#the other row has large signs fixed to the front of each building with the address

[greaseonmymouth]

Oddbox: “Hello, we have delivered your oddbox! We left it here *photo of location*”

location: not my front door

me: so why do you have the what3words feature for deliveries if you’re not going to use it????

[angelhotchner]

The Glory Of Sunshine - Chapter One

☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️ Story Masterlist Main Masterlist ☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️

Wattpad. A03.

You’ve never been one to want to be fixed. You’d rather try and fix other people, protect them and nourish them back to who they’ve always wanted to be. Their caretaker. Two thousand miles away from home in a new city, with a new job, and seven new faces to decode and decipher, your attention seems to be slowly wrapping up with one of them. Are you falling in love, Y/N?

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader Additional Tags: Very slow burn, Pining Contains: Adult Language, Fluff, Smut, Heartbreak CM Timeline: AU begins after Haley and Hotch’s divorce. Some cases within this story are not canon.

☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️ Chapter One ☀️☀️☀️☀️☀️

Word Count: 1.5K

They sure as hell weren’t lying about the Virginia winters. The wind bit at your bare cheeks, cutting you into invisible shreds as you trailed through the street - one hand in your pocket for warmth, the other tightly holding onto your leather briefcase. Your stomach was a bundle of nerves, waves of anticipation ricocheting into your chest and then calmed by your self-reassurance for a few peaceful moments, only for the anxiety to creep up again and repeat the exasperating cycle.

You didn’t like the fact that you could see your breath, the cold smoke giving away your apprehensiveness right in front of your eyes, as you approached the FBI building.

Relax, it’s just an interview, you scolded yourself. It’s just a really big interview that you could potentially screw up.

You rolled your eyes at yourself. As if talking to yourself had ever done you any good. With a final huff of cold breath, you entered the building.

The cops on security patted you down and scanned your briefcase, deeming you and it’s contents safe enough, and escorted you to the elevators at the end of the room. You stepped inside, the officer kindly pressing the correct floor button for you, and you offered him a thankful smile as the doors slowly began to close.

When the doors next opened, you were faced with two double glass doors. You stepped out gingerly into the hallway, and your eyes focused onto the logo embossed into the glass.

The Behavioural Analysis Unit.

Well, at least you’d found the right place without getting lost, right? That had to be some kind of good sign.

You pushed the doors open, being met with a large room. TVs were dotted around the place, and desks were set up in the middle of the room. Agents came and went around you: some with their heads buried in files; some holding their mugs of coffee like it was holy water; some smiling and chatting with each other as they whizzed by. You stood still for a moment, analysing everything you saw in case you ever needed the information later. A talent of yours, and the whole reason that the FBI field office back in Los Angeles had pushed you to take this interview. You had an impeccable memory when it came to remembering locations and people, the smallest details permanently ingrained within your mind. With this talent came an extra skill of being able to ‘suss’ people out, as Dawes had called it back home. You could look at a crime scene and remember every single object and article perfectly, and you could look into people’s hearts - figure out their personality, their strengths and weaknesses within minutes of meeting them.

Apparently, that made you valuable within the Bureau.

“Are you here for the interview?” A voice interrupted your analysis. You turned to the sound, met with a blonde woman smiling at you warmly. “Yeah,” You smiled back, and she nodded at you pleasantly. “If you want to take a seat,” She motioned to a row of chairs behind her. “You’ll be called when he’s ready. Do you want a coffee?” “If you don’t mind! That’d be great,” You grinned. The blonde woman grinned back, heading over the kitchenette as you sat down. You studied her.

She wasn’t a profiler, that’s for sure. Profilers had a way of looking at you and this woman didn’t have it. But she was comfortable and familiar within her surroundings, so she was part of the unit. Her warmth, her nature - she offered a rare aura of a good communicator: head-strong, confident - but a weakness all the same. Her openness covered up her secretiveness - a clever trick of the mind, to be perceived as open when in reality, she would keep her personal life as private as she possibly could. As you studied her more, you could almost see words jump out at you. Unwavering, self-managing. Definitely athletic, or previously was - your guess was soccer: her accent screamed small town to you. Small towns worship football and soccer like an extension of God himself.

As she handed you a coffee and headed out of the room, down the corridor, you had her figured out. Surely a communicator of some kind - a liaison, perhaps?

“Y/N Y/LN?”

Snapping to attention, you stood up and turned around, locking eyes with a tall man standing outside an office at the back of the room, elevated up. Your eyes raked him up and down for a split second, before your feet took instruction and walked over to him, leaving your coffee behind.

His entire being screamed leader.

He offered you a handshake as you finished ascending the stairs, and you shook it firmly. You could tell that he appreciated it - a gesture of meaning business, respect, and one that he took seriously.

You took a seat in front of the desk in the office, the man taking a seat behind it.

“I’m SSA Aaron Hotchner, unit chief,” He began. You cottoned on to his attitude straight away. An unwavering stare, thin lips pressed together - your guess was to convey the leadership that he coveted well already. He looked at you like how you imagined you looked at everyone else. Trying to figure you out, noting every single movement and expression that you made and storing it in the back of his brain, ready to refer back to after the interview was over. But the longer you stared at him, the more the strength that he held was crumbing before your eyes. You noticed the bags under his eyes, the deep frown lines in his forehead, and then his eyes themselves. A sadness was eating away at him, something personal.

“SA Y/N Y/LN,” You said firmly, mirroring his tonality. His eyebrow raised a little.

“I know,”

“It doesn’t hurt to introduce myself,”

His head tilted ever so slightly as he continued to weigh you up. He nodded, seeming surprised but satisfied at your response.

“You have a glowing recommendation from the field office in L.A,” Aaron said, his eyes scanning through a document on his desk in front of him.

“I do, sir,” You nodded.

“...and a gift for profiling, according to your superior…Dawes,”

You said nothing. He looked up at you as the moment of silence echoed in the room.

“There is a rule on inter-team profiling, Agent Y/LN,” “I’m not part of the team, yet,”

“Yet?” “Yet,” A twinkle of amusement echoed in his eyes, although he was trying his best to cover it up.

“Usually, there’s set questions that I have to ask in these interviews, but I’m curious…” He trailed off as he stared at you again with that inquisitive glare. “What have I profiled so far?” You finished for him. “What’s your liaison’s name?”

“JJ,”

“So she is a liaison, then. It makes sense. She’s warm, supportive - an excellent communicator...but she’s secretive. You won’t know anything about her private life, unless she feels a trust to tell you, but I bet even then, she won’t like it,”

Aaron sat back in his seat, his full attention on you.

“But hey, I don’t blame her. She grew up in a small town where everybody knew everybody’s business. Played soccer and used it as a ticket to a better life in a big city. To where she was meant to be,”

He nodded, his expression unclear.

“...and you know that I’ve been figuring you out as I’ve been sitting here,” You sighed. “You’ve been figuring me out too, so I guess it’s only fair,”

“What did you figure out?”

“I think I’ll tell you another time,” You looked down at your knees for a second. When you looked back up, you could see the surprise clear in his face. He knew that you knew more than you were going to let onto him today.

And for your manners, your courtesy to avoid telling him that you knew he was hurting, he respected you a little more. “We’ll explore this on a trial basis, Y/LN,”

“Understood, sir,”

“Hotch,” “Hotch,” you nodded. The interview scene fell away from you, and your vulnerability was threatening to shine through, but you swallowed it down as you left his office. He handed you some paperwork before you descended the stairs and offered you a final handshake, paired with a curt nod. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Hotch watched you leave the bullpen and only broke his gaze after the elevator doors closed, taking you away from him. He made his way over to the kitchenette, where JJ was currently making a coffee for the next interviewee. “How long did you talk to her?” He asked. JJ shrugged, bewildered. “I didn’t. I asked her if she wanted a coffee,” “Good,” He mumbled half to himself. He turned his attention to the two hopefuls sitting on the seats, waiting for an interview.

“I apologise, but the role has now been filled,”

On your way home, Hotch began consuming your thoughts. Perhaps it was the protector within you - the constant, exhausting need to support everyone, even strangers, that kept Aaron Hotchner etched in your mind. As you lay in your bed, curled up and half-awake, a peaceful oblivion beckoning you with it’s lazy hand, you had one consistent thought.

Who had hurt him?

-----

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[libermachinae]

Cradle

Available on AO3 Summary: Post-battle roll call. Notes: For @soundwaveweek, prompt was ‘poetry.’

---

The MTOs were stressed. He could understand that, and in fact had little choice but to. Coming online in a crashing shuttle was a less than ideal way to begin life, and the hours of listening to gunfire and artillery going off just outside their prison-slash-shelter almost guaranteed the sorts of injuries no tool could fix. Soundwave had no idea whether the silence that followed the Decepticon victory would have been a welcome reprieve or the most hellish stretch of the experience, but his torch cutting through the crumpled hatch had broken its hold on them, and now they were frantic.

Their thoughts cut him like millions of grains of sand caught up in the exhaust of a shuttle launch. There were questions, the standard Who is that?, Am I going to die?, and Is that supposed to happen? Then the observations, It’s dark, It’s light, He’s blue, He has a gun, and I have a gun.

Mostly, though, they were giving off impressions that could not be condensed so neatly into words, not without at least a few days’ practice to understand the ebb and flow of language. Without it, Soundwave could feel the crush of the darkness, the burning slice of the light. When he announced himself on arrival, his voice came back to him thirteen different ways, shivering or sliding or in boxes, an impressive feat for a group whose sum total life experiences were the inside of a dead shuttle and each other.

The volume increased as he approached them, both due to proximity and their own increasing anxieties. Their thoughts were loud enough to be knocking against his helm, adding to the cacophony the echo of his own internals, but he soldiered on, approaching the first cradle, its occupant staring at him with a mouthless expression that nevertheless seemed to snarl.

“Designation,” Soundwave demanded.

“Megatron.”

Hisses and whispers and flares. Soundwave wished he could turn down his sensitivity, but with all the cassettes investigating other casualty reports, he couldn’t risk making himself that vulnerable, even if it meant he would be taking a splitting processor ache to berth with him that night instead of recharge.

“Your designation,” he said, with no patience to start with.

The MTO stared at Soundwave, optics glancing first over his face and then the length of his frame. He started to speak, aborted the effort, attention straying to his comrades before snapping back to the officer. His thoughts were bright, sour, and runny, becoming more disorganized the longer Soundwave stood waiting for an answer. Now he was tearing through his data packs, the disorganized folders spilling open with instructions on how to shoot, who to shoot, which way to run—

“No designation,” Soundwave concluded, feeling a part of his psyche slump with resignation. “Serial code.”

The uncomprehending stare slid again to the other MTOs, whose own thoughts echoed the globular confusion. A few of them were in the same process of upending their entire storage libraries, and although any one of them could have accurately pinpointed the coordinates where their plummeting ship had disappeared off the edge of the battle map, not one of them could provide him the very basic information he needed to complete this task and leave these soldiers for the recovery teams to salvage.

Soundwave made a quick visual inspection of the MTO, who tried to lean away—not far, given that he was still suspended in the cradle—now that his defensive bluster had dried up. No printed serial code, nor was there on the MTO beside him, a quiet mech who barely glanced at Soundwave as he came close. No serial codes, either printed or coded.

“Any identification markers?” Soundwave asked the room at large. A flicker of movement: Soundwave looked down to the mech at the end of the starboard row, the one installed opposite the sole casualty, aside from the ship itself. His thoughts had been quieter than the rest, colorless and inflexible in a way that had suggested a concussion, but Soundwave’s question had provoked a brief flare. He was looking up: on the ceiling above his squadmate was painted the number 2.

That, unfortunately, was something that could be plugged into a database, checked against the shuttle manifest and production logs, and be used to reverse engineer a serial number. Success, though, depended on this being a legitimate deployment, and certain signs were suggesting the opposite, though none so definitively as to trigger a full investigation. Soundwave put out a recall signal to Frenzy and Ravage, wary of how isolated the shuttle’s final resting place was, and tuned his sensors up higher…

Only to immediately turn them down again as the minutiae of the newbuilds’ thoughts flowed like acid rain through fresh gaps in a roof. He could read the rudimentary threat assessments they were running on him and taste the swell of emotions too new to differentiate yet; the bravest among them had started to free curiosity from the mass, and they plugged it into every observation they made, building questions on top of each other until the thoughts were heavy enough to bend under their own weight. Within the shuttle, everything felt compressed and heavy on top of him.

“Calm down,” he commanded, and winced at spikes of anxiety impaling him from multiple directions.

What a waste, he thought as he recovered from the burst, of his time and their lives. Nova Point was captured, the Autobot base overrun, and Starscream’s choice to put him on recovery meant vital logistics standards were being delayed. The already lengthy identification process would easily be doubled if this much of his processor remained dedicated to his hypersensitivity sensors, and he was vulnerable as long as the soldiers’ thoughts were filling his audio feed. Soldier was even a generous word for the mechs he’d been tasked with risking his life for. Their minimal data packs and emotional instability would make them ill-suited to the promotions occasionally offered to MTOs. They would be getting hauled out of one wreck only to be pressed into another, one that would more likely than not reach its intended destination.

Soundwave did not fault Megatron for leading a chunk of their forces off to the distant front lines on other worlds, but he did long for his leader at times. Megatron would know what was best, whether to forge ahead with the recovery efforts or leave them here to—

“A new row of unlit lanterns is marched in, And I can’t remember what my world looks like In the dark.”

The recording was poor quality, torn from a processor moments before it went offline. Soundwave kept hoping to find the rest of the poem, but bots who survived that time were few and far between, and they guarded their secrets fiercely. Because it was short, he let it play out, and when it finished the attention of the MTOs had narrowed.

“What was that?” the first one asked.

“Untitled,” Soundwave said, which wasn’t entirely accurate. He had a recording of a secondhand account that referred to the poem as ‘The Chain Runners,’ but had never been able to confirm it. He could have asked, but then he would have to tell Megatron he kept the old poem, and that wasn’t a conversation he was ready to have yet.

“But what was it?” The MTO jerked in his cradle; despite the clatter of plating, it did nothing to free him.

“Identification: a poem.”

The complete absence of understanding was a hole Soundwave could have fallen into. A couple accepted that as an answer—a poem must have been another form of marching order, the only communication style they had been brought online to understand—but the others prodded him with their curiosity, audials straining to catch another blip of that strange voice.

“That wasn’t you,” one of the others said.

“Negative,” Soundwave said. “Speaker…” He stopped, remembering how the first MTO, now gazing at him with useful curiosity, had snarled the poet’s name. Had that been out of a sense of pride? A desperation to answer the question, using the only scrap of information they had? Or had it been in worship, choosing his lord’s name to be his first word to the real world? The clashing, violent thoughts did not readily bear an answer to Soundwave, but they did give him pause as he considered his response, long enough that the MTOs’ anxiety rose up once more in a wave.

“What’s it mean?” one of them asked.

“Definition subjective,” Soundwave said. He still had so much work to do. “Silence requested.”

“It’s a code.”

“Negative.”

“Then it’s gotta mean something.”

Soundwave grasped uselessly for words, wishing Ravage were there already. He was better at this. Soundwave wasn’t good at conversation, but most of the time he could get out of it by virtue of the fact that the people he ran into were either his subordinates and afraid of him, or at about equal level and jealous of his proximity to Megatron. It was so rare for him to enter a room without his reputation having already made the rounds for him, he had no basis for navigating this.

He couldn’t come up with anything, and the longer he let the silence drag out the louder the background of thoughts grew to compensate. At a loss and desperate for relief, Soundwave dove into his archives and pulled a file at random, plugging it into his speakers without even scanning the contents.

“The revolution failed because the lords were unamused. The smoke that rose from the burning corpses of their clerks Soured their palmful drinks, And the chants which rose to their balconies, Calling for their heads, Were out of tune with the afternoon symphony.

(The first chair would be tossed out at intermission, And the crowd would suck closed empty fuel lines While inside, the lords sipped in peace.)”

Even with his speakers playing at a high volume, the relative noise inside the shuttle dropped instantly. Their minds were still working, turning over each word like they could find the meaning hidden underneath, but without the fear of the unknown it was quieter and reflective.

“If you still say your knuckles ache, Lay them here, on my knee. I cannot take from you That pain, But I will map the seams of your palm. I will memorize you, Memorialize. I will chart your construction And between your seams find…”

Crunching data while listening to Megatron’s voice was second nature by now. Soundwave stood in the center of the wrecked shuttle, seeking out the identity of the MTOs, while around him they leaned and twisted in their cradles, hunting down the poems like the twinkle of an enemy across a battlefield.

[e350tb]

The Owl House: A Blight on Gravesfield (Chapter Three)

Three

Everyone has a bit of a talk...

The Connecticut Witch Trials were the first large scale witch hunts to occur in the American Colonies. Eat your heart out, Salem.

Now it’s worth pointing out that they were much less intense than the Salem Witch Trials; more people were executed in Salem in fifteen months then were killed in Connecticut in fifteen years. Nevertheless, they certainly had an effect on the people of the young colony; and indeed, on the town of Gravesfield.

The panic started with the trial and execution of Alse Young in Hartford, in May 1647. The following year, also in Hartford, Mary Johnson confessed to ‘familiarity with the devil’ - because of a pregnancy while imprisoned, she wouldn’t be executed until 1650. The tendrils of suspicion seeped out across the land, and before long, an accusation was made in Gravesfield.

The year was 1651. Philip Wittlesbane was already a source of some contention in Gravesfield; he had written a pamphlet denouncing the execution of King Charles I, claiming it to be a ‘miscarriage of justice by a vengeful, prideful victor.’ He’d actually spent a day in the pillory for it, and probably would have suffered worse if he had not clarified that he certainly wasn’t a Royalist.

The Wittelsbanes had started off, like most people in Connecticut, as fairly staunch, if not particularly active, supporters of Parliament. John remained so throughout the Civil War period, but it seems Philip grew more and more concerned about the Roundheads as time went on. It was not the execution of Charles that really seems to have soured Philip, but the establishment of the ‘Rump Parliament’, which was basically a seizure of power by the supporters of Cromwell’s New Model Army.

That’s a gross oversimplification, but we’re not talking about Cromwell today.

By 1650, Philip had become a big supporter of the rights of men - not women, just men, this was the seventeenth century - and by men, we mean Englishmen. All Englishmen, regardless of wealth, status or faith. Well, as long as that faith was Christian, anyway.

This troubled John and the other city fathers, who had something of a stake in keeping power centered on a wealthy, Puritan elite. And as Philip started to get more and more in trouble with the authorities, John started to worry about his writings about witches coming out; because then, of course, the authorities would find out what John had been writing about them too.

On one hand, Philip was his brother. On the other hand, he might doom them both.

On a summers’ day in 1651, John and Philip went for a ‘private discussion’ out in the woods near Gravesfield. John’s friend, Thomas Goodfaith Masterson - fantastic name - waited at John’s house for them to return; ‘John hath told me most firmly that by sundown, the matter of Philip would be solved.’

John returned alone that afternoon. Philip never returned again.

--------

The tension in the air was so thick that you could cut it with a knife.

Luz, Amity and Vee sat on the couch; Luz’ eyes were fixed firmly on the floor as Camila paced in front of them. No-one knew quite how to start this conversation; there was that strange feeling in the air, the feeling when nobody is in trouble, but at the same time everybody is in trouble.

Perhaps it would be more correct to say that nobody was in trouble from Camila, but they were all in a lot of trouble from reality.

Camila inhaled through her nose.

“Okay,” she said. “I want you to start at the beginning. What happened before you got here?”

“Well,” Luz rubbed the back of her head. “It involves Emperor Belos. And, well, I don’t wanna upset Vee…”

Camila turned to Vee.

“Vee, if you need to leave the room at any time…”

“No.” Vee shook her head. “I’ll be okay, I think.”

Luz nodded.

“Okay,” she said, “It all started this morning, at the Owl House…”

 -------

“Luz… hey, Luz… Luz. Luz. Hey, Luz.”

Slowly, Luz opened her eyes.

She had been lying face-first on the floor, scribbled notes surrounding her; the Echo Mouse snoozing quietly next to her. King was prodding her gently with a stick, and the rays of the sun were spilling through the window into the lounge room. When she had fallen asleep, she couldn't tell.

“Ugh.” She pushed herself up, turning onto her back. She could see Eda leaning on the door frame, arms crossed, a little smirk on her face.

“Fall asleep on the floor again?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Hey!” replied Luz. “It’s only been… one, two… wow, three nights in a row.”

“Yeah, and I can’t nap on the couch while you’re down there talking in your sleep!” exclaimed King. “What the heck’s a Vee, anyway?”

“It’s, uh, my favourite letter!” replied Luz, sitting up quickly. “Yeah, gotta love that letter V, am I right?!”

Eda and King stared.

“You don’t really think I’m that dumb, do you?” asked King.

“Something’s bugging me about you, Luz,” said Eda, walking over to her. “Is something on your mind?”

“You mean, apart from building the portal home?”

“You’ve been obsessed!” exclaimed Eda. “Normally you’d have been up two hours ago to go to school. I mean, if you wanna play hooky, go right ahead, but…”

“I’m missing school!” exclaimed Luz. “I can’t- I gotta-”

She ran a hand through her hair.

“I… no, I can’t go to Hexside, I’ve gotta focus on this!” she said, turning back to her notes. “I’m almost there, I’m sure of it…”

Eda and King exchanged glances.

“You, uh, you sure everything went okay with that portal?” asked King.

“If there’s a problem, you know you can tell us,” said Eda. “I mean, if you can’t trust family, who can you trust?”

Luz glanced from her notes to Eda and back again, exhaling through her nose.

“I… okay,” she replied. “It… it didn’t go that great.”

Eda sat down on the couch and patted the spot next to her. Luz gave her a small, grateful smile and took her seat.

“Mom… she really kinda freaked out,” she said, her fingers tightening on the edge of the couch. “And she was really upset, and I… I kinda promised when I got home…”

“...you’d stay with her,” said Eda.

Luz looked away, nodding.

“But you don’t want to?” asked King.

“I… I’d give the world to see Mom again!” replied Luz. “But I don’t want to give up you guys, or Amity, or Willow or Gus; heck, I don’t even wanna give up Hooty! I just… I’ve got so much more here in the Boiling Isles than I did in Connecticut.”

“Yeah, Connecticut stinks!” said King.

“You’ve never been,” said Eda.

“Yeah, but you can tell by the name,” replied King, crossing his arms. “It’s spelt Connect-I-Cut, but they drop the T! That doesn’t even make sense!”

Luz chuckled despite herself.

“It’s just… I don’t wanna go back to having no friends,” she said. “And I love mom, but it’s always just been me and her, and…”

“You don’t wanna be lonely.” Eda put a hand on Luz’ shoulder.

“Yeah,” replied Luz. “I don’t.”

“Hey,” Eda smiled. “We’ll sort something out, okay? If you want, I can come with you when you finish the portal, and we’ll talk to her about everything, okay? Maybe when she sees how good the Boiling Isles has been for you, she’ll let us… I dunno, timeshare or something? Is that the word?”

Luz looked up, into Eda’s eyes, and smiled.

“Yeah,” she replied. “Maybe that’ll-”

“SWEET TITAN, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO LULU!”

Hooty’s voice echoed through the house, and Eda shot to her feet.

“Lilith?” she exclaimed.

The three ran to the door, throwing it open.

Lilith was on her knees, about twenty five yards from the Owl House, bound by her arms and legs. Two guards stood on each side of her, pointing spears at her abdomen. Behind them were about a dozen more guards, and three hulking Abomatons - atop the middle of which stood a familiar, short figure.

“Kikimora!” exclaimed Luz.

Luz could just about see her cheeks raise - a sign that the little demon might have been smiling, or perhaps smirking was a better word.

“Sorry to barge in like this,” she said, in a tone that indicated she was not sorry at all, “But I’m afraid the Emperor has an outstanding warrant for Edalyn Clawthorne for disturbing his operations.”

“What?” demanded Eda. “You can’t prove I’ve done anything! ...recently.”

“Oh, really? I think you’ll find we can.” 

Kikimora clapped her hands together. A limp sack, like a figure secured in a black spider’s web, hovered out from behind the Abomaton. Suddenly it dropped, as if an invisible string had been cut, and the black tendrils fell away. A limp, bespectacled figure crashed down into the dust, coughing and wheezing.

Eda’s eyes widened, her fists clenched and shaking.

“Raine!”

 -------

“Raine?”

Luz shrugged as her mother asked about the name.

“I don’t really know them,” she said. “Eda mentioned them a couple of times, but…”

“Raine Whispers,” interrupted Amity. “Head of the Bard Coven. They disappeared a few weeks ago.”

Her fingers tightened on the edge of the couch.

“If Belos could turn on one of his own coven leaders…”

“I’m sorry, what exactly is a coven?” asked Camila.

“They’re like… I dunno, magic classes,” replied Luz. “Once you pick a coven, you’re stuck in it for life, and you can’t do any other magic. There are nine main covens, and then there’s a bunch of smaller covens under them, and… oh, yeah, and there’s the Emperor’s Coven, who can do any magic they want.”

Camila frowned.

“Pretty convenient that the Emperor’s Coven gets to do everything.”

“I don’t get it,” said Vee. “If Luz was with the Owl Lady, how did Amity get mixed up in all this?”

“I can explain that,” replied Amity. “You see…”

 -------

Hexside before classes started was always a den of activity. Students bustled too and fro, rushing to get to their first period (or not rushing, in the case of more than a few students), and the corridors were jam-packed with people.

Unfortunately, not the person Amity was waiting for this morning.

“Hey, Amity!”

Amity finished grabbing her books from her locker and turned - Willow and Gus were approaching, both looking more than a little worried.

“Oh, hey Gus,” said Amity. “Hey Willow. Have you seen Luz?”

“We were kinda hoping you had,” replied Gus. “We haven’t heard anything all weekend.”

“We’re hoping she hasn’t spent the whole weekend studying Philip’s diary and forgotten to sleep again,” said Willow, “But…”

“That’s probably what happened,” said Gus bluntly.

“Well, she did keep sending me pictures of echo mouse projections, so…” said Amity.

“Okay,” said Gus, punching his palm. “We’re gonna need to stage an intervention.”

“Please don’t tell me it’s gonna involve cinnamon and formaldehyde again,” sighed Willow.

“It was one time, Willow! One time!”

Amity rubbed her arm.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Luz has been really… distracted since she went through that proto-portal. I think something happened there…”

“Something bad?” replied Willow.

“I don’t know.” Amity looked down at her feet. “I feel like something bad happened with her and her mom, but…”

“Ahem! Hello there, students!”

Amity turned. Principal Bump was leaning against the next locker, one hand on his hip.

“Uh… hello, Principal Bump,” replied Amity.

“So, how’s that, uh, Grudgby scene going?” asked Bump, trying and failing to act casual, “Down with Glandus, am I right? Huh, am I right?”

There was a long, awkward silence.

“Principal Bump,” said Gus, “you’re making me very uncomfortable.”

Bump cleared his throat.

“Yes, quite,” he said. “Anyway, I just wanted to randomly tell you that, say, if I was privy to any information that the Emperor’s Coven was going to act against the Owl House, I wouldn’t be at liberty to tell you.”

“What?” quizzed Willow.

“I’m saying that, if I had somehow been informed that the Emperor’s Coven may or may not be attacking the Owl House, I couldn’t tell you.”

“The Emperor’s Coven is attack-”

Willow covered Gus’ mouth.

Amity narrowed her eyes.

“And who… wouldn’t you be able to tell us gave you this information?” she asked.

“I absolutely couldn’t tell you if it was the Golden Guard,” replied Bump.

“So it must’ve been someone else!” exclaimed Gus.

Willow and Amity shot him meaningful looks.

“Okay,” nodded Willow, “thank you for… not telling us, Principal Bump.”

“You did hear it from me,” nodded Bump.

He blinked.

“Wait, that should have been you didn’t hear it from… well, anyway, I’ll be in my office.”

He walked very briskly away.

“We’ve gotta warn Luz!” exclaimed Gus.

“Come on!” shouted Willow, “We might be able to get there before them if…”

“Wait, they might already be there!” said Amity. “We have to come up with a…”

She trailed off as Willow and Gus darted off down the hall, headed for the exit.

“Okay, forget the plan,” she shrugged. “Wait up!”

 -------

“And then what happened?” asked Vee.

Amity shrugged.

“Willow and Gus got there just a little before I did,” she replied. “But we were too late. The Emperor had gotten there first.”

Luz glanced at Amity, a slight frown on her face, but said nothing.

“And the Emperor hurt you?” she demanded, a dangerous ice underlining her voice.

“I… don’t actually remember.”

Luz rubbed her head.

“I remember Kikimora bringing Lilith and Raine to us,” she said. “Then it gets… blurry? I know the Emperor hurt me, but… not how?”

“Dissociative amnesia, maybe?” suggested Camila.

“Hmm?” Luz tilted her head.

“It’s when we block out memories associated with a traumatic event,” replied Camila. “But it could also be a result of head trauma.”

“What did you see, Amity?” asked Vee.

“I…” Amity gripped the couch harder. “I saw… I mean, I think… I remember…”

Her breathing became heavier and uneven, and she seemed to be sweating just a little bit. Gently, Luz put a hand on her shoulder.

“Hey, it’s okay,” she said softly. “You don’t have to say anything until you’re ready.”

Amity swallowed.

“I have to…”

“You don’t have to be anything, Amity.”

Camila sighed.

“I think we all need to get some rest,” she said.

“Yeah,” Luz nodded, “Sounds like a plan, Mami.”

“Vee, are you okay to help me set up the airbeds?” asked Camila.

“Oh, I can do it if…” said Luz.

“Not until I know for certain you’re okay, mija,” replied Camila. “You were unconscious a few hours ago! I don’t want you hurting yourself.”

“I can handle it, Luz,” said Vee, smiling.

Before Luz could say anything else, Camila and Vee had headed up the stairs, leaving Luz and Amity alone.

“So, how’s about tommorrow we start working on getting you home, huh?” said Luz, grinning weakly at her girlfriend.

Amity mumbled something in reply.

“Amity?” Luz tilted her head, concerned.

Amity looked up - her eyes were somewhat watery.

“I don’t know if I want to go back.”

[dont-tempt-me-frodo]

Prompt: The first time Jaskier sees Geralt hunting a selkimore, and the ensuing panic because Geralt Did Not advise that the best method was to “get it from the inside”

hey so thank you for this, I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to write.

you can also read it on ao3

“So, what is it we’re hunting again?” Jaskier chirped as he struggled to keep up with the Witcher.

Geralt grunted as he waded through waist high reeds and rushes. The scent of silt off the lake ahead of them hung heavy in the air and the thick heat of the sun was stifling.

“The alderman didn’t seem very sure about it,” Jaskier stumbled slightly, readjusted his lute strap and tried to pick up the pace, “He was very vague. ‘A big monster in the lake is eating people.’ That was all about he said wasn’t it? Did you get anymore from the villagers? You know? The witnesses? I mean, you’ve taken on contracts with less to go on before but – Geralt? Are you even listening to me?” Jaskier stopped, hands on his hips, frown on his face.

Geralt paused, scanning the surface of the lake with keen amber eyes, then continued to push his way towards the shoreline. He didn’t miss Jaskier’s indignant huff and he rolled his eyes.

“A selkimore,” he gruffed.

“A what?” Jaskier hurried to catch up to him again.

“A selk – A big monster in the lake that eats people, though not usually on purpose,” the Witcher growled with a sigh.

“Wait what?”

“They’re plankton feeders but can suck up a boat if it gets in the way of its feeding path. Usually I try to leave them alone, but this one has settled too close to people,” Geralt grunted, “And we are not hunting anything. I am hunting it. You are going to stay out of the way.”

“Yes, yes,” Jaskier waved him off nonchalantly.

“I mean it Jaskier,” Geralt glared at him over his shoulder and Jaskier wilted.

“Fine,” a slight pout graced his lips.

“Hm.”

Jaskier inhaled sharply then fell into step behind the Witcher as they continued their trek through the tall grasses.

“So, how does one kill a selkimore?” the Bard asked.

“In a very specific way,” Geralt rumbled.

“Care to elaborate?”

Jaskier crashed into Geralt’s back as the Witcher halted abruptly.

“What? Did you see something?” he peeked out from behind Geralt.

The reeds bled into thick mud littered with rocks which met with the murky water of the lake, stretching out for miles beyond. Thick, dense forest lined the far shore and the mid-morning sun glinted off the water like glass.

“It knows we’re here,” Geralt mumbled, pulling his silver sword from its sheath.

“Ominous as statements go,” Jaskier lilted, keeping that light air about him even though Geralt could tell he was on edge, could sense the coil of tension creeping into his posture, could smell the spike of uncertainty mingling with his usual floral scent.

“Stay here,” he ordered then marched, or rather, squelched his way to the water’s edge.

Jaskier crouched down among the rushes, keeping his blue eyes trained on Geralt as the Witcher stalked slowly along the shoreline. Getting to witness his muse carry out great and heroic deeds in person always made for better ballads than second-hand information, and Geralt was terrible at recounting what happened. Watching from a safe distance suited Jaskier fine. He had no intention of putting himself in danger if he could help it, and he would get to watch his friend in action. A win-win situation.

He narrowed his eyes against the glare of the sun as Geralt picked up a stone and threw it into the lake. The water shimmered with the ripples and anticipation clawed at Jaskier’s gut.

The lake became still again, and he heard Geralt’s grunt of annoyance. The Witcher scooped up another stone and launched it even further. It broke the waters surface with a ‘plop’ and the ripples chased each other with the impact but still nothing.

Jaskier shuffled slightly in his hiding place. Any other person would assume that either the monster wasn’t there, or try a different spot to bring it forth, but Geralt has sensed it and Jaskier trusted the Witcher to know what he was doing.

Geralt tossed a third stone in the air but before he had the chance to throw it, the lake erupted in front of him and he stumbled back as streams of water and a foul stench washed over him.

Jaskier let out an audible gasp.

The creature that rose from the lake towered a good thirty feet above Geralt. It resembled a large, thick, white skinned worm with rows upon rows of jagged teeth in its gaping maw. It fixed Geralt with small fierce eyes and, sensing malicious intent, it lunged at him, crab-like legs scrabbling at the mud as it hauled itself out of the water. Its piercing screech rang across the lake.

Jaskier’s heart pounded wildly in his chest as he watched Geralt leap out of the way, brandishing his sliver sword and steadying himself. The Bard felt that familiar pang in his gut as he wondered how on earth the Witcher was going to take down something that seemed so impossible and then walk away, or limp away as was often the case.

He’ll be fine, Jaskier assured himself, he always is. He’ll do some cool thing with his sword or his magic signs and – SWEET MOTHER OF MELITELE!

Jaskier’s blood ran cold. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Bile rose in his throat. Shock blurred his vision.

It-the selkimore-the-the fucking-it had eaten him! Swallowed him whole! And Geralt just…just let it! Didn’t even try to defend himself. What the fuck had just happened?

Panic muddled Jaskier’s brain as he crouched among the reeds trying to process what he had just seen. He was struggling to breathe as the grief crashed into him and tears pricked at his eyes and he didn’t know what to do.

He’d been travelling with Geralt for a few years now and even though the life of a Witcher held many dangers, he had assumed that there would be plenty more years to come. He was building a life for himself, a reputation, he mattered to people. He was building something with Geralt. Trying to be the man’s friend was like pulling teeth, but he was slowly getting there, and he knew that even though the Witcher would never admit it, Geralt enjoyed having him around. But for it all to just suddenly come to and end, and for it to end like…like this?

Jaskier stared at the selkimore as it swayed slightly. A burning hatred towards it scorched through him. The thought to rush out and stab it with the knife tucked into his boot did cross his mind, but he knew that would only accomplish his own death. And then who would remember Geralt? Who would immortalize him in song so that he wouldn’t be forgotten? That was his job now. To sing about the White Wolf until the end of his days. To honour him and his good heart and… Jaskier brushed the tears threatening to spill down his face with the back of his hand.

Oh gods, another thought struck him, how am I going to tell Roach?

The selkimore lifted its blunt-nosed head and seemed to shiver. It blinked up at the sun and made a soft hissing noise. Slowly, it started to slither back into the water but then it stopped. Its whole body seemed to coil and convulse and then, to Jaskier’s horror, it reared up with a bellow of pain as its guts spilled from a gash along its stomach. Organs and blood slopped onto the wet mud and Jaskier’s heart skipped a beat. Geralt tumbled to the ground as he hacked his way out of the monster. The selkimore writhed and flailed then crashed back into the water, its last cry gurgling in its throat as it died.

The Witcher stood, gulping in air and trying to wipe the worst of the gore from his face. Jaskier burst from his cover and pelted over to him.

“You’re alive!” he whooped, grinning from ear to ear, giddy relief plastered all over his face, “I thought you were gone! I thought I’d lost you!”

“I told you there was a specific way to kill it,” Geralt gruffed, pulling at face at the rancid smelling muck coating his skin and clothing.

Jaskier’s beaming smile faltered and indignant fury clouded over him.

“You dick. You should have told me. I was worried sick. I thought-“

“Jaskier. It’s fine. I’m fine,” Geralt glanced at him, that annoying confusion tainting his expression, like it always did whenever Jaskier expressed concern for him.

“Well-well-fuck! Bloody hell Geralt! How was I supposed to know you planned on getting yourself eaten! I thought you were dead! I thought –“ his voice broke on the last word and he turned away from Geralt, shaking with the effort to control himself.

Geralt frowned at him, trying to puzzle through the torrent of emotion coming off Jaskier in waves.

“I’m sorry,” he said carefully, “You’re right. I should have told you. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Just…” Jaskier turned to him again and Geralt was taken aback by how very small and hurt he looked, “Just don’t ever do that to me again.”

“I won’t,” Geralt tried for reassuring and sincere but he wasn’t sure the Bard believed him.

“Right. Good,” Jaskier mumbled.

He cast an eye over Geralt then sighed.

“Come on. Back to the tavern. We’ve a hefty coin purse to pick up and you need a bath.”

“Hm.”

“No protesting. If we are sharing a room tonight, I refuse to sleep in the same space as you, stinking like that,” Jaskier sounded a bit more like himself, blue eyes sparking with mirth.

“Fine.”

Jaskier spun on the spot and marched off back in the direction of the village. Geralt followed after him and even though the Bard was babbling on about trying to find words that rhymed with selkimore, the Witcher could tell that this had affected Jaskier more deeply than he was letting on and he promised himself to remember to talk Jaskier though each step of the hunt in the future as to not cause him any more hurt if he could help it.

[vminity21]

Amber | jhs

Pairing: barista!Hoseok x nurse!Reader

Word Count: 3.4k

Genre: fluff, soft, aesthetic

Summary: When a local coffee barista catches your eye, it’s hard to let it go, especially when he turns up in your dreams, causing you to wonder if there will ever be a chance in getting to know him. 

There’s a distinct familiarity in the air, one of flawless breezes and thrilly jingles from a bell hung upon the door to your favorite coffee shop that is nestled downtown in the center of your city. The strong aroma of freshly brewed liquid warms you just enough to where your arms wrap around your frame- the loose hems of your cashmere sweater cuddle the majority of your palms while the sensation of your purse settles along your thigh. It’s been a while since you’ve been here, and with the usual crave of your preferred drink, it’s only fitting, especially with the way the deep shades of red mingle with dim, orange hues which enlighten the reminder that autumn has finally arrived. 

Glittery leaves decorate the railings within the building matching the colors of the signs promoting the return of the infamous pumpkin spice latte- one you have tried many times, yet you can’t seem to completely veer away from your steaming mug of lemon tea. It’s always been made at its best, and it serves the swarming memories of long nights after work when your relative would fix you a cup every night to help calm you after an eventful day of securing medicine at a nursing home.

Raking cold fingers through your hair, you take your place in line, nearing the counter before the frilly, brown tendrils of a male seem to catch you by surprise. His pink lips are already settled into a grin while he takes the card payment from the person in front of you embellishing small dimples that add to the glimmering brown in his almond eyes. Your heart seems to react almost immediately prompting heat to rush to your rosy cheeks sparking small shivers to curse your fingertips. 

His digits tap at the keys rapidly before his eyes greet yours with the same kind smile he shares to others, “Good morning, what can I get for you today?”

You’re too stunned for words to form fast enough, stuttering the order you usually never struggle to say, “I- erm, lemon tea, please. For here,” your eyes instinctively fall to your fumbling hands unzipping your bag in goal of grabbing your wallet. Once cash is gripped between your quivering fingers, your timorous stare catches the bold letters adorning his nametag before feeling the swift brush of his touch gathering the change from you.  

“Coming right up!” 

The incredible amount of consciousness it takes to not trip over your feet on the tread to find a table baffles you prompting a quiet giggle to yourself, yet the budding attraction to the employee doesn’t disappear in an instant. Rather, you suppress the thought just enough to focus on the skidding chair before comfortably settling in the favored corner adjacent to the large window revealing a pleasant blanket of gray clouds hovering the evidence of rain. Something about panging droplets upon a roof has always brought serenity in times you’ve needed it most; days can seem shorter especially when dealing with humanity, and since today happens to be a rare day off- you will enjoy every minute if possible.

Hands now folded beneath your chin, you get lost in the view outside- sauntering pedestrians preparing their umbrellas with the occasional swaying maple leaves captured by the wind to press their stems along the cement before being retaken to fly elsewhere. And let’s not forget the extra fabric swaddling frames now with the expectation of the weather cooling- nothing seems to beat your favorite season- the quiet facade it brings to your soul, or the assemblage of colors that define the entire fall as a whole. 

The distraction is nearly exhilarating that you jump almost immediately when a tall shadow enters your peripherals, “Your lemon tea, ma’am.” He must not have caught your wide-eyed gaze for the gentle clink of the plate holding the steaming mug of your order now rests before you.

“Th-thank you, Sir,” peaking at his name tag once again, you grin up at him, “Hoseok,” he bows at your words, smiling from ear to ear just to flash a beautiful set of teeth, his hair slightly falling into his eyes, and here you are swearing inwardly that he is the most beautiful encounter you have ever witnessed. Though frequenting this place, you have never seen him until now, which sparks the question on whether he is new to solely the store, or to this town in general. Hoseok returns to the registers faster than you realize, eyes still lingering just for you to avert your gape to your tea- curling your fingers around the glass to warm them. 

You’re a quarter of the way finished with your drink when you lose track of time, sighing softly, you wonder what your friend Sofia and her boyfriend, Taehyung have been up to as of late, wishing you could free more time enough to visit. Last you heard, Taehyung proposed, and Sofia has been planning their big day ever since. You don’t expect it, the dispersing of your thoughts when you notice the uniformed individual that has gained your attention the minute you stepped into this building, to swiftly move to a spot far enough away to where you can safely observe him. 

His stare remains glued to his phone, a jacket folded over his arm- he seems highly concentrated on whoever he’s texting, yet all you can do is focus on how handsome he is. You want to speak to him considering the possibility he may be on break, but piling enough courage to do so is a tad intimidating, and you are definitely unaware by the length of time your gaze has remained on Hoseok, that he glimpses above his phone screen, your heart skipping from being caught just to drop your lids to the now empty mug cradled in your hands. GAH, the scold your brain is rampaging is enough to make you want to wince, telling yourself numerously that you need to be more careful.

The travel home seems faster than usual, but with the greeting of Bram, your Jack Russell mix, you’re very grateful to make it to your house. He pants excitingly while his paws swipe your knees with each jump. “Hello, my sweetheart,” you coo, rubbing along his fluffy fur where a black spot covers the majority of his back. Your dog is your everything, so the joy of cuddling him close the rest of the evening until you slip into slumber is always your favorite end to a rainy night. 

Pat, pat, pat. Darkness loses to the fluttering of your eyelids now being gifted with the essence of the season you’ve been dreaming about. Pat, pat, pat. A droplet here and there heightens your auditory senses while you remain halted in place; bare feet press along the cold pavement that has been freshly rained upon placing myriads of glued leaves on almost every inch of the road. Rows of long trunks host autumn hues that rustle lightly from the chilly wind now drifting past your shoulders where feather touches of your hair barely tickle. 

You’re uncertain of why everything seems blurry as though it’s not real, yet the excitement of such an ideal setting is enough to start the promenading of the street- pouncing in the air with the clack of your ankles, squeals of glee escaping whilst you twirl- the deep shade of your maroon dress flowing from the movement, blending in with the surroundings. Lost in a world of utter peace, there are no rules here other than happiness, and that’s a world you’ve always longed for. 

Reaching a curve, the joyful tune brewing from your lips softens the very second your stare lands upon a silhouette in the distance. The figure isn’t facing you, but you notice enough to realize he’s alone- brown strands hidden within a faded orange beanie, he’s nestled upon the grass with crossed legs, hands placed before him that appear to be fiddling with something, but at the angle, you are standing, all you can gather other than his presence are items clearing to be a journal and a pen resting by his side.

Curiosity consumes you enough to proceed forward, tiptoeing nearer to figure if he might be someone you have seen before, but one thing you did not anticipate is the sudden crunch of the leaves- ones that must have freshly fallen from the side of the trees that have not been kissed by the rain startling you producing a sudden gasp- widening eyes lifting to reveal the turn of his face-

“Sh- !” Sitting up immediately in your bed, perspiration lingering the lining of your hair- the hyped beat of your heart pounds into your temples before you brush the loosened streaks from your vision; Bram instinctively pounces to lick your face in desperation to calm you, curling onto your lap the second your hand gently smooths among the top of his head. It’s been a week since you’ve been to the coffee shop, and though everything was merely a dream, you can’t help the doting incentive that the person who arrived happens to be the same individual you can’t seem to easily forget about. It’s strange to you, but there’s just something about him, and before you know it, as soon as your shift ends for the day, you find yourself entering the store in hopes that the employee of your dreams, you inwardly tease, is awaiting to serve you another request of your favorite drink. To your delight, he is working, and to add to your giddiness, the place is fairly empty meaning no lines for you to wait in. 

“Hello, how are you today?” Hoseok’s hands wrap around the sides of the register- his smile captivating you as it did last time to the point that timidness takes over- the blush in your cheeks revealing itself as soon as you reach the counter. 

“Work,” 

“Oh,” he giggles, although, your response was mouthed before you could have stopped yourself and you wince at how you may have sounded considering he’s currently in the process of working himself. 

“I’m sorry, I meant, I-”

“Well, in that case, how about some lemon tea? If I’m correct?” 

You’re stunned by how well his memory must be, and the way his eyes squint in concentration in hopes that he’s right melts your heart,  “Ye-yes, for here,” 

“Alright,” he chuckles, punching in the order, “Coming right up. My treat,” 

“Wait what? No, no, you don’t have to do that-” 

“I understand how tough it can be,” he raises his hands as if in defense, “It’s my treat, remind me of your name?” He arches an eyebrow when he presses his lips together.

“[Y/N],” you smile, still in awe of the kindness he has surprised you with after such a brutal day of work, “Thank you. Really, thank you,” 

“Anytime,” his voice is tender, and you can hardly express your gratitude though you wonder if its the wrinkled fabric of your scrubs with random decor of stains that gave way of how your day has gone that potentially caused the reason of his gesture. Either way, you’re floored, and when he brings you the lemon tea, you thank him again, the heat of your skin still burning red. 

Pelt, pelt, pelt. Fingers curl to reveal the plush of a blanket laying beneath you while the sun protrudes brightly through the trees. The careful turn of your head discovers the encompassing of plump pumpkins-  perfumes of apple spice sweep past your nostrils while your vision explores the scenery. Confusion creases at the corner of your eyes, wondering where you must be considering this is a fantasy you have yet to venture. Pelt, pelt, pelt. Droplets of rain spring off your skin sporadically, but not enough to linger for you to remember it exists.

“Hello,” though merely a soft murmur, the unexpected sound jolts you to sit up, a gasp flying from your mouth staring at the apologetic eyes of the man who realizes he has scared you. Relief floods your bones- gaze falling to the journal and pen planted beside him as before. There’s the persistent curiosity revolving around the book, but more so, your stare returns to the oval face of the timorous human now staring at his twiddling hands in shame. 

He doesn’t have to be ashamed, and the desperate aura to prove this to him prompts you into action. You are unaware of how near the proximity to him is when you mirror his stature of crossed legs- your knees pressing to his once the desire to feel his slim fingers between yours forces you to hope that he can’t read your mind. It’s only your imagination, right? It is not like he truly will know of the courage you yearn to live in reality. In substantiality, trust is a process for you- learning another is a task in itself for you- but in slumber, there’s a certain bravery you collect especially when this moment feels so right. 

His lips are parted just as yours are- enlarged-eyed nerves form magic as real as the season living out in this universe. There’s no more waiting- it just happens in the spur of a second where you kiss him, his hands finding their homes on either side of your face, leaning more into you. Rapidly, nature seems to know the cue when leaves swirl in the wind encircling the pair of you in a painted cascade of red, yellow and orange. Your jaw is loved by the slow traces of his fingertips, returning to rest your back upon the blanket where his body aligns with yours, and despite this fiction playing effortlessly in your conscious, you feel his smile against your lips the same as he feels yours. And with that, there’s nothing you want more than this dream to become a truth. 

“You’re not crazy, love,” Sofia promises on the other line of the phone though you have a stubborn notion of not believing her statement, “I think you just have a wee little crush on a certain barista,”  

Currently shuffling to unlock your car, you’re ready to head home from work to check on your dog, hoping he’s kept the house in good shape while you’ve been gone, “But how though? I don’t even know the guy.”

“Distant crushes are real, hun,” 

“I don’t know,” you heave a long sigh, the back of your head resting upon the cushion of the driver’s side, hardly bringing yourself to start your vehicle just yet.

“Have you… Talked to him since the last time?”

“....No.”

“I should have known,” Sofia groans, “You are the most stubborn soul I know, and you wouldn’t be you if you weren’t,” 

“I learn from the best,” you tease, laughter between you and your best friend making the air seem lighter than earlier. 

“That, you do. Be safe and keep me updated. Tell little Bram I love him,”

“Will do,” you pact, thankful to hear her voice. The journey home reminds you of a few trails hidden away in a park behind your house. Maybe over the weekend, you can visit to find an ounce of solitude in nature, otherwise, the plan of a small nap is in your best interest, so the abrupt minute you find, you flip on the tv for some background noise, eventually drifting into the familiar sound of rain beginning another daydream with your sweet Bram cuddled by your side. 

There it is. The familiar corner where you’ve turned in previous times that relives the journey of precise coloration reigniting the joy that sparks the padding of anxious footsteps into the direction of what may be awaiting. The preface of your wonderment is where you are now- you are right at the very start of autumn hues rustling in tall trees aligned accordingly on either side of the paved road glimmering pasted leaves under your heels. A hounding prolepsis of hope gives the concept that someone is indeed here, and you must find him before it’s too late. 

Elation turns into tattered fear of losing to waking in reality, speeding your steps though you feel you are going nowhere. A loss of time can ruin the means of opportunity and when your skipping legs finally reach the curve, you pause- a building smile spreading across your face at the man standing before you. Head cast downward, he’s penning within his journal, fully concentrating on whatever he is writing. Inching closer, he closes the journal- a thin thread of a golden bookmark keeps a tab on where he last written. His tender gaze holds yours for what feels like forever until he turns his journal to you flashing a loving grin that exuberates permission for you to open to the page he’s left for you. 

Uncertainty of hesitation only shows in the flicker of your eyes studying his heart that he’s wearing on his sleeve. Gradually, you grab at the end of the bookmark between your fingertips, lifting the first half of the book to unveil a message that brings touched tears to your eyes. 

Scribbled in the center of the page in artistically drawn bold letters are the words you have longed for, but never knew you needed,

‘You’re my favorite part of every season’

It’s been a month since you’ve seen him; a month since you’ve had the dreams; and a month since you’ve been able to enjoy the soothing taste of a tepid cup of lemon tea. Carried away by the hours of your job, it has been difficult to provide any time for yourself- leading your brain to the point of forgetting about the interests you’ve once had prior. The trails have been calling your name consistently to the point you find the will to go, zipping your coat to then huddling your hands within the pockets. Twenty minutes pass until the breaking of the path comes into view, and out of a habit, you hum a random tune to the chilly breeze, swaying your shoulders until the leap of your heart stops you in your tracks.

A beanie- faded to match the season, yet this time he’s not looking down, he’s staring out into the trees where birds sing in unison with chirping crickets, and to your rigid frame, your eyes scan the spot where you always found them: a journal and pen rested by his side as they always have. You cannot speak, for whatever is happening before you is real, and you attempt to decipher the possibility of this being just that: real. You want to run, but why cower when the chance is right there within your reach?  

Hoseok hears your steps that you do not comprehend that you’re making, yet you don’t stop; a smile exists on your lips shining from your eyes that meet his that beam recognition,

“Hey there!” He stands from the blanket he’s been sitting on, smiling from ear to ear while offering his hand to shake yours, “It’s been a long time!”

You’re flattered by his noticing of your vacancy, and at the feel of his large hand enveloping yours, you briefly shake it, still shocked by the event screening in front of you, “Hello to you! I didn’t know you came here?”

“As often as I can,” he nods, turning his head to absorb the atmosphere around him, “It’s quite comforting,” 

“That, it is,” you agree, gape dropping to your shoes, “It’s my favorite place to go this time of year,” 

“I’d have to say it’s the same for me, too,” an awkward silence seems like an eternity when it only lasts for about five seconds leading to the clearing of Hoseok’s throat, “How have you been? We miss seeing you at the shop,” 

“I’ve been well, I hope you are,” you giggle, gesturing toward the blanket spread upon the grass, “Is it okay if I join you?” 

“Of course you can!” His voice sounds so happy. Happiness that lifts the hope you now have embraced. Hoseok politely reaches for your hand to help you sit down, each of you crossing your legs to get comfortable to notice his fingertips have yet to leave yours. At first, the nervous tension of question shows on his face when he finally makes the connection, yet you nod the okay, sliding your palm to mold with his. Neither of you let go, and maybe you have not been the only one shaken by his countenance, for his heart is thrumming in equal pace as yours. As the hours pass by, you find yourself nestled into his side where he rests his cheek upon your head, watching the leaves of the season fall into place just as this moment: the start of a dream come true. 

- Thank you for the request @taeandpuppies​ ! I hope you and your friend enjoy this! -

[paulvibe]

The Assistant (Paul McCartney x reader) Pt. 3

Words: 1.5k 

Warnings: none

A/N: this chapter is so boring and more of a filler. I am so stuck on it and can’t figure out how to get passed this fucking thing. I mean, I wrote chapters that take place after this one that are like three times the size of this one so like- im making up for this promise!!!!

September 1968

You were stocking up the snack table, when the studio door opened with a pop. Feet plundered down the steps of the recording room and your focus turned to the noise. Your eyes met the sight of Paul; seemingly lively today, a bounce added to his step.

“Morning darling.” He spoke, his voice giving you chills. 

“Good morning Paul.” You spoke. His eyes sparkled when your gazes met, and his grin grew slightly.

“How’re you?” He asked while he grabbed a carton of cigarettes from his shirt pocket.

“Tired. But who isn’t these days?” You spoke, turning back around. You mindlessly picked up some candies and started to arrange them. Paul lit a match and puffed the cigarette, resulting in trails of smoke billowing around you.

“You really shouldn’t smoke those first thing in the morning” You joked, turning back around. Paul inhaled as if to speak, but the door opening again startled the two of you. John walked down the steps, this time without Yoko. 

“Morning. (Y/N) I need you.” John spoke, his voice calm. You nodded and quietly excused yourself from Paul, walking over to the long-haired man. He escorted you out the recording booth and into a back office of the studio. 

“What’s this about?” You asked quietly, sitting into the desk chair.

“I need you to schedule some events for Yoko ‘n I” He spoke, pulling out his notebook. You let out a breath you’d been holding, grabbing a notepad and pen nearby.

“Of course,” You mumbled, “What’re the dates?”

John told you the dates and times, with the buildings and rooms that needed to be rented as well. Afterwards, you gazed at his face while he wrote a few things down on his notebook. He sported a t-shirt today, with some tight flared jeans. His round glasses had slid down his nose, his eyes were slightly bloodshot, and his hair was greasy.

“How’re you today, love?” You asked him softly. He gently placed the pencil down he had in his grasp, and looked back at you.

“M’ alright.” The man responded. It was rare John shared his feelings with you. Now a days he mainly keeps to himself… and Yoko.

“What’s on your mind?” You asked him. John sighed, and looked down at his lap. 

“C’mon John love, speak to me.” You urged, scooting the desk chair closer to the chair he sat in. The man fidgeted with the pencil in his lap and then looked up to meet your eyesight. What was wrong with John?

“I’m fine, love.” He spoke, standing up and exiting the small office with haste. You sighed and slumped your shoulders.

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

Later in the day the boys were scheduled for a press interview; mainly to keep appearances up. Klein was worried that the rumors of the band splitting were getting taken too seriously, thus a public appearance was expected. It’s taking place right outside of Apple Corps. with a stand set up on the sidewalk and microphones fixed to it. There was enough space along the sidewalk for the news companies to sit but, for more room, the street was going to be blocked off as well. The news as well as fans and spectators had started to fill in the sidewalk and street. Police kept the civilians separate so only legitimate press companies could ask questions. You were inside with the boys while the team took care of setting up the sidewalk. Mr. Klein was here as well, though he was mainly dealing with the crew. 

“Alright, about,” You paused to look at your watch, “Three minutes til we need you out there.” You then glanced up and locked eyes with each of the boys. You met George’s first, he had a gentle gleam across his face. Followed by Ringo, who cheekily smiled. John was next, and it was a straight faced glance. Paul was last, he had a subtle beam about him. They were actually quite pleasant today; George and Ringo came in quite splendid moods, cheering up Paul and John with their humor. You began to usher them towards the entrance of Apple Corps, pushing past random crew members along the way.

Once outside the building, screams erupted from the spectators and fans. George and Paul politely waved while Ringo threw up peace signs. John, however, didn’t remove his hands from his pockets. They stood next to the other behind the large podium while people finished getting ready; Ringo and George lit cigarettes after settling in. You and Mr. Klein stood next to the doors and to the right of the boys while security personnel were on the left. The press were already taking photos, sending bright flashes to temporarily blind anyone who faced the crowd. As everybody settled in, Mr. Klein walked to the podium, pushed past the boys, and grabbed a microphone.

“Ladies and Gentlemen! Thank you for joining us today. We’ve got about twenty minutes with the boys here, so keep your statements quick and to the point. Alright, take it away; questions?” The press erupted, standing up and yelling. Klein pointed to a petite woman in the front row holding a notepad and pen. 

“Ringo, Do you have any political affiliations at all?” She yelled over the murmuring street crowd. Ringo leaned towards the microphone, but John cut him off.

“No, he doesn’t even smoke.”

“I don’t even smoke,.” Ringo replied with a cheeky smile as he took a drag. The crowd burst into action again, hoping to be picked by Klein. He pointed to a man near the back.

“John, there’s a rumor in the Beatles paper that you might be leaving the group?” He yelled, holding a camera and a tape recorder. 

“Rubbish, I’m contracted. I’ve been tryna get out for years.” John responded, his tone complimenting the dry sense of humor. You stood there looking at the vast amounts of people. Many of them were women, ranging from all sorts of ages. Men were scattered throughout the group as well. Some were just passing by, probably on their way to their jobs, others would stop and stare as if The Beatles were a foreign concept.

 You’d zoned out and missed a few questions but didn’t realize until Klein’s voice drew you back in. He’d picked another reporter who eagerly bounced waiting for the crowd to quiet. 

“Mr. McCartney, can you explain as to why you were at an intimate breakfast date with miss (Y/L/N) on Saturday?” The reporter asked. Your eyes shot open and over to Paul who remained calm and didn’t even turn his attention to you.  

“We were discussing business.” He answered seamlessly, lighting up a cigarette. The crowd burst into action again, but you merely zoned out. Somehow, over the cries of civilians and yells from reporters your brain went quiet. 

-----

“What the hell was that?” Klein questioned, anger laced his tone. After the press conference, the boys went back to working while Klein called you into his office. He paced the small room hands behind his back while you sat across from him. 

“Was what, sir?” You asked in quiet tone. You knew exactly what he was talking about but didn’t want to admit it yet. 

“You and Paul?” He answered, voice still heavy.

“We had breakfast, talked schedules, nothing more.” You responded, fiddling with your hands. The man shook his head and sat in his desk chair; you could see the strain on his face. The room was so quiet the boys could be heard yelling down the hall about one thing or another. 

“Just, stay away from Paul.” Klein spoke after a few moments. Your chest felt tight with every word. “He’s always been a trouble maker.” Venom truly laced his tone. You knew Klein and Paul had never gotten along, but now it was almost as though Klein was controlling the bass players relationships now. 

“Yes Sir.” Your gaze shifting to gather your things. You didn’t even bother to look at the man before you swiftly exited his office. The door closed behind you, and you sighed as tears burning your eyes.

You’d managed to blink away the tears with a few deep breaths before walking to the small communal kitchen. Thoughts raced your mind as you made a cup of tea to calm your nerves. Could Mr. Klein even control you in that way? He has no say over your personal life, what if Paul involved your personal life? You’d gotten this job as an advancement in your career, but was it worth it? As of right now it didn’t feel that way. Sure, it’s in your contract that you can’t date any of the boys, but it didn’t say you couldn’t flirt with them… or one specifically. It was frustrating. 

Once you finished heating up some water, you grabbed a teabag and headed back to the recording booth. The boys laughing about something made you smile a little as you entered the room. John and George were talking about one of George’s songs while Paul played a little tune on the Piano and Ringo lit up a cigarette. Ringo’s attention turned to you and he let out a smile and wave as you walked down the steps. You returned the grin and sat in a small armchair.

They continued to play, sometimes doing separate things until it was time to run through a song. You kept your distance from Paul except for if he needed assistant help. Though Klein keeping a watchful eye from the sound booth was making it hard to so much as give the bass player a glance.

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

A/N 2: I’m almost finished with the chapter after this one, and I’m going to upload it tonight, if not tomorrow <3 luv yall. 

-------- ps here’s my masterlist ;) and Pt. 4

Taglist: @vixenstail <3

[milomeepit]

Diamond In The Rough: Chapter Fifteen

Roman has always wanted better. Has always believed that there’s a better life, a better world, just out of reach. Just beyond the veil of shitty teachers who don’t care, angry classmates that scream insults and slurs at each other all day, and drug-hazed parents who are more concerned with their next hit than looking after their ten year old son.

When he runs away after a particularly bad night at home and finds a quiet little cafe/bookstore tucked away in a back alley of the city, the sweet couple who run the joint (an odd pair; a quiet, gloomy man with a wry sense of humour and a cynical gleam in his eye, and a bouncy man who smiles like sunshine and laughs like a storybook king) help show him that maybe- just maybe- he really can have the life he always dreamed of.

Masterpost (to be added soon!)

Word Count: 1576

Chapter Warnings: CPS, crying, court, lawyers,

The next couple of days were a blur. Roman remembered bits and pieces, but it was so hard to focus. Logan was almost always by his side. He remembered Logan offering him food, which he took, and clothes, which he didn’t. He was terrified of losing his jacket in one of the large grey buildings Logan led him in and out of. People talked at him all the time, long words, words he didn’t recognise, and Logan would help explain to him what they meant.

Something he did remember quite clearly during those days was one afternoon, when he sat outside an office while Logan spoke with a dark skinned woman with fluffy, long brown hair. She wore a green dress, much more casual than most of the other workers, and teased Logan with a playful grin. Roman really wanted to play with her hair, but she’d laughed and ruffled his hair and told him maybe later. She seemed nice.

Another worker had come over to him and started asking questions. Roman was so tired, and he didn’t know this man, and when he had refused to answer, the man had started to scold him. The exhaustion of the past few days bubbled over, and he’d burst into tears. Before he’d known what was happening, the man had been backing away, and Logan’s arms were wrapped around him. He’d clung to Logan, sniffling, and mumbled apologies.

“It’s more than alright, Roman. You’re doing absolutely wonderfully, and I’m so proud of you,” He’d murmured. “You don’t have to do anything you aren’t comfortable with. I’m sorry.”

Roman decided that Logan might not be so bad, after all, during those days.

One morning, when he was already awake but still lying in bed in Logan’s spare room and cuddling Arwen, Logan knocked on the door and poked his head in. “Well, today’s the day, Roman,” He announced in a dull voice. “When all the fun begins.”

“That is... the least enthusiastic tone I’ve ever heard in my life.” Roman replied as he sat up. “What are we doing? More interviews?”

“I wish.” Logan sighed. He came over and sat on the edge of the bed, then continued. “We have to go to court today. We need to sort out the details of what happened with your parents, and where you go from here.”

Roman stared at him. “What do you mean?”

“Well, there’s a strong possibility you’ll be placed into the foster care system, for one,” Logan chewed on his bottom lip. “Although...”

“Although?”

Logan cleared his throat. “There has been someone who has put up their hand- or hands, rather- to apply for a guardianship order.”

“What does that mean?” Roman asked, bewildered.

“It means that, if they pass the necessary checks, and you want, they can become your legal guardians.” Logan explained.

Roman’s heart skipped a beat. “Who?” He asked. He hated the note of desperate hope in his voice, but he knew that Logan already knew what he was thinking when the man chuckled.

“A certain baker and his barista.”

“Yes!” Roman bounded off of the bed, landing on his feet on the smooth floorboards and already heading for the door.

“Hey, hang on!” Logan called after him, stifling a laugh. “What about breakfast? Getting dressed? And poor Arwen, left abandoned on the pillow without even a goodbye?”

Roman paused in the doorway and looked over his shoulder sheepishly. “... Oh, right,” He flashed Logan an embarrassed smile.

Not long after- but certainly not soon enough, in Roman’s opinion- they were walking into another large building. Roman didn’t recognise this one. They rode the elevator up several floors and walked out into a large hallway with wood panelling along the walls. Large glass windows showed off the streets below, and sunlight beamed in. Seats were bolted to the floor in uniform rows along one side of the hallway, and several doors were set into the other wall.

Logan guided Roman into an alcove and talked quickly with the woman behind the desk. She nodded, gave him some paperwork to sign, and went back to typing on the keyboard in front of her as they spoke.

Roman didn’t pay much attention to their conversation. Instead, he stepped back out of the alcove and looked around the room again, this time focused on the people milling around the hall. People sat clustered together, parents and children and siblings in groups. Some nursed paper cups of tea and coffee, others talked amongst their group, and some just stared off into space. Roman felt bad for those people. He recognised all too well the hollow exhaustion that seemed to drip from them.

“Hey, there, kiddo!” A voice behind him greeted cheerfully.

He jumped slightly and turned to find himself nose-to-nose with a man bobbed down in front of him. “Oh!” Roman took a step back in surprise, bumping into Logan.

Logan put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s alright, Roman. This is Emile. He’s here to help you out today,” He explained, and Roman didn’t miss the note of amusement in his voice.

“Sorry for spooking ya, Ro,” Emile apologised. He stood, and Roman peered up at him. He wore a tan suit with a pale pink tie, and chunky glasses. His smile reminded Roman of Patton, and he relaxed a little.

“It’s okay, I’m fine,” Roman replied. “So... what are we doing?”

Emile offered a hand to him and, after an encouraging nod from Logan, Roman took it. “See, I’m a lawyer, kiddo. My job is to talk to other lawyers and a judge to work out a solution for situations where people need some help.”

“Oh.” That made sense, Roman thought to himself as Emile led him into one of the smaller doors. It was a small room, with a table and a few chairs. “So, if you’re my lawyer, who else has a lawyer?”

Emile sat down and gestured for Roman to do the same, then pulled out a notepad. “Well, your parents have a lawyer. Not sure who, but I’m sure they’ll be fine. It might be Melissa. Melissa is nice.” He tapped his pencil against his chin.

“Okay,” Roman nodded. His stomach turned at the idea of having to see his parents again. He really hoped he could just stay with Emile and Logan.

Emile seemed to sense his discomfort and reached out to squeeze his hand. “I think Duck’s here, too,” He added. “He’s going up to bat for the Sanders.”

Roman perked up at that. “Patton and Virgil are here?” He asked, a little louder than he intended, then blushed.

Emile beamed. “They sure are, kiddo!” He paused, picking up his pencil again and resting the tip of it against his notepad, which Roman now noticed was covered in a print of cartoony gemstones. It was pretty. He made a mental note to ask Emile where he’d gotten it later. “So... what do you want to happen today?” He asked, his voice a little more serious now.

Roman was quiet for a moment. “I don’t...” He started before trailing off. “I want to... I don’t want to go back home.”

“From what I’ve heard, I wouldn’t, either, buddy.” Emile offered him a sympathetic smile. “Where do you want to go?”

Roman fiddled with Arwen’s arms, his gaze dropping to the table. “I... are Mom and Dad gonna go to jail?” He asked.

Emile frowned a little. “Well... they haven’t technically broken laws, not that we’re able to address here, anyway. But it’s pretty obvious to me that they can’t take care of you, and that you aren’t happy living with them.”

“Oh.” Roman felt like he was saying that a lot today. He didn’t know what else to respond with, not with all of these confusing thoughts running through his head. He didn’t want to go home, but he did love them- at least, he was pretty sure he did- and thinking about it all made his head hurt.

Emile cleared his throat and shifted in his chair slightly. The fake leather squeaked quietly, and Roman wondered how many people had sat in this room, with similar situations. Situations that seemed impossible to think about, let alone fix.

“The Sanders are applying for a guardianship order. Do you know what that means, Ro?” He asked.

“It means, like... they want to adopt me, right?” Roman replied slowly, remembering the conversation he had with Logan that morning. “And... I’d go live with them? Permanently?”

Emile nodded. “If you want to, yeah.” He scribbled something down on the notepad before looking up at Roman again. “... Do you want to go with them?” His voice was soft, and Roman’s heart squeezed tight in his chest.

Everything he wanted. It was right there, within reach, for real this time. Shiny and warm and soft and sweet. Scones and hot chocolate and blanket forts and storybooks. Jokes and bubble baths and movies and spaghetti. Hugs and kisses and Patton and Virgil.

Roman reflected for a moment on the past couple of months. It had been cold, and difficult, and sometimes it hurt, so much, but he didn’t regret a moment of it. Not if it had bought him here.

He blinked back the tears that pricked at his eyes and finally looked back up to Emile, meeting the lawyer’s gaze, and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I really do,” He whispered.

Emile smiled. “I think we can make that work.”

[benhardyisdaddy]

Love Of My Life - Part 12

MASTERLIST 

(its been a while so im sorry!!! i hope u all like this fluffy af part cuz it was actually so cute and soft to write ugh BUT dont be fooled cuz the next part is going to be angsty af and like ummm yeah youll see 😌☕ also this gif is so cute wtf this is what i imagine his face was when u get excited about paris and are jumping around sksksk so cute)

Word Count: 1,903

To My Beautiful Wife, 

Remember when you first saw this postcard? You were so in love with, I couldn’t not buy it. Tickets are at the airport. Pack your luggage. Everything's ready for you. 3pm is your flight. You’ve been dreaming of this moment your whole life. I wish I was with you. Roger will make a good travel buddy, you know that now. Please soak in every last moment. I’ve been gone for a while now. You’ll be in the city of love, so open your heart. You never know what you’ll find. 

Yours Forever, 

John 

P.S. You’re the love of my life 

“I can’t believe it.” you whisper, still staring at the postcard. “He bought it. He knew how much I adored it and he… He bought it.” 

You look up to Roger with tears in your eyes as you smile. A slight grin is on his face as he watches how excited you are over this. You look back down at it and your smile drops. 

“Wait,” you start, looking back up. “Are we… Are we going to Paris?” you ask, your eyes narrowing. 

Roger fights off an even bigger grin as he looks half shocked and surprised. 

“It said the tickets are ready for you. I think we’re going to Paris!” 

Your eyes are wide with shock as you jump up and down, squealing and shouting loudly. You ignored how bad your head hurt, but you couldn’t believe it! John had all of this planned out for you. He didn’t forget how much you wanted to visit Paris. He didn’t forget. 

You pause and look around your apartment, suddenly overwhelmed. 

“Oh my god, it said we leave at 3! We have to hurry!” 

You run as fast as you can back to your bedroom and fling your suitcase on the bed. You pack everything you can grab, making sure to miss nothing. You grab all of John’s letters and tuck them inside, followed by the postcard. You look around in a hurry and spot the black and white photo of John that you had taken. You stare at it and smile as you reach forward and pick it up. You run your fingers over the image and safely tuck it beside the letters. It needed to go with you. 

You were in such a huge hurry getting everything around, you didn’t even realize Roger had left your place and went back to his. He asked no questions about anything as he packed a suitcase as well and hurried back. If his best friend’s wish was for him to go on a little vacation with his wife, he would never say no. The look on your face was priceless when you found out you were leaving for the one place you have dreamed of seeing. He was just as excited for you. 

Shower, change clothes, get around and you’re done. You have exactly one hour to get to the airport on time. Roger helped place your luggage in his car along with his. You were giddy and excited, not able to sit still. 

“I can't believe this is actually happening!” you squeal, looking out the window as you all drive. 

He smiles and glances over to you. He hasn’t seen you this happy in a long, long time. It was so nice. 

“Are you nervous?” he asks, looking back to the road. 

“A little,” you confess. “But I’m really happy you’ll be there with me.” 

Roger’s smile drops just a bit as he looks over to you fast. A sweet grin is on your face as you look at him, his heart speeding a bit. He smiles back and looks forward again. 

“Me too.” he says. 

***

“It’s only about an hour flight at least.” says Roger, holding your tickets in his hand. 

You’re officially at the airport and waiting in your gate area. It’s 2:50pm and they were starting to board the flight. You were next in line to have your ticket scanned and off you were. Roger was right behind you as you clutch your purse tight to yourself. You walk through the long hall like structure and spot the opening for the plane. You stop just right outside of it, greeted by three flight attendants that smiled at you sweetly. You close your eyes and take in a deep breath. You open them once more and smile as you take the first step onto the plane. You glance back down at your ticket and search for you seat. It was the second row and a window seat. John really did know you. You slide into your seat and immediately buckle in. Roger sits next to you as you both peered out the window and watch as people outside scurry around to get everything in order. 

“Ready?” he asks. 

You look over to him and grin, nodding your head. You reach your hand over and grab his, lightly squeezing. 

“Take offs always scare me.” you tell him. 

He gently squeezes your hand back as he leans in closer to you. 

“Just close your eyes and squeeze my hand as hard as you can. It’ll be over before you know it.” 

You smile and nod as you lean your head back and close your eyes, still gripping his hand hard. Roger is still leaned forward a bit as he watches you slowly take in a breath and exhale. This was the perfect moment for him to take you in. He stared at you and every feature on your face. He couldn’t look away. He continued to watch you until the plane takes off. It was bumpy at first, causing your eyes to squeeze shut and to squeeze his hand hard. 

“It’s almost over.” he whispered, causing you to relax. 

And just like he said, it was over.

***

Paris, France. The one place you had dreamed of always visiting and here you were. The plane ride was smooth and perfect, almost soothing. You couldn’t believe you were actually here. You were the first off of the plane, looking around like crazy. Even the airport was beautiful. Roger walked close behind you as you both enter the building. 

“What happens now?” you ask, looking to him. 

“Well, he said he had everything planned. Maybe-” 

Roger stops and looks at something, causing your head to turn around. A man in all black holds up a sign that reads Y/n and Roger. Your brows go up as you hurriedly walked over to him, a light smile appearing on his face when he spots you.

“Hi, I’m y/n.” you tell him. 

“Yes, ma’am. I know exactly who you are. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” he says, holding out his hand to shake yours and Roger’s. “Your husband John had to of been the most genuinely nicest person I ever got to meet. It was a pleasure to know him and to do this for him.” 

You fight back happy tears as he speaks. That was the John you knew as well. You smile and look over to Roger then back to him. 

“Oh, forgive me,” he says as he takes off his dark sunglasses. “I’m Samuel. You may call me Sam if you’d like.” 

“Nice to meet you, Sam.” says Rog. 

“You as well, Mr. Taylor. Shall we go?” he asks. 

“Oh, but our luggage-” you go to say. 

“It’s already all in the car, Mrs. Deacon. Your hotel is the next stop. I’ll be your driver for the next four days here. Anything you need or anywhere you want to go, I’ll be right there.” 

You look to Roger and smile as you slide your arm around his. This was so exciting yet nerve wracking. The three of you make it outside and to a large black SUV. Sam opens the door for you both as you thank him and slide inside. 

“I had instructions to take you to your hotel and then to your dinner reservation at seven.” he tells you as he begins driving. 

“My first ever Paris dinner!” you says excited. 

“Perfect, I’m starving.” teases Roger. 

***

Your hotel was large and beautiful. Breathtaking actually. It was about 15 stories high and the most elegant place you have ever been in. When you reached your room, your eyes were wide. It was humongous and gorgeous. A large chandelier hung in the middle of the room, a king sized bed caught your eye as well. A large glass table by the large TV stand had a bucket with ice and two bottles of champagne. You walk over to it and suddenly spot a piece of paper that’s folded in half. It has your name on the front and your heart flutters. You know it’s from John. 

My Beautiful Wife, 

Enjoy your time here. I know you will. Sam knows the schedule of what I have planned for you. He will tell you everything. For now, relax and get ready for dinner. Also, walk outside on the balcony. I think you’ll enjoy the view. 

Yours Forever,

John 

P.S. You’re the love of my life 

The view? You look over to the two large doors that lead to a huge balcony. You place the letter down and slowly walked over to them, feeling Roger’s eyes on you. You grab their handles and swing them both open. You take a step outside and peer around, freezing. You gasp and your eyes go wide. Roger rushes over to you and walks behind you, stopping as well. In front of you, the most perfect view, was the Eiffel Tower. It was tall and mesmerizing, just like you knew it would be. A warm, soft breeze brushes against you as you smile widely. You couldn’t look away from it. You had longed to see it for so long now and there it is. 

“John really knew what he was doing.” whispers Rog, his eyes glued to it as well. 

You turn around to Rog and smile. 

“He did.” you whisper back. 

The two of you look at each other for a moment, not breaking away. Something about the way Roger looked at you reminded you of something or possibly someone. You glance down at his lips and then back to his eyes, noticing him do the same. He’s close to you, almost too close. You find yourself moving in even closer, him doing the same. You look away quickly and clear your throat. 

“We should get ready for dinner.” you say fast. 

Roger looks down and nods as you walk around him and back inside. He looks back at the tower for a moment before following. The two of you are silent as you change into a long black dress and fix yourself up. As you're applying lip gloss, something suddenly hits you. You turn around and walk out of the bathroom, your eyes narrowing. Roger’s sat on the bed as he ties his shoes. He looks up to you and notices the look on your face, pausing. 

“What?” he asks fast. 

“We only have one bed.” you say. 

Roger turns and looks behind him, suddenly realizing it as well. 

“Oh…” he says. “I’ll sleep on the floor.” 

“You are not sleeping on the floor. We can make it work.” you say smiling. 

You walk back into the bathroom and for some reason, your heart’s beating fast. How is tonight going to go?

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[skylanders-after-the-end]

Royal Showdown

The sun was burning down onto the bright yellow sand of the desert. A seemingly endless landscape with no sign of life. In the middle of it was a shimmering golden tank, rolling across the countless layers of sand, boarded by Sprocket. The Skylander has been travelling on the large island for hours looking for the Golden Queen. According to her tracking device, the villain was supposed to be nearby, yet there was nothing other than sand far and wide. After she passed another sandy hill, Sprocket looked through the periscope of her tank and spotted a blurry object in the distance. She thought that it was a mirage at first, but upon closer inspection, the engineer’s mouth formed a wide grin. It was a palace made of pure gold, similar to Golden Queen’s original home in the Golden Desert.

The Skylander drove up to the stairs leading to the glorious entrance. In the cool safety of the building’s large shadow, Sprocket jumped out of her tank and made it disappear. She observed the giant gate decorated with all kinds of ancient symbols and statues that Sprocket has never seen before. “This is it.” The goldling said to herself before putting her goggles on top of her striking red hair and entering the abandoned residence.

The Golden Queen has taken her rightful place on the throne inside the ancient palace. With a greedy smile, she slid her nails across a technological device which, even though it was highly advanced, was eons old. Almost manically she was tapping onto the screen, making a bright sound with each contact. The queen was certain that this would be her key to success, this would finally make her the sole ruler of the Skylands.

Suddenly the goldling heard something in the distance. An echoing explosion, and then another one. The tall woman arose from her chair and summoned two Arkeyan guards. “Go see what’s going on there!” The queen yelled and the robots followed her order.

When the guards reached the hall outside of the throne room, Golden Queen could see one of them being destroyed by bullets. Shockingly, the other one had a mine tossed towards him before exploding into pieces. Surprised and enraged, the queen grabbed her staff and prepared to face her enemy. What she didn’t expect is to see Sprocket walk through the entrance leading to the throne room. The queen gave the intruder a bewildered look before pointing her staff at her. “It’s you! That foolish Skylander that resisted my powers!”

“Still Sprocket to you.” The engineer replied sassily as she gripped her wrench tightly. “You may have tricked us last time, but you can’t hide from me!”

“I was never trying to hide.” Golden Queen laughed. “I was just biding my time until I found another way to destroy you Skylanders and claim all the gold for myself, and now I finally have!”

As much as Sprocket just wanted to beat the greedy woman down with her wrench, that was not the reason she journeyed here all on her own. “Listen Golden Queen, I didn’t come here to fight.”

The queen snickered. “For once a smart decision.”

Sprocket ignored her comment and went on. “Back on the abandoned island, you weren’t able to turn me into a golden statue. From what I’ve heard, that’s never occurred before.”

The Golden Queen’s confident smile melted into a frown. “Why are you asking me this? I know just as much as you do, it’s impossible!” She proceeded to aim a golden ray at Sprocket which once again showed no effect, much to the queen’s dismay.

The Skylander observed her hands and sighed with relief when she saw that she wasn’t frozen. “I tried to find an explanation, but nothing made sense! Perhaps because of that clone you created I somehow became immune, or maybe even my tech. I just-”

“It doesn’t matter!” Golden Queen shouted as her body emitted a bright light, indicating her rage. “I don’t need my powers to defeat some dirty engineer!” After a few moments of tension which the two enemies spent staring at each other with spite, the queen put another sinister smile on. “In fact, I will defeat you with your own weapons!”

Upon those words, the ruler grabbed the device which she was holding earlier and pressed a button. Behind her throne, the large stone wall parted in the middle and revealed an entire army of ancient Arkeyan Conquertrons standing tidily in rows, waiting patiently for their moment to conquer, as their name suggests. Sprocket tumbled into a state of shock. “My family just so happened to have made a deal with the Arkeyans eons ago, granting us hundreds of their Conquertrons. Now that I have finally discovered them, I will use them to obliterate you Skylanders once and for all!”

Sprocket was expecting to find an answer to her question when she came here, not that Golden Queen had the power to destroy every island in the Skylands if she desired. “No, this can’t be…”

“It certainly can.” The goldling kept her shimmering jewel eyes on Sprocket before deciding to unveil another shocking revelation. Only this time it was personal. “I’m sure you’re dying to know how I was able to fix and reactivate those machines. That’s because I received help from someone you might be familiar with.”

Before Sprocket could even begin to wonder who she was talking about, the queen pressed another button which created a hole in the ground near her out of which a figure emerged. The Tech Skylander had to take a close look. She didn’t want to believe her eyes at first, but her goggles never lied. “Uncle?”

The long lost goldling’s head turned into every direction before he finally laid eyes on his beloved niece. “Sprocket? What are you doing here!?”

The engineer moved her goggles onto her head as her eyes began to tear up, while her uncle Oscar was rather shocked to see her there. “What a heartwarming reunion.” Golden Queen interrupted the moment with another wicked laugh before grabbing the goldling next to her. “Kaos thought that he could get away with kidnapping one of the Skylands’ brightest minds, but I taught him better. Your uncle has been my prisoner ever since! My undead minions have always kept watch over him and eventually brought him here. He’s working for me, which includes the reanimation of the Arkeyans.”

“I had no choice Sprocket! She knew who I was, if I refused her orders, she would have hunted you down!” Oscar desperately explained the twisted situation, hoping that his niece could forgive him for aiding the queen.

“None of this is your fault, uncle.” Sprocket didn’t care about what he was forced to do, her anger was only directed at Golden Queen. “I’m just glad I finally found you.” Through the single tear escaping her eye, Sprocket was able to give her family member a smile.

“Enough of this!” Golden Queen’s patience was wearing thin. “Now that my army is set up and ready to attack, I have no use for either of you.” She grinned as her eyes slowly went from Sprocket to Oscar. “At least this time you’ll get to say goodbye.”

Golden Queen raised her hand and charged up another golden blast before she shot it at the engineer, creating a cloud of sparkling dust around him. “No!” Sprocket shouted and stepped forward as she watched the scene in horror. In the moment of the queen’s apparent triumph, something that no one expected occurred. The sparkling cloud vanished, and Oscar was perfectly fine!

“What!?” Golden Queen was glowing again as she stared at yet another failed attempt to freeze her victim. She couldn’t explain it to herself.

Sprocket’s horrified frown soon shifted into a bright smile when she realized that her uncle managed to resist the queen’s powers as well.

“It can’t be! This is impossible!” Golden Queen’s eyes shot between Sprocket and her uncle. What made them immune to her godly powers? Then she remembered something, and the answer struck her like a lightning bolt. “Unless…”

Sprocket stopped her flash of happiness when she spotted the look on the bewildered goldling’s face. Did she finally have the answer she was looking for? “Unless what?”

Golden Queen inhaled and stared at Sprocket. She threw her a look of blank shock and disgust. “There were some who were also able to resist my powers, a long time ago.” Golden Queen had to take another breath before finally revealing the truth. “While my parents turned into solid gold with a single touch, my siblings were immune to those powers. That’s why I had to banish them instead.”

Sprocket’s eyes went from Golden Queen to her uncle, and it didn’t take them long to figure out what that meant. “Wait, does that mean we’re your siblings’-”

“Descendants.” Golden Queen finished the sentence. “We share the same bloodline.” With utter disgust, the queen turned her sight back to Oscar. “And that means you will steal the throne from me, and my precious gold!” She grabbed her relative by the collar of his shirt and tossed him into the pit in front of the platform she was standing on, letting him fall down into the dark depths of the palace.

“Uncle!” Sprocket hurried to the edge of the pit as her uncle’s scream still echoed through the room, but Oscar was gone.

“I won’t let my family take away what’s rightfully mine.” Sprocket lifted her head to give the enraged queen a death glare. “You will not defeat me. Ever!”

And with that, Golden Queen slammed her staff onto the rocks beneath her feet which caused the floor underneath Sprocket to split apart and send her falling down the pit as well. The Skylander screamed as she fell deeper and deeper, until there was nothing left but darkness.

It was all black. Nothing to hear and nothing to see. Slowly a voice grew increasingly louder until the words became clear enough to understand. “Sprocket! Sprocket, wake up!” The Tech Skylander came back to her senses and opened her eyes. Her uncle Oscar’s worried face above her turned into a relieved smile. “Oh, thank the Ancients you’re alright.”

Sprocket pushed her upper body up and observed her surroundings. They were sitting in a pit flooded with sand and tall stone walls wherever she turned. Then she looked back at her uncle and lit up with joy. “Uncle!” She threw her arms around him before the man returned a warm embrace. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

“Me too kid, me too.” The engineers held onto each other for what felt like an eternity before separating with a smile. “Just look at you! You’re a grown woman!” Oscar had to comment on his niece’s new look. “And I see that you were able to escape the prison you called home.” The last time he saw her she still had long hair and wore tight dresses in favor of her mother.

“Heh, I sure did.” Sprocket completely forgot that her uncle doesn’t even know of her role as a Skylander yet. It made her feel some kind of sadness. She would’ve loved to share every little detail with him throughout her journey. “After the grand raid years ago it all went downhill. They couldn’t afford the luxurious lifestyle anymore and the town was ruined. Many people left, they practically fled. Even mother saw no reason for me to stay there, so she let me go. Of course, she would have preferred for me to get married to a wealthy lord and become a loyal housewife, but she finally accepts me the way I am and supports my dreams.”

Oscar only smiled lightly, but it was a proud smile. “I never thought I’d see the day where she changes for the better.”

There were hundreds of things Sprocket wanted to talk about, but she had to focus on what was going on right now. She turned her head around looking for an exit, but they were trapped. “We have to find a way out of here.” The Tech Skylander got on her feet and started to move all the golden junk out of the way in hopes of finding something that could help them.

“Sprocket, why did you come here?” Oscar lifted himself up as well and questioned his niece while she inspected a bunch of mechanical pieces. “You know how dangerous the Golden Queen is.”

“Well, she’s certainly less dangerous to us than anyone else.” Sprocket reminded her uncle of the fact that they were related to the queen which made them immune to her powers. “Can you believe that we’re members of the royal goldling family?” She stopped her search to give her companion a jarring look. “And I thought being a high-class goldling was bad!”

Oscar giggled. “I’m sure at least your mother will be thrilled to find out.”

The two goldlings laughed before they both continued to look for a way out. Besides some objects turned golden like pots, shackles and even some chompies, there wasn’t much for the inventors to work with. Suddenly, Sprocket noticed a shimmering light in the corner of her eye and turned her head to see a sparkling red jewel buried in the sand. “Hey, what’s that over there?”

The goldlings approached the mysterious object and removed some of the sand around it, just to see that the jewel was attached to some red and golden metal. “Wait, could it be?” Oscar recognized the shape and colors. However, the look on his face indicated that it wasn’t a good thing.

“Stand back.” Sprocket advised her uncle before she placed a mine into the sand nearby and moved away as it exploded, setting the object underneath partially free. After seeing what it was, the Skylander was in awe. “No way!”

The engineers were looking at the head of an Arkeyan Conquertron. It must have fallen down here eons ago and be forgotten. While her uncle had a bad feeling about this, Sprocket was certain that this was their way out.

“I can fix it! Then we can use it to get out of here!” The Tech Skylander didn’t hesitate and used her mechanical skills on the giant robot.

Oscar watched as his eager niece removed some metal plates to get a look at the machinery inside and do everything in her power to reactivate it. As happy as he was to see her living her dreams, he couldn’t let her engage with such a deadly weapon. “Sprocket, we should think about this.”

“Don’t worry uncle, I’ll have this rusty robot working in no time!” The engineer proceeded to remove a few bolts with her wrench and fiddle with some cables and gears.

“No Sprocket, listen. I’ve spent years fixing such machines for the queen, even those Arkeyans recently. If there’s anything I found out about them, is that they’re programmed to destroy, nothing else.” Sprocket slowed her work down while her uncle was explaining his worries, but nevertheless kept going. “We’ll find another way out, but please don’t activate that thing. Who knows what it will do once it awakes?”

Sprocket stopped typing in codes and reconnecting cables from another open part of the Conquertron. She turned her head to her uncle with a doubtful look. “But I can do this! I’ll just reprogram it so it does what we want it to. You have to trust me!”

“I trust you Sprocket but you’re meddling with things you don’t understand!” Oscar watched in fear as his niece returned to her work on the Arkeyan. “I can’t let you do this!”

Sprocket stopped again, only this time she didn’t look at her uncle. “You sound just like her.” Oscar had a worried look on his face before the goldling turned around with rage. “I’m sick of being told what I can’t do!”

Oscar carefully reached out to the angered Skylander. “Sprocket-”

“No, I’m going to fox this!” Filled with new determination, the Skylander got back to work. “Just because every other Arkeyan behaved like that doesn’t mean that this one has to be the same!” With an even quicker pace than before, she went on by dismantling the Conquertron and using her wrench and the energy stored in her left glove to get it working again. “I am going to show you that it can break free and it can be different, no matter what anyone says!” Oscar looked up in surprise when his niece suddenly began glowing in an orange hue. “I will prove that I’m not worthless! I can be whoever I want to be, and I can achieve whatever I set my mind to!”

Oscar had to take some steps back and cover his eyes while Sprocket was fully engulfed in a bright light and began to transform. The light ceased, and Sprocket reappeared with a new look. Her armor has changed from the royal blues to golden orange colors with gears around her wrists and an improved gas bottle on her back. Her wrench gained a striped pattern and golden bolts at the end, making it even more efficient than before. Her golden skin was now a shimmering platinum and she sported goggles with a dashed pattern on them.

While Oscar still had to process his niece’s unexpected transformation, she didn’t even bother to look at herself and instead went on with fixing the Arkeyan. Suddenly, as she was using her new wrench and powered up glove, the robot finally moved. Sprocket took that as a sign and directed the energy source on her glove at the machine. It unleashed a white beam of energy that surged through the bolts and gears of the Conquertron. The entire ground was trembling. The goldlings observed as the Arkeyan rose from the sand and stood in front of them in all its glory, breaking some pieces of the pit in the process. Sprocket wasn’t done however. Changing the beam from a white to an orange color, the Arkeyan began to transform as well. The red metal parts changed their shapes and turned into blue colors instead, only keeping the head red. The entire body was shifting and turning, resulting in an entirely new kind of Arkeyan, one that Sprocket created.

When she was done, the Tech Skylander turned around to face her uncle with a smile until she realized that she has changed as well. Before she could take a proper look at herself, the goldling glowed once more and returned to her regular appearance. “What was that?”

“I’m not sure.” Oscar approached his niece while keeping his eyes on the brand new Arkeyan in front of them and putting his arm around its owner. “But whatever it was, it’s gonna get us out of here.”

Golden Queen was reveling in her triumph. With pride and newfound greed, she looked over her army of Arkeyan Conquertrons. “Today, the Skylands will fall under my power at last!” She let out a manic laugh that echoed throughout the entire palace as the lifeless machines stood there, obediently waiting for an order.

That moment was interrupted by an earthquake which grew stronger with each second. Golden Queen turned around with fury as Sprocket’s Arkeyan burst through the ground in front of her throne. Using the jet engines it possessed on its feet, the Skylander was able to reach new heights and cause more destruction than ever before. “It’s over Golden Queen, give up or we will make you!”

The goldling queen was glowing in a radiant light. “Never! I will not be defeated by some peasants! I will have all the gold in the Skylands!”

Golden Queen ran towards her army of Arkeyans, when suddenly an energy blast was shot from behind her and blew up dozens of the robots. The queen watched in horror as Sprocket destroyed one row after the other, causing the palace to crumble down as well. All until there was nothing left that the Golden Queen could use.

“I tried to warn you, maybe now you’ll finally know when you’ve lost.” Even though the villainess has done terrible things and was too far gone to be redeemed, Sprocket and Oscar decided to spare her and instead leave the palace.

As the goldlings were about to exit, Golden Queen used the arm of one of the destroyed Conquertrons and turned it into liquid gold. She coated her right arm with it, making it grow drastically. After the modified Arkeyan blasted a hole through the ceiling and was about to fly off, Golden Queen used her enlarged arm to grab its leg. She dug her razor-sharp nails into the metal and attempted to drag the Skylander and her uncle down, but they wouldn’t let her win that easily. Sprocket pointed the robot’s arm at the queen and used a laser to cut her enormous arm off. As the goldling shrieked in pain and grabbed what was left of her limb, she gave the Skylander one last spiteful glare before they left through the ceiling and made the entire palace collapse.

Once outside, the Arkeyan turned around so that the engineers could take a look at the ruins. No sign of the Golden Queen nor her Conquertrons, she was finally defeated.

“She had it coming.” Oscar commented and gave his niece a smile, reassuring her that she did what had to be done.

“We can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved.” Sprocket added and sighed.

As they were observing the ruins, both goldlings noticed a strange light in the distance. Sprocket decided to get closer and what they saw left them speechless. It was a brown orb in the midst of the ruins, yet it wasn’t buried underneath the debris. Instead the rocks nearby were orbiting it. Neither of them knew what that was, but they knew that they couldn’t just leave it there. Sprocket extended the Arkeyan’s arm and grabbed the mystical object. She enclosed it inside a containment capsule and stored it safely. After taking another look at the destroyed building, the goldlings finally left.

Moments after their departure, another bright light shined through the debris. Suddenly Golden Queen’s shortened arm emerged out of the rocks. Using her ancient powers, she was able to regrow the rest of her arm and smash her hand onto a broken stone. She then pulled her upper body out. Her crown has fallen off her head and strands of her straight golden hair covered part of her face. Never before has she been this furious. “This is not over, Sprocket!”

[prince-claremont-diaz]

Whatever We Become

Summary: In Lucas’ final year of high school before he has to face the real world, he comes across the new identical twins, Eliott and Leo. Needless to say, Lucas falls head over heels for both of them. 

Or The twin au absolutely no one asked for

Word count: 3.1k

Ao3 version

Chapter Fifteen: The best night of my life

“Lucas, what time is Eliott coming to pick you up?” Manon asked from the doorway. She was currently watching Lucas rummaging through his wardrobe for some clothes, an amused smile playing on her cherry red lips. She also had a date that night, though she refused to tell Lucas any other details.

“Uh, 19h,” he said distractedly, pulling out a slightly crumpled grey hoodie and holding it up to look at.

Manon walked over from behind, pulling the hoodie out of his grasp and putting it back up in the closet with a shake of her head. “It’s a date, you can’t wear a hoodie again. You have to dress nicely,” she said, a slight chastising tone to her voice as she turned to search through Lucas’ wardrobe as well. She pulled out a denim jacket and tossed it onto his unmade bed, turning back to the wardrobe.

“Manon, it’s fine. I don’t need help finding clothes to wear,” he insisted, pulling out a plain white tee from the back of the closet. Manon tugged it away, tossing it back inside.

“You can’t just wear a white shirt, Lucas. At least wear something with colour.”

Lucas sighed, pushing Manon out of his bedroom. “Okay, okay, I’ll wear a colour,” he mimicked, “Now can I please get back to getting ready? He’ll be here in twenty minutes.” 

◇

 Half an hour later, Lucas was following Eliott down a busy Paris street, trying to get an idea of where he was taking him. But Eliott’s lips were sealed as he simply led him this way and that, fingers twined together.

“Eliott, where are we going? You’re so cryptic with our dates,” Lucas whined at one point as he followed Eliott down yet another side street, past a small bakery that was being closed for the night. The air was freezing that evening, whipping his hair this way and that, sending goosebumps all along his skin.

“It’s a surprise. I thought you liked surprises,” Eliott replied, turning left onto a pedestrian’s street. “Come on, we’re almost there.”

Finally, when Lucas’ legs were beginning to ache and his forehead was beading with sweat despite the cold, Eliott came to a stop. Lucas stumbled slightly, looking up at the building they were now standing in front of. It looked to be an old movie theatre. It had a small ticket booth out front, a large white board over the entrance which would usually advertise films on show and various posters advertising upcoming showings or adverts. The many lights bordering the sign for the theatre were lit up, a rectangular constellation which blinked and sparkled in the low light of the late evening.

“What are we doing here? There aren’t any films on tonight,” Lucas asked, turning to look at Eliott, knitting his eyebrows together, searching the other boy’s face for a hint of what was happening.

Eliott laughed, letting go of his hand to throw his arm over Lucas’ shoulder, holding him close. “Not for everyone,” he whispered teasingly, pulling Lucas towards the entrance.

The cinema apparently only had one theatre, which was situated at the back. Lucas was still looking around in curiosity as Eliott tugged him towards the big red doors leading to the theatre. It was a pretty generic looking cinema with a long concessions stand showcasing popcorn and various sweets and drinks and the usual dark carpet covered in miscellaneous stains.

The inside of the theatre, however, was anything but generic that night. All down the aisle between the seats, fairy lights had been hung up, lighting their path with glittering stars. The huge velvet curtains which normally covered the screen were pulled back to show the title screen for “Les Quatre Cents Coups”, an old black and white film. Eliott lead Lucas down the aisle until they reached row L, still pulling him by the hand to the middle of the row.

“Eliott, what is all this? Did you rent the whole theatre?” Lucas asked in amazement as Eliott made him sit down. He gazed around the theatre, trying to process what he was seeing. Eliott’s smile gave it away and Lucas’ whole face lit up even more, eyes wide and smile bright. “Fuck, how much did you pay for this?” Eliott snorted, pulling Lucas into a kiss and shaking his head. “Tell me,” Lucas said against his lips. Eliott shook his head again.

“You haven’t seen anything yet. Look!” Eliott exclaimed, reaching down under the seats to pull out a bottle of champagne and a couple of glasses. Lucas burst out with a loud, bubbling laugh, shaking his head in disbelief.

“This is insane. No one’s ever done anything like this for me,” Lucas said, leaning over the seat to press a soft kiss against Eliott’s lips, grinning. He glanced down at the bottle in Eliott’s hand and muttered, “You’re crazy.”

Eliott removed the cork from the top with a satisfying pop, followed by a fizzle of bubbles and the condensation from inside. He let Lucas hold the two glasses as he poured them each some of the drink before setting it aside on the ground. As the movie started playing on the big screen, Lucas held his glass up in the air between them. “To tonight.”

Eliott laughed, clinking their glasses together and saying, “To us.” Lucas laughed, taking a sip of the bubbling golden drink. It fizzed and stung all the way down his throat, the cool liquid leaving his insides warm and content and bubbly. Lucas felt as though he had to hold onto something to keep from floating away.

“Hang on,” Eliott whispered, holding up a finger and leaning over the seats once again. He returned a few seconds later carrying two small bags of popcorn.

“Eliott!” Lucas exclaimed, taking one of the bags from him and placing it in his lap. He grabbed a handful of popcorn in his free hand, dropping a few onto the floor, and shoving it all in his mouth. It was surprisingly good for popcorn, not too salty, but not too plain. “Oh, wow! This is the best popcorn I’ve ever eaten.”

Eliott laughed, plucking a single piece and popping it in his mouth. “Right? Who would have thought popcorn could be so good? This shit is delicious!”

“Well, as long as you didn’t make it, I’m sure anything could taste good.”

Eliott gasped, tossing a handful at Lucas. Lucas yelped, throwing back his own handful. “Just watch the movie, would you?” Eliott teased, gesturing to the screen as the first few scenes were playing. Lucas rolled his eyes, taking another sip of champagne and glancing over at Eliott instead of watching the film. He was far more interesting anyway.

Eliott looked back at him, eyes twinkling from the fairy lights he had strung up, facial features emphasised by the pale glow of the film. Eliott leaned over, resting his forehead against Lucas and whispering, “You’re so beautiful.” Lucas shook his head, cheeks scarlet and a tiny smile peeking out. “No, seriously. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so fucking gorgeous as you. The first time I saw you, I’m not joking when I say you took my breath away.” Lucas had no reply to this, as usual, absolutely floored by Eliott’s seemingly constant stream of compliments. They always caught him off guard, like going for a hike only to come across a sudden drop off.

Instead of replying verbally, Lucas simply closed the last remaining centimetres between them, falling over the drop off into another electric kiss. Eliott deepened the kiss, carefully putting the drinks onto the ground and pressing Lucas’ back into the seats. All the while Lucas’ whole body tingled with energy and adrenaline and probably magic, the film continued to play like background music. Even as the characters on screen shouted and committed crimes, they continued pushing and pulling, hands wandering, lips searching.

Eventually, they had to pull apart, out of breath, clothes and hair awry. They picked up their food and drinks once again and returned to watching the movie.

“We should serve this popcorn at our wedding.” Eliott said after a little while, chewing on another handful. “In fact, that’s all we should serve. Just popcorn and knockoff champagne.”

“Oh, so we’re getting married then?” Lucas asked, leaning forwards against the chairs in front, raising a questioning eyebrow.

Eliott nodded. “Well of course. Don’t you want to get married?” Eliott replied, as though it was absurd for Lucas to not consider them getting married. They had barely known each other for two months. “But really. Imagine. All of our guests have the popcorn and they all love it so much that they beg to know where it came from and I refuse to tell anyone and there becomes a huge feud between our families because they all want to know where the delicious popcorn comes from. And then more and more people join in the feud and everyone wants to try the popcorn,” Eliott babbled, shovelling more popcorn into his mouth while Lucas watched with wavering amusement. “And then when everyone starts eating that popcorn, that’s all anyone wants to eat ever and so all the corn farms start to go bankrupt. Even the one that makes this popcorn because of overproduction. And still no one knows where the popcorn is from except for us. So we’re forced to go into hiding on an island in the middle of the Atlantic.”

The longer Eliott went on, the more confused Lucas got, nodding half-heartedly at the tangle of words falling out of his boyfriend’s mouth. “How many Lucas’s and Eliott’s do you think are married?” Eliott asked, resting his head on Lucas’ shoulder, gaze fixed on the screen.

Lucas hummed thoughtfully, reaching back to run his fingers through Eliott’s hair. “Probably a lot,” he whispered, letting his free hand grab Eliott’s lacing their fingers together on the arm rest. “I think a lot of Lucas’s and Eliott’s are together. Maybe somewhere we’re on a boat. Or perhaps we’re both celebrities in some universe and we’re each other’s dates to a red carpet event.”

“Really?”

Lucas nodded, pressing a kiss on top of Eliott’s head. “Definitely.”

Eliott chuckled, lifting their interlocked hands and inspecting them, tilting them side to side and rubbing his thumb over the back of Lucas’ hand. “Let’s go for a walk. I’m bored with sitting doing nothing.” Eliott let go of his hand and sat up straight, putting the food and drinks on the floor and standing up.

“But Eli, the film-”

“Who cares? Let’s just go somewhere. Be somewhere. I don’t care where,” Eliott insisted, cutting Lucas off. He held out one of his hands for Lucas to take. “Come on, I’m tired of just sitting around. I wanna do something. Please?” He pouted childishly, eyes wide and lashes fluttering. And how could Lucas say no to that?

And so, Lucas put his own stuff on the ground and together, hand in hand, they abandoned the film and ran up the aisle together. They pushed out into the blinding lobby and out onto the street, beginning to wander slowly down the street.

Eliott paused near a bench to pull something out of his pocket, showing Lucas his usual lighter and joint. Lucas watched Eliott’s nimble fingers lighting the end of the joint with ease, slipping the lighter back into his pocket and taking a long drag and letting it out slowly. He took another hit this time, tilting his head to blow some of the smoke directly into Lucas’ face. Lucas breathed in the first hit, almost choking from the first headrush.

Lucas took the joint from Eliott, taking a drag, letting the smoke swirl around his lungs until it filtered out into the night. “You know, I think this is the best night of my life,” Lucas said as Eliott cooed at a baby in a pram passing by.

“Then maybe we should just die tonight. Since we’ve peaked,” Eliott suggested, letting out more smoke, completely unaware of Lucas’ shocked face.

Lucas stopped in his tracks, heart suddenly racing. He stared at Eliott, eyebrows knitting together and his lungs in his throat. “Why-why are you saying something like that?” he stammered, eyes wide, trapping his lip between his teeth.

Eliott kissed his forehead and said, “I’m just joking, baby.” Lucas ignored the pet name, letting go of his hand and continuing walking, head down and chest aching. Eliott jogged after him, more smoke falling out of his lips, grabbing Lucas’ hand. “I was kidding!” he insisted, squeezing Lucas’ hand.

Lucas paused at the next bench, head beginning to feel dizzy with the mixture of alcohol and weed in his body, mingling with the sudden adrenaline rush. He felt heavy and light all at once, dropping into the seat with a sigh and taking the joint from Eliott. Lucas tipped his head back, shutting his eyes and letting the high float through him, unable to keep his head up. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to see the river.”

Lucas looked up, eyelids drooping. His surroundings seemed to be moving in slow motion, passing cars driving at the speed of snails, thoughts slowing down to a tranquil buzz. He nodded as much as he could, watching Eliott walk away hanging from the ceiling before closing his eyes once again.

Wait a second, Lucas thought, sitting up and looking around the mostly empty street. Like a bucket of water had been drenched over him, Lucas stumbled to his feet. The river? What was Eliott doing with a river? Frantically, heart picking up pace once again, Lucas looked this way and that down the street. “Eliott? Hello? Eliott!” Lucas called, walking in the direction he hoped Eliott had gone in and dropping the half-finished cigarette on the concrete. “Fuck.”

Lucas jogged this way and that, calling out to Eliott, going through the many twists and turns of Paris at random. After a few minutes, he caught sight of a bridge, barely dodging a car as he sprinted across the street. “Eliott!” he screamed, grabbing fistfuls of hair and looking up and down along the black water a good few metres down. “FUCK!”

Lucas yanked his phone out of his pocket, breathing heavily and eyes blurry with tears as he looked for Leo’s contact. It rang a few times, each tone mocking and too loud, until Leo’s voice appeared like an angel. “Hello? Lucas?”

“Leo! I-I don’t know what-please come. Eliott just disappeared and said he was going to the r-river and I don’t know where he went!” he sobbed, tripping over every word. He continued moving around in circles, trying desperately to find Eliott.

“Lucas, just calm down,” Leo soothed, though his voice shook, “Where are you now?”

“R-right next to the Louis Philippe bridge, I think,” he stammered, looking around at his surroundings. When Leo hung up, Lucas walked onto the bridge, looking over the edge and down into the abyss below. “ELIOTT!” His voice grew hoarse with every scream, the stone of the bridge digging into his fingers as he continued to cry out desperately. His heart knocked against his ribs, blood pumping in his ears, chest aching and lungs heaving.

Leo appeared not long after, jogging towards him as Lucas sat on the edge of the pavement with his face in his hands, shaking all over. Lucas jumped to his feet when he heard Leo coming, taken aback by the look of the older boy whose eyes were bloodshot and glassy with tears, hair sticking up like Eliott’s usually did. His entire aura just reeked of panic. “What happened?” Leo asked, voice stern and steady despite the rest of his frantic demeanor.

“Eliott rented some old theatre and we were watching a film there, but he wanted to go for a walk, but then-” Lucas interrupted himself with a hiccough, voice breaking and a fresh tear falling down, “But then I looked away for just a minute and he said he was going to the water and he disappeared. He was talking about us dying and then he disappeared and I-I think he’s jumped in or something...” Tears were falling fast now, big dollops landing on the concrete.

Leo sighed, running his hands through his hair. “My parents are going to kill me. Hopefully the police will find him-”

“Police? But what-”

Leo groaned in exasperation, shoving Lucas back a step by his shoulders. “HE’S BIPOLAR, LUCAS!” he yelled, gripping onto Lucas’ jacket, tears building in his eyes again. “I don’t know if he told you that but-Lucas he doesn’t have the kind of money to rent out fucking cinemas. He probably stole our dad’s credit card details again because he can’t afford that shit on his own!"

“But-”

Leo shook his head sharply, letting go of Lucas and taking a deep shuddering breath. “Did you guys smoke?” Lucas grappled for an answer, words dying on his tongue, barely managing a short nod and pinching his fingers together. “That’s not good for him, Lucas. He can’t smoke like you and I can.” Leo’s phone rang in his back pocket and he pulled it out, stepping away from him to answer. “Hello?.. Yes, okay… Thank you. I’ll tell our parents.”

“Did they find him?” Lucas asked once Leo slid his phone in his pocket once again.

Leo nodded, wiping a stray tear from his cheek. “Yeah. I have to meet our parents to go get him,” he explained, looking down at his feet, sniffling.

“I’ll come with y-”

“No. You can’t. Just-” Leo took another deep breath. He gave Lucas a sympathetic smile, eyes glassy and apologetic. “I’ll call you okay? When you can see him or whatever.” Lucas nodded, looking at his feet, chest heaving.

And as quick as Leo came, he was striding back across the bridge, disappearing around the corner and leaving Lucas alone at the middle.

Lucas screamed over the edge again, voice cracking, sobs wracking his body. His whole body was on fire, overwhelmed beyond compare, fear overtaking him. With another scream, Lucas punched the side of the bridge as hard as he could. He punched it again and again, fingers screaming with pain, stone digging into his skin, but he ignored it. Lucas ignored the physical pain, allowing it to blend in with the onslaught of emotions and tears until his legs gave out and he dropped to the ground, leaning against the side and clutching his bleeding hand.

[everdreamts-blog]

  Wyatt hadn’t been sure what to expect from any of this.   The job offer had come so out of the blue that he’d needed a good two weeks to come to a proper decision, and only because his dreams had shown him he’d be relatively happy with the change. Getting into the police academy had been tough and draining, so a part of him couldn’t help but question just how much throwing that away for a place in an organization that calls itself “Supernatural Control Force” would be worth.   Great salary and a new apartment he wouldn’t have to pay for aside.   But Jihoon had been ecstatic immediately, and, well. As the only person intimately acquainted with all things supernatural, he had been – and still is – his best bet.

  It’s still difficult, wrapping his head around this great, earth-shattering revelation. His dreams are more frequent now, or maybe he’s simply more aware of them after waking up instead of dismissing them the moment he opens his eyes. Mundane, everyday snippets, like Jihoon dropping his favorite mug and proceeding to wallow in sadness all day over it, or Lysander coming over with a baggie full of freshly-baked chocolate chip cookies. Before being told about his powers as a seer, Wyatt had always chalked those off as gut-feelings. Intuition.   Heaving a sigh, he trails his eyes up the skyscraper Jihoon dragged him to. An endless expanse of boring grey, broken up by white-framed windows. On the wall next to its double-wide entrance door hangs a plaquet, plain silver with black lettering. “GoldLeaf Networks Inc.,” it reads. Wyatt furrows his brows.   “Are you sure this is the right place?”   Jihoon comes up behind him, humming in that too-enthusiastic way of his. “There’s a glamour here. The SCF is very secretive.”   “Glamour?” Wyatt turns. “Whatever that is.”   “Just,” Jihoon says as he taps a finger against the plaquet, “look closely. You’ll see it.”   Wyatt is all but ready to turn around and change his mind, but he indulges Jihoon. He’s been doing that far too often lately. Squinting his eyes, he leans in, staring at the plaquet. Nothing happens. He stares a little harder, focusing on the letters, their crisp outlines and bland font.   The letters begin to flicker, to warp, rearranging themselves, multiplying, changing forms.   Wyatt stumbles back, his heart in his throat. “Supernatural Control Force, Seoul subdivision,” the plaquet now reads, “est. 1704.”   Jihoon grins. “See? That’s a glamour. It keeps curious eyes away. If you’re not magical or a supe, you can’t see through it.”   “Holy shit.”   Grin fixed on his face, Jihoon walks past him and pushes the door open, motioning for him to step inside. The inside is spacious, as expected from a lobby of a building this size. Warm lights line the window-covered walls, though the main light source is a plethora of sleek, circle-shaped lamps, holes in their middles and varying in size, all over the ceiling. The only two walls not covered in windows are the one all the way on the other side of the lobby, lined with a row of elevators instead, and the one all the way to the right, the reception desk sitting in front of it. In the middle of the lobby, surrounded by various plants, a waiting area has been lowered into the floor, black leather couches and armchairs, metal end tables topped with stacks of magazines, and a water cooler, gurgling every now and then.   Jihoon heads straight to the reception desk. He lacks all wonder and excitement Wyatt expected to see from him, faced with a sight such as this. He must have been here before.   The woman behind the reception desk looks up from her book, her ruby-red lips a harsh line. “Do you have an appointment?”   “Sorta,” Jihoon replies, something sheepish in his tone, “we’re here to see Lee Junsu.”   The woman makes a noise, slightly disgruntled. She marks her page in her book and sets it aside to rummage in one of her drawers. “Names?”   “Oh Jihoon and Wyatt Lyles.”   She takes two plastic cards out of the drawer, both of which read “Visitor” in bold, capital letters. After typing something on her keyboard, her printer spits out a set of stickers, glinting gold. She peels them off and sticks one each on the cards, pressing them down with a slight hitch in her brow, before handing the cards to Jihoon. “He’ll be with you shortly.” With a vague gesture towards the waiting area, she dismisses them, going back to her reading.   “What was that about?” Wyatt asks, following Jihoon to one of the couches. Jihoon hands him his card.   “Visitor passes. There’s a lot of security stuff in this building. You can’t enter some areas without a pass like this or being an employee.”   “Sounds very… non-magical.”   Jihoon snickers. “Part of it is. Sometimes, the human way works best.”   As too many things lately, Jihoon’s answer is just cryptic enough that it leaves Wyatt unsatisfied. He bounces his right leg up and down, letting his eyes flit about the premise. It’s so… normal. So inconspicuous. Modern and no doubt expensive, yes. But not at all what he thought a place like this might look like. There are no magicked items floating in the air, no people appearing out of thin air and fire places, no owls carrying letters and parcels. Harry Potter, as it turns out, is a big, fat lie.   He fiddles with his card instead of ruminating on how media cleverly managed to deceive him. Sturdy but not heavy, it’s a little like the library card he’d owned as a kid. The sticker the woman behind the desk printed out is some kind of symbol, thin, intricate lines woven together. When Wyatt rubs his thumb across it, it emits the slightest pulse. He gasps.   Of course, Jihoon snickers. “It’s spelled. Neat, huh?”   “Didn’t you just say security here wasn’t magical?”   Jihoon shakes his head. “I said part of it is. The sticker’s spelled to let you through the wards. If you didn’t have that, you’d be unable to go anywhere because the wards would simply… “ He gestures in the air, eyes roaming to the ceiling. “Kick you out. Like, physically. The not-magical part is in the card itself. There’s keypads and stuff you need to insert it in to unlock the mechanism.”   Wyatt melts into the sofa. The leather is just shy of too stiff to be comfortable. Still fiddling with the card, he says more than asks, “You’ve been here before.”   Offering a one-shouldered shrug, Jihoon shifts in his spot to stretch his legs out before him. “That’s part of being a supe. For a lot of us, anyhow. My parents brought me here after I was born so the SCF could create a file of me. It’s not mandatory, and a lot of people despise this system because it’s basically an excuse to monitor you all your life, but it comes with benefits. Like, not becoming potential targets. Unless you act up, of course. There’s health check-ups, too, and counseling, and as soon as you turn eighteen, you’re more eligible to be offered a spot here than if you weren’t registered.”   Before Wyatt has a chance to respond, one of the elevators gives a melodious ding, its door sliding open. Out walks a young man, black hair and tan skin. He approaches the both of them with a welcoming, if a little sharp, smile.   “My apologies for the wait.”   He dips into a brief, but polite bow. Jihoon rises to a stand and does the same, and Wyatt follows with some delay. The young man introduces himself as Lee Junsu, informing them that he’ll be in charge of all new recruits this year. As their supervisor and personal point of contact both. He leads them to the elevator he’d come out of, still smiling, tone casual but polite.   “I trust you’ve read the brochure you were given thoroughly?”   Jihoon nods, and so does Wyatt. They’d perused it together, sitting on the living room floor with takeaway jjajangmyeon and too much Pepsi. Back then, Wyatt’s life had been relatively normal. It feels like such a long time ago, as ridiculous as that is. Since that day, he’s found out about this whole other world mingled with that of ordinary humans, about him and Lysander being witches, about Jihoon being a shapeshifter. Although he has somewhat come to terms with it, he still wakes up sometimes and forgets until it hits him in the face like a brick.   And now, he’s here, about to sign himself up to get rid of the last piece of normalcy he had left.   Junsu’s smile turns satisfied. “Very good. I would rather not repeat myself too often.” He presses a button, the elevator smoothly beginning its journey upwards.   Wyatt gives himself a moment to take Junsu in. He’s older, but not by much, which means he’s either managed to weasel his way into this position, or he’s simply exceptionally skilled. If the SCF works at all like human companies do, promotions like these don’t come without their price.   The uniform he dons, Wyatt is more than familiar with. He’d worn one of them in a very recent dream, though his had been less intricate. Black and form-fitted, Junsu’s jacket is longer in the back, tapering off and reaching the backs of his knees. The two buttons keeping it closed are vaguely diamond-shaped. Its high collar and cuffs are embroidered with silver swirls and shapes. His pants are plain, much like normal dress pants, and he wears a pair of knee-high leather boots, laced up tightly and polished to perfection. Underneath the jacket, he wears a crisp, dark grey button-down.   A quiet peep breaks through the silence. Junsu whips his gaze down to his breast pocket, patting it gently. A tiny beak peeks over the hem, followed by the featherless head of fleshy pink, large-eyed baby bird. Junsu coos. “Well, well, well. You’re awake just in time.”   Jihoon gapes at it. “Is that… ?”   “My familiar, Velvet,” Junsu replies, rubbing the pad of his forefinger over the bird’s naked head. The bird chirps weakly, closing its eyes. “I’m afraid you’ve come at a terrible time to see him, but that’ll change. He’s been through a lot lately.”   “You’re a witch?” Wyatt can’t help but blurt out, and Junsu graces him with a snicker.   “Half, yes. And half shifter.”   Jihoon’s eyes sparkle up at him like he hung the stars in the sky. “That’s so cool!”   The elevator comes to a stop. Behind its opening doors is another, large hall, separated into several rooms by glass walls. Some rooms are large, with a long table and many chairs in the very middle, but most of them are stacked with cubicles like an office, people working away behind desks. Junsu gestures towards them.   “Once your employment has been greenlit, you’ll be doing office work for a little while, just to get you acquainted with everything. Every hunter needs to know how to do their paperwork correctly, who to contact for irregularities, how to behave during their time here. You’ll also be doing paperwork every time you return from field work, so get used to the thought of plowing through protocols and regulations.”   He leads them further down the hall, taking a sharp right at the very end of it. Behind a heavy door that only opens after Junsu inserts his card, puts in a code and scans his fingerprint, they find a smaller hall, once again separated into multiple rooms. This time, however, their walls aren’t made of glass, but something solid, clad with dark wood.   “This is where your higher-ups are,” Junsu explains, pushing the door closest to the one they just came through open. “Which includes me, of course.”   He lets Wyatt and Jihoon step in first and closes the door behind himself as he follows suit. Walking up to his desk, he reaches into his pocket, gently pulling Velvet out of his hiding place. Velvet chirps, sounding suspiciously sulky. Junsu places him in a little glass bowl padded with what looks like fluffy miniature pillows. Velvet burrows into them immediately.   “Now, let’s see,” Junsu says, letting himself fall into his office chair. He motions for Wyatt and Jihoon to take a seat, too, and they do without complaint. “I know we already have a file of you, Jihoon… ah, here we are.” It only takes a couple of clicks on his computer for him to find what he was looking for. He scans whatever’s on his monitor quickly. “Yes, you’re a good choice. Iseul has an eye for these things, but I’m still impressed every time.”   Jihoon’s cheeks pinken under the praise, but he beams at Junsu. “Thanks.”   Junsu returns the smile with one of his own, sharp at its edges again. “And Wyatt… you’re not registered, are you?”   Both Junsu’s and Jihoon’s attention snaps toward Wyatt. Wyatt clears his throat. “Uhm. No.” If he’d known about any of this, he’d have long showed up to register himself – if only to not seem suspicious. This delay hopefully won’t be an issue in the future. “I wasn’t aware of being – you know. Until a few weeks ago.”   The noise Junsu makes is free of judgment, and not even a little surprised. “I figured. Your magic isn’t very refined yet.”   And isn’t that fun. Another stranger seeing right through him, seeing that something extra in his blood he never suspected of being there. Wyatt’s stomach roils. Uncharted territory is one thing, and he’s far from being a coward, but this is unnerving in so many ways. How many people caught onto him not being a normal human? How many of the looks he’s received over the years were because of his magic? Nothing is worse than being the clueless one.   “Yeah. I know.” Wyatt’s reply comes out a lot more strained than he would have wanted. He averts his eyes, watching Velvet squirming in his makeshift bedding. “That’ll change soon. I have a mentor now.”   At that, Junsu’s brows rise high on his forehead. “Oh? How fortunate. The more tutoring you get, the better. Of course, we have highly skilled teachers, too, and you’ll be taking lessons to work on your magic, but it never hurts to have another pair of eyes on you.”   “Lessons?” Wyatt leans forward in his seat. “You’ll teach me here?”   Junsu nods. “Oh, yes. Everyone receives appropriate training. Our witches are schooled in everything magic, tutored through finding their specialization if they wish to have one, but you’ll also be undertaking combat training that’ll include more than what you’re used to. Your magic can be a weapon if you know how to use it. Mightier than a blade or gun ever could be.”   Junsu’s voice drops at his last few words, and for whatever reason, it sends a ripple of a shiver down Wyatt’s spine. He shares a look with Jihoon, who all but vibrates in his seat.   This job was going to be anything but boring.

[kookiesspacebuns]

Suite 114 | Pt. 1 | ((ON HOLD))

■ pairing: Jimin x Female OC

■ genre/warnings: fluff, angst, eventual smut

■ words: 6k

■ summary: An innocent staring contest leads to a not so innocent relationship.

As soon as the clock ticks 7pm, I throw the last batch of cupcakes I was frosting into the large, industrial-sized refrigerator and let the door slam shut. The loud noise makes me cringe.

I hope my manager didn’t hear that.

Yanking off my apron, I walk to the lunch room and hang it with the others on the wall. My boss, Isa, already knew I was leaving 2 hrs early today but I still poked my head into her office to let her know I was leaving. She responded with a soft smile and ‘Have fun!’ before returning to her paperwork. I was beyond lucky to find such a nice job AND the sweetest boss in the world. Most head bakers in the city were rude, with no care for any of their employees’ feelings. Especially to people like me, who had zero experience.

After 4 years in college for culinary arts, I thought finding work would be easy, but I was wrong. 21 years old and jobless made it difficult to live in the city, but thankfully this job was practically thrown into my lap 3 months ago. How many people can say they were hired through Instagram? I guess all of those perfectly staged photos of desserts I’d upload weren’t a waste of time like everyone used to tell me they were.

A loud honk let’s me know that my ride is here. I look out the front window of the bakery and see my friend, Mina, bouncing in anticipation in the driver’s seat of her car. She’s waving at me to come out with a hurried expression on her face. I quickly turn the shop’s ‘OPEN’ sign on the front door to ‘CLOSED’ and walk out, locking the door behind me. The instant the door latches closed, my heart begins pumping wildly. Adrenaline rushes throughout my body as I run to the passenger side of the car, smiling like a little girl. I practically fall into the seat before shutting the door and buckling myself in.

Mina looks at me as if in shock, “We’re going to meet the most handsome men in the world and you’re wearing….that.” She glares at my shirt.

My eyes follow hers to my soft pink colored blouse with a white peter pan collar. “I forgot to bring a change of clothes this morning. We don’t have time to stop by my place for me to change. So this is what I have to deal with.” I frown.

“Oh no. You are not going to approach your future husband looking like a maid.” She says, almost sarcastically.

My hand goes to cover my heart, pretending I’m hurt by her words. “What if Park Jimin has a maid fetish? You never know.” I purse my lips and try not to laugh, secretly hoping he does have that fetish.

She bursts out laughing and puts the car into gear before taking off. “Well, at least you don’t have to wear those ugly leather shoes you have on.” I glance down at my work shoes. “Because I love you, I brought the converse you left at my house last week. They’re in the back.” She points a finger over her right shoulder towards the back seat.

“Oh my God Mina. You’re the best! I totally forgot I had left those at your house.” I turn in my seat to look for my shoes in the back. They weren’t that easy to find, buried underneath 3 different sweaters and tons of books. I grab them and start to turn around when I spot a black sweater folded neatly on the seat.

“What’s this black sweater for?” I ask.

“Oh, I ordered it online but its it’s a little too big for me. It’s supposed to be oversized, but it’s way too oversized.” She shrugs. I raise one eyebrow and look at her small frame in the seat. She always wears super fitted clothing so the sweater probably isn’t as big as she’s making it out to be. “I have to return it when I get a chance.”

My mind won’t let me get rid of the curiosity about the sweater, so I grab it and open it up in front of me. It feels extremely soft in my hands and the knitted fabric gives easily. Almost all of it is black except for two thick white stripes going across the arms and chest. I instantly fall in love with it.

“I love it, Mina.” I hug it to my chest to show her how much I love it. She shakes her head and laughs at me. “Pleeeeeeeeease let me wear it tonight. Please.” I flash her my best puppy dog eyes.

“Really Anna? You know that doesnt work on me,” my facial expression falls back into place. “You can have it if you like it that much. It can be a super early birthday gift.”

“Awe! Thank you Mina!” My arms awkwardly wrap halfway around her torso in a makeshift hug. She playfully pushes me off of her.

“No problem, girly.”

I slip my arms into the sweater and over my head, pulling it down into place. It fits as perfectly as an oversized sweater can fit, hanging loosely on my sides and reaching almost past my bottom. Sighing contentedly, I reach down to change out of my ugly work shoes and into my black high tops. My feet slipping into my favorite shoes comfortably.

My pink socks, the only item I love from my work uniform, stop right below my knees. The grey pleated skirt touching halfway down my thighs, showing just the right amount of skin.

‘I must look like a school slacker in this outfit.’ I think to myself as I release my hair from its constricting bun and let my long chestnut curls fall down my back.

Mina breaks the short silence with a high pitched squeal. “I can’t believe we’re about to touch BTS. Anna! Are you wrapping your head around this!?” She voices loudly.

My eyes widen out of excitement. “No, I’m not wrapping my head around it fully. It probably won’t even hit me until after we’ve shaken their hands.” We both whine in unison. “I can’t believe that we spent 200 dollars just to touch them. What were we thinking?!”

“I think we were letting our hormones guide us. I just…can’t give up the chance to touch Namjoon’s hand. Anna! Oh my gosh!!!! We’re almost there.” She starts shaking in her seat and fanning her face with one hand. “I don’t know if I’m ready.”

I raise one eyebrow in her direction. Calm down Mina. It’s just a hand.

A really beautiful hand…

Oh my…I’m about to touch Jimin’s hands.

His delicate fingers are going to wrap around mine……I bet they are so smooth.

I bet his lips are smooth too….

I clench my eyes shut and cover my face with both of my hands, trying to clear my mind and keep myself from freaking out like my current chauffeur is doing. Mina is practically hyperventilating in my ear, making it hard for me to calm down.

“Mina! Pay attention to the road! We have to make it there without crashing before we can touch them. Okay?!” I say as calm as I can, even though my insides are as worked up as Mina’s.

It would be a horrible death, crashing on the way to a BTS fan meet. Leaving this world before meeting the man that fuels my, mostly naughty, dreams at night. He would see the news of our car crash not even knowing how much he drove my insides crazy. Tragic. Imagining how soft his hands feel is enough to satisfy me for the rest of my life….and enough to have me squeezing my thighs together right now.

You are in so deep, Anna.

Arriving at the convention center, I immediately regret not just taking the day off. The line to get in is beyond ridiculous. At least 200 fans are waiting, in a barely-moving line, trailing all the way down the street. Thankfully as we pass by the front entrance, we notice a separate line with a sign that says ‘VIP Ticket Holders’, which is what we spent a fortune on wondering if it would be worth it or not.

Mina and I speak in unison, “Definitely worth it.” We look at each other and screech.

We park and practically run to the VIP line. Only six other people are in front of us and our line is moving rather fast. I look to my side at Mina who is fixing her makeup in a little pocket mirror, then glance around to see that almost every other girl is doing the same. I grab my lip moisturizer from my little black backpack and apply it slowly while still observing everyone else. Should I have worn makeup? I could count on both hands how many times I’ve worn makeup in my life. I think its it’s mostly laziness that keeps me from even giving it a chance. I still keep a little bag of essentials at home, in case I have to go somewhere formal.

It starts to sprinkle, which makes the ticket holders work a little faster. We enter the building and rush over to the table where they keep all of the extra goodies that are included in our VIP package. One of the ladies hands me a paper-sized photo for the autographs, an army bomb keychain, a pack of 3D stickers, and of course, my VIP lanyard. The main reason we paid for VIP tickets was to participate in the new activity they introduced for this meet. Apparently, we’ll get a random surprise action we get to do with one BTS member. I’ve heard rumors of selfies and serenades, but serenades seem too good to be true. I hope it is true though. I put the lanyard around my neck and follow Mina into the main room filled with seats.

Taking up most of the room are hundreds of folding chairs arranged so that there’s one big aisle down the middle leading to the stage. On the stage is a long table covered in a black tablecloth. Seven glass bowls filled with what looks like folded pieces of paper are evenly spread along the table top. Behind the table is a big screen covering most of the wall, the rest concealed by long, red velvet curtains.

Mina grabs my hand and drags me to the closest seats we can find, which is in the 3rd row on the left side. We maneuver past other fans already sitting down to two empty seats in the middle of the row. Once seated, we take out all of our new goodies and fangirl over them like everyone around us is doing too. I keep staring at Jimin’s beautiful face in the photo we were given. Mina, doesn’t stop talking about how sexy Namjoon is in his black choker necklace he’s wearing in the photo.

After about half an hour the room is completely full and buzzing with the voices of fangirls and fanboys. I’m almost to the point of putting earphones in to block out all of the noise when the lights dim and someone approaches the microphone on the corner of the stage. As the man speaks, he welcomes us to the fan meet and lists the rules we must follow. No unsolicited touching. No screaming in their faces. No kissing. No gifts. No sharing of personal information. And no pushing.

Some in the crowd groan as he finishes saying the rules. When he speaks again, everyone quiets down. “Today we are testing a new activity that’s never been done before. On the table there are 7 bowls filled with slips of paper. Inside each piece of paper there is a random activity that can be done with that corresponding member. This activity is only available to the VIP ticket holders and can only be done for one member, so choose wisely!”

With that, the noise in the room reaches the loudest it’s been so far. Everyone around us loudly discusses what they think the activities are, ignoring the speaker who is trying to recapture the crowd’s attention.

He finally finishes talking and introduces BTS, causing what feels like the whole building to shake as everyone stands up and screams. Namjoon comes out first in the line and Mina grips my arm as she jumps up and down, screaming beside me. The rest of the members file out after him and stand at the front of the stage to introduce themselves one by one, finishing with a bow.

My heart skips a few beats at the sight of Jimin. A smile is plastered to his handsome face and his dark hair is parted to the side, showing just enough of his forehead. Even the way the way he bows makes me scream internally.

They take their seats behind the table and smile at the crowd while giving finger hearts and arm hearts. Jimin does a big heart with his arms and screams, “I love you AMI!”. My heart explodes in my chest at his absolute cuteness.

Now I’m the one acting crazy.

My cheeks flush red and I jump up on my tippy toes to get a better look at him.

Why am I so short?

I can’t control the pout on my face when I fail at getting a better view. The thought of standing on my chair crosses my mind many times throughout the meet. There were several times when the crowd would go wild and I couldn’t even see what happened. Mina is no help either beside me screaming her head off. Thankfully the girls in front of me sit down halfway through, allowing me to finally enjoy myself.

When the time comes to start forming the line to go onto the stage, my nerves are through the roof. Fans are pushing each other and cutting in line, despite being told to line up in the order we were seated. We wait in line, chatting nervously while watching the members sign things and shake hands with other fans. One girl selects a piece of paper from the bowl in front of Jungkook and immediately screams. When she shows Jungkook the paper, he smiles and gets up to lean over the table. The girl takes out her phone and snaps a selfie with Jungkook as he rests his head on her shoulder and holds up a peace sign. My insides do somersaults just imagining taking a picture like that with Jimin.

Many others in front of us pick out slips from the bowls of whichever member they want, each time squealing and screaming as they read the paper; their screams making my nerves worse each time. So far I’ve only seen people receive selfies and kisses on the hand.

There’s got to be more than those two right?

Once we’re up on the stage, I tell Mina to go before me. She obliges and giddily moves in front of me. I watch her with a racing heart shake J-hope’s hand and tell him how much she loves him. He responds with ‘I love you too’ and flashes her a huge grin before holding his arms out towards her. They hug as I stare at them open-mouthed.

This lucky bitch.

He signs her photo and moves on, giving space for me to approach. He laughs at the incredulous look on my face and reaches his hand out the shake mine.

Oh my gosh, I’m touching Hobi.

His hands are rough….

But also so warm.

I blurt out, “You have a beautiful personality.” He blushes slightly.

“Thank you.” he says.

I hand him my picture to sign. “No, thank you!”

I scrunch my face, cringing at my awkwardness.

Well, it wasn’t a lie…

I hope he doesn’t think I’m weird.

I take my picture and move on to the next few members, trying not to talk too much and embarrass myself. First Tae, then onto Jungkook sitting right next to him. He has his arm around Tae’s shoulder.

Taekook confirmed?

Next is Yoongi who is as chill as ever, leaning back in his chair smiling as I approach him. I slide him the picture and say, “Your lyrics have helped me through so many hard times in my life.”

He sits up and smiles brightly at me. “Thank you so much.” he responds.

I know Namjoon is next just by the high pitched squeal coming from Mina’s direction. I look over at her as Yoongi signs my picture. Namjoon is laughing hard at her reaction and points to the bowl of papers in front of him. Her eyes go wide and she hurriedly reaches in to grab one, then lifts it to read.

“Selca!!!!” she says a little louder than necessary. Namjoon mouths ‘Ahh’ and leans over the table to take a selfie with her. He holds fingers up behind her head, making her face turn beet red. I hear the shutter noise at least 5 times before he sits back down.

Yoongi is still holding the photo and enjoying the show next to us. I reach for it and say, “Thank you.” He smiles and waves.

I barely even register Namjoon speaking to me because of the fact that Jimin is sitting right next to him, and Mina is handing him her picture.

Holy shit.

Namjoon waves his hands widely in front of my face, causing Jimin to notice and look over at me. Our eyes meet and my heart stops beating. He smiles at me.

Holy crap. Calm down heart.

I turn my head to look at Namjoon quickly. He’s shaking his head and grinning with one side of his mouth.

Fuck, I hope I didn’t offend him.

“I’m so sorry.” I apologize quickly and hand him my photo. He takes it and starts autographing it.

“No worries.” he says before handing it back. I grab it and practically bend it with how tense my fingers are, trying to suppress my growing nervousness.

Mina grabs my hand, pulling me out of my trance, and practically yanks me to stand in front of Jimin. She must know how jumbled up my insides are.

Jimin is gazing at me with raised eyebrows when I finally look up at him. His plump lips pursed together as if he’s trying not to smile. I stare at them for a whole second too long and lay my photo on the table in front of me.

My mind goes completely blank, “Ahhh……”

“I love your bracelet.” he says.

What?

Out of instinct I grab my right wrist with my other hand and look down at it. My silver chain bracelet with a single chimmy charm hangs loosely around my wrist.

Duh….how could I forget?

“Uhh…..thank you!” I spit out awkwardly.

Shit. He has to know now that he’s my bias…

I make eye contact with him a few times before I remember the bowl in front of him. He sees me glance at it and pushes it towards me on the table.

Smiling, I reach in and grab a piece of paper hoping it will be something that will help break me out of this awkward situation I am in with Jimin. Park. Jimin. I mentally cross my fingers and open the slip.

I furrow my eyebrows at what it says and hesitantly look at Jimin’s eyes watching me intently. My mouth opens slightly.

“Staring contest?” I say questioningly.

His face immediately lights up and a blinding smile spreads across it. “I wasn’t expecting that!” he exclaims.

A quiet giggle escapes my lips, “Me either..”

Jimin laughs at my confused face and reaches out to grab both of my hands. My heart flutters wildly in my chest at the sensation of his skin grazing mine.

Ahhhhh.

He’s….touching me.

I hold my breath and try to savor the feeling of his soft hands on mine, locking it in my memories for later reference.

“Are you ready?” he tilts his head and raises his eyebrows, waiting for me to respond.

I’ll never be ready…

“Yes.” I respond, barely above a whisper.

He grabs both of my hands tighter and runs his thumb on the back my left hand. My soul leaves my body as he bites one side of his bottom lip.

I’m not gonna survive this at all.

He licks his lips, “Okay…..Go!”

Our staring contest comenses.

I try not to think about how dumb my face looks right now, my eyes wide open trying not to blink and my mouth open as well, concentrating as hard as I can. Those deep brown eyes staring back at me widen and come closer.

He wiggles his eyebrows trying to get me to break, but I hold steady and bite my lip hard to withhold from breaking eye contact.

When he lowers his head slightly so that he’s gazing up at me under low lids I feel heat surge to my cheeks and unwillingly to my core.

Oh my God. This is actually turning me on.

My cheeks grow even more red with the thought of being turned on by Jimin…..right in front of him as he watches me.

I notice him moving slightly in his seat before he let’s go of one of my hands and puts it under the table, out of view. My heart drops at the loss of his warm hand but he repays me with a quick slip of his tongue over his lips, then pulls his bottom lip into his mouth, sucking on it lightly.

I accidently let out a barely audible groan, but it must have been loud enough for him to hear because his eyes immediately go wide and he lets loose of the tight hold he has on his lip. A slow smile creeps across his face. It’s as if he knows how he’s affecting me with those eyes and mouth of his. If only he knew how much they did affect me most nights….

I feel my hand being turned so that my palm is facing up, then his finger sliding from my wrist all the way to the tip of my middle finger, sending little shocks up my arm and through my body. I almost look down at what he’s doing, but I mentally catch myself. I honestly don’t know how much more of this I can handle.

My lower abdomen is tight and tingling when he separates his lush lips and runs his tongue over them slowly and sensually. I blink rapidly and inhale a harsh breath before covering my face with both of my hands and whining into them.

Fuck. I lost.

It was well worth it though.

A beautiful and heartwarming laugh makes me uncover my face and look my victor in the eyes. I pout my lips, pretending I’m upset. Which is honestly far from the truth. I’d gladly lose 100 times over just to see him lick his lips like that again, despite the embarrassment on my side.

He has a cocky grin on his face when he says, “I won.”

So much blood rushes to my face that I feel faint for a moment. I’ve never been attracted to cockiness up until this point.

“Yeah…that wasn’t fair at all to me though!” I respond.

“Why?” he asks with a quizzical look.

Really?

“You can’t expect me to not crack when you’re making those types of faces at me.” I cringe inwardly realizing that I basically just confessed how much his actions really affected me.

He smirks again, “What types of faces?”

My eyes go big.

Wow.

“You….uhh.” I look away for a split second then turn back shaking my head. “Nevermind.”

“Come on,” he laughs.

I start to reply but stop when I see Namjoon nudging Jimin in his side to get his attention.

“You’re holding up the line.” he tells him.

I glance to my left to see that everyone in front of me has already gotten off stage and gone back to their seats. Jin is sitting to the left of Jimin, staring open-mouthed at me.

Holy crap.

He must’ve been watching everything transpiring between Jimin and I. I now have a permanent blush on my cheeks. I smile softly at him and turn back to face Jimin when I hear him speak.

“What’s your name?” he holds out his hand in front of me.

Does he want to hold my hand again?

“Don’t you have a picture for me to sign?” he says in his soft voice.

“Oh! Yeah!” I hand him the photo to sign.

“So, what’s your name?” he smiles.

“Uh. ah…..Anna.”

“Anna..” he repeats it back to me softly. My name falling off his lips like a treasured word, making my heart squeeze. His hand moves across the picture gracefully as he signs it.

The noise of the rest of the room starts getting loud again. I look to my right to see the next two girls behind me glaring daggers my way.

Geez…

Jimin is still writing as I look away from the girls’ harsh stares. How extravagant must his signature be if he’s taking this long? Maybe he’s writing a cute message for me too?

Just as I start to really question how much longer he’s going to take, he finishes and swiftly hands me the photo.

“Bye.” he says grinning.

This boy and his smiling.

I smile back and wave goodbye before moving on to Jin. He says hi and takes the picture from my hands, giving me the final signature I need. I watch him look for an empty space to sign, his eyes searching the photo before widening and looking up at me fast.

What?

I raise one eyebrow out of habit.

What’s wrong with him?

He looks back down and quickly signs his name before handing it back to me. I grab it slowly and pull it to my chest, wondering why he’s acting so strange.

“Thank you.” I say and head back to my seat.

When I reach my seat, Mina is staring at me as if she were looking at a ghost.

“What!?….What is it?” I ask, thinking there must be something wrong with my hair or maybe something stuck in my teeth. Panic seizes my chest as I think of how that could be why Jin was staring at me so surprised.

I sit down in my seat and continue watching her, waiting for her to answer me. “Mina, what?” She looks around us, causing me to follow suit. Everyone close to us is either openly glaring or trying to act like they aren’t.

“People keep talking about ‘the girl holding up the line’"

I look back up on stage to see who shes talking about when it registers that it was me. I AM the girls who was holding up the line.

Oh God.

“Umm….how long was I up there?” I ask.

“Well, I’ve been back in my seat for almost five minutes now.”

“Five minutes!?”

She nods her head. Everyone must be mad that I was at the table longer…..Oh well. I shake my head and sit back. I try to enjoy the rest of the event and pretend I don’t feel everyone staring at me.

Watching the rest of the fans finish up on stage, I can’t help but glance at Jimin every once in a while. Unexpectedly he’s looking right at me when I look over at him around the fifth time. I freeze, not being able to break eye contact with him. Soon another fan goes up to him and he looks away.

It’s not that I don’t want him to look at me, it’s just that it feels like I can’t breathe every time he does.

We make eye contact a few more times before I decide to stop looking his way.

I feel a tap on my shoulder. “Hey, I have to go to the bathroom….I’ll be right back.” Mina whispers.

“Okay.”

The crowd starts screaming and some stand up as soon as Mina leaves the row. I look over in the direction where everyones looking to see two girls taking pictures with Jungkook and Tae.

I wish I could’ve gotten a picture with Jimin.

Subconsciously, my eyes look over at Jimin. He’s relaxed, leaning back in his chair and staring right at me. It’s not a friendly stare, more like a dark stare. He glances around him then holds a picture up in front if him and points at it.

I furrow my brows and look down at the signed picture in my lap. I totally forgot to look at it after everyone signed it. Lifting it up, I glance over everyones signature until I get to jimins.

But its it’s not just a signature…

He wrote my name with hearts on either side followed by his beautiful signature. Underneath is smaller writing. I bring it closer to make out what it says and my heart drops into my stomach.

There’s a hotel name….and a suite number.

Suite 114.

What?

Suite 114….

HOLY FUCKING SHIT.

I know he’s watching me from the tingle I feel on the back of my neck. For sure he’s laughing at my reaction to seeing what he wrote. I’m not even sure if this is real. Is he serious? Is this a joke? Why would Park Jimin want me to know where he is staying?

My stomach heats up just thinking of the things that could happen in that hotel room. Things that I’ve dreamt of many times….

But he might not be thinking that way…..

The tingling feeling is gone so I peek up at him while still keeping my head down. Thankfully he’s signing a photo and not staring me down, making me feel nervous. I can’t take my eyes off of the way his dark hair falls in front of his face. He runs his hand through those black locks and hands the fan her picture, returning his gaze to me once again.

My heart is beating three times faster than it should be as I stare back, not having the mental strength to look away. He flashes me a devilish smile and licks those plump, pink lips once again.

He definitely doesn’t want to just have tea with me in that hotel room…

As hard as it is, I avoid looking towards his end of the table for the rest of the meet. It eventually ends and all of the members of BTS bow and exit the room. The crowd is enormous and it is complete HELL leaving the building, and even worse leaving the parking lot.

We manage to make it back to my apartment around midnight. It should’ve only taken us half an hour to get there, but instead it took two.

On the drive home I told Mina everything that happened between me and Jimin in excruciating detail. She started crying as I described the encounter. To be honest I’m not sure why I’m not crying as well. My ultimate bias wants me to meet him in his hotel room. It’s like I’m living in a fucking fan fiction! Mina didn’t believe it was true until I took out my picture and showed her, which probably wasn’t the best idea seeing as she almost drove off of the road after looking at it.

We walk up the steps to my door and enter my apartment. Well, me and my sister’s apartment. I share one with her for financial reasons. And besides Mina, she’s my best friend.

Mina is grabbing onto my arm as we enter, talking rapidly about whether Jimin could introduce her to Namjoon or not. My sister is sprawled out on the couch half asleep when we walk in and turn the lights on. Mina immediately runs over and throws herself down beside her, grabbing her shoulders. She takes a deep breath before spilling the news.

“Guess who got Jimin’s hotel room number!?” she practically yells in my sisters face.

My sister, Vee, dramatically rubs her eyes and turns to look at me. “NO…You didn’t!” I see her eyes sparkling. I can tell she’s about to freak out like Mina and join in on her bouncing from wall to wall in excitement.

I sigh, “Yeah….” I cover my ears to protect them from the glass-shattering scream my sister releases. She grabs Mina’s hands and they jump around the room like excited children.

Why am I so annoyed by this?

My thoughts are all over the place, my mind almost not even believing I’m awake right now. For some reason, seeing my sister and best friend flipping out makes me want to lock myself in my room. Maybe I just need time to comprehend it all.

I turn, heading in the direction of my room. I make it halfway down the hall before my sister grabs me and pulls me back towards the living room.

“Wait. Why aren’t you freaking out, Anna?” she asks me.

“I don’t know….I am on the inside, trust me! But it’s just so surreal, I feel like its it’s too good to be true.” I’ve never been one to get my hopes up, and this situation was no different.

She holds her hand up to her face and shakes her head. “Well it’s real! Do you even know what this means?!” she smiles hard and waits for me to reply. I just shrug, not having the energy to express everything I’m feeling right now. “Wait….what exactly happened. How did it lead to that?”

As I head to the kitchen to grab something to drink, Mina tells her everything that I described to her on the drive here. I open the fridge and to grab a bottle of water when I see a half empty bottle of moscato in the back. I grab it and pour myself a glass, filling it nearly to the rim. I down half of it, barely even tasting it.

What am I going to do?

Wait. Why am I even questioning this? I can’t deny Park Jimin.

But what if this is all a big joke? What if I show up and him and the rest of BTS laugh at me for having false hope. I don’t think they’d do that…..not those angels…..but it’s all so skeptical.

What if he does this all the time?

Oh my God. What if he just wants a one night stand? I mean…I probably wouldn’t say no but…still it’d be nice knowing what I’m getting myself into before I show up.

Ugh I just don’t know.

My sister’s voice makes me jump, causing some of the wine in my glass to splash onto the floor.

“Well, someone’s clearly stressed.” she giggles and puts her hand on her hip. “Since when do you drink my wine?”

“Since….now.” I tilt the bottom of the glass into air as I gulp down the rest of the wine before placing the empty glass in the sink. I wipe up the little that spilled onto the floor and face my sister.. “Vee, I don’t know what to think right now.”

She and Mina stand side by side, staring at me in disbelief.

“What do you mean you dont know what think?” Mina half yells. “You need to think about what you’re gonna wear when you go to meet Jimin…..easy as that.” my sister nods in agreement.

Groaning, I look at them both. “I don’t know guys, what does he want though?” I say, even though deep down I know full well what he wants. The thought makes my body temperature rise.

“Maybe he wants to get to know you more?” says Vee.

“Or maybe he just wants to fuck.” Mina states matter-of-factly. I groan again and cover my face with my hands.

My sisters voice gets closer, “You’ll never know if you don’t go Sis, and don’t even stand here and tell me that you’d say no to him if that’s what he really wants.”

“I need to go lay down.” I let out a sigh.

Mina gets the hint and pulls me in for a hug, “Okay, just let me know what happens.”

I walk her to the door then head to my room, bypassing my sister as she stands in the middle of the hall.

“I really just need sleep first, Vee.” I say, avoiding eye contact.

My room instantly calms me as I enter. I shut the door and lock it behind me. I find my pajamas and change into them before throwing myself on my bed.

I am so mentally exhausted and confused that I don’t even consider taking a shower. I need to stop thinking and close my eyes. I soon fall asleep and drift into my dreams….

MASTERLIST

[blankdblank]

Hearts and Handles - Richard Request

Tags –

All –

@himoverflowers, @theincaprincess, @aspiringtranslator, @sweeticedtea, @ggbbhehe4455, @thegreyberet, @patanghill17, @jesgisborne, @curvestrology, @alishlieb, @jogregor, @armitageadoration, @fizzyxcustard, @here2have-fun, @lilith15000, @marvels-ghost, @catthefearless, @imjusthereforthereads, @c-s-stars

X all Rich. A - @abiwim, @deepestfirefun, @thestorybookmistress

…

Deepestfirefun:

You are fanfiction writer and huge fan of RA but what you don´t know is that Richard has been reading your writings and is impressed by your vivid and wild imagination kind of hoping to get to meet you one day. When he is promoting his newest film, the lodge he sees a familiar looking young woman on the front row and can´t stop grinning when he realizes it is the same woman whose writings he has been reading and so when it´s time to take photos with the fans he gets his chance to finally meet you

…

“Fuck. I just need a bath and a bed…” The thought making the tall Brit groan as he settled into his seat on the plane. For weeks now he had been bounced from one place to another, but finally in Paris he would be granted a reprieve. A break from the cameras and time to just slip unseen through the celeb friendly cities allowing him some semblance of privacy before being drug back into the press storm to promote his latest flic. The Lodge, words emblazoned into his mind at the lit up posters and signs flashing bearing his name under the title for each appearance drawing thousands in line to simply see the man they hoped to see in this unwitnessed thriller bearing their love from dozens of roles prior.

Wetting his lips he grinned easing his leather bound journal across his lap bearing a secret inside. For years now he’d been following the writings of a fanfiction author online, and in all his travels and flights he’d taken to printing out copies to paste inside his journals. This one especially bearing the latest series you had started. One on Francis, a challenging role for him, and your time warp adaptation of him had even left the hair on his arms standing up in the spine tingling tale about being the killers prey turned possession.

From both the killer’s view and the prey’s his heart pounded furiously uncertain how you would end this story just barely into its tenth chapter marking the order of the prey to move into his home to keep the men trying to claim her virtue for themselves. Based in the time of Jack the Ripper, the rival of Hannibal, a member of the discrete killing club Francis frequented. The killers having to band together as Francis lays his claim over his prey, who even to that point bore a private mark, a common mark in your writings but no less shocking each time used, a small heart shaped birthmark on her stomach, unknowingly also on the stomach of the killer watching over her.

The full flight from New York to Paris he bit his lip and gripped his knees and arm rests reading through that series and the other time shifted versions of his other characters making his heart soar as even the foulest of them revealed a glimmer of greatness in them. If only for a fleeting moment, such as Guy as he went down in a raze of bullets in a Bonnie and Clyde esque series with his Sister to fend off the menace crime boss Robin and his band of green clad thugs. 

Each story parted with a print out of the pictures of yourself you had posted, most with odd faces aimed at the camera in varying forms of pajamas, blankets and comfy layers making him wish he was there to hold you and listen to your incredible stories. But always his eyes would linger on the beaming smile under the pooling dark curls spilling over your purple eyes and that adorable freckle just barely out of the corner of your right eye.

The landing gear dropped and he sighed, thankful he was able to finish the latest chapter of the Hannibal/Ripper series once more before tucking his journal away. Wetting his lips he was unable to hide his smirk knowing that it was your usual day that you would post the next chapter in the series only building up his anticipation wondering just what you would send the group through in this part. Or if Francis would gain the right to claim a single hold of his prey’s hand willingly. The ache for his character’s loss of contact with his soulmate only made his wish he could meet you grow greater.

A few hints were given to where you lived, a few terms here and there made him imagine you were close, while a few pictures you had posted pointed to your travels due to work, simply stated as a writer, of sorts. Anonymously he had asked learning you were not a journalist, merely more of a ‘commentator on life’, as you had worded it, whatever that meant. But it surely had improved your drawing talents in the years he had followed you turning him to believe you might be a cartoonist possibly. Again he sighed straightening up in his seat trying to force back the continued hope you just might appear at this event along with his imagined sighting of you earlier on his way to boarding the plane. At least until a stranger stumbled nearly into his lap.

…

“At least I didn’t miss my plane.” That thought kept rolling through your mind as you huffed smoothing your fingers through your freshly knotted long curly hair that had been wrung out just outside the airport you had entered to get to your flight across the pond to this highly anticipated and very much needed vacation of sorts.

The past few months had been rough and in a drastic shift in work and the loss of a few less than supportive so called friends, you were out here to go invisible and observe. Work, with the new hires your manager had so graciously plopped the watching of onto you, had your voice worn painfully thin each day. Greatly diminishing your supply of favorite teas to soothe your frazzled nerves and vocal chords before you fell so far from graciously into any surface hard or soft nearby to get as much sleep as possible before the next go round.

Another knot had been freed and you filed off the plane almost falling into the lap of one giant avoiding the stretching arms of another. The stolen brush of your thigh in supporting your rise would have to be forgiven as your hand had nearly crashed into the man’s groin to catch yourself. Thankfully landing on a firm thigh while his shoulder caught your wave of curls washing over it earning a startled yet amused chuckle from the faceless stranger you promptly fled the sight of after your unwilling release of a startled squeaked out apology. Your hand fixed tighter on your satchel bearing your hours of notes for your writings and sketches for another project at work coming up you forced yourself not to release until it was over your shoulder again.

.

Over his shoulder after a glance at the man across from him stretching he caught sight of a set of dark curls making his heart clench as his eyes slid to the aqua colored polish on the well trimmed nails bearing dots marking a trail to a small crystal ladybug on the pinky fingers peeking out from under her long maroon sleeves falling over her palms wrinkled badly at fiddling with them no doubt. Around the arm she wove but must have rolled her ankle sending her nearly into his lap. Firmly her hand planted on his thigh drawing an awkward chuckle from the actor in his frozen state as the silky vanilla scented curls slid over his shoulder. 

The momentary stumble was righted at the adorable squeaked apology widening his grin recognizing the embarrassed squeak from one of your formerly posted reaction videos to art a fan had made for one of your stories.

But within a moment of his hand planting on your thigh to help shift you onto your feet again after his deeming cupping your hip would be too intimate at the exposed strip of skin above the waistband of your jeans, you were rushing off the plane leaving him to hope he could catch you at the baggage claim.

Anxiously he sat until his turn to get off, eagerly he moved until he had to withhold his groan at the guards he was enforced to use by the film team ensuring his safe arrival and travel between locations greatly slowing his race after you. Right away he spotted what he took as his bag for the guard to grab freeing him to look around the room for any sign of you. And sure enough across the carousel there you stood, with a eerily similar bag at your side, right on the way to him. “Shit, shit, shit…What am I going to say?!”

..

Bouncing on your toes you tried to read the signs for the right way to go absolutely hating the double checking pattern of your glances from your ticket stub to confirm which way to go that drew a less than friendly guard over to move you along. But sure enough here you stood staring along with the masses at the empty baggage carousel as you heard a wave of people coming up behind you into the empty hall.

A slot opened snapping you from your thoughts and one by one you eyed the bags until a large silver suitcase came into view with a soon blocked sketch of a dragon along the edge of it to remind your easily fumbling self in rushed situations surrounded by people which bag your hand had to latch onto. Hoping you wouldn’t just get drug around like an idiot. Sure enough your hand latched on. But with the shoulder of a man on a phone crashing into your side the luggage tag tore free and you stood there unable to say anything but stare at it dumbly while your mind muttered, “fuck…”

Peering upwards again, there it went, off into the circular void as you mentally tried to boost yourself up for attempt number two as the crowds arrived. Around the corner it went as you spotted an identical bag, somehow also with a sketch on the side, making you peer at your tag confirming you hadn’t lost your mind. Looking over again you spotted your taggless bag being pointed at by the same black leather sleeve bearing arm that had helped you up straight again pointing at your bag for a guard to collect and add to a luggage cart. The arm itself belonging to none other than Richard Armitage. “Double fuck…”

He grabbed your bag moving it from the guard to the cart and you promptly grabbed the double trying not to imagine him opening your bag seeing your far from homely undergarments you had chosen to bring, just to at least wear them once and have them as you confidence boosters that you and you alone would see.

“No, don’t think about that..” that could only lead to more heated imaginings of what would happen next. No, you grabbed the doppelganger and wove through the crowd to be blocked by a trio of nearly seven foot tall living cinderblocks glaring down at you as you flashed them a timid smile.

“I think he grabbed my bag by mistake.” You flashed your torn luggage tag only to see the actor himself, who had watched your approach, step closer with your bag at his side and a curious grin spreading on his face contrasting his racing heart. “Purple eyes…It’s got to be her…”

In an amused purr at your ragged inhale trying to keep your eyes on his, he asked, “How can you be certain it’s yours and not another unfortunate tag bearing strangers?”

Your brow ticked up as your eyes fell to the bag trying to think of anything unique far from the lingerie you had packed with only one thing coming to mind. Your lips parted only to have your eyes fall on the group of actors looking on with amused grins. Somehow the notion of being the center of their private joke you lost your nerve to voice what it held aloud to all of them, knowing it was bad enough to admit it to the man in front of you. “Oh fuck. Too far..” At your response his expression dulled and he instantly regretted putting you on the spot and nearly eased the bag over to you anyways until he caught your determined flicker in your eyes as you gave him a two finger wag calling him down to your height. “Or not..”

Unable to help it he smirked again leaning forward feeling his inner child jumping for joy at the remembrance of his love for sharing secrets then darting away to safety. What you described seemed innocent enough, a journal with formerly blank back, though the object of your embarrassment was clearly the image you had sketched across the back of it. Shifting from the place just inches from your very kissable lips he moved to unzip the top pouch watching your hand rise to curl your knuckles across your lips almost making him chuckle at the sight of it resembling his favored sheepish and anxious pose of yours until he caught a full glance at what you had created on the journal in his hands.

Proudly Francis Dolarhyde stood bare to the world with a small mirror in hand, aimed over his shoulder at his dragon tattoo reflected on the unseen tall mirror at the edge of the sketch. While his bare front was exposed in a stunning reflection across the stormy view over his vast lands with only a small shadowy group of trees covering his groin just barely below the iconic heart birthmark. Each detail staggering in the black and grey lifelike portrait bearing a near smirk across the scarred lip of the savage killer peering in at his full colored tattoo.

Straightened up again Richard felt his bag ease against his leg from your gentle nudging of it closer to him and he sealed the pocket to pass yours back to you, now knowing he knew full well who you were as your brushed your curls back behind your ear exposing your iconic freckle. His next question rumbled out only to confirm it, “You don’t want me to sign it?” He rumbled out in a purr grinning at your creeping blush.

Your head shook and you claimed the journal he almost reluctantly handed over at the curiosity for what was inside it. Pressing the image to your chest folding an arm over it, you replied, “No, thank you. My, cousin tucked it in there before I left, obviously. To have you sign it would only encourage her bad behavior.”

“And there it is. The fabled imagined cousin to take the blame for all your bad behavior.” At the thought rolling through his head as to just what else you had used this ‘cousin’ to excuse he grinned wider catching your wish to flee in your glance for a clear path then back to him as he asked, “I do have to ask though. Why is he fully naked?”

Instantly your fear was gone and a glint of a challenge flashed in your eyes triggering his grin even wider at you fired back, “Oh don’t even blame me, Mr I’m suddenly immune to wearing pants in my films and shows!”

A flat out laugh left the actor triggering his eyes to drop over you in your somehow now cocky stance in front of him nipping at his lip. “Oh, this is perfect.” His teeth freed his lip as he readied to do the unthinkable, attempt to gain your contact info.

A call from behind him from the guards drew his eyes off you for just a moment, but that was all it took. You were off through the crowds again towards the waiting line of taxis, with one driver all too eager to help you with your bag up into the boot and easing the door shut behind you when you had eased through the door he had opened for you. His smile holding as you stated the lavish hotel you were guaranteed a room in for your stay.

For these brief excursions you were grateful to be caught in a 200 year old rivalry as both sides of your family fought to win over the younger generations leading to pampering. Lavish rooms in unspeakably lavish hotels from your grandfather’s brother included along with the trip to the shows you were granted tickets from your grandmothers cousin with a few other stops along the way to add to the sweet deal.

.

Through the streets you watched Paris growing and bustling around you until you were parked at the front entrance with a pair of men hustling over, one to open your door as you handed the bills to the driver and the other to collect your bag for you. Instantly when they spotted you in your move to straighten your shirt over your sides they caught the resemblance to the owner and smiled back when you gave them a returned “hello.”

After them you entered the lobby through the door they opened and walked straight to the eager manager already holding your room packet at the end ready to lead you up to your room after your long flight.

The full ride up to the fourth floor from the top he chatted about how glad he was to have you under their care again. Then he broke into a full recap of all the new exhibits and shows in town for you to experience if you wished as well as a confirmation that he would expedite your delivery person for your Chinese food order. Greatly improving your wait from the first stay out here where you had to go down and fetch it yourself to complete your relaxing pattern of eating through at random movie until you felt yourself unable to hold off sleep anymore.

A final grin was shared as he left you halfway ready to pass out from him draining all the air from the room at his long winded flurry of a welcome. Sure you appreciated it but as the relative of the owner and not anyone overly special past that you felt a bit unworthy but no less ungrateful for his special attentions to your needs in your stay. With a sigh you left your bag by the bed and you sat down finally releasing the label crumpled in your curled fingers.

…

“Fuck…Where did she go?” Richard’s eyes scanned over the crowds and he bit his lip again nodding as he turned to follow the guard urging him on to the waiting vans outside. His only glimmer of happiness being his hand holding the handle just moments before being held by you. The single contact with the fabric middle man eased a smirk onto his lips as his flickering hope that you would cross paths again returned again.

Upwards his eyes scanned over the lavish hotel in his path out of the van then lower to the waiting group of men gathering their bags to follow them to the counters to fetch their keys to the rooms on the top four floors. A chime from his pocket made him draw out his phone and grin at the message from Hugh Dancy that him and Mads were on their way over to his hotel to spend the evening with him before they had to take the train out to another event short notice leaving flying out of the question as they were still recovering form the jet lag from their last five flights in the past two weeks.

All the way up to his room he stood quietly letting his cast mates banter with the manager until he was freed to ease into his suite and let out his irritated sigh at losing you so suddenly. Grumbling his inner argument with himself for not racing after you he rolled his bag into his room leaving it in the closet, hastily typing the room number and firing it off in his drop to sit then lay back across his bed only to groan again and rub his face recounting each moment with you while the spot on his thigh you had touched all but burned reminding him of your hands place there.

…

Three knocks sounded after a set of chuckles as the bantering actors stood outside the hotel door awaiting their friend only to fall silent and lower their gazes to the barefoot sweater and flannel short clad woman widely peering up at them both mumbling, “You’re, not food…”

Unable to help it at your puzzled purple gaze Mads chuckled and purred back, “I sure hope not. Though with those eyes I am certain you could convince me.”

His hope for a chuckle or a grin only made you inhale then glance at Hugh as he furrowed his brows rereading the message mumbling, “745…” His finger tapped Richard’s icon and he raised the phone to his ear as your bill holding hand was curled to your middle and covered by your other hand gently stroking the skin along your fingers at your nerves. “What is your room number?” He nodded then said, “Ah, you typed it wrong.”

Mad’s eyes narrowed as he watched you brush your curls from your face exposing your freckle, “I know you.” His finger wagged in the air as he tried to place it.

Softly you mumbled, “I, don’t think we’ve met.”

Hugh wet his lips saying, “Be up in a moment.”

He hung up then watched as Mads drew out his phone. “Could I take a picture with you?”

Blankly you nodded and the pair folded around you, with Hugh being sure to block your room number with his hand saying, “Big smile.”

You forced a beaming grin out instantly clicking where they knew you from as they eyed it on the phone screen holding their grins when they eased back and Mads added, “I’ll post this, you can save it from there, ok?”

You nodded then eyed the elevator and bit your lip sealing Mad’s sneaking another picture of your reaction before you mumbled, “Food.” The delivery guy walked up with a grin at you and the actors as you waved at them saying, “Nice to meet you.”

They both nodded and Hugh chuckled out as he stepped onto the elevator, “I’m certain we’ll be seeing one another again very soon.” Your brow ticked up as the doors closed, only to drop as you accepted your bag of food and the drink, pay the delivery guy who then turned to wait for the elevator to open again after he hit the button when you closed the door to your room. Curiously you set the food out on a towel at the foot of your bed in front of the screen only to turn your head to your phone on the night table charging as the screen lit up again and again.

.

In the elevator Hugh glanced over Mad’s shoulder asking, “You didn’t?!” Mads chuckled pocketing his phone after posting the image with the caption of ‘In the mood for a good Hannibal thriller? I know where you can find a few.’ with your username tagged after it to your story page on Tumblr.

Through the doors he passed and followed Hugh to Richard’s actual hotel room where the brit opened the door right away with a grin asking, “Order in or are we heading out?”

After they settled on a place they led Richard back onto the elevator and Hugh blurted out, “You are not going to guess who we ran into downstairs.” Mads flashed him the picture making his lips part.

Richard, “You saw her? Downstairs? In the lobby?”

They shook their heads and Richard glanced at the picture again then muttered, “The room number I sent you..”

Mads nodded and Hugh answered, “She was waiting on dinner herself.”

Mads, “Had she not we’d have invited her along.”

Hugh, “Perhaps you could send up a dessert later.”

Richard rolled his eyes, “We didn’t even trade names.”

Their heads went to him and they both asked, “You’ve met?!”

Richard gave a brief recap about the luggage and your darting off finishing with, “She was just gone. She didn’t mention why she was in town, did she?”

Hugh shook his head and Mads answered, “Not a clue, but, you can ask in a note with dessert.”

Richard chuckled shaking his head, “I don’t want to make her feel uncomfortable. Just showing up at her room uninvited without even trading names.”

Hugh wet his lips, “We’ll think of something.”

Mads, “No doubt she might assume it was you. We show up at her room and not long after are photographed out to eat with you. Two and two, Rich.”

Richard chuckled, “Well we are in the same hotel, no doubt if I lose my resolve I could always sent a note or something.” The pair grinned settling on their plan of nudging their friend over the edge of deciding on giving your door a knock of his own.

..

After an hour you had to turn your alert off for Tumblr and were thankful for the private email used solely for your account racking up with notices on the thousands of followers you had jumped in the first hour alone from your pitiful twenty seven with countless notes on the hundreds of series and stand alone stories you had posted and organized in the masterlist you had reblogged just that morning with a message about being traveling again warning your lull in posts. 

Wetting your lips you set aside your phone feeling a yawn creeping on as you put up your left over food and turned out the lights to climb onto bed and curl up in the blanket you had brought from home feeling your eyes drop shut. A low sigh left you in your drift off to sleep to soak in the rest you could get before your morning of wandering before the afternoon trip to the theater where you had gotten a ticket to see the very man you had fallen onto earlier that day. The one now weighing heavily in your dreams both I and out of character.

.

A nervous wreck you eased into your seat joining the countless other fans in the audience keeping busy, jotting down a few ideas in your pocket journal while others around you either spoke or read from their books and phones. For nearly an hour as the audience filed in and the final touches were set you waited keeping yourself busy working out the dialog for the next series you were starting to flush out in a rare Loki centered tale. Though a man walked onto the stage stirring all to fall silent and shift their attentions to the actors filing onto the stage when introduced.

“There you are.” In the front row of the audience Richard’s eyes settled as he stepped around his arm chair and lowered feeling a wide grin settling onto his face at the instant he spotted you five chairs in, just barely off to his right. Anxiously Richard’s tongue darted out at your knuckles curling over your lips hiding the sheepish grin matching that blush coating your cheeks at his constant eye contact with you between the clips from the film, director’s comments all up to the audience questions. 

One by one those who wished to got the chance at the mic from the back to the front. Each one worsening the anticipation as to what you could possibly have in mind to ask him. “Please ask me something. Anything. Just don’t pick anyone but me.” His every glance at you a silent plea “No teasing now. Pick me.”

Wetting your lips you grinned at the woman beside you as she handed the mic over. You fidgeted your grip around the stem of it spoting the brit shifting excitedly in his seat as the camera shifted to center you in the frame. With another scanning over the cast then centering onto Richard with a partially focused narrowed gaze at you, unwilling to miss a single detail of your question at your stating, “My question is for Richard.”

He nodded and eased his fingers around his own microphone wetting his lips again while you softly inhaled then asked, “You had mentioned you mentally build your characters, but do you add anything physical.” His brow inched up as you added, “Past muscular bulk or growing and shaving your beard and hair, to make each unique?”

Raising his mic he couldn’t help but lowly ask, “Like what?”

After a weak chuckle you answered as calmly as you could through his damn near sparkling intent gaze locked onto you making your heart race even faster, “Like a hidden freckle or scar or birth mark, something the audience doesn’t necessarily see but it makes the character whole for you.”

He smirks, “Well, Guy had his hidden tattoo until its reveal.” He wet his lips again, “Thorin had this blue geometric mark on his arm, just for me, under all the padding.” After a momentary tilt of his head he continued, “I am curious why you would ask about that in particular, especially the birthmark part. Do you have an unusual birthmark?”

There, he’d finally asked his burning question he’d been aching to know for years now, your fascination with the mark, “I have a heart near my belly button.”

With brows raised he forms a heart with his hands, “A heart?” You nod and he lowers his hands and shifts the mic back towards his mouth through the crowd’s reactions to ask through a curious chuckle, “Is that a family thing, it would be interesting to see if it gets passed down.” With a follow up question he couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Do you have any children?” “Shit..”

At the momentary flicker of a drop in his expression only to inch back at your amused smirk when you were unable to help but ask, “No. Are you offering?” He blushed and laughs awkwardly through the raucous reaction in the audience and loud laughter from the cast around him as he smoothed his free hand over his mouth and beard, “You left the door wide open on that one, and with your eyes and my mark it’d be one adorable baby.”

“My eyes… yours are purple!”

You shrug at him with a grin, “I only get to see mine in the mirror, if I could see them myself they might be more appealing, but from here yours are just dazzling.” You pass the mic to the next person holding your playful smile up at him as he sits with his mouth open for a moment in shock still from your teasing offer. “You little tease..”

The woman drew his eyes to her as she asked him her own question when the noise died down again. Though hers was a far more serious conversation with the actor who even drew a couple of the other cast members in to confirm his answer. The final few people got to ask their questions while he continued to steal glances at you until he was forced up out of his chair, thankful that it would only be a few more minutes until the fan photo portion would begin. Unlike the usual rope lined path you would pass through the halls around the theater eyeing the décor and enjoying the snacks provided until you reached the actors at the main hall before you were escorted out.

Again it was from the back to the front so you got a very good look at all there was to see until you finally got to the group of actors who all grouped around you and Richard for your own group photo and then stood out of the frame holding up hearts they doodled onto spare sheets of paper in their wait around you both. When you got your camera back you rolled your eyes blushing and turned to walk off as they chuckled through the final group of women moving forward for their turns. There wasn’t much time for talking past Richard’s warning that he tried to keep them from their joke leaving you to feel a bit empty after such animated snippets of conversations with the amazing man. Another taxi ride later you were welcomed back into the lobby where you eyed the manager approaching you with a grin and stopped in front of you, “There was a delivery for you earlier.”

“A delivery?”

He nodded, “Flowers. Quite a dazzling bouquet while you were out. I left them on the table in your room myself.”

You nodded, “Thank you.”

He grinned and nodded then trotted back to his station while you walked to the elevator puzzled at who would send you flowers. “Can’t be…” Wetting your lips you stood eyeing the floor number rise tapping your nails along the rail you were holding behind you counting down until you were freed into the hall. A few doors down you unlocked your door and stepped inside only to draw your foot back at the shift of paper under your foot. Curiously you bent to pick it up and switched on the lights grinning at the envelope as you flipped it over and opened it to draw out the note inside.

The simple note almost made you scream when you read,

“Up for some ice cream?

I’ll be in the lobby at ten until half past.

Feel free to decline if you wish.

Hope you like orchids.

- Richard”

With your ridiculously large grin you squeaked when you walked through the hotel room and found the large bouquet of Delphinium and plain white orchids in a tall glass vase. Biting your lip you reached into your pocket noting the time and rushed to double check your reflection before squeaking at the bouquet again then made your way down again in a steady pace to be just a couple minutes late.

.

“She’ll show. She will.” Richard again smoothed his hands together grateful for the drivers that brought him back promptly allowing him time to freshen up before going down to wait in the lobby, hoping you would come down before any of the staff had the chance to come and ask him why he was waiting. The ding of the elevator caused him to turn and his cheeks rose when he saw you exit and then cross to him, avoiding a couple along the way in your path. Even out of your sight you could feel the eyes of the manager on you with a grin of his own at the actor’s sheepish turn to guide you towards the doors and stealing a glance as if to ensure you were still intending on joining him.

A few feet from the hotel in the warm evening air Richard glanced down at you pleased at the emptying streets as the next round of shows and distractions opened for those waiting along the sidewalks. “I hope the crew didn’t embarrass you with the doodles.”

With a weak chuckle you glanced up to catch his grin at you, “Well I did ask you on camera if you were offering to father my child. So, sort of fair.”

He chuckled lowly and nipped at his lip peering around then released it to say, “Far from fair. I did, as awkward as it is, wish to thank you for coming. I was a bit afraid you wouldn’t show.”

“Why is that?”

“I have terrible luck with getting dates.” Wetting his lips he eyed your curious glance up at him showing no argument against the notion of a date with him and felt a surge of confidence enough to add, “If you would agree to one with me. I know a great place to eat if you’re free tomorrow night.”

“Mmm.”

His eyes traveled over to you and his chest tightened, “Unless-..”

You shook your head giggling softly replying, “I only, I have tickets tomorrow to a show. You can join me if you like, or we can try for dinner after it’s through if you don’t. Though it lets out a bit late I believe.”

A grin spread across his face, “I would love to join you. What show are we seeing?”

You giggled again, “Not telling.” He chuckled peering at you and you giggled again, “More fun that way.”

“How will I know what to wear?”

“Well, I usually wear a dress, but only because it’s that or jeans. You’ve been traveling, wear what you like.”

He sighed at you giving you a quizzical narrowing of his eyes as you smirked up at him, “I do have a vest and some slacks. My suits weren’t needed. Will that do?”

You grinned up at him, “You will look dashing as always.” He chuckled again, “Though I am curious as to why you would want to go on a date with me. I hope it’s not due to my teasing comments earlier.”

“No. However, that, will have to wait until we at least have our ice cream.”

“Keeping secrets already?”

Giving you another playful grin he purred back, “I am not keeping secrets, only hoping the ice cream may ease a question I have for you.”

You nodded then eased into the conversation he started about your interests lasting until you had cups of ice cream in hand and walked until you reached a bench under the moonlight aimed at a bridge not far from there. Wetting his lips he sat down then subtly shifted a bit closer to your side watching as you crossed your ankles and tasted yet another spoonful of your ice cream easing his grin out as well as his question, “I was wondering, about how long will your latest Francis series run?” Your eyes darted up to his and his grin grew, “It’s fantastic. I can’t stop reading it.”

“You read my story?”

He nodded, “I’ve read all the works you’ve posted on your page, countless times over the years.”

“Ye-, years?!”

He nodded then chuckled, “I might have been spied on at the Hannibal set with the guys poking around your page for the ones with them involved. Only to pull them into the others. Why they got so excited about running into you. Plus, Mads’ more than a bit irritated at the lack of attention your series get.”

“Well they’re drowning in attention now.” He raised his brow and you shook your head, “Nevermind.”

“So, how long will this one be? I have to know when I can finally breathe normally again without that wave of the unknown creeping up behind me.”

You giggled and stated, “There’s about twenty more parts.”

“Twe-, ugh.. Alright. That, actually feels about right. It is a dreadful wait, but alright.”

As he eased his spoon back out from between his closed lips his brow twitched up at your eyes locked on his in an unreadable expression. With a shake of your head and a grin as you filled your own spoon for another mouthful he grinned too and filled his as you looked out at the bridge mumbling, “Those eyes of yours will not earn you any spoilers.”

Raising his spoon to his lips he fired back, “If not my eyes, then what?” making you roll your eyes.

An eager bouncing child broke your conversation flapping and pointing his hands in his turns to his older brother clearly rushing to collect him. In rapid French the elder boy apologized as your eyes turned to the signed plea from the younger boy. Locked in a double language barrier Richard sat puzzled until you translated for the younger boy, “He’s saying they have to get a picture for their Mum.”

Richard glanced at you then to the boys and smiled at them with a nod stirring curious smiles at you both until you repeated in fluid French, “If you want a picture I’ll take it for you.”

The elder boy drew out his phone as you set aside your bowl to stand for them to huddle in close to Richard and his creeping grin. In a fumble in your pocket you drew out your journal to tear a blank back page free and passed the pen to Richard as you translated for the younger boy, “He’s asking if you will write, ‘I found this in the hedgerow. You have to look hard.’” Richard smirked recognizing the quote he wrote down then signed underneath it and passed it to the boys who rattled off that their Mother loved North and South and it got her to stop crying after their Dad had passed last year.

After a somehow gapless short conversation with the boys at your translations for both sides you were back in place at his side as the pair darted off home again with their prizes in hand to brighten their Mother’s day at the chance encounter. In a purr he asked you as you returned to your ice cream, “You sign and speak French?”

You giggled while swallowing your mouthful answering, “Among other things.” He raised a brow and you wet your lips, “My Gran and Gramps met in the service. Run in on a base. Though she spoke Italian and Greek while he spoke only French and a pitiful attempt at German.” Richard’s grin grew as you giggled, “Being the stubborn people they were, both refused to learn the other’s language, huge feud between Italian and French clans in their houses. So, naturally they both continued to flirt in their own languages until they found and signed up for signing classes.”

Richard chuckled, “Wow.”

You giggled and nodded, “63 years later, they still refuse to speak the other’s language and even after the wedding and the babies, oh yes,” Richard chuckled as you added, “They had twelve. The feud still lives on as does the refusal to speak the other’s language.”

Richard’s brows raised up, “Still?!”

You nodded with another giggle, “Still. I mean sure they’re both mainly fluent in the other’s language, but on principle they refuse to speak it. So the kids and grandkids its tradition to learn all the languages, including sign.”

“Wow. So, whose side are you on?”

You giggled saying, “Well, I’m in France. Though Gran booked me a three week stay with family out in Italy in a couple months to earn back the difference. Just how it is, tug of war but no clear demand to choose outright, so a clear pampered neutral right now.”

From that family was brought up with more intimate tales of your youths mingled with tales of travels. Eventually your bowls were emptied and you had turned to face one another on the bench with knees overlapping as his arm curled across the bench with his fingers brushing along the knee on your leg propped up between you as your head rested on your crossed arms on the back of the bench.

When the position had hit him he drew out his phone and stole a picture in a sudden scoot back to the end of the bench then back again making you giggle awkwardly breaking free from the position at his asking, “Why don’t we get you back to someplace softer for you to contort in before sunrise, hmm?”

Holding back your pitifully blush inducing thoughts you accepted his hand up and tried not to watch as his hand kept hold of it to rest in his between you for the walk back to the hotel as his other threw away your trash he’d collected. The time becoming more evident as you neared the hotel feeling the brisk tension of the upcoming wave of people about to embark on the start of their day while you walked sleeplessly into the elevator still locked in conversation with Richard who couldn’t help but keep inching closer to your side.

At your floor, then to your door, and then inside when a sketch you had mentioned was requested to be sent to him if possible was found in one of your journals and shown to him as you lounged against the pillow coated headboard of your bed at his side sharing that and a few more. The conversation carried on for a bit longer but at your head tapping a certain spot on his shoulder mid giggle behind your hands you seemed to hit a button that tugged you into a fierce drop into sleep on his way to finding out what the rest of your journal had inside. Warmly you snuggled at his side as your eyes clamped shut and his body turned to fold around you through a drowsy grumble and a wiggle to ease off the covers and tug you under with him in his zombie like state.

.

Alone you woke in the clearly too large of a nesting spot under the covers smelling entirely of Richard’s left over cologne that still felt warm as if he’d just slipped out. Smacking your lips you eased out of bed rolling your head and grumbling at the belt pinching your middle you quickly undid allowing you to fumble out of your jeans you left on the foot of the bed soon covered by the sweater you tugged off over your head. Staying in the bright purple lacy and silk layers you walked into the bathroom to brush your teeth and lazily make your way back to where your bag was to grab your pajamas on top of it. However halfway to it your froze at the body reentering the bedroom doorway left open that froze with wide eyes taking in your ever detail from the hidden number to your pitifully drooping bun from the top of your head you had tuck it into the night before and the fabled little brown heart on your stomach.

Without words his eyes followed yours to the pajamas he picked up then passed to you after a few steps, attempting to break the awkward silence by saying as you layered up, “I ordered breakfast. Shouldn’t be too long now.” He wet his lips, “I thought I might be able to sneak back in again after popping out to freshen up a bit.”

You nodded and without thinking your hand grabbed his and you led him back to bed easing his smile back across his face at your clearly intention of snuggling with him till the food arrived, “Thank you, for the food. I usually miss their breakfast cut off time here.”

Folding your legs under you he settled and eased off his sneakers again to tuck his legs back into bed, swinging his arm over you to rest around your side in the return to the comfortable snuggling position as you switched on the tv. Finding a program to hold each  other through in a battle not to fall asleep again lasting until the knock at the door. With the cart emptied Richard left it back in the hall and returned to your snuggling pile for the rest of the show you eventually fell asleep through once again until a couple hours before the show at a call Richard had gotten. A grin for a parting was all you got as you both resigned to showering and changing to ready for the show.

Fully dressed and bearing a fresh dab of his comforting cologne Richard stood outside your door and nearly dropped when he saw you fully dolled up for your night out. Hand in hand he led you out to the car waiting for you and loved each and every second of the show you had chosen and the late dinner he had reserved a table for after. Again at your door this time a gentle kiss was claimed with a promise for breakfast to be shared again in the morning at his cheeky request of sneaking down in his pajamas after his pre planned final set of work calls he had to see to before bed.

.

The pajama clad brit passed through your door at your opening it and made way for the bed with his hand fixed in yours to wrap you back into a sleeping nest waiting for the meal he had ordered for you both before coming down again. Once the meal was finished and cleared up again you were back in his arms melting into the kiss he claimed from you breaking at his grin from your soft sigh. Easing his forehead against yours breaking your attempt at burrowing your head in the crook of his neck. The loss of his hand on your side left a warm handprint where it had been to stroke his fingers gently across your cheek adoringly through his purred plea, “Please tell me you aren’t jetting off today.”

Through his lips planting on yours again you giggled softly then replied after his lips left yours, “Two and a half weeks.”

Wider his grin spread and he rumbled back, “Good. I have three weeks free before being tugged away again. Plenty of time to enjoy Paris with you and then follow you back home again for a few more days, if you wouldn’t mind.” Gently he moved your hand from his chest to kiss your knuckles widening your grin in return.

“You really assume I might turn you down?”

Richard smirked and purred, “We did just meet for the first time a couple days ago.” The ding from his phone made him roll back to claim his phone that made his smirk deepen reading his notification, “Your update.”

You giggled as he unlocked his phone to read it as you buried your head in the crook of his neck mumbling, “Just a warning, Francis pleasures himself in that part.”

Richard couldn’t help but chuckle rumbling back after a nip at his lip, “Good. Poor thing has been holding back, needs a release of some sort.” His head turned to press a kiss to your temple, “I do love how you express the tensions with these scenes.”

Against his shoulder you mumbled, “I, how are you fine with this?”

He chuckled after kissing your forehead again, “It is so masterfully done I often forget I have played the role at all until their names snap back to my attention.” His eyes trailed from you to the story he grinned and nipped his lip through while you hid and tried not to peek up at the username of the account he was leaving his review on until he chose to tell you himself.

.

Day after day for two and a half weeks you explored all there was to see hand in hand returning to snuggle and kiss your handsome stranger who by the day was growing more and more affectionate towards you. Back again you found yourselves in the same airport with matching bags checked stirring chuckles from you both. To the gate you found your way and waited for your chance to board, Richard with a far wider grin knowing he’d managed to swap both your tickets for joining seats in first class for the long flight so he could delve into your stories with you to explain his questions fully withholding his affections publicly until you had landed.

A few days after commuting back and forth to meet up with you Richard again was off into the air after a knee buckling final kiss and a promise to meet up with you again in Italy. 

...

Though at his assumed missed chance with you after a delayed flight in he slumped up to his assigned room, ignoring the creeping grin on the manager’s face as he left him at the door. In an irritated sigh he left his shoes by his bag in the living room and made his way in the dark for the bedroom, using the light in the main hall to guide him to drop heavily onto the bed. The shifting body he partially fell on made him jerk back up though to his knees lost for words as his chest tightened only to ease at the lamp being switched on revealing you curled up hiding another lacy number behind one of the pillows and comforter.

Instantly a curious smirk eased onto his lips as you asked, “Richard?”

In a low purr he asked, “Did you leave plans for me to get a key to this room?”

You shook your head only to drop your forehead to your knees with a low groan, “Gran.”

He chuckled then purred, “What does your gran have to do with this?”

You sighed and raised your head, “Her Cousin owns the hotel. Gramps’ relative must have told him about France.”

Richard chuckled again, “You don’t mind?”

Shaking your head he grinned moving to ease the clovers down, removing his belt to lay at the foot of the bed while crawling towards the pillows under the covers you brushed back for him to be curled in his arms. In a reach back he switched off the lamp allowing you to move the pillow covering your chest behind you then grip the covers to wrap around yourself hiding your skimpy layers to settle in his arms while he folded around you. Steadily his grin returned at your nose blindly stroking against his making him purr, “Back to sleep Darling.”

A soft chuckle left you and you whispered almost at his lips, “In a minute.” Tilting your head just slightly easing your lips into planting against his stirring a deep chuckle from him through his lean in to return the deepening kiss.

[jimlingss]

Starlet and Moonstruck [1]

Chapter 1||Chapter 2||Chapter 3||Chapter 4||Chapter 5

Words: 8.7k Genre: Fluff & Humour, Actress!Au Summary: As a newcomer actress struggling to make a name for yourself in the tough industry, you’re absolutely ecstatic to see your Dispatch pictures on the front page of Naver....but..what is this?! This isn’t about you! 

Who’s the third guy from the left?!

Cr.

Lights. Camera. Action.

“Y/N! Y/N! Y/N!” The chanting of your name begins simultaneously as the car door slides open and you step out. Your mouth draws into a huge smile, cheeks swelling, hand waving and the shrieking elevates. The screams from your fans beg you to spare any amount of attention to them. The journalists lean over the metal fence barrier, shoving their microphone in your direction and yelling out questions to supposed rumours. The artificial light flashes of the cameras provide you with luminescence, reminding you of a rave show, capturing your best angles with the long lenses. The shouts and clicking frenzy ricochets off the midnight sky.

You continue with black heels strutting against the red carpet, offering a last smile as you turn into the building. The life of fame is such a tough one.

“Uh, miss….did you pay for your ticket?”

Unfortunately, it’s a mere mirage.

You tug down your sunglasses, pupils narrowed into the ticket boy and he blinks at you, unfazed. Your hand reaches up, taking off the black face mask and you clear your throat. He still doesn’t recognize who you are and you give a mirthless laugh, ripping open your purse to slap a crisp bill on the counter.

“What movie?”

“When Spring Meets Autumn.” You tap your fingernails against the counter. “One ticket.”

“Uh-huh.” The teenager behind the booth makes excruciatingly slow movements, as if attempting to purposely piss you off. It’s a full minute later before he hands you the slip of paper and directs you to which auditorium.

You scoff, strutting away while putting on your disguise again, fearing that someone will see you for who you really are. It would be terribly inconvenient for you to draw a crowd at a time like this.

You find a spot smack dab in the rows of seats and the spaces around you end up getting filled out as the commercials roll in the meantime. Some folks give you odd stares and you decide to finally take off your sunglasses, rewarding them to sneak a peek at your face. But they simply turn around without a single comment.

There’s no time to dwell, not when the lights have dimmed and the movie is beginning.

“No! Sunhwa! You can’t do it! You can’t go back to him! He hurt you!”

It’s surreal to be watching on the large screen, to hear your own voice and see your own facial expressions. You murmur underneath your breath, “promise me one thing….promise me you’ll find happiness elsewhere and not with that bastard.”

“Promise me one thing!” Your visage is marred by a frown, tears running down your flushed cheeks and from your spot in the theater, you admire how pretty you look. It’s convincing as well, striking a chord from deep within. “Promise me you’ll find happiness elsewhere and not with that bastard.”

You let out a squeak at the way you enunciated ‘bastard’ with absolute spite. The main character and actress looks out the window and sure, while you might be playing a minor role, this is still something that can be used to propel you higher into your career.

A few more scenes pass by but you’re preparing for the one and only….

“SUNHWA!”

There’s the screech of the tires halting on pavement, a single scream and the car collides with your body. The epic, sad music begins to play and you commemorate how well you play dead on the road, though it only lasts a handful of seconds. In the next scene, it’s your funeral.

Two hours later, the movie has ended and you leave the theater with a humongous smile.

Why not? You decide to appease your fans and you take off your glasses, waiting by the door as people exit the movie, discussing the ending and how it was a mediocre film at best.

No one looks twice at you.

You clear your throat loudly and awkwardly as if you were choking. Some high school kid tapping away at their phone looks up to see if you’re dying. “Are you okay-”

“Did you see me?”

“What?”

You rest your elbow against the wall, hand touching your forehead as you sweep your hair back. “The movie. I was in it.”

The student frowns, a bit weirded out from you. “You were?”

“I was the main character’s best friend...you know, I was there for the first ten minutes in like three scenes. There was a car accident in the beginning.”

He shoots his brows upwards. “There was an accident?”

You exhale a long breath. Okay, the movie is two hours and a half, you might’ve only shown up for ten and a lot of shit does go down but how could this high school child not remember the plot at all?! Your death was the basis for everything else! It’s very important…

Right?!

//

It’s been your dream since you were young, when you could barely even count your own fingers. You cried for a fictional character, a name and actress that you didn’t know but what you did know was that you wanted to be like her. A starlet.

At four, while others your age wanted to be a princess or fairy, when asked, you said you wanted to be an actress. They encouraged you and smiled, praising how cute you were.

At ten, you declared that you would become an actress. They said ‘oh’ and many people wished you luck while skeptically walking away.

At eighteen, you set out a plan to become an actress and how to get to the road of fame. Your friends rolled their eyes, teachers told you to set realistic standards and your parents yelled at you to stop daydreaming.

But here you are….

Sort of.

It’s a bitter pill to swallow and even harder to admit, but after so many years of grueling hard work and begging on your knees, all the roles you have obtained are incredibly forgettable.

You don’t blame the high schooler for not knowing you were in the movie. Even the director forgot to put your name in the credits and you weren’t called to the premiers either. But it’s okay, you don’t really mind. Your manager got angry on your behalf anyways.

“Oh my! My stomach hurts so much! What should I do?” You spin around, holding a pill bottle in your hands. A single wink and finger gun motion later, you muster a bright smile. “NIJ Laxative Pills will cure your bowel way! Helps with constipation! Now I feel so much better!”

You hold yourself still and after a second, the director yells ‘cut!’.

“That was great, Y/N,” he says sitting from his chair and you monitor your performance with scrutinizing pupils. “Except, can you act more in pain? How about you sit on the toilet and rub your stomach. Don’t be afraid to look ugly. Remember, you’re constipated.”

“Okay! I can do that!” You bow waist down to the director before racing back onto set.

The staff watches, some coordis snickering at the way you gurgle and moan in fake pain, perched on top of the toilet. You end up spinning around and saying the second portion of your lines in a different outfit. Finally, after twenty takes and four hours, it’s over.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.” You bow towards the director and all the staff, not caring about how a few of them give mocking smiles and how the director doesn’t say a single word in response or glance in your direction. Your hands are clasped together and you continue to express your gratitude to each person until they’ve walked away. “Thank you.”

It might be an embarrassing commercial and they might’ve laughed at you but you’re lucky to be here.

//

“Listen, we’re going to make your big break soon! I just know it, Y/N. Don’t give up! You have talent and someone will eventually notice!” Soo-Ae, your sweet manager has a stern expression and you nod with a newfound determination.

Aside from managing your schedule and assisting you every step of the way, Soo-Ae is your personal cheerleader and the backbone to your entire career. When there’s nobody there, she never fails to support and encourage you.

“The CF turned out great and your recent movie got you more fans!” She smiles, fixing a strand of your hair and smoothing out your golden teacup dress as the stylists pack up. “Soon more articles will pop up and it’ll be the start of something great.”

Six years ago at eighteen years of age, fresh out of high school and bare-faced, your audition blew the older woman’s socks off. She claimed that you have a brilliant gift and your manager went as far as to beg the higher-ups of the company to take you in. To this day, she is still the one who finds all the opportunities for you.

“Thank you.” You feel a tear pricking at your eyes but you repress it in fear of smudging your mascara. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“Oh please, your success is mine.” The woman places her hands on your shoulders and you muse that she’s truly the older sister that you’ve never had. “There’s also something else that I need to tell you, Y/N.”

You look away from your reflection in the mirror. “What is it?”

“Don’t freak out. I want you to remain calm. But I got in touch with a company recently and after a lot of discussion, they’ve agreed to take pictures of you.”

There’s a bit of silence, anticipation building in your stomach as your mind races. “Who?”

“It’s Dispatch.”

You nearly drop to the ground right then and there.

Click.

But the flash of the camera breaks you out of your daze. The photographer smiles and you gather up a wider grin, raising your hand for a wave, tipping your head to one side. You’re pretending to walk into the company building nonchalantly, as if they had caught you by surprise but this is far from normal. It’s not everyday that you get the opportunity to pose for one of the most popular newsgroups.

You’re internally screaming as the clicks continue to go off and you try to make different expressions, straightening your posture, lips meekly turned upwards. There are a few people near the metal gate barrier, fans holding up signs with your name and shouting out for your attention. You’re not sure how many people there are planted by your manager and how many are actually real but it’s still nice to have some sort of backdrop that might hint to your oncoming fame.

“Alright, that was great!” As the photographer drops his expensive camera, the cheering simultaneously dies out. Like you suspected, all of those people crying out for you are fake.

A sharp sting bites the muscle beating near your rib cage but the hurt is interrupted when you catch a black cloud of hair, a tall figure wearing a bright red cap standing amongst the female crowd, a rather cute face-

“Well, the article should come out later today or tomorrow.” Dispatch’s photographer interrupts your daydream and you whip your head around, listening attentively. “We like to work fast and it’s no problem when we’re only releasing a few photographs and a couple of sentences.”

“O-oh, thank you.” You bow and he hums, nodding his head.

Your manager comes outside, smiling towards the people behind the barrier who begins to scatter, breaking the cardboard signs of your name and throwing the posters into the trash. Soo-Ae goes to speak to the Dispatch employee about some details in the article while you skip into the building.

You’re giggling and twirling, beaming with happiness. This could be it. This is the one thing that could propel your dreams and make them become fulfilled.

You leave the front entrance behind, abandoning your fake fans that were hired by your manager. Unknowingly, you leave one real one behind as well.

//

The laptop screen lights up in bright colours. You’re seen in the center on a white toilet, a cute growl leaving your stomach as your face twists up. “My stomach hurts so much. What should I do?!”

There’s a poof and you’re seen twirling around in a different outfit, facing the front again with a pill bottle in your hand. You give a charming wink and a finger gun motion, smiling vividly. The music jingle plays ‘bah-dah-ba’.

“NIJ Laxative Pills will cure your bowel way! Helps with constipation! Now, I feel so much better!”

The logo flares on screen as a deeper voice on the CF sounds, one that speaks rapidly, whispering all the cautionary warnings of the brand and how consumers must ingest by their own discretion and the company isn’t held responsible for any damages.

Yet, you’re not paying any attention to your new commercial that you’ve watched at least a thousand times. You’re on your phone, eyes glued to the screen, teeth chewing the nail of your thumb, muttering incoherently under your breath. Stop freaking out, stop freaking out, stop freaking out, you chant back to yourself to calm down.

It’s one in the morning and the Dispatch article was released hours ago. You’ve been too scared to check, to see what they said about you, what the comments are, how you look in the photos. But now you’ve built up the courage and with a trembling finger, you press onto the app, refreshing the page….

Naver appears and you’re about to search for your article, only to be stopped with a gasping breath. IT’S….IT’S…

IT’S ON THE FRONT PAGE?!

The written piece with your face as the icon, headlines running across the screen is trending, at the very top and your heart gets stuck in your throat. You begin to sob uncontrollably, feeling overwhelmed, both happy and relieved, enthralled with excitement and the burden of trying for so many years have been lifted off your shoulders. It’s here.

Fame has come knocking at your door.

You double tap on the article, wiping away your drenched cheeks. The page pulls up with a handful of lovely photographs of yourself and carelessly written captions underneath. You’re quite splendid in them, smiling without showing the stiffness, clear skin and bright eyes, a gorgeous dress that doesn’t take away from your appearance. But you don’t dwell on the pictures, quickly sliding your hand down the screen to view the comments underneath. They begin to load and you hold the air in your lungs…

[New Rising Actress Y/N Gathers Fans at Company Entrance]

1. [+3,233, -68] Oh my god. Who is that third guy from the left?!

2. [+2,987, -145] That third guy from the left in the back is crazy handsome. If that guy is reading this comment right now, please marry me!!

3. [+2,336, -38] Holy sh*t, that guy in the red hat is so freaking cute. His smile is killer, wow! It’s unreal. Is he an actor or an idol??? I need to know his name asap!

4. [+1,062, -57] It’s a shame I’m a fifty year old married woman. Please become my son in law! My daughter went to Seoul University and she needs someone like you!!

5. [+789, -20] ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ Isn’t it funny that this random fan got more attention that this nobody actress?

6. [+490, -23] Who is this actress though?

7. [+260, -15] Dispatch, please take photos of the third guy from the left next!

8. [+13, -3] Ah, I wish she would move a bit more to the right. Or maybe just out of the screen.

9. [+12, -2] ㅋㅋ This actress is a nobody! ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ

You scroll all the way back up to the photographs and exactly like the comments, your face pales in comparison to the man; the third one from the left, standing behind the metal fence barrier amongst the crowd of fake fans, smiling innocently with a red cap on. He’s in nothing but a plain white and blue jersey, black disheveled hair poking out, absolutely breathtaking.

The mysterious person looks worlds better compared to you who’s dolled up and perfected with layers of makeup. It took you a tremendous amount of effort to get to where you are, yet he’s nothing more than a bystander, a stranger who’s gained what you desired most.

“My stomach hurts so much. What should I do?!” The jingle plays in the background. “NIJ Laxative Pills will cure your bowel way! Helps with constipation! Now, I feel so much better!”

You slam down your laptop, silencing the embarrassing commercial and it occurs to you how quiet and dark the apartment has become. You sink down into your bed, not bothering to turn off the lamp as your tears trickle from your eyes and onto the pillow, creating a damp mess.

Who’s that actress though? She’s a nobody.

Tiny sobs break through your mouth and you chuck your mobile device away, letting you weep yourself until exhaustion has taken you.

//

The man sits across from you, smiling and happy to be in the presence of another beautiful individual. You solemnly pick at the food in your plate, nodding lifelessly as he blabbers on. The meal is eventually finished, two hours passed and you follow after him in the elevator, feet shuffling on muscle memory while your brain is a kilometer away. You don’t catch onto his sly glimpses of you.

It doesn’t truly occur to you where you’re going until the older man is fishing for his hotel room key card, his other hand snaking to the dips of your waist and gently palming over your ass.

You immediately snap out of it, flinching out of the stranger’s grasps, feeling lightheaded from the one glass of wine. The man takes notice of your abrupt movement and his hand freezes, eyebrow cocked upwards, “What’s wrong?”

“I-uh….I’m just feeling a little tired.” You manage to plaster on a meek smile, brushing your hair back and speaking in a soft and honeyed voice, “I think I should head home.”

“So soon?” He rests against the doorway, scanning you from head to toe while licking his lips, as if envisioning what you would look like stripped from the short black dress, thrown onto the mattress with your lipstick smeared and your mascara running down your cheeks.

You hide your disgust with a clearing of your throat and he nudges towards the hotel room. “You could come inside and rest. I promise we’ll only talk business in there and...maybe we can have a bit of fun too afterwards. It’ll be good for you, Y/N. I can guarantee that you’ll feel good as well.”

A muscle in near your eye twitches and your jaw feels numb from the exaggerated grin but you keep it up. You bow your head to show your respect and for the purpose of seniority. “I’m okay. Thank you, I had a nice time.”

Your manager, Soo-Ae, had told you that someone in the industry was interested in you and your work. You instantly agreed to have dinner with him and meet him for potential opportunities but what you failed to realize, while your mind was preoccupied from the Naver article, was that this was a sponsorship offer - sexual favours in exchange for money and power.

“Are you sure you want to leave?” He stops you from escaping, purposely moving in your way. The older man reeks of cologne and you hold in a cough. “I could get you the roles that you want.”

Upon hearing his confident statement, you waver. He must detect it in your expression since he continues on with the sweet coaxings. “There’s nothing to worry about. A lot of celebrities like you come to me for help. I have connections, I know people. The things that you want, the roles, I could easily get them for you in the blink of an eye.”

The man’s large hand clasps around your wrist, giving a light tug and he smiles. “And I know a lot more people would want to help you too. Not only would you get the fame that you’ve always dreamed of but you’ll be rich beyond belief. Money, luxury, clothes, films, CFs, dramas - it’s all yours. All you have to do is be obedient and listen.”

His whispers and the deep timbre of the man’s vibrating voice causes you to swallow hard. It’s the devil’s offer, a dream or a miracle, something that you’d never be able to obtain out of your own will.

Yet, you pry his grip off of you, standing your ground. “That’s not the method I want to take to reach my dreams.”

He mirthlessly chuckles, a cold tone ringing in the empty hallway to the private hotel suite. “You sure are stupidly naive for being in this industry for six years. Just put down your goddamn pride for once. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. This is the only way you’ll make it, sweetheart. You really think you can become famous purely by your hard work? What a joke.”

The older man rolls his eyes, clearly pissed off at how you’re wasting his time and not spreading your legs automatically like people in the past have. Instead, you bow your head once more, fingernails sinking into your skin to hold in the tears that threaten to pour.

“I’m going to leave now. Thank you for the dinner. Goodbye.”

“Mark my words,” he calls after you in a booming voice, “you’ll come crawling back one way or another!”

//

When you can’t cry, you smile. When you can’t scream, you laugh.

There’s no time or place to complain or whine, to be enraged or sorrowful, not in this cut-throat industry that would slice you up like a sirloin steak the moment they catch a flicker of a weakness. You haven’t even made it yet. You can’t sob for what you don’t have.

“My stomach is hurting so badly, help me.” The main actress for the comedy television drama collapses on the counter. You twirl around in your white coat, acting as the local pharmacist.

“What did you eat recently?”

The actress frowns and recalls in her mind, muttering underneath her breath, “Bong-su….this morning…” A flash of recognition slaps her across the face but she clutches onto her stomach.

You smile, sliding over a NIJ laxative pill bottle over the counter which she takes gratefully.

“Cut!”

The director’s cue causes the entire set to rush forward, fixing the actress’ messy hair and makeup to prepare for the next scene. You step out from behind the counter, bowing to her to which she smiles and tells you what a good job you did. You thank the director and the rest of the staff as you leave.

It was only a brief cameo, probably something that might be aired for less than a minute. Still, any exposure is good exposure at this point.

You’re in the dressing room, packing up your bag when your phone begins to spasm in your pocket. You apologize to the stylists for the noisy sound and you smile at your manager’s name that’s displayed across the screen. She wasn’t too happy that you made the potential sponsor and perhaps future associate angry but she ultimately brushed it away.

You pick up the phone call, wondering if Soo-Ae already received another opportunity for you.

“Hello?”

“Y/N, are you done with filming? Come to the company building right now, there’s something important that I need to tell you. I’m on the fifth floor, fourth conference room in the west wing. Hurry.”

//

“No.”

You thought at this point, you’d almost do anything to make it big but this is your absolute limit. “I can’t. It’s embarrassing. It’s horrible. I just can’t.”

“Y/N…” Soo-Ae sighs and rubs her temples for an extended second. She’s leaning against the table, her feet and arms crossed, watching you pace back and forth. “You don’t have a choice.”

A nervous breakdown comes knocking at the door, distress holding your frame captive and you shake your head, grasping onto the hair near your scalp. “No. No!”

Your manager inhales a deep breath and pushes herself to stand properly. She takes three strides up to you and presses her comforting hands on your shoulders, locking your eyes with her’s. The oncoming mental collapse barrelling towards you temporarily halts.

“Listen to me, Y/N, and listen carefully. At this point, the company is willing to try anything that will work. The PR team and I have spoken and they’re right. It’s been six fucking long years and if your career doesn’t propel up now, it’s all over. We’re both not getting younger and it’ll get harder and harder from here. This is just a way to draw attention to you so that people can see you for who you really are, your talents and gifts. It’s a strategy, a tactic.” Her desperation manages to coax you an inch. “I know you can do this, Y/N. It’s worth a shot.”

She’s right. You’ve made it this far. Are you really going to stop now? How can you bear to let all your efforts go to waste?

You slowly enunciate the word, “okay.”

Soo-Ae smiles at your response. “Good.”

“Where is he?”

Your life is one tragic comedy.

“He’s in the next room over.”

No...No...No…

You’re screaming internally from denial. ‘Yes..Yes...Yes…’, your manager’s light shoves conveys and you’re forced to open the door. There’s broad shoulders and a large backside that greets you. A black cloud of hair sits on top of his head, untamed and poofy. The head turns and shining, bright eyes crinkle with the humongous grin. The man is more so of a boy, carrying an innocent aura that seems heightened with his excitement. He’s in nothing more than a navy green jacket, dark jeans but he’s unmistakably drop dead gorgeous.

He’s even more beautiful than the photos and for a moment, you’re blown away, forgetting who the actual celebrity in the room is. Fuck. You’re envious of him.

There’s silence.

You stare at him. He stares at you. You wonder how someone can have such pillowy lips, strong brows that create a cute face, look so perfected as if they were sculpted from a deity’s hands. It doesn’t occur to you that he’s completely starstruck in your presence.

After a jab from your manager, you sigh and snap out of your trance. “Are you my new bodyguard?”

“Yes, I am!” He shouts in elation and you frown, questioning if you heard him let out a squeal. His smile is so wide, you ponder if it might break his face - if it does, you’ll celebrate. “My name is Kim Seokjin! It’s nice to finally meet you!”

You wish you could say the same.

//

It’s unbearable. Kim Seokjin, infamous Third Guy From The Left, follows you around everywhere you go. His presence is a constant reminder that you couldn’t become famous on your own and reach your dreams with your own talents. Instead, you have to ride off of his fame, utilize his nice face as a strategy to gain attention from the public. It’s sad. It’s humiliating.

It’s even worse that he’s so goddamn annoying.

“Will you stop whistling?!” You snap at him in the van and he jolts, immediately quieting down.

He dips his head, lips slightly pouting but the genuine sadness is felt through his softly whispered words, “I’m sorry.”

Goddammit. Now you feel like the villain.

And why does he have to look like that? Like a kicked puppy?

“Can you stop staring at me?!” You growl at him and he whirls his head to look at the window, wincing from your harsh tone. He murmurs another apology and you groan, fingers pinching the bridge of your nose from the accumulating stress.

You can’t help feeling nothing but disdain for him. It’s unfair. He’s done nothing to get to where he is, to have his nickname trending and all over the front page of news sites. Paparazzi and people alike are searching for him, to find out more details, his name and age, to satisfy the curious netizens. It’s infuriating.

“Carry my stuff.”

Seokjin catches the bags that you hurl towards him and he cheerfully pulls your luggage into the building after you. He still remains happy-go-lucky, humming under his breath, chasing after your tail and always….always staring at you like he can’t believe he’s actually with you.

You don’t know what that guy’s problem is. “Go fetch me some water.”

“Okay!”

But you have to endure this.

Your manager was right after all. There have been pictures released with Seokjin standing beside you and it’s blown up, some speculating that he may be your boyfriend while most put two and two together, figuring out that he’s your new bodyguard. Of course, your name is linked with his too. Whatever fame he gains, you’re also benefiting.

You repeat the single statement to yourself over and over again: ‘any exposure is good exposure at this point’.

“No, I don’t want this water!” You chuck the bottle to the ground, letting him watch it roll to his feet. “Go downstairs and take the elevator to the second floor. At the east wing, four doors down to the left, not right, there's a coffee break room. Go to the back where the mini-fridge is and take the bottle from the first shelf, not the third one or the one attached to the door. Got that?”

He lifts up his hand, eyes widening. “W-wait-!”

“Go.”

You turn towards the mirror, picking apart the flaws to cover them up with a thick layer of concealer. It’s not until ten minutes have passed before your manager comes into the room, monetarily glaring at the stylists tapping away at their phones in the corner. “Where’s Seokjin?”

“Hmm?” You twirl a piece of your hair, glancing over at Soo-Ae.

That’s right….where did he go?

There’s a thought that knocks the wind out of your lungs - what if he left? Maybe you scared him off….good….but no-.....that’s bad. You need him. Rather, you need his fame and his gorgeous face.

You end up running around the entire building, asking others if they’ve seen him and chasing after his shadow, places where you miss him by a mere couple of seconds. Your polished hair becomes a mess, makeup smudged and clothes rumpled. You would feel angered...if only you didn’t feel so guilty first.

“Um, excuse me. Do you know where the east wing to the second floor is?”

“Kim Seokjin!” Your guilt heightens as he swivels his head over, an enormous grin tugging his lips and causing his cheeks to swell. He bows his head towards the worker who hums and leaves. Seokjin’s eyes are gleaming as he skips over to you, transforming from a lost puppy into a happy dog that’s finally found its owner. “What are you doing?!”

“I’m sorry. I got lost and I didn’t know how to go back either. This building’s really big! But I got you some water! It’s not the one in the mini-fridge but I found-”

You take the bottle in his hand with a long sigh, defeated with his undying eagerness. “I don’t need water anymore. Let’s just go back, okay?”

Seokjin audibly squeals when you take his hand, holding it in yours and lugging him along the maze of halls. You turn around, lifting up a brow and he downcasts his head, the tips of his ears burning a bright shade of red, attempting to repress another big smile and failing.

//

The stylists grumble as they fix the mess on your head and on your face. However, when Seokjin takes a seat next to you at the dressing tables, they seem absolutely elated, shoving each other lightly to battle who gets to brush his lashes and groom his brows.

“Why is he getting styled as well?”

You watch as the coordinator rushes to prepare a suit for him, steaming out all the wrinkles and measuring his arm with tape. “He’s supposed to be my bodyguard!”

Soo-Ae comforts you with her hand tapping your back in steady beats. “Don’t complain, Y/N. One day, you’ll thank him, I know it.”

There was another opportunity, more specifically, a pictorial with CeCi magazine. Obviously, you nearly soiled your pants when your manager told you but what you didn’t expect was for Seokjin to be involved with it as well.

There’s a bright flash from the camera and Seokjin flinches.

“Can you please relax?” The photographer asks him and you observe him fumble around. You don’t know if you should laugh at him or cry. The poor boy is so stiff and confused, only able to clasp his hands behind his back and give a pretty smile. He fails with any other pose, stance or expression and constantly looks over at you with distress.

There’s another click, a flash and your newly hired bodyguard is caught mid-blink on the monitor.

“No! No! Just stop scrunching your eyebrows. Relax your shoulders…..take a step forward...now to the right, okay. No, you still look tense. Don’t worry about anything. Look into the camera now.”

“I’m sorry.” He cries out, limbs awkwardly hanging by his side. The coordis and stylists look on in disappointment and revulsion for the way his handsome face has gone to waste by the lack of his skills. It’s a pitiful sight unraveling in front of you as Seokjin grows more and more distraught. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” The photographer exhales in exasperation, dropping his camera and spinning around to look at you. He mumbles something about getting it done and over with. “What’s your name? Y/N? You can come over now.”

Seokjin breathes out a sigh of relief when you step onto the set. The white backdrop and studio umbrella lights surround him, the fluorescent artificial tubes seering into his irises. You feel a bit of compassion for the male, how he was thrown in abruptly without much of a warning. It can be overwhelming to have a camera lense solely on you, for the bright lights to burn to the back of your skull, for everyone to be watching in deafening silence, anticipating something amazing to happen.

The pressure could break anyone.

You, at the very least, have to admit that he looks quite spectacular in his suit. It’s tailored to fit and hug his body, giving him an affluent vibe, despite the natural innocent and childlike aura. Seokjin looks like a rich heir of three generations of CEOs. In comparison, the coordinator chose for you to wear a lace baby pink dress that stops mid-thigh, paired with a fitted white blazer coat that matches the length of the dress and black kitten heels. Roseate flowers clip the side of your hair back, matching the colour of your matte lipstick. For once, you’re mildly satisfied with how you look.

The best thing you can do now is to put on an act and ease him.

“Calm down.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” You smile and Seokjin’s cheeks grow warm. “Don’t be self-conscious. Pretend that it’s just me and you. There’s nothing to be afraid of, honestly.”

You place a hand on his shoulder, looking up at the male and he gazes back into your twinkling orbs. There’s a gasp in the corner of the room but the two of you don’t notice. The camera flashes.

If you were being truthful, you were anxious as well. It was your first time ever shooting for a pictorial and for a famous magazine agency at that. But seeing Seokjin clumsy and frightened, somehow made you feel calmer. You don’t know anything about him, but it still amazes you how beautiful he looks up close.

“Are you nervous around me?” You incline your head to one side, grinning at how his cheeks are flaming red and the tip of his ears look like they’ve caught on fire. His breathing has halted, his heart is thundering underneath his chest. Seokjin coyly smiles and you step closer to him.

He recoils back, startled but you pull him closer. Your hand is around the nape of his neck and you stare at his thick, pillow lips with half-lidded eyes. “That’s great!” The photographer shouts and Seokjin’s bewildered expression is marred when he realizes you’re only in this narrow proximity with him for the photographs. His hand naturally takes hold of your waist and you melt into his arms, lolling your head to give a mesmerized gaze at the lens of the camera.

There’s a click, a flash, the lights illuminating your visage.

Seokjin continues to focus on you, his gaze pinned on your features. You look off at the camera, sometimes giving a sly smile and other times, expressionless. The both of you change positions from his arm draped over your shoulder to you embracing him, his backside towards the photographer, the profile of his face seen when he tilts his head ninety degrees.

The room has gone silent. Coordinators and stylists, your manager, all watching in awe. The photographer is bouncing around the room, spamming his camera, screaming out compliments as he’s found his lifetime muse or that this is the greatest photoshoot in existence. “Holy shit! Wow! One more shot, one more shot!”

You and Seokjin look at each other at the same time, bursting out into laughter.

The camera flashes again.

You put on an act, ignoring the anger and jealousy, attempting to be civilized and pull Seokjin in for the sake of getting good photos. It’s all the more ironic that you’re the one gravitating towards him. And you don’t realize that you forgot you were acting.

//

“The pictorial blew up!” Your manager screeches through the phone and you immediately go to pull up the article.

The pictures are as stunning as the previews you saw through the monitor on the day of the shoot. For a moment, you’re captivated by how beautiful the final HD versions are, especially with the softened filter that adds a romantic and sweet atmosphere. Your face is poreless, hair smooth and body without a flaw. You wish you looked that good in reality.

Seokjin is even more magnetizing than you are, his expressions without a hint of awkwardness or tension. Though his best takes are the ones where he’s staring at you…..

You wonder why that is.

Without dwelling too much, you scroll down to the comments.

[Rookie Actress Y/N and Third Guy From The Left’s First Pictorial with CeCi]

1. [+4,955, -128] Third guy from the left strikes again! But who is this actress?

2. [+3,803, -80] Wow. They seriously look like a modern prince and princess!

3. [+3,076, -54] Thank you for washing my eyes. Ah~ it’s a visual paradise!!!

4. [+2,606, -79] F*cking crazy...beautiful people do live in another world.

5. [+1,921, -891] You have to admit that she’s really pretty too. It’s a fact that she’s a natural beauty.

6. [+683, -27] I’m so jealous of her. She must’ve saved an entire country in her past life to be standing next to him.

7. [+679, -52] But why does she need a bodyguard if she doesn’t have any fans? ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ

8. [+656, -57] Is it true that he’s her bodyguard?

9. [+83, -79] ㅋㅋㅋBut why is the supposed bodyguard in the pictorial????? ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ

You scroll past thousands of comments, silently agreeing with the ones that ask why your bodyguard would be in something like this. But your manager and the PR team were right. Your name is being taken with his and whatever fame Seokjin receives, you gain from it too.

In your apartment with the dim lights, you decide to look up his name in the search bar.

You’re aware it’s the worst thing you can do. You’ve been told by your manager and countless others to never search yourself up on the internet. Most comments are never kind and you don’t need an external source of criticism when you already internally self-deprecate yourself.

But the curiosity is too strong and ultimately wins over.

‘Third Guy From The Left Official Fan Club’ comes up and your mouth drops open. The membership to his official fan club is in the hundred thousands. When you look up at your name, one of the top sites is an anti-fan club. You decide to enter your official fancafe, only to find that it’s still at a hundred followers. It hasn’t shifted, not by one.

Why are you not surprised?

It’s not like you were ever good enough to be liked by other people anyways.

//

Seokjin gains a new name. From ‘Third Guy From The Left’, it has evolved into ‘Great Guy’.

There are gif sets of him walking down the street, browsing in stores, caught eating in restaurants all over twitter; clips of him put onto instagram, articles posted on instiz and nate. You’re always there in the corner of the photographs or clips too...occasionally blurred out.

Wherever you go, Seokjin’s paid to follow.

“I’m done.” You sniffle, lightly dabbing the sleeve of your sweater at your nose. “Let’s go.”

Seokjin opens the door to the restaurant and the cold air nabs at your skin. You shiver, turning around and catching the old owner lady attaching Seokjin’s signature to the wall, a request that she had asked him of when serving your food.

He continues to stare at you while you both walk alongside each other down the avenue. You can’t even go out to grab a meal in peace without your manager persisting that he joins you.

“Can you stop looking at me?” You spit out while you shake in your boots, the frost in the air kissing your forehead and cheeks. If you didn’t feel so lonely in your apartment, you would’ve called a taxi home by now.

“Were you crying?”

His whispered question causes you to stop on your heel. A frown inches its way between your brows, mind reeling if he heard your sniffling past the dingy door of the restaurant or if your eyes were still red. But you were confident upon looking in the mirror that your makeup wasn’t smudged and there was no difference in your face. Did you puffy eyes give it away?

You give him something between a scoff and a mocking chuckle, picking up your pace so he can’t have time to read your expression. “Don’t be ridiculous!”

No one’s ever been able to tell when you’re sad. You’ve always been too good at acting happy.

“S-sorry.”

A long exhale leaves your parted lips. “Don’t apologize.” There’s another extended silence and you steal a peek at Seokjin, only to find him already gazing at you. He immediately averts his stare when your eyes lock and he clears his throat, ears burning scarlet. You smile at his bashfulness, finding it easy to tease him. “You know, you were pretty good in the pictorial.”

His orbs light up. “Really?!”

“You’re good,” you admit with a nod. Doesn’t he already realize this when he looks into the mirror every morning? “Honestly, you might be a natural at it. I think you should look into some modeling agencies or talk to Soo-Ae about it. You could be famous.”

“No.” He shakes his head. “I don't want to be famous, at least not like that. And I was only decent at it because you were there. I’m...I’m a pretty awkward person.”

“I don’t think so…” You pause, looking up at him with unintentional pouting lips. “I think you’re just a bit clumsy but it’s your charm. It’s a shame you don't want to become famous. You have star potential.” A bitterness lingers on your tongue of how he’s already gained recognition but you push it away before a green monster can take hostage of your soul again.

“But if you don’t want to enter this industry, what do you want to do?”

“I-.......I want to be a director.”

He tilts his chin up, staring at the faint stars of the sky, the ones that are unable to show the true potential with the bright city lights. You’re surprised by his answer, eyebrows shooting up to your hairline. You don’t know anything about Seokjin aside from his name. But ‘director’ was an answer you weren’t expecting.

“Really?”

He hums, eyes crinkling with his gentle smile. “I’ve always wanted to make a movie - make an entire universe inside my head come to life. If I could make others feel what I feel inside, if I can share the ideas in my mind, I think that would be a dream come true. Could you imagine? My story being told on the big screens. To work with screenwriters, actresses and actors, cinematographers and editors, all to fulfil a vision and create a masterpiece…..”

As he rambles on, you’re affected by his enthusiasm, unwittingly smiling with him. It’s powerful to hear someone as desperate as you are to make their ambitions come to fruition. Most often than not, you have to encourage yourself but to listen to Seokjin, you feel rejuvenated and refreshed.

“Well, you’re on the right track.” You tell him, acknowledging that building connections is vital. If Seokjin continues to linger around you, he’d get to know the people behind the scenes and he’d be that much closer to fulfilling his goals.

He grins. “It’s all thanks to you.”

“No.” You let your own sharp words seep into your skin like barbed wire. “I’m a nobody.”

“That’s not true!” Seokjin protests in a higher pitched voice, causing you to become startled. You glare at him and he sheepishly smiles. “This might be so embarrassing and I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable but you’re the one who’s made me come this far.”

You raise a brow. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve had this dream for a long time but it was only...a dream.” He stops to sit down at a bench. You don’t realize that you’ve become mesmerized. “And then I watched your film in theaters a few months ago….”

“When Spring Meets Autumn.” “When Spring Meets Autumn.”

The pair of you respond at the same time and he nods, smiling warmly at you. “I cried in the theater at the beginning scene, the car accident, and it was so good. I was moved and when I went home, I joined your fancafe. I read about your post, how you got to where you are..”

You still remember writing out three pages of your struggles, how difficult it was for you to get to where you are, how much discouragement you experienced along the way. You poured out your heart and soul but you didn’t expect anyone to read it….until now…

Seokjin gazes at you, becoming shy in your presence and flustered, downcasting his head and murmuring, “I admire you for going after what you want. You inspired me to pursue my dream. I’m a big fan of you, Y/N.”

I’m a big fan of you, Y/N. I’m a big fan of you, Y/N. I’m a big fan of you, Y/N.

The words and the deep timbre of his voice rumbles in the hollows of your skull. You’re absolutely stunned, jaw dropped, boring your pupils into his skin, shocked out of your mind. No strung syllables have sounded sweeter in your world. Your heart trembles and you muse that you’ve found your favourite sentence in the world-

I’m a big fan of you, Y/N.

It all makes sense. Why Seokjin is always so perplexed when you come into close contact with him, why he yelps when you take his hand, the reason he’s always staring at you, why he’s so shy….why he was there on the day of your Dispatch photoshoot, cheering and calling out your name in the background.

Seokjin is your number one fan.

(He might be your only fan).

Your entire life, you’ve had no recognition. Not from teachers or parents or friends. There have been comments full of hatred, discouragement, asking you who the hell you are and telling you how you’ll never make it in this industry. To be sitting in front of someone gleaming, blabbering on and chattering about how talented you are, how great you are, how gifted you are…

You almost want to cry.

“The way you were on the road, thinking about your best friend before you passed away...wow...your pronunciation and your expressions are so damn good. I bought the movie dvd and I think I watched it four or five times by now. Oh! I also watched your commercial, the CF of the NIJ pills and it was really cute. Did you think of the dialogue? It was great! I also admire the way you respond to fans’ comments. I can really feel your appreciation in each post-”

You latch onto his hands, feeling his cold fingers with your icy ones. Seokjin flinches upon the contact, eyes grown wide and your teeth sink into the bottom of your lip, holding in a waterfall of tears.

“Thank you. Thank you so much.”

He lolls his head to one side, blinking at you. “What for?”

Seokjin already feels excited to be sitting beside you and talking to you. It’s a dream that’s been fulfilled for him. When he received a call from your company, he couldn’t believe his ears and to meet you in real life, he thought he was going to have a heart attack. He already considers himself lucky to be such a successful fan and interact with his ultimate bias on a daily basis.

His stanning life is one whirlwind fantasy come true.

You open your mouth, about to pour out your gratitude for his endless support and apologize for the way you’ve been treating him but you’re unfortunately interrupted-

“E-excuse me…” A girl with long black hair and blunt bangs, still in her high school uniform leans over with her phone still in her hands. A horde of four other teenagers are off to the side, giggling beneath their palms. “Can we take a selca with you?”

Seokjin is befuddled, lips pouted, cheeks rounded and he nods slowly, getting up to meet the crowd. They line up, taking photos with him, getting his autograph. He soon gathers a crowd of other folks, all fangirling and screeching, bouncing up and down and quietly screaming, filming him with their mobile devices. The boy tries to satisfy everyone, rushing over to sign and smile while taking pictures, lost and confused amongst the chaos.

You smile to yourself, finally admitting there's no point in denying the obvious. Seokjin is rather cute.

//

With not much to do on a Sunday evening, you decide to hop onto Pann. It isn't a site where the general public goes; typically festered with idol fans and hate for popular groups, much like Nate, but you're still curious to see what people say about you on there. Unlike Naver where there are published articles made by journalists and news groups, here people can create their own pages and discussions, a forum for fans to freely express themselves and leave comments.

To your surprise, instead of being bashed to death, you discover something much different.

[enter-talk] COME FEAST YOUR EYES! MY OPT FAIRYTALE COUPLE~

-Wow, is this real??

-I’m not a fan but even I had to save these pictures..

-They're so so so cute together!!! I love them ㅠㅠ

-I think I'm in love with the both of them..

-Unbelievable..How can people look like this..

-Please date and last long you two!

-If they had kids, they would be crazy good looking..ah~ I’m jealous of their genes already..

You scroll up from the comments, studying the photographs that were caught by bystanders on the street who saw the pair of you walking by. There's the pictorial pictures, the original Dispatch images and photoshopped ones. You notice that Seokjin’s gaze always drips of honey when it's directed at you and your smiles always seem brighter when it's around him.

You stare for the longest time at the photos, agreeing that Seokjin’s face is indeed god-level….

Your finger holds down on the images, saving them all to your gallery.

[paul-henri]

Far Off Regions, part 2

     As much as I hated serving the source of our family’s hardship, it felt like the only thing to do was enlist. So with no joy, I walked to the Army headquarters (because we had sold our last mount for a bolt of cloth) and signed up. I didn't have far to go, it was only half a mile away; walking around the back of the Alamo, with its now famous ‘hump’ on the old mission chapel barely a year old, and straight down Houston Street to the Vance building. The Army had made the two story white stone building their command post for all forces stationed in San Antonio about the same time they fixed up the Alamo.

     I made sure that in my five year contract there was a provision that guaranteed my $8 a month, paid every two months, was to be sent to my family directly. I wouldn’t need any pocket money, the army would give me everything I would need. With my papers signed they sent me with a note, signed by the commander, to the supply depot; the Alamo, where I was issued a uniform and rucksack, and a mess of gear with no idea how to put on.

I was milling around the former convento, turned into a supply loading area behind the long barracks, with fifty other recruits when a full-framed, bearded, sergeant strutted towards us. Stopping a few yards in front of our gaggle of youthful men he stated in a very even tone,

"I am Sergeant Wilkerson. I am here to instruct you in the basic military drill and infantry tactics. Now you will all fall into four even ranks. Make sure the man to your left is taller than you and the man in front of you shorter than the one behind you."

After much shuffling and rearranging I found himself center file third rank, a distinct disadvantage of being tall; I was always going to be in the back. We were marched around for a few minutes in the small yard and then paraded all the way down Houston Street.

We took a left on Soledad Street and finally stopped in Military Plaza. Our formation of troopers was facing the same court house in which I had pleaded my case not eight weeks ago. Wilkerson stopped us and assigned men to their respective barracks and bunk assignments. it seemed odd that the men stayed in the buildings lining the West and South sides of the plaza; interrupted by stores and private residences. The bunks filled quickly, so the last few of us in rank just stood there for a while after he stopped calling names.

"Alright, all you men left over will be assigned billeting at a later time, company fall in." Wilkerson said as he looked up from his roster. "Just my luck,’ I said in a bit of a stage whisper, “I'm in the back so I don't have a place to sleep." Which was quickly answered by, "It's not like I'm any better off,” from the fellow next to me. "Hey, quiet back there. Get to know each other some other time." Wilkerson yelled at us from the head of the column as we began marching again. 

This time we went along the back of San Fernando church, turning left down Flores Street then about six hundred paces and we stopped at a large stone building. It was a two story white stone, some three times longer than it was wide. There were smaller buildings to the south, lined up along Arsenal Street and two backed up to the little canal. Closing off this quadrangle was a nautical looking flag pole flanked by pyramids of cannonballs.

When we got inside the downstairs was one giant room with a long row of tables running plum down the middle, cutting the room in half. All us troops were lined up on one side looking across the counter to the back wall. Out of the center of the ceiling was a trap that was letting down a hand crank freight elevator. Three men came off the platform when it finally reached the floor, pushing a hand truck stacked with wooden crates. They cracked the top one open and the tallest one, he looked extra thin because his uniform was baggy, reached in and pulled out a musket. He read the number on the butt plate to his shorter friend holding a ledger book; then handed the weapon to the first guy in line. "Name?" There was a second of silence after he said that, "Come on we don't have all day. Do you know your name?" The scrawny one said to the recruit across from him holding the musket. "Boggess, Henry, Sir." "That's more like it; did every one hear that? You do the same when I hand you a weapon."

The process was repeated down the line until every man had a Springfield in his hands. These weapons had just arrived from the factory; but they weren’t new, they had just been converted from flintlock to percussion cap. They marched up back to main plaza with our weapons and dismissed; most of us at least. The last few of us left standing there were directed to a wagon waiting nearby. The driver was laying across the bench with his hat pulled down over his eyes and his feet kicked up on the brake lever.

"Corporal Vickers has just come to us with the light Artillery." Sergeant Wilkerson said pointing at the sleeping waggoneer, "You men will be bedding with them at Camp Crockett. This will be your taxi every day. I expect you here and ready by sunrise, dismissed."   Once Wilkerson disappeared into his own lodging the dozen or so of us left outside meandered over to the wagon and woke up our driver. We had to shake him by the boot rather vigorously before we got a, "Yeah, yeah, I'm up already." The corporal was young, probably the same age I was, but he was weathered. It wasn't just the faded uniform he wore, there was a maturity about his demeanor; a fullness and oldness that surpassed age and came from living through too much.

 Camp Crockett was two miles north of the plaza at the source of San Pedro creek. The artillery men were camped in neat rows of large A-frame tents. Each tent housed a single cannon crew; eight men. There had been two extra tents set up for the new recruits at the end of the row forming a short L wing. The long row of tents was backed up to the bubbling spring; the short row pointed towards an old stone building standing off by its self. The blockhouse looking structure had a tower on one end pierced with shooting slits and great heavy doors on two sides of the building proper; the whole thing was about 15 foot wide by 45 foot long. The corporal saw me focusing on the stone building and spoke up, 

“That is our powder reserve, ain’t no reason for any of you to go over that way. And for God’s sake don’t smoke around it.” “Did ya’ll build it?” I asked. “No, that is the oldest building in Bexar, so I’m told. They used it in case of Indian attack before the missions were built; all we did is put better doors on it.”

 At night most men all turned in early; they knew the next few days were going to be brutal. The corporal was always last to lay down, he spent the night quietly staring into the fire; but he was always the first one up. He'd sit there drinking coffee waiting for the others to get ready, and then drive us into town. After a few days he told me that he had joined the field artillery in ’46 when he was only 16 years old. He had been at the battles of Palo Alto, Buena Vista, and Vera Cruz; he had been on campaign for 21 months. The war that had ended four years earlier still haunted his dreams and he warned me that if I did ever see any action I’d never forget it. 

After a week of musket drill and marching Wilkerson asked for volunteers for the Mounted Rifle Regiment. “What’s that?” asked one of the men in the front rank. “The concept is that you ride out and then fight on foot, very similar to dragoons. The farthest outposts have to use these types of troops to control vast areas. They are all volunteer units, and you get two dollars a month more.” I was the first one to step forwards.

 “Extra pay and I didn’t have to march anymore, such a deal,” I told Vickers later that night. Now every day the corporal dropped us off at the Alamo, to draw horses, and then we rode to military plaza. Mounted Rifle recruits were issued short carbines and did mounted drill for the next month. 

It was summer, in south Texas, and it was hard to get accustomed to the stuffy wool jacket and wide billed cap. The dark blue short jacket trimmed in yellow and trousers with their black stripe edged with yellow cord did not take long to break in. The dark blue, hard side, shako trimmed in green with its funny looking angles and enormous bill were hard to get used; it just never seemed to fit right. "Where did the army get this atrocious thing?" I asked the Corporal one day as he hit a bump and the bulky thing fell down over my eyes. "Either from the French or the English; it seems that they can't come up with anything original,” the corporal told me, “To be honest when you’re out at your post most of the time they let you wear the old forage cap. This shako thing is mostly for parades and such.”