke up, "I'll come out! Just… let the others go."

Kathleen smiled, "No. Sorry. The girls are with the man who killed Bryan. And Sam… well… Sam is with you."

"You don't understand!"

The snow plough suddenly fell through the building and into the tunnel, causing a massive hole to show.

And the sound of Infected.

The four began to run as Infected ran out from the tunnels.

In the chaos, Y/N had lost Ellie. 

She made it to the tree line, looking back for her.

When Ellie was nowhere, she grumbled, taking out her gun from her pack, and going back out.

She dodged Infecting, shooting at some as she went.

When one grabbed at her arm, a bullet moved straight through its head.

Joel.

She looked up to the house in gratitude before continuing.

She finally found Ellie stabbing at Infected that were trying to attack Henry and Sam. She ran as fast as she could to them, helping Ellie finish the job. "C'mon."

Y/N led them all back to the tree line. They were only feet away when Kathleen stopped them, her gun aimed carefully. "Stop."

They watched an Infected jump at her and begin to rip at her face. 

They were all frozen.

Joel grabbed at Y/N from behind. "This way. Now. Move!"

She jumped, turning around as they others began to run, "Thank you."

He nodded "Let's go."

…

"Think they'll be okay?" Henry asked.

They all sat in an abandoned house, the kids in the bedroom reading a comic book, the adults in the living room.

"Yeah. It's easier when you're a kid anyway."

Y/N stood on shaky legs, "I need fresh air."

Joel's eyes watched her carefully, "Hey. Don't wander, alright?"

She turns back with a defiant look, "Not like you'd care."

And she shut the door behind her.

…

Joel stepped outside a little while later. 

Y/N was sitting on the porch steps, staring out at the stars.

He stood behind her, "You alright?"

She turned as far as she could towards him, "I'm fine."

Joel didn't like that answer.

He sighed, moving to sit next to her. When she didn't look at him, he grabbed her jaw gently, pulling it towards him. His voice was soft, as it always was with her, "Hey. You're obviously not fine. And what the hell was that back there? Tell me what's going on."

She stared into his eyes, trying to decide what to say to him.

He tried to make her sit in the silence, but even he couldn't handle it. "How am I supposed to fix what's wrong if I don't know what it is, sweet girl?"

She scoffed, "I just wish you'd stop doing that."

"Doing what?"

She turned her head away from his hand, "Quit looking at me… like… like that."

Joel looked confused, "I don't get it."

She sighed deeply, "You look at me and you talk to me like… like I mean something to you, Joel. It's frustrating."

He leaned back in shock. "You… you think I… I don't care about you?"

She laughed slightly, standing up and walking out into the yard slightly, "You've made that much clear, Joel. You said it yourself."

How could she think that? Joel began to ponder anything and everything he's ever said to her. It was angering him, "I've never said those words to you. I care about you."

"Only because I'm Tess's sister."

"Watch. Your. Mouth."

She paused, watching Joel stand on the stairs. Her tone dropped to a quiet mumble, "I think I've been on this journey long enough. I should just go."

Joel stepped down one of the stairs, "I've already said it before. You're not going anywhere. I want you here."

"Don't fucking lie to me, Joel!" She yelled, "You don't even consider me family!"

Oh. 

She heard that.

He sighed, trying to control his tone, "No one wants you to leave. I need you on this trip… and Ellie. She needs you."

"I just want you to be honest."

"What do you want from me, baby?"

They just stared at each other.

"I want you to tell me what you want from me, Joel."

He stood in thought, before descending the stairs. "There are no wants in this world now, sweet girl. You and I both know that."

"You don't need me to be around. I'm extra weight."

"LISTEN TO ME WHEN I TELL YOU YOU'RE FUCKING NOT!"

Her eyes hardened at his loud tone. "Don't try to spare my feelings. You don't want me around and I see it. Just…" her eyes saddened at his look, "…stop looking at me like that. Please."

She moved past him, going back up the porch stairs.

"Darlin', wait."

She sighed, turning around.

But she was thrown off by the sudden feeling of his lips on hers. 

One hand wrapped around her waist, the other across her back, pulling her closer.

He pulled away.

"There are no wants in this world, but I do. I want you."

Her eyes scanned his face inquisitively, checking for the truth.

"You can look all day, sweet girl. I'll always tell you the truth. Please, stay."

She nodded, pulling away from his arms. "Okay. I'll… I'll stay."

His shoulders slumped slightly. "Uh...good."

He moved past her to go inside, but she gently tugged at his sleeve.

He turned to her.

And she kissed him back.

He hummed into the kiss, pulling her to him once again.

He had always wondered how soft her lips were. 

And now he knew. 

She pulled away this time, "Let's go inside. I'm fucking cold."

Joel chuckled. He shrugged off his jacket, placing around her shoulders. "I think I like it out here more." He gently kissed her lips again. "I'll keep you warm."

She smiled, "I love when you look at me like that."

.....................................................

Part 6

Tag list: @lover-of-books-and-tea, @pedropascalfan221, @lottieellz101, @bambisweethearts, @hiroikegawa

[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.

[thehereticdiaries]

A (Not So) Meet Cute: Chapter One

Summary: After a day of bad luck, you just wanted to go home and relax. Unfortunately for you, a creepy man throws a wrench in those plans. Warnings: stalking, assault, sexual assault, minor violence, cops, creepy weird older man A/N: Some of the tropes and wording in this screams y2k teen coming of age movie, which wasn't intentional but it's a happy coincidence

Luck has not been on your side today. Your alarm didn’t go off, meaning you were late to work. In your scramble to get to the bus on time, you forgot to eat and make your morning coffee. You made it to the bus – just barely. 

There was already a line of people waiting for you to unlock the doors to the bookstore. You quickly ran through the opening duties while the customers browsed the shelves. Apparently, you didn’t plug in your charger last night. Your phone was at a measly 30 percent. And of course, you didn’t have your charger in your bag. The closer from yesterday took the charger that was normally by the register. You would have to make due without social media during this shift.

Now it was 15 minutes until the end of your shift. You were so ready to go home and collapse onto your couch. The bell above the door jingled, and you greeted the customer on autopilot. You could see the customer lingering by the door in your peripherals. You turned to ask if they needed help finding something, but froze seeing the disheveled man already staring at you. Feeling a bit uneasy, you turned back to stocking the snacks at the register.

Your relief was already ten minutes late, and you were getting antsy. Your phone was down to 1 percent. You wanted to get home before it died. Not to mention the man was still wandering around the store, looking at you from around bookshelves every few minutes. You barely greeted your coworker when she finally walked into the store. You began speed walking down the street, slinging your bag across your chest. 

But today could not go more wrong . The creepy man followed you as you headed to the bus stop, hanging back a few feet. The hair on the back of your neck raised as anxiety bubbled up in your stomach. You couldn’t go home with this man following you. If he found out where you lived, he could break in and rob you, or worse. 

You detoured into a coffee shop, hoping to lose the man by pretending to read. You ordered the first thing you saw on the menu, a latte maybe? You weren’t really paying attention to the barista. Your focus was stuck on the creep that was still following you. The barista called the fake name that you gave him. You grabbed the drink and sat at a table toward the back of the cafe. To your dismay, the creep sat in the chair right next to you. 

“You’re a foreigner, yeah?” The smell of weed and alcohol hung heavy on his breath. You shrunk into yourself, holding the coffee in front of you as a poor excuse of a shield.

“Um, yea, I am,” you answered warily. You pulled your headphones on despite your phone dying as soon as you entered the cafe. Maybe if he saw you were busy, he would leave you alone. You jumped when the man ripped your headphones off, leaving them hanging around your neck.

“It’s rude to ignore an elder trying to make conversation,” he slurred. Your gaze flickered between the man and the barista, but the latter was either ignoring you or didn’t know what you were trying to signal.

“So, pretty foreigner, how did your Korean get so good?” The creep continued. “A lot of young girls like you sleep around to improve their accent.” A spike of fear ran down your spine.

“I- I’m meeting my boyfriend here.” You don’t have a boyfriend, but the excuse usually worked with the assholes at American bars. 

“So? I can’t keep you company while you wait?” He barked out a raspy laugh. You were panicking at this point, tears threatening to spill out. You were praying for another person to walk in the cafe. The creep was relentless, chattering away oblivious to the fact that you weren’t paying attention at all. The man ran a hand up your thigh. You cursed yourself for wearing a skirt today.

Luck finally decided to show its face in the form of a young man entering the cafe. His short, black hair stuck out from under a beanie. He wore a mask and was typing away on his phone. You silently thanked the gods for giving you a way out of your current situation.

“There he is, bye!” You jumped out of your seat and practically sprinted over to the masked stranger. 

“Hey babe! You’re late, I was worried you forgot about me.” You threw your arms around the stranger’s neck. “Please help, that man is following me.” You whispered before pulling back. Your hands lingered on his biceps. You prayed that he would play along. His eyes flickered from you to the creep slinking his way over.

“Sorry, love. My last class ended a little later than normal.” You let out a shaky breath in relief. Even with most of his face obscured, there was something familiar about him. You couldn’t put your finger on it, so you ignored it.

“Ugh, you had physics today, right? I’ve heard the professor has a huge stick up his ass,” you easily continued his story. He rolled his eyes, feigning annoyance.

“You heard right. I’m almost 100 percent certain professor Jung doesn’t know how to smile.” Your “boyfriend” ran his thumb across your knuckles. You pouted at him in mock pity. His eyes met with something behind you and his expression (or what you could see of it) soured. He pulled you so that his body was obscuring yours. 

“Can I help you?” Your “boyfriend” sneered at the creep. The latter looked surprised that he was being acknowledged. You clung to the back of the masked man’s hoodie, peeking around his shoulder. 

The creep put his hands up in false surrender. The boy in front of you stared the creep down until the door of the cafe shut behind him. You immediately backed up from your unsuspecting savior, bowing deeply.

“Thank you!” You straightened back up. “Thank you so, so much. That man has been following me for, like, 20 minutes.”

“Seriously? What an asshole.” He scoffed in disbelief. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m okay now. I don’t know how to thank you enough. Can I buy your drink?” You offered. His eyes crinkled in a hidden smile.

“I’m getting drinks for me and my friends.” He tried waving your offer away.

“Oh, well how many friends? I don’t mind-”

“It’s me and seven others.” He raised an eyebrow at you. You gaped at him, and he snickered at your shock.

“Okay, maybe not.” You definitely couldn’t pay for eight overpriced lattes. You remembered your own drink, needing the caffeine after the whole ordeal. You turned to your table, but your drink was gone. That asshole stole your coffee.

“You good?” The kind stranger’s voice interrupted your internal rage.

“That fucking creep took my coffee!” You exclaimed, gesturing to the table where your drink should have been. 

“Damn, no shame. Come on, I’ll get you a new one.” He nudged your shoulder before approaching the counter. “Eight iced Americanos aaaaand,” he trailed off, turning to you.

“You don’t have to-” a sharp look stopped your denial in its tracks. “And an iced French vanilla latte.” He smiled and paid for all nine beverages, much to your chagrin. The two of you moved to wait by the pick up counter.

“So what’s your name?” He asked, leaning against the counter.

“Oh! Y/N L/N, you?” 

“Kim Seungmin.” The stranger, now known as Seungmin, looked pleasantly surprised. You chatted while the barista prepared the drinks. Once they were ready, you helped Seungmin load the Americanos into carriers. You held the door open for him as you exited the cafe.

“Shouldn’t I be the one holding the door for you? I’m such a horrible boyfriend,” he teased. 

“You’re holding eight coffees!” You flushed and lightly hit his arm. He laughed and shook his head. You tried suppressing your smile, trying to be mad at him, but failed. 

“Thank you, again. For the coffee and for the help with-” You froze in your tracks. Seungmin tilted his head at your sudden stop and wide, fearful eyes.

“Mother fucker! ” You cursed in English. Seungmin’s eyebrows shot up. “That creep is still watching us!”

“What?!” Seungmin followed your gaze. Sure enough, the man was lurking across the street, watching you. “Oh, you have to be shitting me.”

“God, what does he want with me? And why me?!” You whined in frustration. Your phone was still dead, but you didn’t want to burden your new friend further.

“Here, hold one of these.” Seungmin handed you one of the coffee carriers. He then took your drink and tucked it in the center so that one of your hands was empty. He laced his finger with yours and tugged you down the sidewalk.

“What? Where are we going?” You questioned. You pointedly ignored the butterflies erupting in your stomach at the contact.

“We’re going back to where my friends are. If this guy is still following us, we’re calling the cops.” Seungmin left no room for arguments. You nodded and let him lead you to a recording studio about ten minutes from the cafe.

“Ooh, a recording studio? Are you a musician?” You asked as you approached the glass doors. There was a pin pad to the right.

“Yeah, me and my friends are in a band. Here, stand in front of me,” he breezed past your questions and pulled you to stand between him and the building. He reasoned with himself, arguing that he was doing this to make sure you weren’t vulnerable. Definitely not because your perfume smelled nice and he wanted to be closer to you. Nope. Definitely not.

“The doors are locked with a pin,” Seungmin explained and reached around you to type in the digits. “You’ll be safe here.” A buzz indicated the door unlocking and he ushered you inside. 

The studio’s front room was small, holding only a couch and a coffee table. There was an open door on the opposite wall. You heard several loud conversations coming from the other room. The two of you placed the carriers on the coffee table.

“Is he still there?” You asked, a little too nervous to look for yourself. Seungmin looked outside and nodded. You shoved your face into your hands. Why was this happening to you?!

“Guys, I’m back!” Seungmin shouted while removing his mask. Okay, now you were certain you’ve seen him before. But where? It was irking you.

“Coffee! Thank god!” A young man with shoulder length dark hair huffed as he strolled out of the other room. He stopped when he saw you. Another man with longer platinum hair followed the first guy. 

“Oh, who’s your friend, Seungmin?” The blonde asked in a surprisingly deep voice. Oh, shit. The pieces clicked together.

“Oh my fucking god, you’re Stray Kids,” you muttered to yourself, feeling a mix of horror and embarrassment. 

“You finally figured it out?” Seungmin teased. You glared at him. How could you not recognize him earlier?! You scolded yourself in your mind.

“Y/N, this is Hyunjin and Felix. Hyunjin and Felix, Y/N.” Seungmin gestured between the three of you. Clearly he was enjoying this.

“Hi, nice to meet you. No offense, but why are you here?” Hyunjin asked, looking between you and Seungmin. 

“Ah, right. We need Chan or Minho to call the police. Like, now,” Seungmin explained (barely). The older boy didn’t question it and disappeared back into the other room. Felix’s face twisted into concern. Only moments later, Hyunjin returned with two other boys in tow. Holy shit that’s Bang Chan and Lee Know. You didn’t know if you should freak out because you were meeting idols, or freak out because Lee Know looked like he wanted to kill you.

“Seungmin, what’s going on? Who is that?” Chan questioned.

“Did she break in?” Minho glared at you. His intense stare made you want to crawl into a hole. 

“No, no. We need to call the cops for her, not because of her,” Seungmin raised his hands to mediate the situation. You backed yourself into the corner as the rest of Stray Kids filled the small lounge. 

“Seungmin. What. Happened?” Chan was trying (and failing) to get control of the situation.

“I’m- I- I’m so sorry.” You stuttered. Your breathing picked up and your heart was racing. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your rehearsal. I just-” you cut yourself off with a sob. The reality of hiding from a stalker in Stray Kids’ studio was hitting you hard.

“Hey, Y/N, right? I need you to breathe with me,” Jisung placed his hands on your shoulders, urging you to meet his eyes. “Okay, breathe in. Breathe out.”

While Jisung led you through breathing exercises to quell your panic attack, Seungmin recounted everything that happened since he entered the coffee shop. Chan’s expression grew increasingly alarmed. Felix was horrified. The blonde moved to run a soothing hand across your shoulder blades. Chan nodded once Seungmin finished. 

“Y/N, come sit down. Please.” Chan sat on the couch. He patted the spot next to him. You hesitated, but sat on the edge of the cushion. “Can you tell me what happened before you ran into Seungmin?”

You nodded. You took a deep, shuddering breath before explaining everything that happened since the creepy man showed up at the bookstore. The boys stared at you with varying levels of disgust and anger on their faces. Well, except Minho. He kept a neutral expression until you told them about the man trying to touch under your skirt.

“He fucking what? ” Minho nearly shouted. You jumped at the angered edge to his voice. “Sorry, you’re okay, I’m not mad at you . But this man put his hands on you? And he’s still lingering outside?” You nodded.

“Fuck, what the hell, man?!” Hyunjin raked a hand through his hair. Jisung sat on the arm of the couch next to you. He ran a comforting hand along your shoulders. 

“Alright, I’ll go call the police. Keep an eye on the pervert. Let me know if he tries something.” Minho pulled out his phone and moved back into the other room, passing Changbin on his way in. He paced around the recording room.

“112, what is your emergency?” The operator answered after one ring. 

“My name is Lee Minho, I am calling on behalf of a girl that approached my friend for help. She has been followed and harassed by a strange man for about an hour now. This man has followed her from her workplace, to a coffee shop, and now to our recording studio,” Minho launched into a concise explanation of the situation. 

“Alright, Lee-nim, where is your studio located?” The operator asked, the sound of a keyboard clicking away filled the background.

“It’s the JYP satellite studio on Seonsa-ro. The door is locked with a pin, so the man can’t get in. He is still lingering on the street out front.” Minho pinched the bridge of his nose. This was not how he expected today’s session to go. “I’m here with seven friends and the girl.”

“There are officers on their way. They should arrive in less than five minutes. Please stay on the line until they arrive,” the operator instructed. Minho hummed in affirmation. The soft conversations in the front room were cut off by a loud crash followed by a scream. Minho rushed out to face utter chaos.

The man had thrown a brick through the glass door of the studio. Where did he even get a brick? Chan, Changbin, and Seungmin were in the man’s face, shoving him back towards the door when he tried to walk further into the room. Hyunjin and Jeongin stood in the middle of the room, while Jisung and Felix held onto you in the furthest corner from the door. 

“Lee-nim, what’s happening?” The operator’s voice broke him from his daze.

“The man has broken into the studio. My friends are keeping him away from the girl, but he’s getting more violent.” Minho moved to stand directly in front of you and the two younger boys. 

“Officers will be there in less than a minute.” He was barely paying attention to what the operator was saying at this point. His ears were ringing and the scene in front of him felt like it was moving in slow motion. The man swung wildly at the three boys at the front. 

“EVERYBODY STOP!” The harsh voice of a police officer forced time back to normal. Three officers approached, guns trained on the creepy man. For a tense moment, it looked like he was going to fight back. “Kneel and put your hands on your head.” Reluctantly, he obeyed the officer. 

The man was handcuffed and forced to his feet. One officer led the man outside and into a patrol car. The other two officers split up to take statements from you and the boys, with the female officer approaching you. Jisung and Felix once again had to help calm your hiccuping sobs enough for you to talk to the kind officer. 

It took another 20 minutes for the officers to gather all of the necessary information. Finally, they pulled away to take the man to the police station. Silence fell over the group. What. The. Fuck.

Seungmin broke the silence with a harsh sigh. He tugged you away from the sunshine twins and into a tight hug. You squeaked in surprise, but allowed the second youngest to hold on to you. One hand held your waist, the other cradled the back of your head. It was surprisingly tender and the tension melted away from your body.

“I really don’t know how to thank you all enough,” you admitted once you managed to pull your face from Seungmin’s chest. Your watery eyes glanced around the group of idols. Never in a million years did you think you would meet Stray Kids, let alone be protected and comforted by them.

“I’d settle for your number,” Jisung quipped. You whipped around to gawk at the rapper. 

“I- what? Are you serious?” You were in disbelief. “Why?”

“Y/N, sweetheart, you’re insane if you think we wouldn’t want to keep in touch after all of this,” Hyunjin argued, the pet name causing a light blush to spread across your cheeks and nose. You were suddenly very aware of Seungmin still standing behind you with a hand on your lower back.

“Obviously if you’re not comfortable with it, you don’t have to,” Chan quickly chimed in. You shook your head.

“I don’t mind, but are you sure? I wouldn’t want you to get into any trouble for sharing that information with a fan,” your eyebrows pinched in concern. 

“I think I speak for all of us when I say you’re a bit more than just a fan now,” Felix reassured. “I mean, three of us were literally just fighting a man to keep you safe.” 

“Relax.” Seungmin smoothed the crease between your brows with a swipe of his thumb. Your blush deepened a few shades. 

“My phone is still dead.”

“Here, put your number in my phone. I’ll walk you back to your place and text you after you get inside.” Chan handed his phone over to you. 

“Yah! What about the rest of us?” Jisung protested. The leader rolled his eyes.

“I’ll give it to everyone once I get back to our dorms. Changbin, make sure you save what we did today. Obviously we’re gonna have to resume tomorrow in the main studio.” Chan gently moved you toward the door by your elbow. The younger producer nodded and disappeared into the back room. 

“Thank you, again. I guess I’ll be texting you guys later,” you waved a small goodbye. The rest of the boys waved and chimed in their own farewells. You turned and headed to the bus stop with Chan right behind you. The topic of conversation for the rest of the group quickly fell to you. Your life was about to get way more interesting.

[waggledoogledoggle]

SOMEONE GIMME MULTI-LINGUAL JED AND OCTAVIUS PLEASE

I NEED IT.

JED AT THE VERY LEAST KNOWS SPANISH AND ENGLISH IF NOT ALSO MANDARIN BECAUSE OF THE RAILROAD. LIKE, Y’ALL, HE CANONICALLY ON SOME LEVEL ACTUALLY KNOWS SPANISH

“No comprendo, amigo!” HE SHOUTS THAT AT THE AUGUSTUS BUST. IS THE ACCENT SHIT? YES. BUT IM CHALKING THAT UP TO ACTORS CHOICE CAUSE GUESS WHAT. HE CONJUGATED IT FUCKIN CORRECTLY.

GIMME JED SPEAKING IN ENGLISH COMPLETELY NORMAL BUT THEN HIS BRAIN DECIDES TO FORGET THE WORD IN ENGLISH SO HE JUST STOPS FOR A MOMENT AND STARES AT NOTHING, SO HE JUST SAYS IT IN SPANISH AND OCTAVIUS JUST STARES AT HIM LIKE ‘…tf?’ BUT THEN THEY GO TO CARRY ON THE CONVERSATION AND LIKE HALF A BEAT LATER JED JUST SHOUTS THE WORD IN ENGLISH CAUSE HE REMEMBERS IT NOW. LIKE:

“I mean, I ain’t ever seen such a mess! Hell we even had to get a new… uh…”

“…”

“…”

“Jedediah?”

“…mesa…”

“…mesa?”

“I… can’t remember it in English right now… but I’m sure it’ll come back to me… uhm, anyways, yeah we had to get a new one of those, which sucks cause it was the only good one in that tavern! I ain’t ever seen such a brawl, I mean- TABLE!”

“Jupiter- Jedediah what the fu-”

“That’s the word! Table! Alright, we’re good now, as I was sayin-”

AND OCTAVIUS? DUDE IS A FUCKIN ROMAN GENERAL, SO NOT ONLY DOES HE KNOW LATIN, BUT HE IS ALSO LIKELY FLUENT IN GREEK. SO ENGLISH IS HIS FUCKIN THIRD LANGUAGE

SO YOUR TELLING ME, THERE HAS NEVER BEEN ONE SINGLE MOMENT IN BOTH CANON CONTENT AND NON-CANON CONTENT WHERE OCTAVIUS FORGETS THE WORD IN ENGLISH SO HE COMES UP WITH SOME BATSHIT CRAZY SOUNDING DESCRIPTION OR MAKES A SOUND EFFECT AND JED JUST HAS TO TRY TO FUCKIN GUESS WHAT HE MEANS.

“Hey Octy, did ya see where lil’ Ted went?”

“Yeah he went on the- the um- the horse tornado.”

“…what?”

“You know, the horse tornado.”

“…do you mean the ‘Carousel’?”

“That’s the word! Yes, the Carousel, yes.”

OR

“He went on the… Jed how you say *makes helicopter noises*”

“…oh! Helicopter.”

“Yes! That.”

AND I WANT IT TO GET TO THE POINT WHERE JED STARTS GETTING IT FIRST TRY NO HESITATION WHILE EVERYONE ELSE IS LIKE “WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK DID I JUST WITNESS, HOW DID YOU GET ‘PEN’ FROM HIM SAYING ‘BLEEDING INK STICK’”

And even better. I want Jed learning Latin for Octavius once he finds out English is his third language. Because if Octavius learned his first language, then he’ll be damned if he doesn’t do the same for Octavius.

I BEG OF THEE, PLEASE

(Edit: yes I know that Jedediah Strong Smith irl knew some/the basics of Latin lmao, what I meant by 'learn Latin' was work to become fluent in it like how Octavius is fluent in English, my bad for not explaining more clearly lol)

[melbatron5000]

Two Crowleys

A while ago, the wonderful mind of @noneorother posted this meta about the puppets in the magic shop.

The observation that there appear to be two Crowleys in the shot of the puppet arrangement had me absolutely scratching my head and thinking they must be mistaken somehow.

(pic from @noneorother)

But then I got my hands on some of the Amazon X-ray extras, and discovered these little gems from the album covers in Maggie's record shop:

Now, going back to our color-coding for a moment, we may not know what all the colors in Good Omens mean, and we may not have all the colors down. But we do know a few, and we know that color-coding in Good Omens does exist, and that it matters.

Auburn and vavoom yellow are Crowley's colors. They are the colors of his hair and eyes. Black and scarlet red are the colors he wears. So those four colors are Crowley-coded colors. Okay.

Thus, these two record albums from Maggie's shop are Crowley-colored. Now, notice something important? Well, two things. The first -- Raga Koboj has TWO little sharp-clawed critters peering out at us from behind blinds. I daresay they are meant to be little cartoon demons, yes? And CT Bazz: Dank Balaclava features a face in a red ski mask. People usually wear ski masks if A. it's cold as tits outside, or B. if they're trying to hide their identity. So both albums feature Crowley colors AND images of hiding -- plus one features an image of twinsies.

The other important thing takes us back to color-coding. What other color do we see here besides our well-known Crowley colors? On Raga Koboj, the auburn and vavoom yellow blend into each other -- creating orange between them. And Dank Balaclava features a cigarette being lit -- with a little flair of orange fire.

(Edit to add: The name of that first album is Raga Koboj, which is a style of Indian music. A very famous tale in India is of the Warrior Goddess Kahli fighting demons who kept replicating themselves. Every time a drop of blood would hit the ground, a new demon would spring up. She went on a rampage trying to destroy them all, and her husband had to throw himself in her path to stop her. Hmm . . .)

This leads me to believe two things: Yes, TWO Crowleys. One Crowley in hiding, the other a twin. And that orange is Crowley's secret color.

Where else do we see orange?

Yep, the pillars in Aziraphale's shop. Which we also know is painted Crowley Auburn on the outside and Vavoom Yellow on the inside. With accents of this nice saffron orange on the pillars.

Want more proof? Okay.

Several people have noted that Aziraphale and Crowley keep to each other's right and left, respectively. Aziraphale on the right, Crowley on the left. In season 1, whenever they are on the opposite sides of each other, something's up. Not wrong, necessarily, but not in proper order. As in the image-swap/body-swap. Several people have also noted that Crowley is on Aziraphale's right far more frequently in season 2. And look here:

Aziraphale looks instinctively to his left when Crowley approaches -- only this Crowley, the twin, is not approaching on Aziraphale's left. This happens in more than one scene.

And when Aziraphale introduces Crowley to Nina in the coffee shop in episode one, he says, "This is, um, Crowley." As if he's quickly deciding how to name this individual who looks like his demon but approached on his right. Aziraphale "ums" and hesitates a lot this season, but he's also lying a lot. Hesitation and "um" is one of his tells.

I believe Aziraphale knows this isn't Crowley 1.0. But he acts and talks to this Crowley as if it's Crowley 1.0, so I don't think it's an imposter or someone pretending to be Crowley who isn't. I think Crowley's split himself in two. Am I sure about that? No. But it's where I'm leaning at this moment.

But Crowley 1.0 isn't missing entirely. Look here:

Aziraphale is looking over his left shoulder for his demon, and Crowley's right there, where he should be.

So yeah, TWO Crowleys.

Now where the heck is Crowley while his twin is out walking around on Aziraphale's right side? I really don't know what he might be up to, but I think he's in contact. Reachable, at least.

Let's look at this one again. Who's this?

No, not the guy in the foreground. The guy in the back. No, not the dude wearing tartan, the other guy. The guy in front of the ORANGE pillar, the guy on Crowley-twin's LEFT shoulder.

Is that Crowley 1.0? Or at least, a way for Crowley to be in touch while he's off doing whatever the heck he's doing? I think it is.

Would you like some more proof?

Okay. How about another record album from Maggie's shop?

Back to color-coding again. That baby-blue/red combo seems to indicate Crowley and Aziraphale's relationship together. The baby-blue is the color of Aziraphale's shirt, while the red is one that Crowley wears, mostly around his neck, although it also appears elsewhere in his costuming.

Au Revoir, Fingers! Crowley's just a head now. But a head has ears and eyes, so Aziraphale can communicate with it. As I suspect he tries to here, before Jim interrupts:

But wait. Back to Au Revoir Fingers for a moment. Red Eye Smile?

And red eyes? Fuck me.

A very few people have pointed out that there are lots of dual red taillights in multiple shots, frequently framed rather carefully. I had dismissed it, as I usually do when something turns out to be freaking important.

Someone's watching. I think it might be Crowley 1.0.

Then there's that bit where he's driving back to Whickber street, after coming back from Hell, and he first zooms around a bus with red taillights and says, "There's only room for one of us in this lane and it's not you," then he changes a pair of red stop lights to green and says "Don't you even think about it. There, that's better." Is he arguing with himself?? Telling the Other Crowley that it's his turn right now, not his? Of course I can't find a GIF or picture of that right now, but you know what I mean, right? Neil had to cut a bunch of material out of the finished show to fit Amazon's time limit requirements. That scene would seem to be an easy cut to make -- unless the scene matters to the overall plot too much to cut.

I also suspect that Crowley might be talking to himself in the book shop at the end of season 2. You know, when he turns Aziraphale's chair around to face the right way, but when Maggie and Nina come in it's facing the center of the room again? I suspect Crowley 1.0 and 2.0 had a chat. I do not know about what. Just sharing information?

I also wonder if Crowley 2.0 might have his own POV scenes -- thus confusing the already complicated POV situation even more. The white head statue sure gets several shots where it's in center frame, as if it is the POV character in that scene.

That's what I got, my fellow brain rotters. There's my evidence.

In conclusion: Two Crowleys. Yeah, I think so. Now, for the big question:

WHY???

What is Crowley doing that there needs to be two of him? And is it just twinsies, or is that someone else pretending to be Crowley and I'm wrong? Aziraphale definitely seems to know that's NOT his original Crowley, but tells the demon important information without hesitation, so I'm still suspecting Crowley twinned himself. But what if I'm wrong? Who is it then? And why are they pretending to be Crowley? And why does Aziraphale seem to know it's not Crowley, but still talk to him like it is?

I have no answers.

Thanks for crackpotting and going nuts with me, yet again. I hope this keeps you up at night like it's done me.

[strawberrydutchling]

Little Coffee Shop II | Transformers Au

Summary: You meet Jazz!

You like your job. But that doesn't mean you don't have your least favorite part of it. Case in point, cleaning the dishes. Specifically, cleaning the burn stains of the pans after accidentally putting them on a high flame for too long.

'That's the last time I take chocolate-making lessons from a short video.'  You internally sighed after you finally finished rinsing the last of the bowl.

In the process of putting them on the dry rack, you heard the hanging chimes by the door ring.

"Hellooo~, [Name]? You here?" A loud voice boomed through the once-quiet atmosphere of the cafe. A small gasp almost left your lips in surprise. You knew fully well who that voice came from.

"Jazz, is that you? Hold on a second, I'll be right there! "

You picked up the pace putting them all on the drying rack as quickly as you could, wanting to personally greet one of their f̶a̶v̶o̶r̶i̶t̶e̶ customers.

(Regular is an understatement. Though you were not hiring, Jazz occasionally plays live music for the cafe, when he's not busy with assignments and student Council work. You once asked him about it, and he simply replied he 'just really loves playing music and enjoyed the vibe of the place' as he put it.

... Noble his words may be, you're pretty sure he's doing it 'cause of the free snacks and drinks that comes with the gig. )

After wiping your hands with a dry cloth, you step out of the staff room, ready to greet the young mech.

You walked out of the staff room, and there stood a figure standing by the coffee bar, dressed in white and black. You could see Jazz's face beaming the moment you came to view it. "He~ey! There you are! Mah favorite barista!"

He sure has a way with words, and his accent adds more charm to it.

You couldn't  help but share the same sentiment and gave your own brightened face."Good morning, Jazz. It's been a while." Summer break is 3 months for the university, and it didn't seem much has changed for Jazz by the looks of it. Same stance, same attitude, and same blue visor.

Though... is he taller? The last time you saw him, he was just about your height! But now, he was looking down at you...

Wow, Summer growth sprout is no joke.

" 'Certainly has! Sorry, I didn't stop by on the first day. It's only been the first week and some of the profs are already bombarding us with quizzes. " He sighed in exasperation.

"It's fine. student life isn't exactly easy, so I understand. But I am honored that you even thought about visiting me." You smiled at the compliment, if not, flattered even.

"Well, why wouldn't I? 'is not every day I get to enjoy good coffee and chat with a cute barista. "

. . .D, did he just--?

Oh....

OH!

OH MY PRIMIEJDJD-- um, Sir?? It's too early for this!

"aurgh-HEM!" You let out a rather loud cough, turning away like you're going to break a neck to prepare the ingredient... and to hide the rising flush on your cheeks.

Did I forget he has a...way with words, too? Unfortunately, you still aren't used to ... that.

"W-what can I get for you?"

You heard a low chuckle coming from behind, which you chose t̶r̶y̶ to ignore. He sat on a stool, which was facing right in front of you. "I'm feeling like taking a Double Espresso today. So, I'll have that. "

"Mhm. Cool, cool. .." You muttered, nodding and writing it down on a pad (still refusing to look back). Jazz is a variety type of mech, willing to try everything on the menu. Sometimes he will ask for something creamy, or something bitter... It really depends on what he's feeling.

Though, either way, he usually like to accompany with something sweet. Something like...

"Would you want a slice of cheesecake to go with that?"

Though you weren't looking, you could tell by the faint gasp that those words caught his attention.

"You got it on strawberry or blueberry?"

"Both."

"Then, I'll take the strawberry—"

"Okay, one slice of strawberry... "

"... 'Cause I want to taste something as sweet as you. "

.  . . . .

Dear Primus, help you.

｡･ﾟ♡ﾟ･｡☕｡･ﾟ♡ﾟﾟﾟﾟ

An amused laugh escaped Jazz's as he watched you scurrying into the back room. He could feel his grin grow when he heard a faint sound of am embarrassed groan, barely audible but he knew it came from you. It's cruel, but just couldn't help it! It can be fun to tease you.

It's the way your face make when he pulls out some unexpected lines, ranging from a nonchalant blank face to frozen surprise 'as a deer-in-the-headlights.'

Once that amusement subsidized and the laughter died down, he sat there in comfortable silence. The soft melody of jazz music playing in the background. He takes a look at the place, eyeing every little detail. Nothing much has changed- same white accent walls, and same decor with the motivational words.( Even the one that says: Keep Calm, Fuck Shit up, courtesy from a certain red and orange speedster.) There's even the small stand where he used to do play live music. He's thinking about doing that again soon.

And most of all... same you. Same adorable you. 

"I'm back!"  Your voice snapped him out of thought, leading him to turn head and watched you push the door with your back as both arms were currently occupied carrying ingredients.

"Sorry, 'had to get a few things." You sighed as you placed the items on the counter.

You turned back to face Jazz. It seemed like you've already calmed down from his little teasing. A calm, service smile now evident on your face.

"Your order will be ready in 5 minutes. "

A low amused chuckle rumbled in his chest. "Take your time, doll. I'm not going anywhere any time soon. "

ANOTHER CRITICAL HIT! Just when you calmed down too... At least you didn't almost drop the cup (this time).

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

Comment on who you would like to meet next. They're highly appreciated!

[naomis-daydream]

essence in the air // letitia wright

summary: interviewer!reader. it seems there’s a lot of underlying chemistry between you and your interviewee, Letitia Wright

a/n: saw clips of tish flirting w interviewers and here we are. i included a lil piece inspired by @drletitiawright and @aaliyg talking about a Dr kink 😏

warnings: just fluff. flirty reader and flustered tish. reader is from the Dominican Republic and speaks Spanish (very minimal)

✧

you exhale softly as you get last minute touch ups to hair and makeup. you glance across from you to look at your interviewee—Letitia Wright. she was dressed in a off white hoodie with matching sweats, a black jacket, and air forces, scrolling on her phone while her glasses reflect the bright screen.

you were very excited for this interview. you had gotten great reviews from many stars and prided yourself on having laidback, fun sessions with all guests for Essence Magazine. from Lashana Lynch to Keke Palmer, your issue of celebrity interviews in the magazine and on their channel had been something viewers looked forward to, which was very beneficial for your paycheck.

she looks up, catching your gaze as she offers a smile. you return the gesture, crossing your legs in the lounge chair. “you ready?” you ask as the cosmetologists left.

she inhales sharply, “yep, though i wish you’d told me about the dress code,” she says, eyeing your exposed legs from the slit in your dress. “i would’ve come in something nicer.”

“girl, you’d look good in a trash bag. besides, the whole point of this is for you to have fun and be comfortable. as long as that’s happening, you’re good.”

“says the one wearing a body con dress,” she says as you wave a hand at her. “you go out in designer everyday, you’ll be good for 30 minutes, hon.” she laughs, humming in agreement.

the tech guy comes in, cueing you as the cameraman starting rolling.

“hey guys, I’m y/n y/l/n with Essence Magazine, and today i’m here with esteemed movie star, devoted Christian, and—as of recent weeks— doctor in arts and letters, miss letitia wright. how you doing, angel?”

a smile dances across her face, eyes surely lighting up behind her black sunglasses. “wow, what an introduction. thank you. i-i’m well, how are you?”

“great, thank you,” you begin. “so, tell me a little about how you earned your doctorate, what’s it in, and what it means to you?”

she sighs briefly, “man, it’s um, it’s definitely an honor, such a blessing to even be considered for something like that. it’s in arts and letters, as you said, and to have it come from a school in my home country, Guyana, made it that much more…moving for me. i’ve been acting since I was a teenager and never dreamed of any of this happening.” she said, gesturing around us with her hands. “from small projects in London to…”

“being an international award-winning actress?”

“yes! it’s all a lot, but being recognized for my work is-is great.” she finishes.

“do any of your friends or family use the title or is it just a formality?”

“nah, after i got it some did as a lil joke but for the most part I’m same ol tish.”

so, can I call you doctor?” you tease.

she laughs lightly, shaking her head. though her words contradict her as she replies. “i-i suppose so, yeah, yeah you can.”

“dr. wright.” you said. “has nice ring to it. though mrs. wright wouldn’t sound too bad either.”

her laughter was fuller this time. “bad. you are bad.”

you shrug lightly, a knowing smile on your face.

“but in all seriousness, it’s nice to see representation for Afro Caribbeans out here. being an inspiration for so many across the world, and a role model for young people everywhere to see someone who looks like them, who comes from a place like them, on screen. we don’t see enough of us gettin’ our flowers. I’m glad you are.”

she nods humbly. “you Caribbean? stop playin, what part?”

“la República Dominicana, act like you know,” you said smiling. She hummed in admiration. “oh, the accent, ok I see you. you speak any Spanish?”

“eres muy hermosa y tienes mucho talento.”

you’re very beautiful and have so much talent.

you say the short sentence to her, none of which she understands, yet she leaned forward to rest her elbows on her knees as she listened. “i don’t know what you said, but it sounded hella good,” she smiles.

you shook head as you laughed. “man, you something else,” you said as you looked at her again, to which she put her hands up in defense.

“speaking of accents, in a lot of your productions you’re seen using your regular British accent, as well as those from various parts of Africa.”

“mmhm.”

“yet, we rarely hear you with an american accent onscreen. can you give me your best american accent right now?”

“right now?” she asks, pointing down.

“right now, go.”

she shakes her shoulders out before turning to the camera. “hey y’all, i’m letitia wright here with Essence Magazine,” she says in the absolute worst attempt of a southern accent you’ve ever heard.

your eyes go wide before you bust out laughing, shaking your head. “come on, now. don’t do me like that,” she says, a shy smile on her face.

“i’m sorry, i’m sorry,” you begin as you calm yourself. “it’s just refreshing to know there’s something you’re not good at.”

“i haven’t had any roles that require an american accent yet, so there’s time to perfect it.” you nod in agreement.

“so for the real question of the hour,” you say as she leans back in her seat, waiting for you to continue. “why you always got them glasses on?”

she smacks her teeth, trying—and failing—to suppress the smirk that grows on her face. “man, i thought we were gonna get deep.”

“oh, we can get deep, angel. i mean, why hide the eyes? the windows to the soul. i bet you have a beautiful soul, yet the entire time you’ve been here i haven’t got to see for myself.”

“my eyes or my soul?” she asks, tilting her head back.

you open your mouth to respond, yet can’t find the words. you begin to smile as she points at you. “ahh, i got you there, huh?” she says, grills glowing under the studio lights.

you roll your eyes as you reply. “alright, alright. don’t let it happen again.”

“my bad, baby girl. here,” she says, reaching up to take off her shades. “to make it up to you.” she sets them down on the small glass table between you.

“aw, thank you, dr. wright.” you say, thankful for the gift of melanin, and blush applied previously, that the heat rising to your face isn’t visible.

“so?”

“so…”

“my eyes…do they live up to your expectations?”

you lean forward, not missing the way her eyes drop to your cleavage as she does the same. you pause to really look at her, defined jawline, toned skin, fresh haircut, before going back up to her eyes.

“they are…subpar.” you say, swiping her glasses from the table as you slide them over your eyes.

“wow,” she says, bringing a hand to her heart as she leaned back. “it’s like that?”

you wave her off. “i’m just teasing, relax,” you assure as she mumbles, “yeah, ok.”

with the glasses off, you can really feel her gaze on you, though luckily part of yours is hidden this time.

“now look who’s hiding,” she comments, nodding her chin up at you.

“a nice change of pace. i think i look good, right? real official.”

she laughs before she responds. “yeah, you look good.”

you smile as you take them off, putting them on the neckline of your dress.

“so, can I count on seeing you at Essence Fest?” you ask with a sickeningly sweet smile, one that prevents her from answering with anything other than yes. “yeah, yeah you’ll see me there.” she replies while nodding with a smile.

you turn to the cameraman, “ok, i think we’re good!” you turn back to her, “thanks again for coming! it’s been a joy to have you.”

“thank you for having me. truly one of the best interviews i’ve had in a long time.”

“just doing my job, angel.”

she shakes her head, looking at the floor. “of course, of course. would you mind if we have a picture?”

“not at all,” you say, going to sit on the arm of her chair. you do a few sitting, her signature smize and a couple hand motions. you both get up to do standing shots, some with her hands clasped in front of her and others with her arm around your middle.

once you’re done she pulls you in for a hug. your hands slide up her shoulder blades as hers find their way around your waist once more. she gives you a caring squeeze which you reciprocate. you feel pressure between your chests which makes you pull away as you realize. “oh! don’t forget your glasses,” you pull them from the hem of your dress, extending a hand towards her.

“please, keep ‘em,” she assures, giving you one last smile—small yet warm—before heading out.

“bye, doctor!” you call as she leaves.

she turns around, walking backwards with her hands in her pockets. “see you soon.”

-

you packed up for the day, locking up your office and the main studio. walking out the building, your stride pauses as you feel your phone buzz in you purse. you pull it out to see a notification from instagram.

letitiawright started following you

you smiled at the message, seeing you missed two others from a couple hours ago.

letitawright mentioned you on their story

letitawright tagged you in a post

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letitiawright new issue of @essence for the March 2023 issue. You can watch the interview on their channel and see the wonderful photos this spring✨

koffee 😍🖤

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a/n: best believe she looked up whatever the hell you said and blushed

[blingblong55]

Hey Lover- Johnny "Soap" MacTavish

Based on a request:

Hihoooo!! Me again :3 not here for smut this time. It's my sad girl hours... Again. Soap picking up the broken pieces of Graves' ex who is completely broken from Graves cheating and dumping her cuz "The girl I'm with is better for me." I just want someone to fix me asap like seriously

F!reader, fluff, civilian!reader

Philip Graves, the man who ruined your very soul. You loved him, saw him as the most perfect man in this world. In one moment it all changed, he cheated, and told you a lie that you of course believed. In November, after you and him ended things he was on a mission. Met a man nicknamed Soap, and they talked about their lives, becoming close friends. At some point, he talks about you, and talks about you, Soap didn't know names or faces.

In March, you met him, you were at a dinner with friends when you just couldn't take the loud crowds anymore. You walk outside and bump into him. "Shit, sorry," you say, already feeling overwhelmed. "No, I should apologise, I didn't see where I was going." His Scottish accent was rough.

"I didn't either." You look at him. You both chuckle and he extends his hand, "John, friends call me Johnny" You shake his hand, "R/N," you smile a little. No man will ever love you. His words ring through.

"Nice to meet you, R/N."

"Nice to meet you too, John.."

"Johnny to you.." he winks and you nod, "Johnny." you softly say.

There was an awkward silence between the two of you. "So, are you...single? It's not like you look like the kind to be...I'm not calling you... Anything rude, you are just so..pretty and I keep on talking... Why don't I just give you my whole life story while I keep rambling." he spoke fast and you chuckled. He was so adorable this way, how nervous he was because of you. The first time he was ever this way with a woman. He took a deep breath and looked at you, "can I get a redo so you think I'm much cooler than I appear right now?" eyes pleading for just a second chance.

"um...yes...I mean I think you already did such a good job but sure"

"Hi, I'm Johnny and I'd like to take you out somewhere someday if you let me that is."

Graves was like this in the beginning, so sweet and such a gentleman and of course things changed. It was so hard to trust men like him and now here you were, thinking that maybe history repeats itself and this man in front of you would do what Graves did.

After that night, Soap started to prove he meant what he said on the first date. You opened up about an ex when noticed how hesitant you were with him. "Sounds fuckin' stupid but believe me, I will prove you wrong, I am better. Can you give me a chance?"

Since then he and you have created some rules and boundaries. (bold are rules made by him)

If he knows you are uncomfortable, he will apologise or not mention it and move on

You must accept all the flowers he gives you

You can say no to everything and he will not pry or do anything forcefully (unless you haven't eaten which will result in him trying to feed you)

If you think he is talking to some other girls (romantically), you can and will stop all communication with him

You can take all his hoodies and even shirts as long as he can get a kiss on the cheek as payment

No more talking about exes or situation-ships

If you are insecure about anything, body, actions or emotions, he wants you to be open about them, and never leave anything unsaid

Never argue and go to sleep, talk it out.

Goodbye kisses before missions are a must

For months on end, he has followed all the rules and boundaries you have set for yourself. Even if he needs a hug you aren't currently comfortable with, he will wait and never complain. One night, you saw graves with some new girl by his side. He was kissing her, and he saw you and Soap. But before you could even think clearly, Soap wrapped his arms around you. Kissing your cheek and whispering sweet nothings.

One night, your insecurities got the best of you, you had been trying to wear some dress for an event. Back then, Graves would've made some comment that would make you stay indoors for quite some time. "You look ridiculous, too much for what? take it off, you look hideous anyways."

"You look so beautiful," his voice soft, eyes glued to your dress then your face. "Seriously, the most gorgeous girl in this world and I get to be in your presence? What a lucky fucker I am." Arms wrapped around your waist, he and you looking at the mirror. "You really take my breath away, R/N." He kissed your cheek. Mesmerised is what you had this man at. He truly worships the ground you walk on. His personal goddess, if he could, he'd built you, your own Taj Mahal. You can see the love in his eyes, one look at you and you melt him away.

Two days into the relationship, he got on his knees in front of you. You sat on the sofa, looking down at him, confused. "What are you doing?"

"One, I'm taking your shoes off, two, I think you look ravishing in this light I just needed more angles to look from." You smile and look away. The first time he had complimented you this way.

Slowly, he sat patiently and watched as you healed. He saw how you found a new meaning in life. Life brought back to your beautiful eyes, a smile that was no longer hidden. Graves past comments about your body, laugh, ideas, smile, and dreams were all erased one by one, all possible because he gave you space and time to heal. The days where you cried over how easily he loved you and accepted all of you were the days he was the most proud, not because of your tears but because you were learning you are indeed loveable and worthy of much more. Nights and days where he sat on your bed as you bawled your eyes out, the many mornings he woke up to your smile, evenings where you'd get random bursts of energy, those are the times he loves you the most.

Soap has been in love the minute he saw you, and took time to realise he was not just any passing star but rather the man you are walking the aisle to. He scrubbed you clean and clothed you with silk clothes. Kiss your scars, and bad memories and create better ones. New love and old ones all came together to create the perfect time you and him would fall in love.

Tags: @anonymuslydumb

A/N: Really hope you like it :)

[captain-mj]

Muzzled Ghost prompt! Where Ghost gets caught and Soap immediately goes to find him. When he does he finds that Ghost has freed himself but still has a muzzle stuck to his face and well Soap might get a little too hot under the collar seeing his Lt angry, victorious, and annoyed about the muzzle but surely they don't need to get to the exfil right away do they?

Yes... Yes... I'm loving these asks

Soap was staring. He shouldn't be, but christ how can you blame him??

His Lt was a sight to see. Stripped down to his tactical pants, lines over his chest from where he was no doubt tightly tied down, but never secured. His blond hair spiked up and messy. He was clean, no blood or dirt on him which was shocking considering. Though, it seemed Soap had killed everyone coming in, meaning Ghost just had to free himself.

That was all... one thing. Already, Soap would be gagging for him. But now, there was the added fact that Ghost was collared and muzzled. They had used brown leather ones, obviously meant for a human with the way they curved around his jaw. The collar and muzzle had a string that kept him from moving his head properly.

"Johnny, thank fuck. It's locked. You have a lockpick right?" Ghost looked at him, pausing once they made eye contact. Soap realized he was drooling. "I know you like me shirtless but pull yourself together Sergeant." He crossed his arms over his chest like he was a blushing bride trying to protect himself from Soap's wandering eyes.

"I um... Yeah I..." Wait. He laughed awkwardly. "Actually... I don't have a lockpick... Mine broke at the beginning of this mission. Remember?"

"Jesus fucking Christ." Ghost tugged at the leather, making it press taut against his skin and Soap went weak in the fucking knees. "Help. Me." He hissed at him.

"You look so fucking good." Soap mumbled, accent thick as honey over his words.

Ghost went red, all the way down his chest. "You kinky bastard. Like seeing me in a fucking collar?"

"Collar is helping, but that's not my focus, Lt." He reached up, grabbed the muzzle and yanking him down. Without his boots, Simon was still tall, but he didn't tower over him quite as much.

"Bloody Hell." Ghost mumbled out. "I'm the one muzzled but you're the one acting like a fucking dog." He looked embarrassed. Fucking hell. His badass Lt, bashful..

Soap couldn't kiss him so he pulled him closer, starting to back him up.

"Eva-"

"Can't it wait just a minute, Simon? I think if we don't fuck, I'm going to die here." He pressed his hard cock to Ghost's legs, looking up at him desperately.

"Jesus Christ. Are you still open from before?"

"Yep! Shame I can't fuck you, but we can always get a muzzle for home."

Ghost shook his head but let Soap desperately undo Ghost's pants. He shoved him down, realizing he was probably sore and hurting from everything.

"I'll just take care of you right now okay?" Soap got on top of him.

Ghost shook his head and looked up at him. "Jo-"

"Put your hands behind your head and keep them there." Soap interrupted.

Ghost stared at him for a moment before slowly, achingly, complying. He crossed his wrists, pale skin all on display. Soap needed to appreciate this view more. Fucking hell.

"God you're gorgeous."

"Johnny." He bit it out like it was warning but he was clearly starting to enjoy himself. Soap took off his pants and settled more properly on Ghost's hips.

Ghost stayed eerily still, staring up at him. His pupils had dilated, taking up the majority of his iris. Soap swallowed thickly and wondered briefly how feral Ghost could get. Part of him wanted to push. See what he could make him do. Ghost had a knack for making Soap a pathetic needy mess, but with the way Ghost was staring into his soul like he'd devour it if his mouth wasn't covered, he wondered if that went both ways.

Soap spit on to his fingers before sliding them into himself. Ghost tensed but his hands stayed where they were supposed to. It would sting a little, but Soap hated having to wait through prep in the best of circumstances. He knew it was necessary, but Christ, he wanted the real thing.

So Soap quickly sank down on Ghost, panting softly at the feeling. "You're so big."

Ghost's hips jerked up into him and Soap quickly grabbed the collar. The tiny whimper that got from Ghost was going to be in every single one of Soap's wet dreams for the rest of his damn life.

"Don't move." Soap ground down on him and Ghost fluttered his eyelashes at him.

"Johnny. Please, we don't have time for you to tease me."

God Soap hated that he was right. He started moving faster, slowly moving up and down on him with a lazy grin. Fuck it felt like Ghost was tearing him apart, but he wouldn't let Ghost know that. "You so rarely give me control, sir. Forgive me for wanting to indulge." His thighs pressed against either side of Ghost's hips, clenching around him.

Ghost moaned. Soap almost drooled at the sweet sound. His mouth could be seen through the leather and he could see it was open. His soft tongue just barely visible. He was trying so hard to stay still.

"Good boy." Soap offered and Ghost groaned, head falling back. He started riding him much faster, with much more purpose. His hands reached down and grabbed the soft flesh of his pecs. Soap wanted to be greedy. Take his fill of this before the mask went on and Ghost went back to being his rough and tough Lt. He leaned down and bit his shoulder, feeling him almost shake with the desperate need to touch Soap.

Ghost looked at him, eyes hooded and desperate. Black greasepaint smearing down his face. "Fine."

"fine?" Soap echoed, a bit confused.

"I'll let you muzzle me and get fucking creative later just speed up." Ghost groaned.

Soap's brain went wild with ideas already but he couldn't deny him. He scratched down his chest as he bounced on him, twisting his hips slightly when he almost got to the base of his cock.

Ghost panted and moaned, making it hard for Soap to keep a rhythm when he sounded like that. His hips kept stuttering or thighs clenching.

"Come on, Simon. I got you." Soap ran his nails over and Ghost came inside him, going quiet as he did. He stroked himself to finish on Ghost's chest.

They silently got dressed afterward and eventually found Ghost's gear. He had his extra lockpick in and they quickly got Ghost out of the muzzle and collar. He pulled his mask back on.

Soap stashed the muzzle into one of his pockets. For later.

[foxglovepng]

Random Headcannons 3 🌼🥀

Requested: naw

Characters: Scarabia + Pomefiore

A/N: I'm getting back into the writing mood yay I'll probably take requests in the future because I am slowly getting over writer's block. I looked up a word in Arabic and if the word is incorrectly translated incorrectly feel free to correct me.

If you liked reblogs and likes are appreciative <3

Kalim

Knock knock who's there? Autism br br br where the hoes at? not here

I love my Autistic headcanon for Kalim. I also saw a headcanon he has ADHD too. (I forgot the word for ADHD and Autism combined help)

When he's unmedicated Jamil is that one meme of Shinji his stress levels are high. He's practically lived with Kalim so he knows he can get hyper although he pushes through it being used to it.

I headcanon Kalim has sensory issues that mainly have to do with touch. (Mine are sound and taste :skull:)

Since he likes parties and is extremely sociable I feel like sometimes he can get overwhelmed he chills in his sensory swing. I also feel like since he plays the drums he does have backup headphones on hand in case it's too loud.

Jamil tends to calm him down with essential oils (Don't ask me what kind he likes I only know Rosemary, and Cherry blossom)

Jamil

Jamil drop the hair routine or I'll break your ankles Sangwoo style so you can't dance anymore. I will even report your music-listening account so you are no longer allowed to play hip hop DROP THE ROUTINE RN JAMIL

This is my no 2 pookie bear I love him sm ANYWAYS

I feel like in his alone time Jamil has his own hobbies he hides from Kalim and will go above and beyond just to have them to himself. One of those I feel like is reading romance books (Not the feral ones booktok gooners read) romance is one of the genres he reads I feel like he also reads fantasy. (He has read Pride and Prejudice)

He'd probably also go to art conventions on his spare time. He has a sketchbook and draws on occasion (I think he draws similar to Hyunjin's style)

Him and Kalim speak Arabic and English although I feel like when Jamil wants to cuss someone out or insult someone he will bring the Arabic out.

*Ace messes up a play*

Ace: so um great play

Jamil: اهبل (Google says this means stupid/idiot)

Ace: HUH?

Vil

*Throws my genderqueer headcannon at you Eminem style*

Gender queer Icon Vil.

If I am correct he is referred to as Queen by Rook?? so I believe Vil doesn't really care for pronouns and just simply exists. So Vil would use any pronouns interchangeably.

Also random headcannon but Vil's father is like..famous right? So I feel like he gets insulted and called a Nepo baby.

Peep Epel and Vil get into a fight and Epel calls him a Nepo baby. Oh all hell is breaking loose.

(I also headcannon he'd make an appearance in Eurovision)

Rook

I need Frenchie to become a slur so I can shout FRENCHIE at Rook 24/7

This man either has a really good memory or a diary in which he keeps info of students. (Their height, weight, UM, etc) its freaky ngl. AND NOT A GOOD FREAKY WAY.

I saw some art of him and Floyd in the bathroom and he was peeking over the urinal. BRO KEEP YA EYES ON YA JUNK.

I can imagine certain NRC students have a group chat dedicated to slandering Rook.

He probably knows about it :Skull:

Epel

Guys this my son <3

I am a firm believer he is an Amish hater.

"I hate the way you talk the way you walk" ahh beat.

From a farmer's perspective I don't think he's 100% vegan, but if you bribe him with bbq he will start foaming at the mouth.

Bro probably listens to Dixon Dallas good looking-

He's also a Dolly Parton and Carrie Underwood fan.

I feel like with people he's close with especially the first years he lets his country accent loose and it will get even looser if someone (or Yuu) has a country accent as well. The rest of the first years will be like "They are speaking in tongues"

[alittlepudge-neverhurtnobody]

kinktober #14

Pumpkin Spice 🎃 / Alien Abduction 🛸

“We don’t do pumpkin spice,” Jack says flatly.

Bitty’s mouth falls open a little. “But — it’s fall! It’s what the people want! Aren’t you losing business to every other coffee shop between August and November?”

“No.” Jack swipes a molecule of ground coffee Bitty can’t even see from the butcher block counter. “We sell specialty coffee. If people want pumpkin spice, they go somewhere else.”

Bitty’s romantic daydreams of cinnamon-and-nutmeg-scented fall afternoons staring out of Zimmermann’s big front windows deflate in a gust of cold air. When Jack introduced himself ten minutes ago, he’d only fueled those daydreams — the sweet agony of a cute coworker crush, some eye candy to make slow shifts pass faster — but now, in front of Bitty with his strong, thick arms crossed over his soft, thick middle, he just seems like a taunt.

Bitty follows Jack’s lead and ties on an apron, then washes his hands. He tries very hard not to notice while he can loop his apron strings all the way around and lace them in front, Jack can’t. 

“Have you thought about selling pastries?” he ventures as Jack silently fills cold brew pitchers and counts jugs of milk in the fridge, noting down the totals with a pen he pulls from the apron pocket that sits below the overhang of his belly. He doesn’t acknowledge that Bitty has spoken, so Bitty rushes on nervously, “I just think people like to have something sweet with their coffee, and this is really the only high-end place in the neighborhood if you’re looking for —”

Jack’s cold blue eyes snap onto him instantly. “What’s your name? Bittle?” Bitty gulps, nods. “No, Bittle. Come on. We open in half an hour and you’re wasting time.”

“You can call me Bitty,” he ventures, grabbing a rag and wiping up some water he’d spilled earlier filling the cold brew jugs. “Everyone does.”

Jack doesn’t reply. Instead, he turns away to pour beans into the grinder’s hopper, and Bitty’s teeth find his lower lip. He is definitely tanking his first shift. Ugh. The older man he’d interviewed with had been so nice! So easygoing and fatherly, with a comforting accent that Bitty thought was Canadian but wasn’t quite sure. He sure had neglected to mention that the shift manager here was such a pill.

Tomorrow he’ll bring pie. That’ll sweeten things up. 

—

Jack does not touch the hand pies the next day or the next, which means that Bitty’s got a shitty attitude for most of the week. Nobody passes up his pies! It’s — well, it’s impolite, for starters, and more than that it’s bad taste. How dare Jack be so dang cute when he clearly lacks good judgment?! 

Except then, half an hour before the end of Bitty’s mid-morning shift on Friday, Jack says abruptly, “I’m taking a break. Can you handle things alone for a few minutes?”

Bitty bobs his head. “Of course! No problem. Um, can I text you if I have any questions?”

Jack sighs. “If you have to. You have my number from training?”

Bitty bobs his head faster. He sure does, and it’s burning a hole in his pocket. 

“D’accord,” says Jack, clocking out on the register. The word rings a faint bell in the back of Bitty’s brain — high school French, maybe? Extremely hot if so. 

He handles a handful of customers on his own while Jack’s gone — mostly young professionals dressed in expensive-looking neutrals — and even manages to get a decent tip when he’s able to calm a harried parent’s wailing infant by wiggling his eyebrows. He doesn’t break anything, doesn’t ring anyone up egregiously wrong, doesn’t even spill more than a few drops of freshly brewed dark roast. When Jack reappears from his break, the shop is still standing and there are even a few satisfied customers poking at emails at the cafe tables. None of which explains how surly Jack looks as he clocks back in.

“I think I did okay!” Bitty babbles, fixing himself a to-go cup of cold brew and dumping in plenty of cream and sugar. “Nothing blew up, obviously, and I reset the brew cycle like you showed me, and I even remembered to use a separate frother for the nut milk!”

Jack scowls. 

“Do you want me to make you something before I go?” Bitty goes on, unable to stop. “I could practice some of the harder stuff! Or I could try the espresso machine again?”

“I’m fine,” says Jack tersely, and he doesn’t say anything he doesn’t have to for the rest of Bitty’s shift. When his belly settles on the counter as he pulls espresso shots, he repositions roughly and sucks in. But out of the corner of his eye, Bitty notices him palming his gut under the edge of the counter. He’s probably starving. Jack’s been here since the shop opened at six, and he hasn’t even had a cup of coffee, for heaven’s sake! 

But when he goes to the back of house to get his things, there are only twelve hand pies left on the plate — and there were sixteen when he packed it up this morning.

Well, well. Maybe someone likes pumpkin spice after all.

[maxbegone]

seven sentence sunday but once again, who's actually counting?

gonna be honest with y'all, i still have no idea what this fic really is, but i'm having a good time writing it!

“Where’s…Big Bend National Park?” Henry asks out of nowhere.

It’s enough for Alex to pull his attention from the stars. “Um, like six hours west of here. I didn’t even know you knew what that was. Why?”

Henry shrugs. “Sheer curiosity.”

“It’s never just curiosity with you. There’s usually some meaning behind it.” Alex sits up. “What’s important about Big Bend?”

“A lot of westerns were filmed there,” he tells him.

“Oh yeah? I never knew that.”

But then it takes less than a second for it to hit him: the tight-lipped smile, the soft hum of a short laugh, the way Henry angles his head briefly before looking down at his lap, fingers drumming against the neck of the wine bottle.

“Your dad filmed something there.”

“One of his first big roles,” Henry begins, “a few years before he and my mum met and he had his Bond run. It’s less famous than them, obviously, but I’d argue it was just as good.”

“What’s it called?”

“All For the Autumn Son.”

“I’ve never seen it,” Alex tells him softly. “What’s it about?”

“Oh, the usual; outlaws and bandits, heists, a corrupt and cornered sheriff. He makes a deal with a group to free their bookkeeper from prison, only to be killed before they overrun the town and take it hostage. Then this lone wolf type comes into play and drums up a plan to save everyone, there’s romance and a routine ride into the sunset.” 

“Who did your dad play?”

“The hero.” At this, Henry smiles, chin titled up toward the sky. He looks so proud, and Alex has never been as sad as he is at this moment that he was never able to meet Arthur Fox. “It really is cheesy and Dad’s accent is…something else.” Henry laughs, and it’s a little more genuine this time. “I mean, it works, but it’s odd to hear when I’m so used to his voice, you know? But for all it’s worth, it’s brilliant.”

“Is it your favorite?”

Henry pauses for a moment. “Yeah.” Another pause. “It’s weird that any time I want to see or hear my father, all I have to do is turn on the telly. Literally the whole world knows him as this action hero, but he was so much more than that. They know one side of him — the actor side — and this might be hard to understand, but everyone gets to see him and there’s no sanctity in it.” Henry glances over at Alex, and even in the dim orange light of the fire, he can make out the emotion in his eyes. “He was world-renowned, beloved, it’s not like he was some random man from Cardiff. Everyone knew him, but not everyone knew him. They can miss him, but not like all of us do. He was our dad, and yet sometimes it feels like he doesn’t belong to us. Which is a whole convoluted thing with how my entire life has been; it belongs to the Crown, it belongs to England.”

It’s then that Henry releases a hefty breath and lowers himself down onto the grass, he and Alex swapping positions. Alex just watches.

“Maybe that’s why I love his lesser-known movies more, because less people have seen them, even if it’s only by a marginal amount. It makes it feel…more, I don’t know, personal.”

Henry’s right, Alex never is going to understand it. He’s lucky enough not to know what it’s like to lose a parent that young. And the thing is, until Henry, Alex never even thought to consider himself lucky about it. But there’s a whole other level of appreciation he has now, one he hopes he never neglects.

“Maybe I drank too much today,” Henry says mildly, sitting up again and shaking the bottle. There’s a little under a quarter of the wine left. “Getting all emotional.”

“No.” Alex scoots in closer, rubbing circles on his back. He’s warm through his shirt. “No, baby. It’s okay. Don’t minimize it.”

He watches as Henry goes to say something, but closes his mouth. “I—thank you, Alex.”

“What for?”

“Always listening.”

Alex could melt. “It’s the easiest thing in the world.”

i have no idea who to tag y'all, so feel free to share if you can!