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httphopewrld · 4 years

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I Don’t Know What to Call This | (f/m/a)

Just Friends? Friends with benefits? Dating? Questions swarmed your mind when one of your dear friends, Allie, asked about you and Hoseok’s relationship. The truth was you didn’t know. You and Hoseok were close, knowing each other since elementary school, and considered each other friends. However, as you two grew older, maturing into separate professions—you a well-known fashion designer, and Hoseok a famous musician and dancer—you two had engaged in some intimate activities (sex—lots of it.) After Allie’s simple question, you had to confront your feelings. But were you and Hoseok ready to be more than close friends and f*ck buddies?

Pairing: friend/lover/bfhoseok! x female reader

Genre: slowburn fluff and SMUT

Rating: 18+ because there’s swearing and pretty detailed smut

Warnings: swearing and SMUT (one of the most detailed smuts I've written, and there's more than one sex scene.) Smut includes: switch!reader and switch!hoseok, grinding and thrusting, protective sex (USE CONDOMS, I cannot stress that enough), lots of kissing, ass-grabbing, dirty talk, a wee bit of choking on both sides, squirting, male and female oral, fingering and handjobs, vibrator use, cyber-sex, the reader uses dildo, slight degradation, and just lots of filth—YOU'RE WELCOME FELLOW FILTHY ANIMALS. Oh, and spoilers for the horror movie Hush. It's on Netflix if you haven't watched it yet. It is GOOD.

Word Count: 16, 465 (wowie)

A/N: Thank you for waiting! It’s rushed, so expect some little mistakes here an there, but I’m happy with how it turned out. I hope y'all enjoy it! Also, Y/L/N means "your last name."

Taglist: @kirbykook @kleritata @taestannie @jenotation @hemmos-obrien @zeharilisharaban @speed-of-wind @kawaisoraya

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“You can move those over there,” you gestured to the left corner of the windowed room, where a pile of boxes waited. The move was going to take longer than you expected because the movers arrived a week later than your assistant, Rachel said. I really need to talk to her about this. You stressed in your mind, rubbing your temples. “Are you okay?” You looked up, vision resuming its focus on your friend, Allie. Allie, your friend for as long as you could remember, offered to help you move to your new building. She would help you manage everything, including the movers, tracking your company's items, and the layout you gave to her for said things while managing the company. “I’m just irritated at Rachel,” you noticed her confusion, “my new assistant.” She nodded, remembering, “Right. Why is she still employed?” “Because she’s new, and being an assistant is a tough feat. She’ll get it soon.” You reassured, “Rachel is a fast learner, and this is her first mistake. We’re prepared for the next show, though, because Westley's helping me organize it.” “Remind me who Westley is?” Allie asked. You sighed. “West is like my second brain. He helps organize the fashion shows, hire the models, find the venues, and secure the guest list. He has other people help him too, but he’s the brains of that. I create the fashion, and he finds a way to present it.” Allie nodded, “Gotcha.” Your phone rang, and you answered. “Y/N.” “Y/N!” Rachel chimed on the other end. “It’s Rachel. I’m so sorry about the mix-up on dates. It won’t happen again, I—” “I know it won’t, Rachel. You’re new, so I expected to slip up. I’ve gotten it taken care of,” you nudged Allie’s arm, and she smiled. “We’re luckily prepared for the next show in Vancouver, so you don’t have to worry about the mess up. All I need you to do now is make sure that my fabrics are coming in.” “Yes! They’ve arrived at the studio.” Rachel replied. "Fantastic. Thank you. That'll be all for now. Check on West if he needs anything." You ordered. “Will do, Y/N. Talk to you soon.” You hung up. The Vancouver show was in five months, giving you and your team enough time to design the clothes for the production and move to the new building. The show's theme was natural bodies of water and nature, a nod to Canada's landscape. The clothing catalogue would include various icy blue shades to represent waterfalls and warm emerald tones like flora and fauna. These colours would be encapsulated in elegant gowns and suits, worn by different body shapes, genders, and colours. The materials would be made from recycled fabrics from your previous shows and from your fellow artists. You were known for designing elegant attire, so it was best to keep to it. However, it was rare to see different sized, coloured, and gendered models on a runway; because of having to customize clothes to those models. Additionally, making clothes from recycled fabrics would be tough. “Okay,” you began, “I need to talk to my design team and plan out the gowns. Can I leave you here to deal with the movers?” Allie gave you a thumbs up. “Thank you,” you smiled, hugging her, “if you need anything, please call me or Rachel, or both. We’ll be back to help.” Before you left, a thought struck you. You turned around to face Allie. “I should just hire you.” She chuckled, “Why?” You scoffed, "Because you're here all the time!" You walked back to her. "Listen, you're the best manager I know. You can be my third brain. You already are, outside of work, so it would make sense." Allie seemed unsure. “I already have my job at Youth and Hope.” You grasped her hands. “You would be given a great wage, not just because you’re my best friend, but because you’re going to be busy with lots of work. You would be handling the management tasks, like West. You’d be given a good amount of vacation, trips for shows and meetings would be paid for—you could get that loft you always wanted downtown.” You wiggled your eyebrows, and Allie laughed. “Don’t I have to go through an interview process?” You brushed a hand through the air. “I can get someone to interview you and officially hire you. Once that’s done, you’ll start getting paid.” You checked your watch, and a quick rush of panic ran through you. “Shit, I’m going to be late. Consider it, alright! Let me know your availability, and we’ll schedule an interview!” “Okay!” She shouted back as you left. . . The coffee had become bitter. You weren’t sure if it was the roast or the fact that this was your fourth cup of the night. It had been a month since the fabrics arrived. Thanks to Allie, your friend and now employee, your move to the new building was complete; however, your designs weren’t translating as smoothly as you wish. "Fuck," you cursed, resting your head in your hands and rubbing your temples. The sketches waited in front of you—the measurements and ideas raking at your confidence. Your designs are redundant. You’ve done something similar last time. Boring. Plain. You turned back to your mannequins, still bare. The theme was in your mind, and your design team reassured you that your sketches were fine, but it all felt fuzzy. “Y/N,” Rachel peered into the studio from the door, “there’s a gentleman here to see you.” “His name?” You asked, still looking at the mannequins. You heard footsteps retreat into the front lobby, then come back to the door. “Jung Hoseok?” You turned around, trying to contain your excitement. “Please send him in.” Rachel nodded, jogging back to the lobby. You heard a muffled “thank you” before heavy footsteps approaching your studio. Hoseok reached the doorway, beaming his signature smile. He wore acid-washed jeans, a baggy white sweater that matched his chunky light sneakers. His dark hair was slightly wavy and parted in the middle. A tote bag was slung over his shoulder. “Y/N!” He cheered, opening his arms wide. “Hoseok!” You replied, running into his arms and hugging him tightly. You couldn’t remember the last time you saw Hoseok—a year or two? “Fuck, how long has it been?” You asked him. He pulled away, thinking. “About six months?” Totally off. “Seriously, it felt longer than that.” You argued. Hoseok pulled out his phone and scrolled through his calenderer and photos. He made a ‘tsk’ sound. “Ah, see here,” he showed you a few photos of you two with his friends, who were also his bandmates, “six months ago, you joined us on tour for a couple days before coming back here. I have it also marked in my calendar.” He showed you the dates, which were marked with ‘💚Y/N’s visit💚.’ “Can Namjoon or Yoongi confirm this?” You crossed your arms. Hoseok mimicked your body language. “I can call them right now,” he challenged. You two stood in competitive tension. You succumbed. “You win this time, Jung Hoseok.” He playfully chuckled. You realized that Hoseok doesn’t live around here. “Wait, why are you in town. Shouldn’t you and the others be in Korea planning another album or something?” You speculated. “Our company gave us a month for vacation because we spent most of the year touring.” Hoseok sighed. “So, I decided to come to visit.” You hugged him again, happy to see someone who wasn’t your employee amidst this chaos of stress. “How long are you staying?” You asked, muffled against his chest. He paused. “Maybe a month?” You pulled away from him, shocked. “A month? Here? That’s all your vacation time.” “Yeah,” he replied, as if that wasn’t a big deal, “I didn’t want to travel to a bunch of places because the group and I have been doing that for almost a year—and it’s pretty chill in this area.” He sighed. “Besides, I don’t think many people would recognize me. The airport wasn’t busy, and I haven’t been swarmed by fans yet.” “Do you have a place to stay?” You asked. He nodded. “Yup! I’m staying at a fancy hotel. I got the suite at the top floor,” he made a gesture with his hand, indicating how high up his suite was. You playfully elbowed his side. "Wow, look at you, Mr. Famous. You can afford a top suite now. Are you sure you don't want to stay with me, though?” Hoseok dismissed your offer with a wave of his hand. “It’s alright, Y/N. Thank you, though.” He peered over your shoulder, “It looks like you’re busy anyway, so I think I’ll just stick to my suite.” He walked past you, over to the bare mannequins. “Are you preparing for that show in Vancouver that you told me about?” You nodded, relaying your theme and ideas to him. He smiled. “That sounds really cool,” he pointed to the mannequins, “but don’t you need some clothes for the show, then?” You rolled your eyes, chuckling at him for being a smart ass. “Yes, I do. I’m brainstorming some ideas right now, but I’m coming up with nothing. I have the design team coming in tomorrow with drafts, but I’d like to bring my own thing to the table, you know? I’m the main brain of this operation, and it’d be embarrassing if I come in with zilch.” You leaned against one of the tables, facing the mannequins. "The tough part is designing gowns that fit the right people, you know. Sure, you can make a collection of clothes, but they won't look good if they don't fit the models." You shook your head. "Maybe it's just tougher to design clothes for different bodies. I should just stick to one type of person and leave it at that." Hoseok walked up beside you, leaning against the same table and facing the figures. “Why don’t you find the models and then design the clothes?” You looked at him, surprised. “But wouldn’t that take a long time?” He crossed his arms, “Well, how many models would you need?” “We’re thinking around seventy. There’s going to be two changes within the show.” Hoseok nodded, and you could see him brainstorming. “Well, you have four months left, right? You and your team can make some drafts, cast the models, and finalize the ideas with said models. Which would take about a couple of months? You could do that while planning the show?” He paused, appearing to notice your hesitant expression. “Think about it. You’ve trained your team well enough to work on its own, right? That’s what you did for your last show, which was a success. You came in every day for a couple hours to make sure everything was in order, then focused on other things.” Hoseok grasped your hands. “You’re great at multitasking, so do it. It’s scary, but you can check on people every day to make sure everything’s alright.” You bit your lip, “I-I don’t know, Hoseok. That sounds like a lot of work—” “You did it last time, and it worked out just fine,” he gently squeezed your hands, “and I’m here for a month. I can help out whenever you need me. I’ll simply clean things up and fetch coffee if that’s what you need.” You laughed, “Like my intern?” “Yeah! I don’t know how to design anything or plan a fashion show, but I’ll do what I can.” He smiled. “You’re so much more than you think, Y/N, and if you need reminders, I’ll be here.” You smiled back at him, so grateful to have him here. “My god, you’re fucking sweet,” you scoffed, taking your hands out of his. Hoseok laughed. You pushed yourself off the table and faced him. “How did we even become friends?” You questioned. He actually gave it a thought. “You joined by dance club in elementary school, when no one else would.” He laughed so hard that he teared up. “I think we actually took club photos, and it was only you and I posing.” You laughed with him, remembering those days spent trying to breakdance to hip hop and presenting dance routines to your parents. “Yeah, that was before you joined that Music Academy in grade four, right?” He nodded, and you sighed, surprised you still remembered. Your mind came back to the present. “So, you’re actually okay with helping out?” You checked. “Why would I ask if I didn’t want to?” Hoseok replied. You tapped your index finger against your temple, “true.” “So, how much do you want?” Hoseok looked offended at your question. You chuckled. “Well, you’re going to work for me, so I need to pay you.” “It’s only just a month, though.” “Yeah, but—” “What about we see how much you have me do before you pay me?” He interrupted. “I might just have to fetch coffee, so you can just give me money on the spot.” You thought about it for a minute. Hoseok yawned. “This work talk is making me tired. Do you want to go out for dinner?” He looked around you, “Unless you have more work to do. I can always wait in the lobby for you to finish.” You brushed your hand through the air, “Nah, it’s okay. I’m pretty brain dead anyway. I need to be energized for tomorrow’s draft review.” Hoseok pushed himself off the table and clapped. “Awesome! Where do you think I’m taking you for dinner?” You bit your lip, trying to guess. “Sushi?” “Sushi it is!” He beamed. You grabbed your things and followed him out of the studio.

Both of you sat towards the back of the sushi restaurant, to Hoseok’s request. The waitress placed you two in a concealed booth, with drapes covering a small entrance.

You two had to take your shoes off before sitting down.

“Why did you say, ‘sushi it is?’” You asked, taking a sip of your water.

Hoseok opened his can of sprite, “What do you mean?”

“You asked where I thought you were taking me, I responded, and you said, ‘sushi it is!’” You reiterated.

He took a sip of his soda before responding, "It's a trick I learned from Instagram." He set his drink down. "You ask someone, 'where do you think I'm taking you for food?' dinner or whatever, and then take them to a place with that food. It's easier than asking 'what do you want to eat?' because people can't decide."

You nodded, making an ‘aaahhh’ sound. “Smart.”

You two caught up while eating your meals. Hoseok chatted about his bandmates and the tour, and you talked about your move to the new building.

Most of it was just adding more details about your lives because you two texted lots during the week and sometimes video chatted. You'd get to see Hoseok and his friends, and he'd get a view of your life on the other side of the world.

To others, it looked like both of you were dating. Both of your friends would tease, singing, "Y/N and Hoseok sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G." Many of his fans, ARMY, would theorize your friendship, pointing out the matching bracelets you two wore—which was later proved normal because Hoseok went live on Vlive making bracelets for his bandmates.

And you two would continually clarify that you two were strictly long-time friends. Nothing more.

Girls and boys can be friends. Simple as that.

You and Hoseok finished your meals. You two shared a few rolls and a bento box and were full.

“That was really good.” You commented, rubbing your stomach.

Hoseok chuckled, copying you, “I think I’m pregnant.”

You laughed, “Shut up! You’re so fit.”

“You’re right,” he replied, pulling up his sleeves and flexing his arms.

You both laughed as he flexed his muscles, which were significantly more prominent than your remembered. You were slightly jealous of his lean athletic figure.

And were gazing at it for too long.

“I don’t know about you,” Hoseok sighed, appearing to be tired from the food and flexing his muscles, “but I’m in the mood for some Ben and Jerry’s.”

Your eyes lit up. “YES.”

“Cookie dough with chunks?” You both said in unison.

You two erupted in laughter.

"I'll go play," Hoseok said, getting up.

You stopped him, “It’s alright,” you smiled, “my treat.”

Before you left the booth, you turned around and said thoughtfully, "But you're getting the ice cream."

Hoseok's expression conveyed the same seriousness as if a soldier on a mission.

He saluted you. “Copy that, Y/N.”

You saluted him back and left to pay.

The walk to Ben and Jerry’s was quick. Both of you were eager to share the tub of ice cream.

You ended up getting a chocolate chip cookie dough and a cherry Garcia pint, and two spoons to share. You both ate the ice creams with delight while walking back to your apartment building.

When arriving at your building, Hoseok handed you the cookie dough ice cream pint.

“What are you doing?” You asked while he gave you the closed pint.

He tilted his head to the side, confused. “What do you mean? I’m dropping you off at your place.”

You gave a shocked expression. “Dropping me off? We’re not even done our pints!”

“But you have work tomorrow. I don’t want to keep you up.” Hoseok stepped back towards the edge of the sidewalk. “I can catch a cab back to the hotel, don’t worry.”

You balanced the pints in one hand and used your other to grab his arm.

“You’re not going anywhere,” you said, pulling away from the curb and closer to your building.

Hoseok pulled his arm out of your grip. "Y/N, you need to be well-rested—"

“At least help me finish the ice cream.” You interrupted, holding up the pints that were now in both your hands, along with your spoon.

“We haven’t seen each other six months, and it’s only…”

Hoseok pulled out his phone. “Nine.”

“Exactly!” You expressed. “It’s only nine. I don’t need to be in until nine-thirty tomorrow morning. As long as you’re out by eleven, that gives me an hour to get ready for bed at twelve, and I will wake up at eight. Plenty of rest!”

You watched his unsure expression.

"If you don't want to go home at eleven, that's fine by me. Could you leave earlier? Or you can go back to your hotel if you want. I won't take offence; you know me." You held up your arms in surrender, ice cream pints still in your hands. "But if you're leaving because you're worried that I won't get enough sleep, don't. I'm a grown woman. I know how to take care of myself, and I want you to come in.

Hoseok bit his lip, appearing to debate the offer.

He sighed. "Fine, I'll come in. However, I don't want to get a text from you complaining about being tired in the morning."

“I swear,” you promised, pretending to draw an ‘x’ over your heart, “I cross my heart.”

Hoseok chuckled, and you led the two of you into your apartment building and into the elevator. You pressed the twentieth button, and you two waited in comfortable silence.

The elevator doors opened, and you two walked to your apartment.

You opened the door to your studio apartment, locking the door behind you two and hanging up your bag along with your keys.

“Want anything to drink?” You asked, setting down the ice cream pint in your hand and taking off your coat.

Hoseok set down the cookie dough pint on the coffee table. “Anything is alright, thanks,”

You hummed, getting both of you bottles of black cherry soda and bringing over the cherry Garcia pint and your spoon.

"Jesus, do you need help?" Hoseok asked with worry, seeing you holding the bottles by their necks in one hand and the ice cream pint and spoon in the other.

You chuckled, “It’s alright, just sit down.”

You two sat on the couch, twisting off the caps on your sodas and taking a sip.

Hoseok sighed. “That’s really good,” he gestured to the pop before putting it down on the coffee table.

“Yeah! They’re so addictive,” you replied, setting coasters under both of your drinks.

Both of you continued to reminisce about your childhood, especially middle school. The puberty years had been gruesome to you two, speckling your faces with acne.

You pulled out a photo album you kept on one of your bookshelves, which had pictures of your families and your younger selves—even photos when Hoseok was training, before debuting with BTS in 2013.

“Oh my god, look at you!” You gasped, showing him a picture.

In the photo, Hoseok arms were crossed over his chest, his attempt at having swagger. He wore a collared shirt, and his hair was short.

“Oh god, no,” Hoseok cringed, gently pushing the photo away.

You chuckled, "You were so adorable, always dancing and having a good time." You smiled. "You are such a hard worker, practicing so much. I remember you twisting your ankle but still practicing."

You looked at him tenderly. “I wish people could see that.”

Hoseok smiled back at you, softly touching your hand. You grasped his hand, feeling butterflies in your stomach.

He was the first to pull away.

“You remember our sleepovers?” He asked.

You giggled, "Yeah when you could leave that cramped place you shared with the boys."

He swatted your arm, “That apartment was good! It was where everything started.” He pouted. “Anyways, we would always look up deep questions to ask each other—or would you rather.”

You rolled your eyes. “Those questions were overrated.”

“I thought they were nice!” Hoseok defended. “We got to know each other more, like, ‘what is your biggest fear?’ or ‘what is your biggest pet peeve?’”

He must've seen your unimpressed expression because he continued, "You got to admit that you learned a bit more about me because of those questions!"

You sighed. “I did, I guess.”

Hoseok held up his index finger, seeming to signal ‘wait a minute.’

He pulled out his phone. “Let’s try some now, then.”

“Hoseok—”

“Come on,” he interrupted. “If you don’t learn anything new about me from the first four questions we do, then we can stop, alright? I will never bring up these questions ever again.”

You debated his offer.

“Fine.” You agreed, setting down the photo album. “Shoot.”

“Okay, but we both pick two questions and answer all of them. For example, when we ask a question, the other person answers before the picker.” Hoseok said while he scrolled.

You hummed, understanding his instructions.

“Want to do would you rather?”

“Sure.”

"Sexy edition?" Hoseok wiggled his eyebrows. "Unless you're uncomfortable."

You scoffed. “Hobi, we're grown, adults. I can take a few sexual questions."

“Okay,” Hoseok replied, “but if you ever feel uncomfortable, we can choose another question or stop.”

You nodded, and Hoseok appeared to find what he was looking for.

“Alright,” he began, “would you rather bite someone’s ear during sex or bite someone’s lip during sex?”

This is pretty vanilla. You thought.

"Lip, for sure." You emphasized the 'sure' in your sentence, stringing along with the 'er' sound.

“Same,” Hoseok agreed while passing you his phone.

You took his cell and strolled through the website.

What do I choose? Do I just dive in, or go for the vanilla shit?

“Would you rather engage in foreplay or go right into the main course?” You asked.

Hoseok thought about it. “I would say foreplay. You can warm things up—and nothing is more fun than teasing.” He shimmied, making you two laugh.

You agreed, passing the phone to him.

“Oooo, here’s a classic,” he grinned, “top or bottom?”

“I think I’m a switch,” you replied.

He tilted his head.

“It’s like, you’re both, top and bottom. I like to take control sometimes, but I can also sub.” You explained. “You?”

“Top,” he replied, “for sure.”

You laughed, “You sound so against being a bottom.”

He laughed too. “I like pleasuring the person I’m having sex with. Nothing is more satisfying than making someone cum.”

“True,” you admitted.

You found your mind wandering to unholy memories of you and Hoseok. What was odd about your friendship that—to put it blatantly—you two had sex. Not just once, but a few times.

This is why asking these questions was pretty casual and not too surprising.

You two started engaging in sex a couple years ago. You were stressed about your company starting, and Hoseok was in town. He offered to help you relax, and before you knew it, he was drilling into you from behind.

Both of you agreed to stay friends but continued to have sex every now and then. It was great, you had to admit. Probably the best sex you had in your life, and it was good that you two were able to keep your friendship platonic at the same time. Only, it was sex without the romantic feelings.

To be honest, you were craving it again.

He passed you his phone again, and you tried to pick a good last question.

“Would you rather kiss me gently or kiss me aggressively?” You asked.

Hoseok paused before answering. “Depends on the mood.”

“Well, at this moment, then, what is the mood?”

You watched Hoseok’s eyes shift between your lips then your eyes.

“Aggressively.”

You hummed. “Good to know.” You passed him back his phone. “Last question.”

Hoseok chuckled, “You seriously didn’t learn anything new?”

You shrugged. “I guess not.”

He didn't seem bothered, though, when his body shifted closer to yours.

When he looked back up at you, his expression changed. Although his eyes were already an opaque shade of brown, they had darkened.

I know that look.

He smirked. “Would you rather make the first move or receive the first move?”

You bit your lip, gazing up at his body.

Before you could reconnect with his eyes, you heard his phone drop, and his lips were on yours.

Just like his answer, his kisses were aggressive and needy. You could taste the cherry cola and ice cream on his lips and mouth.

You pulled his face closer, wanting more.

Hoseok’s body language opened up, allowing you to get up and straddle his lap. You felt his hands inch up your shirt and tug at the fabric. He helped you take it off, which gave him access to your breasts.

You felt him undo your bra with a quick flick of his fingers, and you tossed it off without a care.

Hoseok let out a chuckle before claiming your lips with his.

His lips were intoxicating, and you wanted more.

“Please touch me,” you begged against his lips.

He hummed, grazing his hands down your back before roughly grabbing your ass. You moaned, and he held you against him, hard enough to feel him grind into you.

“Fuck, stop teasing,” you pulled away, and he laughed.

“Baby, I’m not teasing,” he smirked.

Baby. The term of endearment made your heart swoon.

You weren’t always this infatuated by Hoseok. But the way he came to visit you during his break, had dinner and ice cream with you, and kissed you this good—it made you want more than just a fling.

But you couldn't think that way. It was sex. You two were doing this to get off, not engage in lovemaking.

Hoseok swiped his tongue over his bottom lip, eyeing your figure. “You know what I want.”

You ran your hand up and down his chest. “What are you waiting for?”

Hoseok's hands came underneath your thighs, and he picked you up, walking you to your bedroom. He used your body to close the door, slamming you against it.

He ground himself against your core, causing you to moan louder than you expected.

You covered your mouth in embarrassment.

Hoseok chuckled, “It’s okay,” he pulled away enough to graze his thumb over your cheek, “I love it when you moan.”

You rolled your eyes, kissing him and grabbing his ass, causing him to grind on your core.

"Fuck, I can practically feel that you wet," he groaned, trying his best to hold you up and sturdy you against the door.

“B-bed,” you choked, one of his particular thrusts stroking perfectly against you.

Hoseok moved you towards your bed and gingerly placed you down. He kissed down your bare chest and slowly took off your pants and underwear.

“Fuck, your perfect,” Hoseok awed, softly running a finger through your wet heat.

His cold finger sent a wave of pleasure through you, making you flinch.

Hoseok hummed. “So wet for me,”

He looked up at you. “May I?”

You nodded, but he only smirked.

“Words, baby,” he put a hand to his ear.

“Please,” you bit down on your lip.

You felt him spread your lips, and you clenched in response. He appeared to savour you, taking his time as he ate you out.

When you moaned, he’d hum, sending vibrations into your heat that brought you closer to your climax.

“Fuck, I’m close—”

He pulled away, licking his lips and gazing down at you.

“Hoseok—”

“You taste better than I remembered,” he commented. “But I want you to cum around me.”

God, I love his dirty talk.

You watched him take off his clothes. He must've been working out because he was more toned than six months ago.

He was about to line himself up with your entrance, but you stopped him with your foot on his chest.

You smirked. “Not yet, baby.”

You stood up. “Sit.”

Hoseok sat on the bed, your roles shifting.

“But I want—”

You interrupted his beg with your hand around his erect cock. He appeared to be speechless as you run your hand up and down his shaft.

“Hm?” You asked, chuckling lightly at how easy it was to make him submit. “What do you want, baby?”

“I-I wanted,” he stuttered, thrusting slightly into your hand, “to cum inside you.”

“Is that so?” You questioned, pulling your hand away.

Despite his vocalized want, he whined when you pulled away.

“I’m only doing what my baby wants,” you shrugged. “Condoms are in the bottom drawer on the right.”

Hoseok dashed over to the bedside table, rummaging for the condoms.

“Those should fit you, right?”

"Yes," he replied, opening the familiar wrapper and unravelling it on his erect member.

He stood there for a minute, wrapped penis and naked, just fondly looking at your nude figure.

He whispered something under his breath.

“Hm?”

“Nothing,” Hoseok blushed. “You still want to fuck?”

“Yes.”

“Top or bottom?”

“Top please,” you smiled.

Hoseok laid down on your bed, and you climbed onto his torso.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he cursed as you moved off his abs and onto his cock.

A wet puddle was left on his abdomen, which he wiped away with his fingers, then putting said fingers into his mouth.

“So good,” he groaned.

You hummed in response, slowly sinking onto him.

"Fuck, you feel so good," you said when you bottomed out.

You started moving, swaying your hips back and forth. Each time Hoseok's cock would graze against your g-spot.

His hands were placed on your hips, guiding you on him. You could feel yourself clenching around him and your climax building up.

“I-I’m close,” you stuttered.

Hoseok swallowed, “Me too.”

“Ch-choke me,” you requested as you picked up your pace.

Hoseok grinned. “Only if you choke me back.”

You chuckled and rolled your eyes. Hoseok gently wrapped his hand around your neck, and you did the same, slowly applying pressure.

You felt your thighs burn from exhaustion. "F-fuck me," you cursed, slowing down.

Both of you let go of each other's neck, and Hoseok flipped you two over, still inside you.

"It's okay," Hoseok assures before resuming the pace.

His thrusts were rough and deep, and he pushed your thighs against your chest.

“Fuck, please keep going,” you begged.

“Can I choke you?” Hoseok asked.

“Please,” you replied, “do you want me to choke you too?”

“Yes,” Hoseok responded.

You felt yourself rhythmically clench around him. Hoseok must’ve realized because he began thrusting faster into you.

The room was filled with unholy noises. You could hear the wet sounds of your entrance and the impact of Hoseok’s hips against your core.

“Fuck don’t stop,” you choked out.

The knot building up in your abdomen unravelled, and pleasure and relaxation spread through your body. Your core gripped onto Hoseok like a vice.

“H-Hoseok,” you stammered, your core overstimulated.

“I-I want you to squirt,” he replied, continuing his firm thrusts.

“Oh,” you moaned.

He pounded deeper into your core, to the point where you could feel his tip ram against your cervix.

“Ah!” You screamed, feeling yourself gush around him.

“Fuck, so good,” Hoseok groaned. “I-I’m cumming.”

You felt the condom fill up inside you, and you felt disappointed that his cum couldn’t coat your walls.

His thrusts slowed down, and he stood still for a few moments.

When he pulled out, you shivered with oversensitivity. You knew that your sheets would be a mess and weren't looking forward to cleaning them when Hoseok left.

You looked up at the ceiling, breathless, while you heard Hoseok walk away from the bed.

“Where do you put your towels?” He asked.

“In the hallway, in the closet beside the dryer and washing machine.” You replied.

You heard him walk into the hallway and the closet door open and close. “Thanks,” he said. “And your bedsheets?”

“The closet in my room.”

You heard him walk back into your room, open your walk-in closet that led into your bathroom, and shuffle around. The tap ran in your bathroom for a couple seconds, then the sound of Hoseok wringing out something.

You began to sit up, but he hushed you to lie back down.

“Just relax,” he soothed, placing the clean bedsheets on your bedside table and walking over to you with a damp cloth.

“You don’t have to—”

He placed a hand on your thigh. “It’s okay,” he reassured.

You two exchanged a quick smile before Hoseok began to clean you up.

“You didn’t even cum on me,” you chuckled as he gently wiped your inner thighs.

“I know,” he replied, “but I still made you messy.”

When your thighs were no longer covered in your cum, you two changed your bedsheets.

“You good sleep in the same bed?” You asked while folding over your duvet.

“Sure,” He smiled.

You walked into your closet. "There should be some clothes that fit you. I usually wear men's clothes at home, anyways. It's crazy how great the quality men's clothes are compared to women's clothes." You picked out a t-shirt and sweatpants and tossed them at Hoseok.

He caught them, “Thanks.”

You two showered separately and spent the time getting ready together dancing to tunes.

If someone were to walk into the room, it wouldn’t look or smell like you two just had sex. You two looked like close friends having a dance party before going to bed.

Again, after you two had sex the first time, you both agreed to stay friends. It was easier said than done.

It was awkward initially, but you both were able to get past that by talking it through. Hoseok would ask how you felt during sex and what could have been better, and you would return the question.

Now, you both were able to have a good time and intimately learn more about each other.

Sure, it was strange, but it was a mutual agreement between consenting adults and fun.

The sex was fun—great, really—and you couldn’t have it any other way.

But you would be lying to yourself if you didn’t feel like something was missing.

“Good morning, everyone,” you greeted your fellow designers, “this is Hoseok. If you don’t know him already, he’s a well-known musician and one of my closest friends.”

Everyone welcomed Hoseok with a warm round of applause.

“Thank you, it’s a pleasure to be here.” Hoseok thanked.

“Hoseok will be helping out here and there while he’s vacationing here for a month,” you explained, “so take it easy on him.”

People shared chuckles at your joke.

"Anyways, let's start looking over the design ideas. You all are very talented artists, and I want you to remember that this is a draft, which means that these ideas are not final. If your idea is rejected, it's okay. We'll continue to work on a collective theme for the show."

The morning was spent listening to everyone's design concepts. To follow your reputation, the designs were contained within suits and gowns. As mentioned before, the theme was Vancouver's nature, where the fashion show would be taking place.

You and your design team used the recycled fabrics—which were separated by colours, textures, and materials—while figuring out your drafts.

You asked your design team to draft some ideas because you couldn't think of anything to present.

You were pleasantly surprised that your whole team had ideas that you approved.

“This a phenomenal,” you awed, “Great job, Erinn.”

“Actually,” you grabbed the attention of the other team members, “you all did a great job. We will be using all these ideas for the show.”

Your team shared cheers.

“Y/N,” Rachel nudged your shoulder, “I’m sorry to ask, but now that we’ve got the designs all in order, what about the models? You wanted to have various body types, right?”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got that covered,” you whispered back.

You turned back to your design team. "You all know that this show is tougher than our last one because we are trying to include more body types, genders, races, just different kinds of people. Which means that we will need to cater our clothes to the models, rather than the other way around.” You smiled, “So you all can go home for the next week.”

You heard Rachel choke on her inhale.

"Although you all have the week off, I want you all to try drawing your designs on other body types. Experiment with materials and colours. Remember to take some of the recycled fabrics home with you, and feel free to come in to pick anything up. Just let Rachel and I know in advance, and we'll give notice to the front desk so they can let you in. When we reconvene in a week, which would be next Friday at nine-thirty, I need you all to be ready to translate your designs, colours, and materials to our models." You ordered.

“Any questions?”

Comfortable silence amongst everyone.

You nodded. "Awesome. Good luck, everyone. Contact me if you have any questions."

Your team started packing up.

“Y/N, does that mean we’re spending the next week casting?” Rachel asked.

“Yes, Rachel. Please contact Westly and schedule lunch tomorrow at noon to discuss modelling criteria. It’s probably going to be pretty loose, but we need to contact Westly before sending it out.” You answered. “If he’s not free at that time, try figuring out something later tomorrow. Then book a reservation for three at Romeo’s.”

“Alright, on it,” Rachel replied.

You turned to Hoseok, who seemed shocked.

“What?” You blushed.

He continued his surprised expression. “I haven’t seen you like this before.”

You chuckled. “How else are you supposed to run a company and organize and execute a fashion show in 3 months?”

Rachel tapped you on the shoulder. "Westly can do lunch tomorrow, at noon, at Romeo's. He and his team secured the venue with Vancouver Fashion Week and are currently collaborating with the interior designers to figure out how the place will look. West said he'll debrief you tomorrow, at lunch, about the rest of the progress."

You smiled. “Great! Thank you, Rachel. You can also take the rest of the day off.”

Rachel appeared to be stunned, not responding to your words.

You waved a hand in front of her face. “Rachel? You can take the rest of the day off.”

“Are you sure, Y/N?” She asked.

You chuckled, “I wouldn’t be telling you to if I wasn’t sure, would I?”

She gave it a thought. “I guess not.”

You grinned. “Just meet me at our main building tomorrow, at eleven-thirty, and we’ll go to Romeo’s together.”

Rachel nodded. “Thank you, Y/N,”

“No worries,” you smiled.

You and Hoseok watched her leave, leaving you two alone in the studio.

“I’m sorry, it passed my mind. You’re okay not joining us for lunch tomorrow, right?” You asked Hoseok.

He dismissed your apology by brushing a hand through the air, “It’s all good. You’ve got your shit to do.” He smiled, “It gives me time to tour around a bit, anyways.”

“Good,” you replied. “So, where to?”

You pulled apart the croissant, eating pieces one at a time. The butteriness covered your tongue in a warmth that mixed well with the iced coffee you and Hoseok shared.

The park was surprisingly empty, despite it being a Friday. Usually, it would be tough to find a spot decently away from others, mostly shaded by trees.

The inlet was a few meters away, allowing you two to see sailboats pass by. People also kayaked and canoed, and you could hear their laughter faintly on land.

Here, you and Hoseok would be shielded by looming trees and away from potential fans of Hoseok. It was a rarity to have those two things when spending time with Hoseok: privacy and security—peace and quiet.

“This is what you wanted to do?” You asked, finishing off the croissant.

He nodded, sipping the iced coffee. “Yeah. It’s quiet and nice here.”

You two people watched, enjoying the breeze and serene environment.

“I was thinking,” you cleared your throat, “about last night. Did you enjoy it?”

Hoseok set down the iced coffee. “Yeah. I always like hanging out with you.”

“I mean—the sex.”

He seemed shocked by your question.

“Yeah, that was good too. Why do you ask? You never brought up before.” He pointed out.

Because I am growing feelings for my childhood friend, who I now have sex with for fun. This wasn't a part of the agreement, I know. We agreed to not grow feelings for each other and just have sex for pleasure. But it's inevitable to develop feelings for someone you have sex for, right? Like, there are probably people out there that can distinguish sex from love—and I guess it started out like that—but for us?

Am I crazy?

“No reason,” you sighed. “I just wanted to know if there was anything I could have done better.”

Hoseok turned his body to you, smiling. “It was perfect.”

He gestured with his arms for a hug, and you obliged. His cologne smelt of freshly peeled oranges; it was a pleasant fragrance, and you found yourself snuggling closer.

The past month went by in a busy blur.

The model casting went well. You and Westley found fantastic individuals to present your clothing line, which was in the process of being altered to fit those people.

The venue was secured, and the guest list was being made by You and Westley.

“Maybe invite Hoseok,” Westley suggested.

You shook your head, “I can’t.”

"Why not?" He retorted. "The worse thing he could say is 'no,' and you can invite the whole band." He giggled. "Maybe I can meet Jimin in person."

You chuckled, “So that’s why you want me to invite Hoseok. Just because you made eye contact with Jimin for more than five seconds, it doesn’t mean that he’s into you. He’s straight.”

“How do you know?” Westley had a hand firmly on his hip.

“W-well, I haven’t asked him personally—”

"Then you can't assume he's straight!" Westley exclaimed. "The baseline isn't being heterosexual."

“True. Anyways, let’s get back to the guest list.” You chewed on your lip. “We have Harry Styles, BLACKPINK, Lizzo…”

Both of you ran down the list of a thousand attendees to the show in Vancouver. It was way smaller than fashion week or any of your previous shows, but it wasn't meant to be a big party.

Y/N [14:00]: Hey! Are you free and the boys on March 1st at 1 pm for about four hours, including an after-party until 10 pm, with food?

Hoseok [14:30]: Hiiiiii!! Sorry for the late text. I was asking the others. Yeah! That’s in 4 months? 🧐

Y/N [14:31]: Yeah, it’s for my fashion show. You can ask your company for that time? We’d provide the plane tickets and accommodation. You’d probably stay 3 days and 2 nights? You’d fly in the first day, sleep the one night, then attend the show the second day, sleep the second night, and fly out the 3rd day. I’ll need to know by the end of the week.

Hoseok [14:32]: Sounds good!!! I’ll ask my managers and let you know 👊

Y/N [14:33]: Awesome! Thanks 💚

Hoseok [14:33]: Np 💚

“So, Hoseok and the boys can come, but he has to confirm with his managers. He’ll let me know soon.” You relayed to Westley.

"Great! As long as we get confirmation from Hoseok at the end of this week, we can send out the invitations. We've checked with everyone's management, and they all seem to be busy. Worse comes to worst; we'll just have to move seats around." Westley advised.

He closed his laptop, and you followed.

“Alright, that seems to be all of the guest list business. I’ll get my team to start organizing plane tickets and accommodation.” He sighed, “shall we head to the studio to check on the design team?”

“Yes,” you replied.

Both of you were driven to the studio to check on the design team.

The studio was filled with models of various shades and shapes. Music played quietly in the background, and your coworkers and models grooved to the tunes. Designers pinned fabrics around people’s figures and sketched down measurements and ideas.

You and Westley went around checking on everyone, making sure gowns and suits were well in progress. A smaller group of people created ideas for shoes and were sending them out to shoemakers.

The rest of the day was spent getting to know the models, fixing measurements, finalizing some ideas, and briefing everyone about the plan for the next two months.

"Please have the gowns, suits, and shoes by the end of this month so we can start having the makeup artists consult all of you; to make sure the makeup correlates with the clothes and the models." You informed. "Thank you, everyone, for your amazing work."

Scattered “thank you”s responded, and our workday was over.

“You want to get some drinks?” Westley nudged.

You nodded, frankly too tired to answer but eager for a drink.

Both of you decided to walk to the high-class bar, which allowed private areas in the back for paying customers. You and Westley sat alone, away from the crowds of people near the entrance of the bar.

“To having a productive three months,” Westley sang, holding up his martini.

You sighed, “Cheers,” you tapped your peach Bellini glass against his, admitting a chime.

"Fuck," Westley cursed at the sip of his drink, "they're always stronger than I remember. "Anyways, the show is pretty much underway. Guestlist is handled, the venue is prepped and ready for us, the clothing is almost done. Oooo, I can’t wait to see it all together.”

You nodded.

“You don’t seem so excited, Y/N.”

“I am,” you replied.

“But?”

“I am excited.” You affirmed, although not living up to the word

Westley silenced, knowing when not to push your buttons.

He took a careful sip of his martini. “Where’s Hoseok?”

You fidgeted with your glass. "Hoseok went back to Korea. He only had a month of vacay, so," you left the sentence adrift.

“Did you enjoy his company?”

“Can we not talk about him right now? I rather not mix work and personal life.” You stated.

Westley acknowledged with a firm nod, finishing off his martini and asking for another.

“May I ask a question?”

“Sure.” You replied.

He cringed. “But if I ask, promise me you won’t fire me.”

You turned to him. “Depends on your question. You have to ask me first, then I can decide whether or not to fire you. I cannot make promises.”

“Why are you so off all of a sudden?” He genuinely asked.

You took a deep breath. “I’m not going to fire you, not for a long time. You’re my best worker, and I can’t let you go.”

"I feel like there's going to be a 'but' somewhere. Might as well rip off the Band-Aid." Westley sighed.

You nodded, “You’re right. And you’re right about my mood. I’ve been kind of off lately.”

“Because of Hoseok?”

"Yeah, to be honest." You admitted. "I feel like we're really close—more than just friends. We're on the same wavelength, you know? And whenever we're apart for a long time and then meet up again, it's like time has passed."

“And let me guess, you haven’t told him because you’re afraid to ruin your friendship.”

You scoffed. “There’s no need for sarcasm, West.”

He rolled his eyes and sighed. “I’m just saying, it’s the oldest narrative in the book. One friend is falling for the other, and that one friend doesn’t want to confess their feelings because they’ve known the other person for years and are afraid of ruining that connection.” He took a sip of his martini. “But in the end, it’s two friends just pining over their feelings of love for each other.”

“But we’re different.” You argued.

"I guess so. The narrative doesn't really specify one friend is a famous fashion designer and the other being a famous musician—"

“I mean,” you interrupted, “we have sex every time we see each other.

Westley's mouth fell open in a silent gasp. His hand was placed on his chest, and his eyes stared into yours.

He tipped back his martini into his mouth, finishing it off. “Well, you didn’t mention the friends with benefits part.”

“I know!” You groaned. “That’s why it’s so complicated.”

"Is it really, though? Wouldn't confessing your feelings after you two have had sex so much make it slightly easier? Because it makes sense to grow feelings for someone you've known for a while and have had sex with on multiple occasions." Westley speculated.

“I didn’t say we had sex on multiple occasions—”

“Honey,” he began, “you said you’ve had sex with him every time you see each other, and you two meet a lot. It doesn’t take a detective to figure it out.”

"Anyways," he digressed, "the sooner you tell him, the better. There's no use debating over it for years, then finding out he's found someone else when he would've picked you anyways."

"Gosh, when you say it like that, it sounds like a romantic movie." You cringed, finishing your peach Bellini.

He shrugged. “Well, it kinda is.”

You chuckled. “Well, thanks for the advice.”

“Thank you for filling me in,” he smiled.

The week went by fast. Your design team was still working on alterations, so you were left brainstorming hair and makeup and contacting specialists in those fields.

You were sitting at home, knee-deep in Pinterest boards when your phone buzzed.

You stopped strolling through your laptop and peered down.

Hoseok [19:30]: We can come to your show!

Y/N [19:30]: Fantastic! I'll let my team know, and we’ll send out the invites.

You texted Westley, informing him that BTS could attend the show.

Westley [19:33]: Great! I'll let the rest of the team know, and we'll send the emails out tomorrow

Y/N [19:34]: Thanks!

Westley [19:35]: Np

You set down your phone and continued to add ideas to your private Pinterest board.

Your phone buzzed again.

Hoseok [19:55]: What are you doing right now?

You were puzzled.

Y/N [19:56]: Nothing much, just brainstorming ideas for the show. You?

Hoseok [19:57]: Just chilling in my room.

Hoseok [20:05]: I miss you

You chuckled at the text, thinking that Hoseok was drunk.

Y/N [20:05]: I miss you too, Hobi.

Hoseok [20:08]: …how much?

Again, you were puzzled by his text.

Y/N [20:10]: Wdym? I miss having you here? Is that what you mean?

Hoseok [20:11]: I mean, do you miss me intimately?

Y/N [20:14]: Like sex-wise?

Hoseok [20:14]: Fuck, I need you, Y/N.

You stared at his words.

Hoseok [20:18]: I miss your body and how perfectly you fit around me.

Your cheeks flushed.

Hoseok [20:21]: Can you video chat? Unless you’re not in the mood.

You panicked.

You were in the mood but weren't presentable. Your hair was messy, and you weren't wearing any makeup, and you were dressed in a hoodie and sweatpants.

Y/N [20:23]: Yeah, I’m in the mood. Just give me 5 mins.

You quickly got out of your seat and ran to your bedroom. You sifted through your closet and found the sexist clothing item you had: a red lingerie set. You quickly undressed and put on the set.

You looked into your full-length mirror and tried not to cringe. Your hair was a mess, and you weren’t wearing any makeup. It definitely looked like Hoseok's text came out of nowhere—and it did, but you somehow expected yourself to be decently presentable.

However, the lingerie set was doing you favours. The set was composed of a crotchless thong and a bralette that exposed your nipples.

Y/N [20:28]: I’m ready.

Your phone rang, and you answered, quickly propping it on your drawers across from your bed.

You were faced with a shirtless Hoseok, his cock already in his hand.

“Fuck, you look amazing.” He complimented breathlessly.

“Wow, you’re ahead of the game—and really? I’m a mess.” You chuckled.

He hissed, flinching in his grip. “Fuck, just take the compliment, Y/N.”

You cleared your throat. “Thank you.”

You sat a pit forward, angling your breasts towards the camera.

“What are you imagining, baby?” You purred.

“Y-You,” he stuttered, moving his hand up and down his cock.

“Mhm,” you moaned, “thinking up my pussy clenching around your cock, making it all wet.”

He nodded.

"You can do something if you want," he suggested. "You said you were in the mood."

Your eyes opened wide. “Wait a minute.”

You brought the phone with you on your journey, going back to your closet and fetching your dildo, lube, and vibrator. You hurried to the bathroom and propped your phone up against the closed door.

You suctioned the bottom of the dildo onto the titled floor. You placed the vibrator on the bathroom counter.

“You want to watch me bounce on this dildo and think of you?” You smirked, rubbing lube onto your hands, onto the toy, and onto your vagina.

“Fuck, yes,” he replied, stilling his hand around his cock for a moment.

“Did I say you could stop?” You spat.

“I’m waiting for you,” he smiled, making your heart melt.

You paused over the dildo, smiling back at him. “Awww, that’s actually kinda sweet. Thank you.”

You quickly washed your hands and grabbed the vibrator.

You crouched down and slowly onto the dildo.

“Fuck,” you moaned, tilting your head back at the feeling of being filled up. It didn’t hit the spots Hoseok did, but it was good enough.

You lifted yourself up and sunk back down again, rhythmically repeating the motion.

“Fuck, so good,” you sighed, overlooking the pain in your knees.

“That's right, baby, imagine me filling that pussy up," Hoseok groaned, following your rhythm while pumping his cock.

“Fuck yes,” you replied, “and I’m clenching around you so tight.”

You two exchanged moans at the sound of your pussy squelching around the dildo.

“Use the vibrator, baby,” Hoseok purred.

You hummed, grabbing the rose gold vibrator and turning it on. You place the buzzing toy on your clit, feeling pleasure rippling through your core.

“Fuck,” you hissed, speeding up your pace a bit.

“I-I’m getting close.”

“Yeah, baby?” Hoseok smirked. “You get off at me rubbing my cock? Imagining me buried inside your pussy, making you feel so good?"

You nodded. “But it’s not as you, baby.”

“I know—” He choked, appearing to be on the brink of his climax. “I fucking miss the way your pussy fit so well around me, no matter how many times I fucked you open.”

“Mhm,” you bit your lips, watching him with hooded eyes. “Don’t stop.”

“Who knew you were filthy enough to cum during cybersex?" He observed. "I'm not even there to touch you, but just thinking of me inside has you in ruins.”

“What would you do if I was with you right now?” You asked.

“I would fuck you until you couldn’t walk the next day,” he replied, “I’d fuck you until that pretty pussy is swollen.”

"F-fuck, I'm going to cum," you stuttered, feeling the familiar build-up in your core.

“M-me too,” he stammered.

You watched his head tilt back in pleasure and his cum squirt up from his cock.

“Fuck!” You cursed, feeling your pleasure shoot out of your core and onto the floor

“So hot,” Hoseok sighed.

You chuckled, coming down from high. You pulled yourself up and off the dildo, sitting on the cool tile floor.

“Fuck, did you squirt?” He asked, looking closer.

You nodded, gesturing to the mess on the ground.

“Spread your legs for me, baby,” he commanded and obliged, showing him your battered cunt.

You spread your lips, and he hummed at sight.

“So beautiful.” He awed.

“You happy? I need to wipe this all up, now,” you scoffed.

He chuckled. “It’s not my fault that you cummed.” He angled his phone to the floor, showing splashes of his cum on the floor, "and besides, you also made me make a mess.”

You both chatted while cleaning up your messes, talking about your days as if nothing happened. After finishing your clean-up, you two continued your conversation while showering, as if both of you were doing it together.

Ready to relax for the night, both of you signed off with exchanged ‘thanks’ and ‘good night.’

You turned off your phone with a soft click and stepped out of the steamy bathroom. Your pyjamas were soft on your skin, and you felt ready to go to bed.

Hopping onto your bed, you grabbed your laptop and turned on some Netflix to fall asleep to.

From an outsider’s perspective, masturbating with your best friend and then casually talking with them while showering and getting ready for bed was odd. Repeating the scenario in your mind did make it sound like you two were in a long-distance romantic relationship rather than a platonic one.

But you and Hoseok were different. That was your excuse.

A friend could do this and not catch feelings. You two were the perfect example of that.

Emphasis on were because you were currently spiralling in your growing romantic feelings for Hoseok.

But what would you do in this situation?

You and your childhood friend engage in sex one time and promise each other to not grow feelings. In this manner, you two could have sex without attachment. Fast forward into the future, and you both are still making this arrangement with no negative consequences and feel like you two have gotten to know each other better and have become better friends—until you catch feelings. And you don’t want to risk losing this relationship you two have.

Because he is a worldwide musician who can’t be tied down because it could risk his career, and he might lose fans—and you couldn't be bothered with any romantic commitment with your fast-paced and unpredictable work schedule.

So, you stay in this unnameable mess.

“Time flies by when you’re having fun,” Allie commented from the plush couch.

You looked in the mirror, twisting your back towards it to see the back of the dress. “I guess so.”

“You have to admit, planning a fashion show is pretty fun,” she said. “If it wasn’t, you wouldn’t be doing it over and over again.”

“True,” you replied, turning to the stylist.

“May I see the other dress?” You asked, and the stylist nodded, retreating to somewhere in the shop you couldn’t see.

It was the last month until the show. Everything was in order: the show’s venue and its decorations, the clothes, makeup and hair for the models, and the guests’ accommodation. Now, it was your turn to find suitable attire for the occasion.

You tried on the next dress. It was a slim-fitting number, with a leg slit in the front. It was scandalous and stunning, but not right for the show.

“I don’t like any of these dresses,” you sighed, annoyed.

Allie appears to brainstorm some ideas.

“Maybe try a suit?” She proposed.

You kept your eyes on the mirror, twirling your figure and watching the fabric move at your feet.

“Think about it,” she began, “think of all the powerful women who’ve worn suits and killed it. Zendaya, Kristen Stewart, Blake Lively, Awkwafina. The list goes on. It’s a statement piece, and you’re the big brain behind this operation.”

“I think it’s ‘mastermind behind this operation,’ but I get what you mean.” You corrected.

“You literally bypassed my whole point—”

“I know, I know,” you interrupted. “It’s just—suits for women are so overpriced. And it’s just like the dresses, except a different fit. Same colour palettes, same materials, so on.”

Allie scoffed. "You're a fucking fashion designer, did you forget? Make your own thing. There are leftover fabrics at your studio; you have time to make something." Her face lit up, “And, technically, it’s for free.”

You gave it a thought, but the stylist came back before you could finish it.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Vega, but I’m not finding anything, and I don’t want you walking back and forth and bringing me more dresses.” You gave an apologetic smile. “Thank you very much for your help.”

"No worries, Y/N! Just hang up the dress when you take it off, and I’ll deal with the rest,” she replied.

“Will do,” you said, and she stepped out of the room.

Allie helped you unzip the gown, and you shimmed out of it. You did as you were told and hung up the dress, and you and Allie left the shop.

The walk back to the studio was quick, you two making determined strides through the crowded city.

You and Allie entered the empty studio, turning on the nights.

The studio was organized chaos with dressed mannequins, big boxes of fabrics in the back of the room, and papered patterns on the tables.

“Wow,” Allie awed.

"Yeah," you replied, leading you both to your master station is near the back, "it's crazy what a couple months before a show looks like.”

You looked through the drawers beside your desks and grabbed the tools you'll need to plan out the suit.

“So, just a suit jacket and pants…” You said, grabbing some paper to sketch up your pattern.

You looked up at Allie, “Do you mind helping me out with measurements?”

She nodded, “For sure. What do you need?”

You guided Allie on how to measure your proportions for the suit. She measured your inseams for your pants, the sleeves, the cuts, and so on. In between, you'd write down the dimensions for the patterns.

You two sifted through the fabrics to create a monochrome patchwork outfit. The suit would be shades of cherry red, with different materials making it up. There were no patterns in the patchwork, only various tones of red in several types of wool.

“Fucking hell,” Allie cursed while sifting through the materials, “who would’ve thought there were so many shades of red.”

She held up a piece of recycled fabrics, checking with you that it was the correct tone. You took it and held the portion against the others.

“Nope, too dark,” you shook your head.

"What? It looks exactly the same," she disagreed, walking over to your table. When comparing the fabrics, she made an 'aaah’ sound, letting you know that you were right.

Before sectioning off your pattern, you tried your best to evenly sew all the material together into a quilt-like form.

“Jesus,” you muttered, shaking out your sore hands.

“We don’t have to get this all done today, you know. You do have two months left.” Allie advised.

"I know. I just want to put this all together first," you replied, continuing to push the material through the sewing machine.

“Alright,” she surrendered, bringing one of the seats over to your table.

You sewed in silence for a bit.

“So,” Allie began, “how are you and Hoseok doing?”

You paused. “What do you mean?”

“You know…you two and your arrangement.”

You scoffed, “Our arrangement? You mean us having sex?”

“Yeah, but the other stuff.”

You pulled your hands from the sewing machine, crossing your arms over your chest. "Just spit it out, Al."

“Well, you’ve had mixed feelings with Hoseok, right? Like you’re starting to like him?” She speculated.

Your mouth gaped open. “Have you been talking to West?”

She didn’t respond, not making eye contact.

“You can’t be fucking serious. You two are ganging up on me!” You yelled.

“Y/N, we’re just worried.”

“About what? I have feelings—and?” You fumed.

She sighed. “You shouldn’t be having sex with someone if you’re growing romantic feelings, especially if you two agreed to be platonic.”

“Oh, fuck off,” you stood.

“Y/N!” She exclaimed. "Don't you dare talk to me that way? I am your friend, not your enemy." Allie stood up and sighed. “I get it. You don’t like people in your business. That’s fair. I just feel like you're sacrificing yourself for Hoseok when you could talk about it with him."

“Allie, you don’t know what you’re fucking talking about.” You spat.

“I get it,” she sympathized. “I don’t. I’m not you or Hoseok.”

“So, tell me,” she said. “Educate me on the situation. I am not here to judge. I’m just worried about you, that’s all.”

You took a few deep breaths, trying to calm yourself down.

“I’m sorry,” you apologized. “I shouldn’t have talked to you like that.”

“It’s okay,” she forgave, “just don’t push me away so fast, okay?”

“Okay.” You agreed.

She sat down, “So?”

You sat down and rehashed your feelings about you and Hoseok to her: the growing romantic feelings for him, not knowing what to do, and wanting something more.

“Well, do you think it’d work out between you two if you dated?” She asked.

You shifted in your seat. "I honestly don't know. It's tough with Hoseok's work because he has a loyal fanbase. I'm afraid he's going to get even more hate if we were to date.”

“But would you two be happy?” She asked.

You gave it a thought. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you go into a relationship regardless of other people. Whether you’re a celebrity or an ordinary person, you date someone for you and that person; no one else. There are going to be people who support and hate your relationship no matter what. What matters is what the two people think in the relationship."

She sighed. “You cannot control what others will think about you. No matter what you do or who you do, you're going to upset someone. So, just do what feels comfortable and safe with you."

You hummed, understanding.

“So, would you be happy if you and Hoseok dated?”

“Yes.” You stated without a thought. “I really like him—love him even.”

"Then that's all that matters," Allie replied.

The week before, the show crept on you faster than you expected. You, your team of designers and event organizers, models, hairstylists and makeup artists flew into Vancouver a week early to prepare on location.

However, the majority of the week would be spent preparing for the show. The first day was spent unloading all of the outfits and equipment for the show into the venue. Everyone was required to show up to organize their stations and to familiarize themselves with the venue.

“Please set up your stations while Westley and I look into the main runway and after part section. We’ll be back in around two hours to check up on everyone. If you have any questions while we're gone, please contact me on my phone." You held up your cellphone and everyone nodded. "Great. Good luck, everyone!"

The venue and interior designers' owners toured you and Westley around the place, showing you the drawn floorplans, running down the prices, and checking that the decorations correlated with your plans.

“These weren’t the chairs we sent over,” Westley pointed to the black folded chairs lining the runways.

“Yes, but these were within the price range and—” One of the interior designers, Queeny, said.

“But did we get an email regarding this change?” You interjected.

Queeny exchanged looks with the other three decorators, and they shook their heads.

Wesley let out an angry sigh. "Well, I guess we’ll have to live with these then.” He sat down on one of the chairs. “At least they’re comfortable. They look cheap, but they’re sturdy.”

“Are there any more changes you made without informing as?” You asked.

They all shook their heads.

"Great." You turned to one of the two-venue owners, named Ruby. "Shall we continue to the after-party part?”

“Yes,” she replied, gesturing to the doorway that led to the front reception area.

From the reception area, where guests would check-in and get a wristband, a double-door way on the right led to a ballroom for the after-party.

The overall theme of the place was classic European designs with off-white luxurious walls and chandeliers. The ceilings were intricately carved, and the floors were a smooth white oak. Just walking around made you feel like you were dirtying the place.

“This place is stunning,” Westley whispered.

“I know,” you replied, “you chose the place.”

“I know,” he smiled, pretending to flip his hair.

You both chuckled, continuing to follow the owners around the venue.

Everything worked out, besides the chairs, so you and Westley checked on the designers, models, hairstylists and makeup artists.

At the end of the workday, everyone was in order and ready for the next three days of dress rehearsals and solving and problems.

You arrived back at your hotel with sore feet and exhaustion.

Your phone rang as you flopped onto your bed.

You answered. “Hobi!”

“Y/N! How was your flight to Vancouver?” He asked.

“It was good. We didn't have a rest day, though. We had to settle into the place and check it over. My feet are so sore.” You groaned.

“Really? I thought you’d at least have a rest day when you guys arrived,” he assumed.

You shook your head. “No. Sadly, this whole week will be walking around and making sure everything is going smoothly.”

He sighed. “Shit. That sucks.” You heard him shift on the other side of the phone. “Do you want to relax?”

You laughed. “Jung Hoseok, did you seriously booty call me from across the world?”

Hoseok gasped, "I did not! I was talking about watching Netflix or something." He chuckled, "You're so dirty-minded."

You both laughed.

“Okay, so what do you want to watch?” He asked on the other end of the call.

You brought out your laptop and scrolled through the movie selection.

“Oooo! Let’s watch Hush. I’ve heard so many good things about it.” You recalled.

You could hear his hesitation.

Hoseok did not like being scared. Whenever you watched anything scary, you were afraid that your neighbours would complain at how loud his screaming was. As you remembered saying "hello" to him once and him screaming in fear and surprise, he was also easily frightened.

“We don’t have to,” you said.

“No, no,” Hoseok reassured, “we’ll watch it. Just send me the Netflix Party link, and I'll ready the Zoom link."

You giggled. “You don’t have to be brave for me, Hobi. I know you don’t like scary movies.”

“You want to watch it, so let’s do it,” he said, “and the ratings are good.”

“Okay,” you digressed. “I’m texting you the link right now.”

“Same,” he replied.

You two hung up and joined the links.

“Hello!” Hoseok beamed, dancing.

You rolled your eyes and chuckled at his burst of energy. “Hello, Hobi.”

You carried your laptop to the bathroom and began getting ready for bed.

“How was your day?” You asked.

Hoseok described him and his bandmates' film day for "Run! BTS," and you groaned at all the work they had to do.

He laughed. “But we got to play games, which was fun. We laughed so much that my abs hurt.” You watched him lift up his shirt and show his toned abdomen.

Your core felt a familiar flutter.

“W-wow, that must be a lot of laughing,” you cleared your throat and took out your toothbrush and toothpaste.

For the moment, the time difference worked for you two because it was almost ten at night for you and nearly three in the afternoon for him.

“Should I turn off my camera?” You asked before undressing to get into the shower.

He shook his head. “I’m okay with you leaving it on. I’ve seen you naked before, so it’s not really different. But if you’re uncomfortable, you can just turn it off.”

You shrugged and began taking off your clothes in full view of the camera and screen.

You noticed Hoseok’s expression.

“Enjoying the show?” You chuckled, finally taking off your undergarments and fully exposing yourself.

Hoseok smirked, “Don’t act like you weren’t just turned on by my abs. I saw how you looked at me.”

You nodded and surrendered. “Fair point.”

You hoped in the shower, and you two continued talking.

“Jesus, we haven’t started the movie yet,” Hoseok commented while you were washing your hair.

“Shit, right,” you laughed, massaging the shampoo into your scalp.

After you hoped out of the shower and dried your body and hair, you both started to watch the movie.

“This is a pretty cool premise. Like, we’ve never seen a deaf person in a horror movie before,” you regarded.

"True, that's a good point—AHHHHHH!" Hoseok screamed at the sudden slam in the movie.

You burst into laughter.

“Holy shit!” He exclaimed, trying to calm himself with controlled breaths.

The movie continued as you finished off your skincare and put on your pyjamas.

The oversized t-shirt was long enough to cover your thighs.

“You’re going to watch this before bed?” Hoseok gasped.

You chuckled. “Yeah. It’s not that scary.” You say as you jump at the sound of breaking glass in the film.

Hoseok laughed at the coincidental timing.

You don’t remember falling asleep, but you woke up to the sound of your alarm.

“Shit,” you grumbled and turned it off.

You heard Hoseok stir awake on the Zoom call.

Both of you had fallen asleep, but Hoseok finished the movie before you could; because you saw the end credits paused in the Netflix Party.

“Sorry,” you whispered.

“It’s okay,” Hoseok mumbled, squinting at the screen.

“I’ll let you sleep,” you smiled, hovering your cursor over the "send" button.

He softly smiled, “thank you.” He snuggled into his pillow, “I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too, Hobi,” you replied, ending the call for both of you.

It didn’t hit you until you were halfway through your dress rehearsal, but Hoseok had stayed with you while you slept. He didn't wake you but quietly continued the movie and fell asleep.

Hoseok was usually sweet, so you didn't pay too much attention to it.

But it did make you feel special.

It was the day of the fashion show, and you were fucking nervous.

You had done this before, a show, but this one was different. You had put in so much effort and were proud of how it turned out but were afraid of what other people would think.

“It’ll be fine, don’t worry,” Allie assured through video call,” it’ll be excellent, and everyone won’t stop talking about it.”

“Probably,” you replied, putting on your makeup.

“It will be excellent, Y/N. I am so sure I will bet money.” She stated.

You chuckled, "then I'll take your word for it because I am not bidding money.”

You both laughed.

“Okay, I know I already showed you my outfit, but are you sure it looks good?” She asked, putting on the A-line floor-length dress she’d shown you before. It was a beautiful viridian green with lace shoulder straps that draped over the sides of her biceps.

“You look beautiful,” you complimented, setting your makeup with setting spray and heading to your closet.

You put on the suit you made and looked in the mirror. You looked a bad bitch.

“You look great! Oooo, put on the red bottoms,” Allie squealed.

You put on the signature Louis Vuitton black high heels with the ruby bottoms.

Your phone buzzed.

“I got to go; Westley is here with our ride to the venue. I’ll see you there!”

“See you!” She waved, ending the call.

You did a quick check in the mirror, fixing your hair, grabbed your bags, and headed out the door.

Your driver waited outside the vehicle as you approached, and opened its door, showing you a well-dressed and excited Westley.

"Oh my god, you look great!" He gasped. “When did you make the suit?”

“I finished it a week before we flew out,” you chuckled, “and you look great too! I love the pine on you.”

You took a step back and looked at Westley’s crisp pine-coloured suit with matching brown dress shoes.

“Thank you,” he grinned. “Okay, get in before we become late.”

You hopped into the car, and your driver got in and started the vehicle.

The drive was spent recalling your opening and closing speeches with Westley and the show's agenda.

“So, five pm is when the show ends, and then the guests for the after-party go into the ballroom area. Food is served at six pm, and everything is wrapped up at ten pm.” Westley relayed.

You nodded, “Yup.”

Both of you arrived a couple hours before the start time, which was at 1 pm, to set everything up and warm up the models and crew.

Westley checked the organizers and the models while you went to the runway area to check the lights and sound.

"Let's rerun the lights, please!" You announced as you walked into the runway room. "Can I get a headset, please?" You ask the crew on the ground, who nodded.

“Yup!” You heard the lighting crew respond.

You were given the headset, and you heard the head light technician’s voice.

“Can you hear me?” They checked.

“Yes,” you confirmed.

They ran by the six light settings for the show, and it was all correct.

“It’s perfect, thank you. Can you please check that the sound is alright?” You asked through the headset.

“Yup. You’ll have to hand the headset to another person, though, and we’ll give you a mic.” They added.

You heard their muffled voice as if they covered their mic's headset with their hand. Next, you had someone hand you a mic and take your headset.

“You’ll need to stand on the stage,” The person said.

“Okay,” you replied, going to the runway and standing on the end portion.

All the room’s lights turned on, and you could see the lighting crew’s area in the back and the chair organized around the runway.

“You can speak into the mic!” You heard someone shout.

You started speaking nonsense in the mic, like the type of weather outside, as they adjusted the volume.

“Thank you!” Someone shouted.

“Thanks,” you said into the mic before handing it to one of the crew.

“Is there anything to report? Any problems that arose before I got here?” You asked the crew.

They all shook their heads.

“How is everyone feeling?” You asked.

They all shared nervous laughter, and a few people said “good.”

“Alright, if there’s anything you all need, just come to the modelling area and ask me. It’s in the backroom.”

They all nodded, and you left them to their business.

You arrived in the backroom and saw designers fitting their outfits on the models and makeup artists and hairstylists prepping their stations.

“How is everybody doing?!” You enthusiastically asked.

They cheered with a mix of excitement and nervousness.

"I get it. Everyone is on their toes. You all have an hour left to set things up before people start filing in. Remember, the show starts at 1 pm. The door opens thirty minutes before them.”

They call responded with various forms of understanding, and you went around to check on them individually.

Rachel came and taped your shoulder, with a headset on, “So, the guards are in their posts, and the front is ready to check people in.”

“Is there a line already?” You asked.

Rachel pressed down the headset, asking the crew on the other end.

“Yes, there’s a line of people outside,” she reported, “about twenty people, so far.”

"Shit, yeah, let them in. It's probably cold." You ordered.

“I’ll tell them,” she replied.

“Okay, everyone! We’re starting to let people in. Again, you all have about an hour left, so try to wrap things up and relax. Thank you!” You announced.

Again, sounds of understanding, and you, Westley, and Rachel left the backroom.

“Rachel, Westley and I are going to check that the ballroom area and catering are all handled. Please check in with the front desk to see how they're doing, and then meet us in the ballroom." You told.

“Got it, Y/N,” Rachel answered, walking past the two of you and towards the front area.

Westley appeared impressed. “She's terrific. She's even got the headset and everything."

"I know, right? She's cool." You remarked.

Like clockwork, you and Westley ran over the details and schedule for the catering and the after-party. Everyone had places to sit, with elegantly decorated name cards.

Everything was ready.

"Fantastic, thank you," you thanked the caterers and the staff in the ballroom. "Feel free to come into the runway area during the show if you all would like to watch."

With that, it was about time the show would start. You and Westley hurried backstage, where you both were handed microphones.

The lights dimmed, and classical music played—fitting the theme of elegance and high class.

You and Westley regarded each other, did an excellent handshake, and strutted out on the runway. Both of you were met with applause from the crowd and blinding spotlights.

You two walked to the end of the runway and let out an exhausted sigh.

The music quieted, faintly heard in the background.

“And that’s why I’m not a model,” Westley joked, causing the crowd to giggle.

“Same here,” you chuckled.

“Anyways, welcome to the show, everyone!” You cheered, and the crowd clapped. “As you know, I am Y/N, and this is Westley. Today, we’ll be showing recycled elegant clothes on people. Not just models, but people. All the clothes you'll be seeing here today are made from recycled fabrics and hand-crafted by our design team and me."

Applause.

"We wanted to represent people, so we got people to present our clothes. Redundant, I know, but the fashion industry rarely shows models that look like people. Don’t get me wrong, they’re all fantastic. However, this show will be different. Enjoy!” Westley waved.

A final round of applause while you and Westley walked off the runway.

The show went smoothly and wonderfully. The changes were fluid, and there were no clothing mishaps. The classical music turned into upbeat music that everyone seemed to groove to. Models danced on the runway while walking, and there were joyful cheers in the crowd.

In the end, you and Westley gave your brief thank you speeches, and months of planning and work were officially completed.

When everyone was backstage, you all collectively cheered.

“Phenomenal job, everyone!” You praised. “I am speechless at how well we all did. Thank you all for being such wonderful people to work with.”

Smiles and cheers were shared as everyone got ready for the after-party.

“Okay, remember that food is being served at six o’clock, and you all will be able to find your names at a table.” You reminded.

You and Westley did a quick check-up on people before heading to the ballroom area to socialize.

“Great job, you two!” Some complimented.

You and Westley thanked the praise and had a small talk with some colleges.

“Hey, Y/N!” You heard a familiar voice say.

You turned and say Hoseok with the rest of the boys, waving.

“Hey!” You smiled, nudging Westley to join you.

"Well, enjoy the after-party," Westley grinned at the other guests before joining you.

As always, the seven boys were well-dressed in designer suits. Hoseok wore lightly tinted shades paired with a dark suit and floral dress shirt. His hair was wavy.

“That was awesome, Y/N,” Namjoon said.

“Thank you!” You replied.

“Yeah, Y/N, I loved the recycled-fabrics idea. Are anything on sale?” Taehyung asked.

You nodded. "Everything will be on sale next month. I'll send you the dates, so you mark them in your calendar. The clothes go fast," you chuckled.

“Damn,” Taehyung remarked, eyebrows raised.

“Hey, Jimin,” Westley greeted.

“Hey West,” Jimin smiled, “loved your speech today. That suit looks great on you.”

“I know,” Westley smirked, “you look good too.”

"How are you feeling?" Hoseok asked, letting Westley and Jimin casually flirt.

You sighed. “Glad that it’s over, to be honest. It was fun, of course, but it's a lot of work to organize."

“Oh my god, is that Charlie Puth?” Jungkook gasped, hiding slightly behind Namjoon.

Everyone laughed.

"You should go and say 'hi,' Kook. You've already met and sung with him before. You two are practically friends." Yoongi expressed.

“True,” you agreed, “and Charlie’s a nice guy.”

“Okay,” Jungkook straightened his posture, “I’ll do it.”

You all watched Jungkook walk over and begin chatting with Charlie Puth.

“God, he’s grown up so much,” Seokjin sighed.

The rest of you caught up and chatted about the show.

Before you knew it, Westley was poking your side to let you know it was five minutes until six.

“Shit,” you cursed. “Sorry to cut this convo short, but Westley and I have to announce dinner. We’ll talk soon!”

You all said your goodbyes, and you and Westley went up to the front to state it was time for food.

You two were seated with Rachel, Allie, and a couple others. Everyone ordered off a menu, which served various kinds of pasta, salads, and a mix of alcoholic and non-alcoholic beverages.

It was an excellent way to end off the show.

There was a dancefloor, too, where people could groove to music after eating.

Of course, the seven boys went to the dancefloor, which caused others to join.

You were finishing off your fettuccine alfredo when Hoseok danced over to your table. You chuckled as he held his hand out and quirked a brow.

“You’re ridiculous,” you said, taking his hand.

“You love it,” he smirked, pulling you off your chair and leading you to the dancefloor.

You danced together, along with your friends. He held your hands as you two swayed to the slow songs and body-rolled with you during the upbeat songs. Of course, a few BTS songs played, and everyone tried to follow the known choreography. You went back to your table for a drink of water, and Allie came with you. "Look, and you and Hoseok dancing up a storm," she teased. “Shut up,” you chuckled. “The chemistry is there, Y/N,” she commented. You drank your water. "Not now, Al." “Come on! He’s here for, what, the night and then gone tomorrow morning? When will you see him again?” She asked. You paused, honestly unsure when you'd see Hoseok again. “Now or never, Y/N. How much longer can you debate this?” “I know,” you replied. “I’ll do it later tonight.” Around nine-thirty, the party was dying down, with only a few guests scattered around the venue helping to clean up. You made eye contact with Allie, who was tending to the chairs, who nudged towards Hoseok’s direction. Now or never. You said in your head. “Can I speak to you, Hoseok?” You asked, walking up to him. “For sure!” He replied. You led both of you to a secluded part of the venue, away from listeners. “Did you enjoy the show?” You asked. “Yeah! You did a fantastic job, Y/N. I love how everything turned out, the colours, the recycled fabrics were great—and your suit! I can’t believe you made it,” Hoseok complimented, stepping back to look at your attire. “Thank you,” you blushed. You gave a quick look around to make sure no one was around. “Is everything alright, Y/N? You’re looking around as if they’re spies around.” He gasped. “Are there spies around? What secret don’t they know?” “I don’t want to have sex with you anymore.” You abruptly stated. A stretch of silence. Hoseok’s expression was a mixture of surprise and concern. “What?” “I can’t have sex with you anymore.” “You can’t or don’t want to? Is it something I did?” “Yes? No? In a way?” You pondered. You took a few deep breaths. "I like you, Hoseok—possibly even love you.” You ran your hand through your hair. “I know we agreed not to catch feelings, so I think we should stop having sex.” You watched his expression shift from some form of being happy to disappointment. “You know I cannot date with work,” he explained, "with the fans, touring, and whatnot, I cannot date someone. And you have your company to work on." “I know,” you replied. “But do you like me back?” You asked. “I do—” “You do?” You were on the verge of hugging him, but he stepped back. You looked at him, confused. “We can’t—” “Why?” “I literally just told you, Y/N. With work, dating wouldn’t allow it. I already have people—” He choked on his words. “People who wish I was dead, j-just for being me.” “Hoseok—” You reached out to him, but he gently pushed you away. “No,” he objected, “I’m fine. I just don’t want to add you to the mess.” “You can’t decide that for me.” You retorted. “I understand that you don’t want to add me to it, but I’m okay with it. I don't care what other people would say about us. They're not in the relationship, we are—" “But what if I care?” He said, almost too quiet for you to hear. “I’m the happy guy of BTS, who’s dedicated to his work.” “But are you truly happy?” You peered into him. “Yeah,” he replied, avoiding eye contact, “but it gets really hard sometimes.” “So, let me help, Hoseok,” you pleaded. "I don't need to be helped! I'm not another project for you to work on.” He thundered. “You know that’s not what I meant.” You seethed. “Let’s just drop it, okay? We’re not dating, that’s it.” He dictated. “Fine.” You replied. “Have a safe trip back home.” You left without another word, trying your best not to cry. Out of all the ways you thought he'd respond, this took you off guard. Hoseok wasn't one to push you away, but here he was doing so. “Fuck this,” you whimpered, walking up to Allie. “I’m going back to the hotel, sorry,” you said, turning away as soon as possible. “Y/N!”

You washed your face and hoped into the shower—the warm water soothing your sore muscles and emotions. You couldn’t tell if it was the water or your tears streaming down your face.

What else did you expect? Hoseok had a point: with his work, he couldn’t date someone. And it was ridiculous that Hoseok would want to date you.

However, instead of sulking over Hoseok, you decided to have a bath and put on a facemask.

The room’s phone rang while you were starting the bath.

“Hello?”

“Hello, is this Y/N Y/L/N?

“Speaking,” you confirmed.

“Great! There’s a man here, named,” a muffled noise, “Hoseok Jung.”

“Tell him I’m busy, please,” you replied.

Another muffled noise. “Hoseok says he's sorry and that he has ice cream—cookie dough. But if he’s dangerous, I can call the police.”

“No, no. God no,” you said.

You bit your lip. "You can send Hoseok up."

“Okay. However, if there’s anything wrong, please try to press the red button on the receiver. I will check back with you in an hour. If there’s no response, I’ll get someone to check on you.” They informed.

“Thank you,” you replied, slightly shocked by their concern.

You hung up.

A few minutes later, you heard a knock on the door. You tightened your robe.

You checked the peephole before cracking the door open.

“Hi,” you greeted.

“Hey," he smiled. "I'm sorry for leaving you like that at the party. It was sudden and insensitive. I should have been more considerate of your feelings rather than shutting you off.”

“I was just—scared. I don’t know what it’s going to be like for us. And I don't want you to fix me—but I like you, a lot—so I brought cookie dough ice cream and two spoons—"

“Do you want to come in?” You interrupted his nervous rambling.

“Yes, thank you,” he chuckled.

Hoseok still wore the suit from the fashion show, but his jacket was folded over his arm, and his dress shirt was unbuttoned lower.

“Oh, you’re running the bath,” he noticed. "We can deal with this later if it's a bad time."

“No, it’s alright. I’ll just turn off the water.” You replied, going to the bathroom to do so.

When you came back, Hoseok was sitting on the edge of your bed.

“So, what did you want to talk about?” You asked, sitting beside him.

He opened the ice cream tub, setting the lid on the desk and handing you one of the spoons.

“I was thinking you could talk more, actually; about how you feel," he replied, giving you the tub and angling himself to face you. "I just want to listen to you this time."

You gave a brief smile before spooning a small piece of ice cream into your mouth.

“Well, I just feel like we’re in this grey area of being really close but having sex. And we both like each other, and we said at the venue, and I just feel like we should just date then.” You set the ice cream and spoon down on the desk. “I get that work complicates things for you. But once we’ve confessed our feelings, I just don’t know what to call this—this friendship?”

Hoseok nodded.

"So, if you don't want to date, that's completely fine. I understand. However, we can't keep having sex like we used to; because I have feelings for you now, and you said you do too, so it's not a good mix."

“That’s fair,” he acknowledged.

“But what do you think? Like, how do you feel about us?” You asked.

He paused and set his spoon on the desk with yours. “I want to date you, Y/N. I just don’t want to get you hurt.” He softly grasped your hands. “The industry can be toxic, and I don’t want to subject you to that.”

“I understand,” you replied, “but I want to date you too, regardless of all the other bullshit. As cheesy as it sounds, all I want is you, Hoseok.”

Hoseok smiled but then pretended to gag.

“Hobi! I was romantic."

“Sorry, but that was so cheesy.” He cringed.

“So, do you want to just start dating, then?” You proposed. “We have the ice cream here; we can pretend to get to know each other more.”

He chuckled. “Sure. Let’s do that.”

Hoseok stood up and held his hand out to you. “Y/N Y/L, will you go on a date with me?”

You laughed but composed yourself. “I would love to, Jung Hoseok.” You took his hand, and he immediately sat back down.

“So, Y/N,” Hoseok began, handing you the partially melted ice cream and your spoon, “what do you like to do on the weekends?”

1 year later.

“I’m thinking of moving to Korea,” you said. Hoseok turned to you, surprised. “Really? But you’re not based here.” “I know,” you acknowledged, “but I can fly in and skype, or whatever. I can have a home base here, too.” You were visiting Hoseok for a couple weeks before you had to go back home for a clothing launch. Both of you were cuddling at his place when you brought up your idea of moving to Korea. “Of course, it wouldn’t be immediate. I would need to sort things out with Westley and Rachel and organize a place to stay here and a work area. The company is sturdy enough to handle the change.” You reasoned. “You could move in with me,” he suggested, turning his body to face you. “Are you sure?” “Yeah, why not. We’ve been dating for a while now, and it makes sense.” He shrugged. “Unless you don’t want to.” You kissed him. “No, I want to.” Both of you discussed what your move would be like and imagined living together. If you were to look back at how your relationship with Hoseok progressed, you would be shocked. In a matter of a few months, you and Hoseok went from friends to romantic partners. Although you had not come out publicly about your relationship, many people had a sense it existed; but that didn’t matter. You and Hoseok were in a secure and healthy relationship. It was long distanced, but you two made it work by visiting each other when you could and calling almost every day. The only thing that didn’t change was the sex—although it had gotten better. Nevertheless, so much has happened over the past year. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

#jhope bts #jhopoe fanfic #jhope smut #jhope fluff #jhope angst #hoseok smut #hoseok angst #hoseok fluff #bts smut #bts angst #bts fluff #bts fanfic #ficswithluv #houseofddaeng #hobiuary2021 #hodevent

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btsslowburnfic · 4 years

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Series Summary: For Namjoon, the moment he set his sights on being the #1 rapper, he pushed the symbol to the side and hated it. Love should be chosen, not forced on you. He didn’t believe in fate and this mark on his wrist was a big “fuck you” to all that.

AN: a loooong update where we get YN to Korea Previous Chapter here

The three of you made it safe and sound to your new brownstone across the river in New Jersey. Joe has a job lined up, but at the moment you and Xavier are unemployed. On this particular day, you are in your room job hunting when you hear a knock on your bedroom door and then see Xavier gently push it open. “Fly your ass to Korea. Now. Here,” Xavier throws a book at you. “I bought you a Korean dictionary.”

You roll your eyes. “Namjoon speaks English. And I can’t read the characters or whatever so how will a dictionary help. And, I’m not going to Korea.”

Xavier crosses his arms in front of his body. “Girl. You are still in your twenties. You have no job. There is a hot man who is also your soulmate across the ocean. GO TO KOREA.” You pick your phone back up, ignoring him. You hear him let out a frustrated sigh and leave the room. You didn’t know what you wanted. You didn’t tell them that Namjoon had passed along his schedule to you and that he would be in Korea for 6 weeks starting in two weeks and that he had offered to buy you a plane ticket. You kept going back and forth. Fine. Fuck it.

YN: Hey! I’ve been thinking and I would like to come visit. As long as it’s not too much trouble and won’t interfere with your schedule

You let out a breath and put the phone down. One thing you have learned is that he keeps very strange hours and there is no way of knowing when he will be awake, when he will be performing, or even what country he is in. You are shocked when you receive a reply instantly.

NJ: It’s no problem. I will be working a lot of the time, but there is also some free time blocked out so make sure you’re ready to do some sightseeing as well on your own. I’ll rent a noona for you.

YN: I have no idea what that means but ok. Sounds exciting.

NJ: You can rent tour guides. An “older sister” to translate and show you around on some of the days.

YN: That would be amazing! Ok. Sounds great!!

NJ: I’ll book the flight and email you the information.

YN: Awesome ^_^ Thank you so much.

You try to keep your cool. You really do. But it doesn’t last long as you sit the phone down and walk out into the hallway. “Xavier!”

“What? Brat.” You hear him call from the living room.

“I’m going to Korea!” You say with a big smile on your face.

“Holy shit. You’re doing it!?! Really? When?” He sits up straight on the couch.

“I’m not sure. He’s booking the flight.”

“Oh my God. Oh my God. IT’S HAPPENING. Come. Sit here. Let’s watch some Kdramas. We need to prepare you.”

You roll your eyes but join him on the couch anyway.

--3 weeks later--

The flight isn’t too bad. When Namjoon booked your ticket you did secretly wonder if he would spring for an upgraded seat since you know...you guessed he was rich. You did not expect that he was going to pay for a first class seat though. The comfort of the seats and the fact that food was actually delicious helped to balance out the longest flight you had ever taken in your life. You managed to get some rest on the plane, but not very much since you were so excited and nervous. You had not seen each other for a while. And the last time you saw him you were both naked.

When you arrive you don’t have any bags to collect; you just brought your carry-on. You know you are going to do a lot of shopping while you are there and had decided you would just buy a suitcase there. You walk down to departures and scan the crowd looking for your name. This was so exciting. You had been the person in the crowd holding a name placard before, but you had never had it done for you. It helped that it was one of the few names written in English. You smile and walk over to a man in a suit. After confirming each other’s identity, you follow him out to a black SUV with tinted windows. He takes your bag and you slide into the backseat.

YN: Hey! I’m on my way to the hotel. When will I get to see you?

NJ: Yeah….about that. There is no way I would be able to just be going in and out of a hotel without anyone here noticing. This isn’t LA. We can’t really go out in public much here. The driver will be taking you to my apartment complex. Once you get here, you will let security know who you are. They will provide you with a key and directions.

You weren’t expecting this at all, but it made sense.

YN: Umm ok. Sounds like a plan.

You hoped to God someone at the security office spoke English. Oh well. You typed some things into your translation app just in case and tried to enjoy the scenery. It was a city, but it seemed a lot cleaner than LA. Less sunny, and more modern. At least the parts you were driving through.

After a fifteen minute taxi ride that has brought you into a very fancy part of Seoul you try to keep your cool as your driver assures you that this is the location you are supposed to be at. It is fancy looking as fuck and has a giant ass gate around it. The driver pulls up and shows his credentials and then pulls up and rolls your window down.

The security officer stands there, looking at you. You pull out your passport and state your name. He looks over a sheet of paper and nods. Handing you an envelope that feels like it has a keyboard and some papers in it. You thank him in shitty Korean and the driver closes the window. You open the envelope.

“Hey. If you’re getting this, I wasn’t able to get off work in time to meet you. The driver knows which building to go to. Use this key to go to unit 4106. Text me when you get there. Sorry!

Namjoon”

The chauffeur drives between several of the buildings. The streets are lined with trees and there appeared to be several small gardens between the buildings. The car comes to a stop outside building 4. The driver gets out to open your door and hands you the bag. You thank him and head into the building.

The apartment building was a lot like a luxury hotel, you find yourself thinking. It was decorated similarly with gilded light fixtures and a marble floor. You scan your key card at the elevators and head up to the 10th floor.

It becomes very obvious from the minute you walk in that this is Namjoon’s actual apartment. His giant shoes are all over the foyer. You purse your lips and take out your phone.

YN: YOU DIDNT SAY IT WAS YOUR APARTMENT

NJ: Relax sweetheart, the guest bedroom is for you. I’m hardly ever there. Make yourself at home and I’ll see you later ;p

YN: THATS NOT THE POINT

NJ: You’re welcome. Stop being a brat and enjoy.

You pout a little bit. Fine. Fine. You’ve already slept with him so why does it matter if this is his apartment. Because it feels so much more intimate, you think. You enter into the space while texting Xavier.

YN: New chapter in the Kdrama series.

You knew Xavier would normally be sleeping, but he was so excited and wanted to make sure you made it safely he was wide awake.

X: Oh no, what?

YN: he didn’t arrange for me to stay in a hotel IM AT HIS APARTMENT.

X: AHAHAHAHAHA HOLY SHIT. Is it nice? Is there like a waterfall? Does it smell like rich people? Send pictures!

YN: I don’t think I should send pics since he’s famous, but there are no waterfalls that I can see. It smells normal. Actually no, it smells new, like people don’t really live here. Stay tuned for updates.

X: Has he dicked you yet?

YN: -_- he’s stuck at work. And I’ll be in the guest bedroom thankyouverymuch.

X: Yeah….ok…..suuuuuuure.

You put your phone back in your pocket and continue to wander around the apartment. It is the size of a house. There is a small terrace running along the side of the unit and three open rooms that flow together. I guess rich people need more than one living room? You wonder. They are all furnished with couches and art. The floors are a beautiful Marble. Or Granite. Some expensive imported thing. You notice several plants on the wall as well as out on the terrace. Huh. I did not think he would be into plants, you find yourself thinking.

YN: Nice plants

NJ: My pride and joy

You smile and walk into the kitchen. It looks like a showroom. You doubt much cooking goes on here. If you could afford to eat out all the time you would too. You open the fridge and as predicted, it is mostly empty. There are a few bottles of water and some random condiments. Panic strikes you as you begin to wonder if there’s a coffee maker in this apartment. This could be a deal breaker; you might have to flee to the Marriott. There isn’t one sitting out. You frantically open cabinets. You make eye contact with a very fancy looking Espresso maker. Ok. You will learn how to use this beast. You sit it out on the counter and plug it in. Crisis averted for now. You continue through the rest of the house. You quickly find the master bedroom. Big bed. That’s all you take note of before closing the door. You don’t want to be nosy. You wander to the other end of the apartment and find an extra bedroom and an office. You don’t go to the office, but do take your stuff into the guest bedroom. You are feeling tired and starting to feel hungry.

YN: When will you be back? Is there a convenience store nearby? I need coffee and/or food.

NJ: Sorry. It will still be a while. Actually there are several stores on property. The closest one is in building 2. Here, download the app. I’ll send you the login info.

YN: Thanks.

You change out of your traveling clothes into real clothing and head to the market. The apartment complex’s layout is fairly easy to understand once you look at the app. You walk over to tower 2 and ride the elevator to the market level. It looks like the atrium of a cruise ship. There is a giant crystal chandelier hanging in the middle of the lobby area as well as beautiful indoor trees, glass art bulbs, probably a peacock or two wandering around, and some light music playing in the background. Oh God. I should just starve. This is too fancy. I need to leave.

You turned to leave when you heard a voice speaking politely in Korean. You ignore it, and then hear the same voice ask in English, “Excuse me, Miss. Can I help you?” A short man in his 50’s walked over. “I’m on the concierge staff here. You must be new.”

“Ah yes. Thank you. Umm...Coffee please?”

“Of course. Take-away or beans?”

“Both please?” You ask, trying to keep it simple and very thankful for the English.

“Yes of course. If you just get me the unit number I can actually just have it sent there. Also there is an ordering and delivery app you can use next time if you would like to save yourself the walk.” The man explained while he typed some information into a tablet.

“That’s very helpful. Thank you. For today, now please.”

“Very well miss, please insert your chip or resident card here and sign,” he turned the tablet towards you. You inserted your debit card.

“Thank you. Please wait.”

You take a seat in the fancy lobby area and get out your phone. You had some messages from Namjoon.

[NJ]: Oh, there is also an app you can download and order groceries to the apartment.

[NJ]: I usually eat at work so I forget about it.

[NJ]: Sorry, you probably already hiked there.

A smirk crossed your face as you started to type a response.

[Y/N]: Sorry, I just saw these. And no worries. It’s a beautiful part of the complex. I was a little overwhelmed to be honest but the concierge was very helpful! 10/10 recommend.

You take a picture of the lobby area and send it to him.

[NJ]: wow, yeah that’s beautiful. I haven’t actually been there myself.

The concierge returns, handing you a coffee and a bag of coffee beans. You thank him profusely one more time.

“My pleasure. Take care.”

You sit the beans down and pose with your coffee cup, snapping a selfie to send to Namjoon.

[Y/N]: There, now all is right with the world ^_^

[NJ]: :) See you soon!

You travel back to the apartment and unpack your suitcase. You try your hardest to stay awake, but at this point you have been up for over 24 hours and you can feel the pull of sleep. You’ll just lay down for a nap.

---------

It is dark outside by the time Namjoon gets off work. He feels bad he couldn’t meet you in the car at the airport, and even worse that he’s kept you waiting for hours. You haven’t answered any of his texts these past few hours either. He opens the door to his apartment. The lights are off. Did you leave? He wonders. He flips on the light and sees your shoes by the door which put a smile on his face. You must be sleeping. He hasn’t actually been in his apartment for about 2 months. It was mostly the same as he left it, except most of the time when he returned the apartment had a stale smell from having been left empty. This time it smelled like coffee and girl.

He enters the main living area and finds you laying in a small blanket nest on the couch with a laptop on the table; a coffee cup resting on a coaster next to it. He smiles and goes through to his bedroom to deposit his travel bag. He washes his face and changes clothes and then proceeds to nervously pace. Should he wake you up? You were probably tired, but at the same time, to prevent jet lag you shouldn’t sleep too much, and he wanted to hang out with you. He wrestles with this issue for a while and then decides he will try to wake you up.

He gently shakes your foot, “Hey sleepy. Wake up.”

“Mmmmmmmmmmm…” you respond. What’s happening? You kick the thing bothering your foot. So annoying. You hear a deep voice laugh. Oh shit, where were you again? The shaking of your foot resumes and you crack open one of your eyes and see Namjoon sitting on the couch. “Heyyyy.”

“Hey there sweetheart. Nice seeing you in Korea.”

You feel your heart do a little flip flop at the way he’s talking to you but you want to play it cool. “Yeah. It’s good to be here.” You stretch out and move to sit up.

“How are your legs doing?” He asks.

“Good. They get stiff pretty easily and I still have to do my exercises everyday but they don’t hurt most of the time or anything. I get pretty bad headaches from time to time, but you already knew that. Sorry about that by the way.”

“It’s fine, I just carry aspirin around with me now.” He shrugs. “Did you get any food? Should I order something?”

“Yeah. Order some super Korean food.” You are fully awake now.

“Yeah? You serious? It’s not going to be like Koreatown food.” He teases

“Might as well jump in. If I don’t like it, there’s always rice, right?” You smile.

“That’s true,” he takes out his phone to order dinner.

“What did you do today?”

“Today was planning for the Festa. Even though it’s months away we have to make sure we have enough content planned just in case there are any unforeseen delays.”

“Cool.” You say. You had done your basic level ARMY research so you were somewhat familiar with their different activities.

“How was your flight? You should probably get up and stretch those legs around. Get up.” He pushes your shoulder playfully.

“Ughhh….fine. By the way. Nice apartment. Is rent like 20 grand a month?” You stand up groaning slightly like an old woman. Damn stiff legs.

“Uhh...I paid 6 million dollars for it up front so I don’t pay rent. Do you want anything to drink?”

It’s a good thing you weren’t drinking anything when he dropped that little factoid on you or you would have spit it out comic-book style. Jesus. That explained the security and Gucci grocery store. “Uh water please.” You walked over following him to the kitchen. “It’s good to see you by the way. Thanks for inviting me.” You slowly remember how to speak like a human again.

“Sure. I wish I had more free time to spend with you, but I’m glad you were able to make it.” He fills a glass with water for you. “Wait a minute! Before I forget,” he jogs out of the room and returns with a small box. “Here, this is for you. We were in Australia last month and I wanted to get something for you.”

You are surprised. It didn’t occur to you that he would think about you or buy you something. Until a few months ago you had considered yourself a nuisance. “Wow, thank you so much. You didn’t have to do that.” you say, taking the box, “I hope it’s a tiny KNOIFE or tiny koala or tiny kangaroo,” you open the box. It is an adorable mug with a Koala on it superimposed on the Australian Continent. It says in English, “Lucky Australian Koala.” You burst out laughing, cupping the mug with both your hands in front of your face. “This is perfection. Thank you so much for my authentic LUCKY AUSTRALIAN KOALA, I cannot wait to drink out of him tomorrow. Seriously. “ You sit the mug on the kitchen table. Fuck it. “Come here,” you gesture, and pull him in for a hug. His body feels solid against your and he gently wraps his arms around you. You give a firm squeeze. “Thank you for the mug and for flying me out here.” You pull away and smile at him.

He looks away almost shy, “It was nothing. I figure I still owe you a few for the pen incident.”

You take a drink of the water. “Yeah. You have had some dickish moments.”

“Speaking of dickish behavior...do you want to talk about what happened with Ben or…?”

You shrug. “There’s not a lot to say. Ben apparently met his soulmate about 4 months before the car accident. He tried to stay away since we had already agreed that we didn't care about stuff like that. But he couldn't. I don't know when he started seeing Jessie behind my back. They were apparently banging all summer in the apartment and while I was in the hospital.” You take another gulp of water. Namjoon is surprised that he isn’t feeling much anger or sadness coming off of you. “After I got all my shit out of the apartment and had a chance to calm down, I couldn't be too mad about it you know? You and I had already slept together and most people aren't as stubborn as us. So really, how could they resist? I mean I was angry and sad at the time but at this point it seems like a lifetime ago. "

Namjoon had never asked about what had happened with Ben before, assuming that if you wanted to talk about it you would have brought it up. " Wow. "

"Yeah. I mean that's waaaay oversimplified but that's the gist of it. Anyways. Everything was a mess for me for a while. You know I stayed with Xavier and Joe and then Xavier's husband got a really good job offer here so we all picked up and left LA."

“And now you’re in New York.” He finishes your thought

“Yeah. Well Jersey technically because rent is $1000 less a month. But I’m applying for jobs as assistant director at tv stations and theaters. I’m hopeful something will come up. I can’t really teach fitness classes anymore.”

Namjoon listens thoughtfully, feeling like a jackass for never asking about this stuff before. What kind of soulmate was he?

“Well, let me know if you need a job reference.”

“Ahahahaha,” You laugh awkwardly. “No way. I don’t want people thinking I only got a job because I know someone famous.”

“Sweetheart, that’s how everyone gets jobs in the industry.” He leans against the counter.

“I don’t know, I’ll think about it.” You fidget

“You know I’ll just text Xavier and he’ll tell me the companies you applied for.” Namjoon flashes his dimples at you.

You scowl. “I didn’t realize you two were so chummy.”

“Hey, we bonded a lot in the hospital.” His phone let out a chirp. “The food is at the security office. I’ll be back in a few. Make yourself at home.” He heads over to the foyer to slip his shoes on.

You decide to unpack and then wash your face and brush your teeth before returning to the main area where he has just returned. “That was fast”, you comment, meeting him near the door and taking a bag from his hands.

“I rode my bike over.” He replies, following you to the kitchen.

“They let your clumsy ass ride a bike?” You tease, pulling food out.

He lets out a laugh, “Yeah. Just remember, only one of us has got hit by a car.”

“Touche. Touche. Alright. I don’t know what any of this is, so I’m going to go wait at the table like a lazy bitch.”

“Haha, fair enough. I’ll bring it over. “

You head over and have a seat at the dining table, placing your water down. This feels so weird. So intimate. He joins a few minutes later placing a bunch of food on the table along with a spoon and chopsticks.

“I’m sure there’s a fork around here somewhere if you need one.” He says as he opens the lids on the containers.

“I lived in LA where we ate sushi almost every day, I think I’ll be ok.” You sass back, ,looking over all of the delicious food. You start to dig in. He sits waiting to see what your reaction will be. You flash him a thumbs up as you chew. It’s definitely good. He smiles and begins to eat as well.

Dinner is relatively quiet. You had no idea how hungry you were until you started to eat. Some of the foods had a texture you didn’t quite care for, but overall you liked it all.

“Wow. That was delicious. Thank you so much.” You smile

“It was. You’re welcome.” He gets up and starts to clear the table and you join him.

You continue to yawn involuntarily as the two of you straighten up the kitchen,

“Do you want some coffee or a nap?” he asks.

“I’m going to try and stay awake a little bit longer. What does the rest of the night look like?”

“Relaxing. I am exhausted from work. And you don’t look so fresh yourself. LEt’s watch a movie or something.” He says it so casually. Like this is a normal thing the two of you do. Like it hasn’t been months since the last time you saw each other and you left him naked and alone in a bed. You feel your heartbeat speed up.

“Hold on, I’m changing into some comfy clothes before I make this commitment.” you get up and head towards your room.

You come back in leggings and a shirt. Namjoon has re-positioned himself on the end of the couch. You sit next to him. “Ok, all set,” you grab your blanket.

“You take your comfort quite seriously,” Namjoon laughs as he hits the play button.

“Definitely,” you respond, yawning. After about half an hour, It’s dark outside, the night spilling into the living room. You are trying to keep your eyes open. You feel Namjoon put his large arm around you. You don’t resist, you nestle into it. You feel the warmth of his body radiating against you. It feels so nice.You try to stay awake but your eyelids grow heavy. The next thing you know, you wake up slowly, not quite oriented to where you are. Your face is sweaty. You take stock of your surroundings. You are still in the living room. You must have fallen asleep while watching the movie. You move a bit and realize you are not alone. Namjoon is asleep as well. Underneath you. Oh god. You probably trapped him. Is that your drool on his shirt? You wonder. But you know that yes, it definitely is. Jesus [Y/N].Not making a great impression here. Must sneak out so the drool will dry before he wakes up. You move as stealthy as possible off of him, which is very difficult since you found yourself laying between his legs. How did you even get like that? You had gone in for a light snuggle to see how it would be received and then apparently passed out dead. No more starting movies when you were tired. You knew it was your weakness.

The poor man probably had to pee and was stuck, forced to lay underneath you until he fell asleep. Is he snoring? Huh. Well ok. You drool and he snores. Very attractive individuals. You grab a blanket from your nest on the other side of the couch and put it on top of him. You sneak down the hallway to your bathroom, pee and sneak into your bedroom. You lay down and try to fall asleep, but your heart is beating fast as all you can think about it falling asleep on Namjoon. You feel your face grow warm. You are a mix of turned on and embarrassed. You turn off your light and wonder if he will still want to go sightseeing with your drooly-ass tomorrow. @calling-dips-on-j-hope @ghostkat23 @cuteipat @marianeamine@thisisval @almonte12 @themisunderstoodblackswan @bobbyboops @betysotelo18 @katerbees

#bts fic #bts writing #rm x reader #bts rm fanfic #namjoon scenarios #namjoon x you #namjoon x reader #bts namjoon x reader #bts soulmate au #bts rm x reader #bts rm x you #rm x y/n

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themysteriousauthor18 · 4 years

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So I saw this post, and I thought the idea was really cool. Truth be told I am a wee bit uncomfortable with seeing Alastor being sexual, but that's just because I'm somewhere on the asexual spectrum. But that's just my personal opinion, but I do like the idea of regular Angel dropping into an AU were Alastor is a pimp.

I think it be cute and funny to see Angel’s reaction to this version of Alastor.

So being somewhat of a writer I couldn't help myself but try to write a one-shot of this. Hope you'll enjoy it. I don't really know anything else of how Angel got there or what the rest of the word is like in terms of the hotel or anything so, I'm just relying on my own head cannons for that and going off the artwork.

Artist of work above:

@staticapplesin

Normally waking up, for Angel Dust, would always involve something that was the cause of disturbing his sleep in the first place. In the past, it had been his regular johns that left or the pain they inflicted on the night prior. But recently it was either Vaggie yelling in the lobby or the princess of hell herself knocking on his door. And sometimes if he was unlucky, it would be Valentino calling.

Those were the wost.

But this morning, when Angel awoke, he heard something he thought he'd never hear.

Silence.

It had taken him a few moments to register that it was in fact quiet in his room. And he assumed that perhaps he'd woken up in the night again and that was the reasoning. But the small bit of hells light peaking through his blinds and into his room suggested otherwise. It was always a little brighter out when it was daylight out in Hell.

His room was still a little dark though because of the blinds. And as Angel sat up he couldn't help but notice another thing.

It smelled weird.

Not weird in the sense that the room was old, hadn't been tended two in who knows how long. Or even that mild odor that always lingered. That would always make Angel's nose scrunch up.

No, it smelled....sweet? Almost like strawberries.

Unable to lay there a minute longer Angel pushed himself up in his bed. Finding that it was more comfortable than usual. Something didn't feel right..something felt, off.

He pressed the ball of his palm to his forehead as he squeezed his eyes shut. Realizing his head did hurt just enough to call it a headache. Was he hungover? A fever dream maybe?

Angel pushed the thought aside, he was too tired for this shit. He needed food at the very least. And if the hotel was quiet? Well, it just meant he could ease this headache away until Vaggie woke up trying to chew his head off.

Pushing off the bed, Angel's feet stepped over anything that could be cluttering the floors per usual. Although nothing did. As he opened the door to his bedroom, allowing the hallway light to fill his room he briefly caught his pig sleeping in his bed in front of his own.

When had he'd bought nuggets that?

Another stray thought to be pushed aside.

With his head hurting too much and his eyes heavy with the aftermath of sleep, he failed to notice the decor and layout of the building he was in. Heading down the hall to the left, he did not come to stairs but just into a decently sized living room.

As he rubbed his eyes, taking in the room he realized this wasn't the hotel.

"Musta ended up at someone's house.." He reasoned himself with. But that didn't explain fat nuggets being in that room. Or the lack therefor of a random john.

He didn't care right now. At the very least he needed coffee. His feet managed to carry him over to the kitchen separated only by the counters. Something that actually looked better than it sounded.

Tired mismatched eyes looked around for the coffee machine. As they landed on the pink and white-colored machine there was a small sticky note attached to the front of it. He leaned in, his squinting at the note to read it.

'Hey, Angie I know you'll be a little tired after last night. Shit was wild! I gotta head out because some of us have boring jobs. But I prepped the coffee just press the button. See you later, have fun. Good luck ;) '

Angel knit his brows at the note. So he was at Cherri's house? That explained things a little better. But he didn't see how her job was boring. The headache was probably due to last night. Whatever had happened.

He looked over the six buttons on the top of the coffee machine. Finally, pressing the 'begin brewing' button, he sighed in relief.

As he leaned against the opposite counter of the coffee machine he crossed his arms. He glanced down at himself briefly, noting he was still in his usual suit. One of which was a little torn in some places. None of them looked to be claw marks though, rather...burn marks.

The spider settled for holding off any questions until he got his caffeine. He closed his eyes once again, ignoring the mild pounding of his head. So much so that he was practically deaf to the footsteps coming near him.

And with the beeping of the coffee machine Angel's eyes jolted open once again. But as his gaze wandered, in the corner of his eye something caught his attention. He turned his head in that direction and immediately stumbled back, falling into the floor.

Out of everything that could ever happen in his afterlife. Seeing the radio demon, standing in front of him in only his boxers was certainly not something he expected.

His face burned with the color red. Okay, this had to be a fever dream now. There was no way Alastor would even come close enough to allowing something like this.

Angel remained on the floor, staring at the redhead. The demon in question only remained leaning his arm on the wall as he looked at Angel as if he were the crazy one.

"I'm surprised to see you up," the demon paused. His eyes tracing up and down Angel's body for a moment. "And fully dressed at that."

His voice...what happened to his voice?! There was no radio filter on it at all. He just sounded, normal. But to Angel, it sounded weird.

A million thoughts raced through Angel's head as he continued to stare at the redhead. The deer demon rolled his eyes pushing off the wall, and as he approached his hand moved prompting Angel to immediately cover his face.

He waited for something, anything. To be punished for whatever he'd done yesterday because dammit he couldn't remember!

But none of that happened.

"Angel darling, what are you doing?" Came Alastor's confused voice. And with the lack of a radio filter, he could actually hear the confusion in it.

Slowly Angel opened an eye, still finding that confused smile. At least he was still smiling, otherwise, he may have lost his sanity entirely. "Come on now, you can’t stay there all day." A laugh escaped him although it hardly sounded like Alastor's laugh. "Unless you'd rather go again?"

Go again? What?

Angel took Alastor's hand, assuming that this was Alastor and Angel hadn't finally gone insane.

With ease, the redhead pulled Angel up. It seemed his physical strength was still there. He watched the redheads eyes scan his body again. When had he ever looked anywhere but his face?

"What are you wearing?" He heard the man ask. Angel wasn't looking at him. He couldn't. "This certainly isn't one of my works. Well, so long as you change once we head to work."

We?

‘My works’?

"I can't have my darling wearing something as hideous as that." Angel huffed, he actually liked his suit. It was one of the first things he'd gotten from Valentino once arriving in hell. Back when the man wasn't using him as a punching bag.

Angel finally chanced a glance at Alastor who was pouring the coffee. The longer Angel stared, the redder his face got. The colors going even as far as the pink on his chest.

He's shirtless. He's pants-less! He's almost fucking naked!

His thoughts ran wild, and when Alastor looked over his shoulder he couldn't help the blood suddenly leaking from his nose. (He has a nose it's just very very tiny and hidden.) He turned away, trying to cover it.

All the while the redhead looked at him, confused but amused all the same.

"You are acting very strange today. I don’t think I’ve seen you that red since our first meeting." He said as he added some milk into Angel's coffee before handing it to the spider.

Still holding his hand over his bleeding nose, Angel took the cup but refused to look anymore at Alastor. He heard the redhead humming in front of him.

"Sorry to leave the bed this morning but you usually take very long to wake up." A low chuckle. "Not that I blame you."

Angel choked on his coffee. His heart was racing in his chest and ears. This wasn't real right? And if it was, what the fuck happened.

"I have to say though--" he heard Alastor beside him suddenly and the soft clank of a coffee cup being placed down. Before he knew it a claw was guiding his chin over to the redheads gaze. The look in his eyes, was that..lust?

"--While waking up to you in clothes is certainly a surprise." He pulled the spiders face closer. "I like you better without them."

Without much of a warning, the deer's lips were pressed hard against his. Angel's eyes grew wide as the gears tried to process it. But when the demon's tongue slipped into his mouth the gears broke.

Angel was stiff against the kiss as Alastor pulled back leaving a red-faced spider. His eyes curiously searched Angel's as he wiped a strain of saliva from Angel's agape mouth.

"Strange, that little trick usually has you back in bed with me for at least another hour." Before Angel could question anything the redhead's hand pulled away, claw lingered there teasingly.

"Well, if you wish to head to work earlier today than that is fine. I do have a few things I need to get done at the studio. Unfortunately, the day after New Year doesn't grant us the day off."

Alastor called, as he walked off towards the room Angel had woken up in. As he nonchalantly disappeared into that room Angel just stared.

He stared as his head pounded in pain at trying to process everything that had just happened.

"What the fuck.."

I think I'm going to end it there. I honestly don't know what to think when writing pimp Alastor. Also with the morning scene I wasn’t implying that Angel is dating Alastor but rather (since Alastor is in Valentino’s place) that Alastor fools around with whoever he pleases. This includes Angel Dust. And safe to say it isn't the first time Alastor’s slept with Angel dust in that Au (Again just my personal head cannon.)

There were a few things I had to just guess on, since he's filling in the spot for Valentino I wasn't sure if he had his radio voice anymore. Or his shadows? I knew for a fact that he probably didn't care about walking around in his boxers but I wasn't sure if he had some humility of walking around just newd. Also, I wasn't sure my mild asexual heart could write that and not die with Angel.

Thanks for reading!

#radiodust #angel dust #alastor #au #pimp alastor #oneshots #fanfiction

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echoes-of-the-clockwork · 3 years

Text

Book One: Gold (Prompto x Reader) Chapter XVIII

A/n: As you may know, I don't do lemons. However, I don't mind doing spicy scenes. Hopefully I'm somewhat good at writing such scenes to add some more intimate moments in this series. Love you all!!! ••••••••••••••••••••

After securing rooms at the Leville, the group searched the city for Maagho. With help from some strangers, they hopped aboard a gondola and traveled the canals of Altissia until they arrived at their destination. Walking into the bar, they were greeted by the man behind the counter. "Welcome to Accordo, lass and lads. Cid mentioned you'd be dropping in. Weskham Armaugh, as you've gathered. Never would've expected you boys to be traveling with a guardian."

(Y/n) tensed slightly. She knew not everyone was welcoming to her kind and some would even shun them. "I hope I'm not unwanted."

The man shook his head, placing the glass he was cleaning down on the countertop. "Nonsense, my lady. Spirits are welcome here. In fact, a couple of my regulars are guardians."

The girl was relieved to hear she was welcomed at Maagho. Her tense muscles relaxed as she wandered around the bar, admiring its layout and peaceful atmosphere while Noctis chatted with Weskham. She found herself near the canal, looking out towards the beautiful city. It's been months since she and the others had been in such a large city.

The view was breathtaking and she was itching to explore. She tilted her head slightly, watching a gondola drift by with a couple on it. She immediately looked away when they began kissing each other. She placed a hand over her mouth, gobsmacked at how the couple didn't care who saw them kiss.

Suddenly, (Y/n) dropped her hand from her mouth and jumped slightly when she felt someone poke her side. Looking to her left, she spotted the culprit smiling at her. "I thought you'd be chatting with Weskham, Prom."

"The guys can handle that. Just wanted to see how you're doing," Prompto said.

"I'm great. The need to explore is becoming overwhelming and I'm itching to see what all Altissa has to offer."

"Me too! I am so gonna blow up my camera with pictures while we're here. I probably should've brought an extra memory card..." He looked across the canal for a second before crossing his arms behind his head. He tapped the heel of his right boot against the ground. "So, about our date..."

"What about it?" She inquired.

"Since the sun's already setting, how does tomorrow sound?"

"Sounds fine to me. Guess we'll "wing it"," the girl giggled.

"Aw, yeah! We're gonna have the best time!"

The sound of heels clacking against the hardwood floor caught their attention. The couple turned around just as a woman walks into Maagho with guards following behind her. Weskham greets her, knowing exactly who she was. "My dear Camelia, it's been a while."

"I heard about your distinguished guests," she explained.

"Ah, you've an ear for gossip."

Camelia then turned her attention to Noctis, Gladio, and Ignis. "Gentlemen, I won't waste your time. My name is Camelia Claustra."

Ignis was familiar with her position. "First secretary of the Accordo Protectorate."

"You should know we have Lady Lunafreya in our care. And the empire demands we surrender her."

Noctis' eyes widen at the news. "What?"

"Yet I am loath to acquiesce unless we stand to profit. Hence I've come to discuss terms...with the King of Lucis. If you've a mind to talk, come to my estate," the first secretary said. Her gaze moved away from the three and landed on (Y/n). She took note of the girl's slitted eyes and gemstone. "You're the guardian the empire is searching for."

Prompto tensed up beside the girl while Noctis stood up and asked, "There a problem?"

"None whatsoever. I'll pretend I never saw her." With that, Camelia left with her guards.

Once she was gone, Weskham addressed the group. "She can be oblique at the best of times, but I assure you her heart is in the right place."

Prompto was relieved, the tension leaving his body. "Oh. Okay."

"At any rate, you must be weary from your journey. Might I suggest you seek your beds for now and ponder matters anew in the morning?"

Noctis sighed in exhaustion. "Yeah, think we'll do just that."

They left the bar and headed back to the Leville. As they walked into the lobby of the hotel, they encountered Gentiana. (Y/n) was unfamiliar with the woman, but she had the same presence as Umbra. Prompto told her the woman was another divine messenger of the Astrals. After she shared her message about the uncertainty of the future, she vanished.

The spirit kept her gaze glued to where Gentiana once stood. She was so focused on the divine messenger that she didn't realize Noctis, Gladio, and Ignis already headed upstairs. She removed herself from her deep thoughts just as someone tugged on her hand. She looked over to see Prompto was trying to nudge her in the direction of the stairs. She smiled at him and they headed up to their room. The couple was grateful to have a separate room.

Inside the room, it was at that moment they realized they had yet to eat. Prompto took it upon himself to order them room service. They patiently waited for the food to arrive, their stomachs growling seemingly in unison. When their meals did arrive, it wasn't long before the food was gone.

After eating, (Y/n) headed into the bathroom to take a quick shower. She scrubbed the small amount of filth off her body before lathering it with soap and her hair with shampoo. Once cleaned, she stepped out of the shower and dried herself off. As she did, that's when she noticed how dirty her clothes were. She pouted, knowing she needed to clean her outfit. That's when her predicament arose.

Unlike the boys, she didn't have a spare outfit. An idea came to mind and she doubt Prompto would refuse. Poking her head out of the bathroom, she casted an innocent smile in the blonde's direction. "Hey, Prom? Could I borrow a shirt for tonight?"

Prompto's head snapped up. His brain was trying to process her question. "Borrow a...shirt?"

"That's what I said."

He flushed slightly before setting down his camera and searching for his spare tank top. When he found it, he walked over to the bathroom and handed it to her. His cheeks were still red, mumbling a small "mhm" to her minuscule "thank you" when she took the tank top from him. He returned to the bed as she closed the bathroom door.

With Prompto's tank top on, (Y/n) used the bathtub to wash her clothes. She hung them to dry after gently scrubbing the dirt and blood from the fabric. Before leaving the bathroom, she tugged the tank top lower so it reached just above her knees. Smiling, she strolled out of the bathroom and sat on the foot of the bed beside Prompto. She knew he was staring at her the moment she left the bathroom, but pretended not to notice. Gathering her damp (h/c) locks in one hand, she combed her other one through them while humming.

After suffering in silence for a couple minutes, (Y/n) built up the courage to turn and face Prompto. "So, about our date tomorrow. I know we said we were gonna wing it, but maybe—ah!" A yelp escaped her lips at the feeling of being yanked further onto the bed by her arm and pinned down on the mattress. She stared up into a pair of cerulean eyes, her breath hitching in her throat. The tank top she was wearing rolled up slightly from the sudden change in position, exposing her bare thighs.

Prompto was perched on all fours. His hands were on either side of her head and his knees were between her legs. He could feel a sudden wave of heat consume every fiber of his being from simply just seeing her in his spare tank top. His gaze was full of want and need, hands fisting the sheets. One of his hands gravitated towards her cheek, his fingers caressing her soft skin. His fingers trailed down her cheek and neck before coming to a stop near her collarbone. He bit his bottom lip, but he was unable to hold back the shaky breath he was trying to suppress.

Not once had he broken eye contact with (Y/n) as his fingers danced across her body. Removing his hand from her collarbone, Prompto placed it against her exposed thigh. His fingers traced circles along her outer left thigh before moving upwards. They snaked underneath the tank top and stopped just below the hem of her panties.

Her chest rose and fell as she enjoyed his gentle touch. She fought back a pleasurable moan when his fingers stopped dangerously close to her core. She swallowed hard, stopping any pleasurable noises that threatened to slip from her lips. "Wh-What's gotten into you all of a sudden?" She gasped loudly when one of his fingers slid into her panties.

Prompto ceases his actions to answer her question. "Do you even realize how amazing you look in my tank top? You're like a present that needs to be unwrapped. I should've let you worn it sooner." Using his free hand, he pushed himself up and sat on his knees between her legs. Removing his finger from her underwear, he snaked his hands underneath her thighs and pulled her closer. A shriek of surprise emitted from her throat as her thighs now rested against the sides of his hips. With his hands firmly grasping her thighs, he bent over to close the distances between their faces.

When Prompto's face was a few inches from (Y/n)'s, she raised her hands and cupped his cheeks. She trailed her thumbs across his cheekbones, smiling at him. "A present, huh? Maybe I should wear your clothes more often."

"Please do," he whimpered before kissing her passionately. His fingernails dug into her thighs, but not enough to hurt her.

(Y/n) tilted her head and slightly opened her mouth at feeling the warmth of his tongue protrude from his lips and trail across her own. As his tongue slipped into her mouth and danced with her own, she moved her hands from his cheeks to his hair. Her finger entangled in his blonde locks, tugging slightly as the kiss grew even more heated.

Breaking the kiss a minute later, both panted slightly as their foreheads rested against each other's. Because of the intoxicating kiss, both their bodies felt sapped of energy. It also didn't help they had a long day of traveling. Prompto leant forward too far when he tried to claim her lips a second time and cried out as his body fell. He tried to stop from falling onto (Y/n), but he couldn't do it in time. His body smooshed hers against the mattress, face buried against her chest just above her cleavage.

The girl wasn't in any pain and could only laugh. "You really are a klutz, Prom."

Prompto breathes out a sigh, his warm breath grazing her skin. He felt her shudder slightly and chuckled. "It's part of my charm."

"It sure is," she continued to laugh. Gently, she wrapped one arm around his back and used her other hand to cradle his head against her chest. "It's one of the many things I love about you."

Smiling warmly, Prompto felt a couple tears of joy fall from his eyes. "I love you, (Y/n)." He wound his arms around her torso and closed his eyes, nuzzling his nose against her collarbone.

She cranes her neck down a little ways and kissed the top of his head, stroking his hair in the process. "I love you too, Prom. Let's get some sleep."

Adjusting their position, they flipped to lay on their sides. Prompto's face was still buried in (Y/n)'s chest with his arms wound securely around her waist. She kept one arm around his back with her other hand cradling the back of his head. Within minutes, the couple was fast asleep.

<——————————————<<<<<

The next morning, the group was gathered in the lobby of the Leville. There, they discussed their plans for the day. Noctis, Gladio, and Ignis would head to Camelia's estate while Prompto and (Y/n) get to spend their free time together by exploring Altissia.

Once splitting ways with the others, the couple wandered around Altissia to see what the city had to offer. The first thing that caught their attention was the Leviathan Monument. The large piece of art was made from warped metal, appearing to be a horned whale. Prompto snapped a few pictures of the sculpture while (Y/n) wandered over to one of the vendors managing a stall nearby. He told her about the wishing tradition and handed her a paper bird, telling her to make a wish before attempting to throw it into the sculpture's mouth.

After making her wish, she carefully aimed the paper bird and threw it in the direction of the statue's agape mouth. She watched with bated breaths as it soared towards the sculpture's mouth, but groaned when a gentle breeze blew through the plaza and knocked it off course. "Dammit..."

Prompto, who'd taken a picture of her, rushed over to the vendor and got two more paper birds. With a smile, he handed her one. Together, they wished before tossing their paper birds. Both sailed through air and directly into the whale's mouth. (Y/n) sighed in relief while Prompto cheered. She nudged him in the side with her elbow, grinning. "You got lucky."

He poked her side, smirking when he heard a small giggle fall from her lips. "No way! That was pure skill!"

"You wish," she scoffed.

The couple exchanged a few more playful words before leaving to continue their adventure through Altissia. They walked down the grand staircase leading up to Leviathan's Monument and were promptly stopped by a young woman. She sat on the bottom step with her artwork on display, her supplies strewn about. "Hey, would you two like to get your portrait drawn?"

Prompto and (Y/n) exchanged glances before agreeing to have their portrait drawn. They stood a few feet away from the woman so she could get a good look at them while she drew. Without thinking, the spirit wound her arms around his left one, hugging it tightly. She rested her head against his shoulder, smiling blissfully. The sharpshooter smiled giddily, cheeks dusted a light pink.

After ten minutes, the artist was done. The couple stepped away from each other to admire the portrait. Prompto grimaced slightly when seeing how big his nose was. Lifting his hand, he traced over his nose. "Is my nose really that big?"

(Y/n) snorted with laughter. "Your nose is fine, Prom." She then turned her attention back to the woman. "How much do we owe you?"

"Oh, please, don't worry about paying me. You two lovebirds go have fun. Altissia has tons to offer," she smiled back at them.

The couple thanked the artist before leaving with their new portrait in hand. Folding it neatly, Prompto put it into his pocket and they wandered through the streets of Altissia. The marksman took tons of photos of the scenery, (Y/n), and even some of them together as they sauntered around the city.

Down one of the streets, they found a young woman running a stall. She was selling a variety of flowers, which interested Prompto. With (Y/n) close behind, he browsed the many types of flowers. The (h/c)-haired girl was entranced with the flowers after smelling one with (f/c) petals. "Oh, wow! That smells amazing! It's sweet yet refreshing. And the color is beautiful."

Hearing that was all Prompto needed. He handed over a small amount of gil for a single (f/c) flower. The vendor thanked him, hading over a single flower. (Y/n) watched her boyfriend closely as he snapped a portion of the stem off. "What're you doing, Prom?"

"This." Standing in front of her, Prompto combed a few strands of her (h/c) locks behind her right ear. He then placed the (f/c) flower in her hair, smiling gently at her. "Y'know, (f/c) really suits you."

She gently patted the flower before asking, "Should I invest in a (f/c) dress, then?"

He grabbed her hand, frantically nodding. "Please do! I've never seen you in a dress and I think you'd look amazing in one."

She chortled. "I'll think about it."

Hand in hand, their next stop was going to be Maagho. It was a little past one in the afternoon and neither of them had ate breakfast. They figured the bar they'd visit yesterday would be the perfect place to have lunch.

After filling their bellies with Weskham's delicious food, the couple decided to wrap up their lengthy date with a peaceful gondola ride around Altissia. As they were waiting for another gondola to arrive, they were approached by a strange man. He grabs (Y/n)'s shoulders and squeezes tightly, causing her two wince. "You have to leave!" He shook her, resulting in the flower to fall out of her hair.

Prompto saw the pain on her face and hastily intervened. He pried the man's hands off her shoulders and stood in front of her. "Whoa there, buddy! Can you not touch her?"

The stranger then grabs the front of Prompto's shirt. "You're her master, right? Please, you must get her out of Altissia. It isn't safe for spirits to be in the city."

"What're you talking about?" (Y/n) inquired. She examined his appearance and saw the ring on his finger. Just like Geralt's, it was black and cracked. Her eyes widen in shock. "You had a guardian?"

The man nodded his head, tears beginning to pool in his eyes. "Y-Yes... His name was Luca and we were going to get married next month. B-But those damned imperial bastards killed him! They didn't hesitate to kill him in front of me. Th-They took his body a-and fed it to some daemonic beast."

"Daemonic beast?" Prompto muttered.

"The empire's created a monster that devours the corpses of guardians. It consumes their bodies and absorbs their powers."

(Y/n) was becoming suspicious of the man. "You know an awful lot about this "monster". How do you even know about it?"

"I followed them after they dragged Luca's body away. Th-That thing's in Altissia!" He released Prompto and hung his head with a sniffle. "I-I still can't believe he's gone..."

The spirit stepped around her boyfriend and placed a comforting hand on the man's shoulder. "I'm sorry for your loss."

He lifted his head and wiped a few tears away. "Thank you for your kindness. I've taken it upon myself to search Altissia for any guardians. I want to warn them before what happened to Luca happens to them."

"Does this creature have a name?"

"The soldiers called it the "devourer"."

She smiled at the stranger. "Thank you for telling us. I admire your conviction to help my people."

He was able to smile through his tears. "O-Of course. Please, get out of the city before it's too late." The man walked away, running down the street.

When he was gone, Prompto couldn't help but worry. "You really think that monster exists?"

The guardian nodded. "I do. He was clearly distraught and worried about the whole thing. We need to tell the others about this."

"Aaand there goes our romantic gondola ride..." Prompto mumbled with a whine.

She kissed him on the cheek. "We'll have another date soon. Let's get back to the hotel."

Finding the others relaxing in the lobby of the Leville when they returned, Prompto and (Y/n) told them about their encounter with the distraught man and what he told them. Just like the couple, none of them were surprised at the extremes the empire would go just to get what they wanted.

"And that damn thing is here in the city?" Gladio asked.

"That's what the guy said," Prompto replied.

"Can you vouch for this man?" Ignis questioned.

(Y/n) nodded. "Yes. His ring bore the gemstone of a deceased guardian. And by how distraught he was, he was clearly concerned."

"What can we do about it?" Noctis inquired.

"Well...nothing. But at least we know of this daemon's presence and the possible danger it poses."

"This "devourer" only consumes guardians. You are the one at risk, (Y/n)," the strategist stated. "I recommend remaining in the hotel for the time being."

"But what about you guys?" She asked.

"We're just gonna do some exploring before coming back. And I doubt you'll be alone," Noctis stated, eyes roaming over to the blonde standing beside the girl. "Guess you two should just relax here until tomorrow."

"I'm down for that. With the whole rite going down tomorrow, we should relax," Prompto claimed. He grabbed (Y/n)'s hand and tugged her towards the stairs. "You guys have fun!"

"And you two better not have too much fun," Gladio retorted.

The marksman faintly blushed at the shield's words as he headed upstairs with the guardian. They entered the room and closed the door behind them. He flopped down on the bed with a heavy sigh while she went to enjoy the view from the balcony. The boy stared at her back for a few seconds before he lifted his right arm and admired the gemstone bracelet. He twirled it around his wrist a few times, his mind thinking dark thoughts. He imaged the gemstone turning from gold to black before cracking down the middle.

With a startled gasp, he flew up and checked the bracelet closely. Seeing it was fine, he sighed in relief and laid back down on his back. He placed an arm over his eyes, thinking back to what the man had told them earlier. "The devourer, huh...?"

"Sounds kinda creepy," (Y/n) said, sauntering back into the room.

"Sounds hungry," Prompto chuckled. "Just not for food."

"It is unsettling." The guardian sat down on the edge of the bed with a huff. "A daemon capable of devouring spirits and harnessing their power... If it truly has absorbed the magic from guardians, who knows how powerful it is. And it's somewhere in the city."

"Bet the empire has it hidden somewhere," the boy said.

"No doubt. They might use the rite as a distraction to lure out the guardians residing in Altissia. If all hell breaks loose tomorrow, then spirits will do everything they can to protect their masters. That'll make it easier for the empire to find them."

Prompto searches blindly around for her hand. When he found it, he squeezed gently. "I don't know what that thing is capable of, but I won't let it have you."

She smiled down at him. "Tomorrow will be dangerous, but we have each other's backs. We also have the others on our side. Whatever happens, I know all of us will come out alive."

He nodded. "Yeah. Whatever tomorrow brings, all of us will make it through."

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter || Masterlist

#ffxv #ffxv x reader #final fantasy xv #final fantasy xv x reader #prompto argentum #prompto x reader #prompto argentum x reader

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thepurplebutterflythings · 5 years

Text

Coffee (Part 1) - Arthur

Gif: Unknown on Giphy

Word Count: 3.7K

Paring: Arthur x (f)Reader

Summary: Arthur never lets a job get personal, but something about Y/N gets to him.

Warnings: N/A

Masterlist

________________________________________________________________

Mr Saito had to contact Dom Cobbs and his team again, it was his last resort, he didn’t want to after what happened when they went against Fischer, that was how all of the team ended up sitting in his office, Dom was fiddling with his spindle totem and Arthur was rolling his loaded dice in his palm while Ariadne was running her thumb over her chess piece whereas Eames and Yusuf leant against the back wall.

“What’s this about?” Dom asked the businessman “it isn’t about Fischer is it?”

“I am not going through that again!” Eames spoke up, shuddering at the thought the three-level dream.

“No, Fischer is not the problem” Saito sighed and shook his head as he sat behind his desk.

“Then what is it?” Ariadne asked him curiously “another competitor we have to take down” she scoffed under her breath, Saito pulled a stack of files out, all with the same name on the front.

Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N

Arthur raised an eyebrow in confusion as he took a file and opened it to find basic information and surveillance pictures of a woman, his own age, with Y/H/C hair that framed her face and piercing Y/E/C eyes, which were glazed over in thought, the main image was of the girl on the train station platform at Kings Cross Station in London, standing next to a poll and leaning one shoulder against it, tucking her hair behind her ear and biting her lip as her free hand was lightly on her shoulder bag as if she was scared of being mugged.

“Who is she?” Eames spoke up, everyone had a file now.

“Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N,” Saito told them “daughter of Y/L/N Corp.’s CEO Y/F/N Y/L/N” he explained as they all scanned the images of the girl “and my God-daughter” the team darted their eyes up to him as he sighed “she has moved to London after a dispute with her parents and is unreachable, that picture of Kings Cross was taken 6 months ago, and was the last image we managed to find, I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t need to, but Mr and Mrs Y/L/N are terrified about what happened and… so am I” Saito confessed, “she is the closest the thing I have to a daughter, and I don’t trust anyone else to go and find her.”

“That’s not what we do, Saito” Cobbs sighed.

“I know that” Saito nodded “but that’s not all.”

“What else is there?” Ariadne asked.

“Y/N was an informant for the FBI briefly,” Saito told them “which was the cause of her parent’s argument with her.”

“An informant?”

“She told them about White Collar Crimes, corporate espionage and embezzlements, things like that” Saito told them “and then she just… disappeared one night.”

“And you're worried she knows about what we did to Fischer” Arthur concluded as he lowered the file to his lap as Saito nodded ashamedly.

“Which is where you come in” Saito sighed “go into her mind and find out, it’s simpler than planting a thought, correct?”

“We’d only need two levels” Yusuf nodded “maybe even one, if we’re lucky.”

“We can do it, but we need to find Y/N first,” Dom told Saito with a nod.

“But, I don’t want you thinking this is selfish,” Saito said, “I do miss her as well.”

_______________________________________________________________

The Team were trying to decide who to have in the dream, all of them arguing, Dom was hard setting on having a reunion between Y/N and her parents while Ariadne and Arthur were challenging that idea with the research they had gathered.

“She doesn’t trust them!” Arthur told him “she became an informant because of them, why Y/N would want to trust them?”

“Arthur’s Right” Eames sighed, Arthur looked at him in confusion “don’t be surprised, Art.”

“Hard not to be” Arthur muttered.

“What about Saito?” Ariadne suggested as she sat herself on a table “Eames can impersonate him.”

“The reason we're doing this is to know whether or not she knows about his involvement in Fischer dissolving his Father’s empire” Dom reminded the young girl “him being there would entirely implode it.”

“Who does she trust?” Eames asked.

“Y/N wouldn’t trust someone unless she committed to them” Saito told the group.

“Like a husband?” Ariadne questioned. Everyone perked up and thought, it was so simple, yet elegant.

“Exactly” Saito nodded “but, her Relationship Status isn’t known.”

“She’s Single” Arthur filled in the blank “any men which are in the pictures with her are seemingly in relationships with other people, or she views them purely platonic.”

“Now the massive question” Eames coughed as he leant against the wall. “Which of us are gonna make an Honest Woman out of her?”

“Definitely not you” Saito insisted “she is the closest thing I have to a daughter, and even though it’s a dream, you aren’t not going near her!” Eames pulled an offended face while the other members hid a chuckle.

“You’re goanna decide for her then?”

“Better than someone who does know the target decides than one of us” Arthur said as he strolled to the table Ariadne was sitting on to pick up a file “If Y/N suspects something is off, she might realize that she’d dreaming.”

“So, that leaves Me, Arthur and Yusuf” Dom coughed awkwardly as Saito placed the three men under his critical gaze, sizing them up.

To Saito, all the men seemed quite Distant, and even though it had been some time since he had seen his missing God-daughter, Y/N enjoyed conversing about deep topics, however, Dom was still caught up with Mal’s death, despite how long ago it was, and Saito didn’t blame him, he didn’t want to put the man into a situation which might resemble his former life, Yusuf was too arrogant at times, He was smart and knew he was, which made him insufferable, which he knew his God-daughter would never tolerate, but Arthur, Arthur was smart, stable and can be smooth at times, he was charming, good a breaking rules and knew what he wanted, and how to get it, to be honest, he was everything that Y/N’s Mother had warned her about, and Y/N hated her mother’s warning’s about life and love.

“Arthur,” Saito told him, Arthur, who was leaning against the table, stood up and stared at Saito in shock, he never considered himself a part of the idea to be Y/N’s husband. “He’s perfect for the role.”

“Okay” Dom nodded, quite shocked himself, he’d never seen Arthur in a relationship, and not even a one night stand “Arthur it is.”

“Like he’d be better than me” Eames scoffed.

“What are we doing? Date? Wedding? Holiday?” Ariadne asked as she wrote it all down.

“Honeymoon” Dom told them.

_______________________________________________________________

Arthur was still in Shock as they started planning the layout of the level, Saito never explained why he was perfect for the role, which left him in the dark, but however he had to focus as he had to build the place where he’d be with Y/N.

“She Loves swimming,” Saito told the team, they managed to convince him to use the shared dream but only for building the levels, Arthur nodded at his statement and started to build an outdoor pool in the Hotel, around the pool were lounge chairs with umbrellas and tables, he also built an outside bar which was modern with chrome stalls and a crisp white bar top.

“Nice taste” Dom stated as he walked around with a nod of approval.

“Thanks” he smirked as he added a little green patch to the left, behind the lounge chairs, which had little shrubs and flowers around the edge.

“Better hope the Mrs’s likes it” Eames chuckled as he stretched out on a lounge chair.

“Don’t push your luck” Arthur warned Eames with a firm tone.

“Is she taking your name?” Eames hard-pressed him.

“Eames!” Dom snapped, prompting the English man to quiet down, eventually, the team wandered into the Hotel to create a setting for them to walk around.

“Y/N likes a modern style, she grew up in very old fashioned homes and layouts, always said that when she moved out she’d find the most modern looking apartment she could and buy it immediately” Saito told Arthur.

“She sounds like your kinda gal Arthur” Dom laughed lightly. Arthur smiled a little as he let his mind focus on a beautifully modern lobby with a set of marble stairs going upwards, the group moved up the stairs, letting the formation of the modern Hotel take place.

“You go set up your suite, we’ll take care of the rest” Ariadne told Arthur as the team split up into separate mini-groups, leaving Arthur and Dom alone, he sighed and shook his head.

“What was that about?” Dom asked as he followed Arthur to an empty room.

“What was what about?”

“That Sigh.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” Arthur looked at Dom out of the corner of his eye as he watched his friend’s movement, hoping he’d believe the statement.

“You know what I mean Arthur” Dom rolled his eyes and turning to look at him “You’re afraid” he chuckled with a shake of his head “of Y/N and what she’ll be like.”

“You’re insane” Arthur chuckled as he paused and looked around, wondering what to add in for the woman he was having to pretend to marry.

“Saito said she likes balconies,” Dom told him “if you want to impress her” he added with a chuckle, Arthur glared at Dom as he added in a large balcony with glass around the edge in place of fencing, which had a large metal bar on the top as a railing, to get into the balcony Arthur added French doors with white chiffon curtains which flowed in the wind, the view of the crisp blue sea with fluffy white clouds in the sky and small yachts on the horizon, Dom let a low and impressed whistle out. “Y/N is going to be impressed with this”, he told Arthur.

“I just wanna convince her that it isn’t a dream, she’ll freak if she knew what Saito was doing to her” Arthur huffed as he started constructing the rest of the room, everything was crisp white with silver decorations, a large king-sized mattress with soft silk sheets on a bed frame which had a canopy with chiffon sheets dangling from the top, which were also flowing in the light breeze, Dom raised an eyebrow as he ran his hand over the silk sheets in question.

“Silk sheet?” Dom chuckled, raising his eyebrow.

“Fuck off,” Arthur snapped, “what type of sheets were in your honeymoon suite?”

“Point taken.”

________________________________________________________________

Tracking Saito’s god-daughter was harder than they thought, however, Eames managed to track her down, finding her to be booked on a train back from Scotland to London, and managed to get tickets for all the team after Saito brought out all the other tickets, so they could remain in peace, Saito deciding to remain in Second class, so he could watch over the situation and linger out of Y/N’s sight, and then the day had come, they had just over 10 hours on the train, meaning in dream time they had 55 hours, little over two days, it had to be enough time for them to find out what Y/N knew, While Arthur romantically clung to Y/N and distracted her, Dom would try and find the safe within her and crack it, and the other team members would make sure Y/N didn’t grow suspicious.

Dom, Ariadne, Eames and Yusuf boarded the Train while Arthur went to the Station café to grab a coffee, as he waited in line he looked around him, searching for any sign of Y/N, hoping she wouldn’t miss her train.

The woman two people ahead of him was thanking them for her coffee as she turned and nearly crashed into the distracted Arthur, as they both stumbled the woman’s travel cup of coffee fell to the floor and the Styrofoam cup split open, both the woman and Arthur checked that the hot drink didn’t spill and scolded them, when they were satisfied that it didn’t the pair looked up to look at who they crashed into, Arthur found himself staring into bright Y/E/C eyes, he blinked a couple of times and focused on the woman’s face, sucking in slight air when he saw who it was, Y/N Y/L/N, in the flesh.

“Are you okay?!” Y/N gasped as she realized that she nearly crashed into Arthur.

“Yeah… yeah, all good, are you?” Arthur asked her quickly.

“Yes, thank you” Y/N smiled and nodded.

“Good, sorry about your coffee” he smiled.

“No, it's fine, I’m not that thirsty anyway” she chuckled, they remained quiet for a second before Arthur spoke up.

“Are you catching a train or getting off?” he asked, pretending he hadn’t spent the last 9 weeks looking for her.

“Catching a train, Aberdeen to London,” she told him.

“That leaves soon, you better get there, I don’t wanna be the reason you miss your train” Arthur coughed as Y/N nodded and smiled.

“See you around,” she said softly before walking off, Arthur watched her leave, sighing slightly under his breath as he trailed his eyes over her figure, indulgent Y/H/C hair which the station lights bounced off and a spring in her step, a soft smile came over him as he chuckled and shook his head a little, walking up to the counter to order.

_______________________________________________________________

Arthur strolled onto the carriage, it was a large with clusters of chairs in fours, with a table between each of them, there were about 10 of these, and the other 4 were in pairs with a table between them, and at the end of the carriage was a single rouge leather sofa with a side table next to it.

Dom had a seat opposite him, so Arthur took that seat and placed the to-go cup of coffee on the table and smiled at Dom, who was smirking, Arthur frowned in confusion as Dom gestured his head behind himself and to the left, Arthur followed the direction, looking down the aisle behind Dom and to the left to see that, sitting alone on a table of four with a book on the table, was Y/N, who was gazing out of the window.

“So she did catch the train” Arthur murmured.

“Not left at the Alter then mate” Eames whispered as he walked past with a trolley.

“Eames, don’t push it” Dom warned him as Arthur glanced over to Y/N, who was starting to read Hamlet “now how to get the sleeping pill to her?” he questioned, Arthur bit his lip in thought as he looked at the trolley which Eames had.

“Can you make a coffee?” he asked Eames, who raised an Eyebrow, yet regardless made a coffee with a splash of milk and placed a sugar packet on the saucer then placed it on the little table in front of Arthur, who took the pill from Dom’s hand and dropped it into the coffee, taking a spoon and stirring the drink to dissolve the pill, once he was certain he placed the spoon on the trolley and stood up, holding the coffee and strolled over to Y/N, placing it in front of her.

Y/N, who was engrossed in Hamlet, gasped and jumped at the little noise the cup made, she lowered her book and stared at the cup in front of her, blinking as she followed Arthur’s arm up to his charming grin.

“Hello Again!” she smiled at him.

“Hey” he purred to her, Y/N felt her cheeks blush slightly as she felt his eyes on her “To make up for the one I ruined for you” Arthur hummed as he winked and turned to walk off.

“Thank you,” she said softly as he looked over his shoulder and moved back to Dom and Eames, who was slightly impressed at watching the effect Arthur had on Y/N, she blushed as she lifted the drink to her lips and started drinking, Arthur watched her as he sat down, waiting for the pill to take effect.

________________________________________________________________

Y/N heard a distant call of seagulls and the feel of the cool, but warm, breeze brush past her, letting her Y/H/C tickle her neck, she opened her eyes to be greeted with a spotlessly clean room, which was majorly white and with little silver accents, she sat up to realize she was in a bed, a huge king-sized bed, an extremely soft mattress too, she ran her hand over the sheets which covered her, soft silk sheets which caressed her skin and felt nice against her cotton pyjama shorts and a thin tank top.

The young woman was overcome with confusion for a second, everything disorientated her, she climbed out of the bed and felt a soft fluffy rug which tickled her feet, but Y/N didn’t stop to admire the rug as she walked over to the balcony, drifting through the chiffon curtains which covered the open French doors, placing her hands on the railing and looking at the view which greeted her, a huge outdoor pool with lounge chairs and a bar, which had a handful of children darting about and laughing as their parents chuckled and talked to those around them, behind that was a crystal blue ocean with yachts and snow-white clouds, she was so caught up with the view that she didn’t notice Arthur coming out of the En-suite, Arthur was expecting to find her in the bed, frowning in confusion when he didn’t see her, so he walked further into the room, spotting her figure on the balcony.

“Morning” he called, Y/N gasped and turned around to see his figure but not clearly, so she gingerly walked back into the room, looking at Arthur, he seemed familiar to her, but she couldn’t pin where from, He was wearing tracksuit trousers and no top, showing his muscular figure, his hair was slightly damp, as if he’d had a shower.

“Hello?” she said in a small voice, Arthur chuckled and started to slowly walk over to her.

“I thought you’d be asleep,” he told her “After all the wedding planning, and the wedding itself, you’re allowed to rest” Y/N frowned in confusion “Remember what we said?”

“Not really…” she trailed off as Arthur reached her and wrapped his arms around her waist, Y/N blushed at the closeness.

“We’re Husband and Wife, and if one of us isn’t up for it, then the other takes care of the other” he said tenderly in her ear as he pulled back, Y/N placed her left hand on his bare chest and frowned softly as she looked at her hand, on her ring finger there were two rings, one engagement ring, simple yet elegant, and a silver wedding band, Arthur took her hand in his, revealing a matching ring, and lifted her hand to his lips, gently pressing a kiss on her fingers.

Wedding… Matching rings… Fancy Hotel Suite, Honeymoon! She smiled as he lowered her hand to her side and brushed her soft Y/H/C hair behind her ear.

“Don’t worry” she said softly “I’m fine.”

“Your friends warned me ‘Arthur, take care of her’!” Arthur chuckled as Y/N walked over to the cream leather sofa and sat down in her Pyjamas.

“They aren’t here” Y/N smiled as she looked at him, her mind still fuzzy, but it felt like it was fading, Arthur walked over and sat on the sofa, gingerly placing an arm around her shoulders.

“Wanna go to the pool?” he purred into her ear, Y/N bit her lip and nodded.

“Just let me get ready,” she told him as she stood up.

“I’ll get ready and save some lounge chairs,” Arthur said as he watched her walk into the bathroom.

#arthur imagine #inception arthur imagine #inception imagine #imagine #joseph gordon levitt #joseph gordon levitt imagine #inception one shot #inception fanfiction #inception fandom #arthur one shot #inception arthur one shot #arthur x reader #inception arthur x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #one shot #oneshot

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readerinsertdepot · 4 years

Text

Wonderful: Chapter 2

Pairing: Iwaizumi Hajime x fem!reader

Summary: An American in Paris au except there is minimal singing and dancing and no one is actually American nor is anyone really French.

Hajime sells some art and makes a new friend.

Chapter 1

Rating: T (for now)

Tags: Love triangles, cheating, mutual pining... sort of. Eventual smut?

Word Count: 2.5K

Colorful canvases filled the sidewalk as Hajime marched up the hill of Montmartre. Fellow artists worked tirelessly on their creations while others hung their pieces hoping to attract a potential buyer. The farther he trudged, the more painters he encountered exhibiting their work. After some walking, he found his usual spot, proud of himself that this time he only had to backtrack once to find it. “Good morning, Madoka!” he called out to the woman set up across the street. She raised her head up from her work and returned his greeting with a cheerful smile.

Madoka was a bold, older woman that Hajime had taken notice of after the first few times he set up on that street when he had moved to Paris. They then began exchanging pleasantries and she had taken to giving him unwanted critiques, leading Hajime to believe she had a cold and harsh personality, but over time, he learned she saw great potential in him and wanted to see him succeed. She had sort of taken him under her wing, offering him advice and occasionally even treating him to lunch. He always did his best to return her kindness.

Hajime got to work hanging his paintings on the grey, brick wall that lined the sidewalk. His pieces tended to be focused on scenery, buildings especially -- he had fallen in love with the architecture. Plus, it was one of the few things that would not move when he was painting. He stepped back from the wall and placed his hands on his hips, pondering the layout of his pieces.

“I can understand disregarding perspective to achieve an effect, but I believe--”

Hajime sighed and looked over his shoulder. A young girl, not much younger than himself, stood behind him. “Why don’t you be good and move on? You’re not going to buy anything. You’re just blocking out the sunlight.”

“I just wanted to discuss your work,” she huffed.

He turned around to face the girl, “I don’t want you to discuss my work. I’m not interested in your opinion of it. If you say something nice it won’t make me feel any better and if you don’t it’ll bother me. Thanks. Have a good day.”

The girl huffed, her face turning scarlet and hands balling into tight fists before fleeing the scene. After watching her stomp off down the street, Hajime turned back to rearrange a few of his works. Unbeknownst to them, another woman had been observing the interaction. The artist’s brash honesty had made her curious. She made her way across the street and stopped just behind him.

“Do you mind if I look?” She let out a giggle, “Or will you chew my head off too?”

Hajime hung his head for a moment before turning to see who his new critic was. This one was young too, though a bit older. Dressed a lot more elegantly and she carried an air of casual sophistication. “Go ahead. You’re ok.” He leaned his back against the wall, giving her space to freely observe his art.

She gave him a wide grin and immediately stepped up to view the paintings. Hajime watched as her eyes enthusiastically consumed every line and brushstroke of his work. She took her time at each one, meticulously contemplating their composition. “She’s one of those third-year girls that drive me crazy,” Hajime commented after some time.

“Third-year girls?” she asked, not bothering to look up from his work. A hint of playful curiosity in her voice.

“Yeah, you know, those college girls that come abroad to lap up a little culture. They’re a pain,” he lazily spat out.

“Why? They’re harmless enough?”

“They’re intrusive and dull. They’re always making profound observations they’ve overheard.”

“You don’t like criticism?” she asked, turning her head to Hajime, waiting on his answer.

Hajime shrugged his shoulders, “Of course it’s helpful, but it doesn’t really mean anything coming from someone that doesn’t know what they’re talking about.”

She nodded in understanding and continued to make her way down the line of paintings. “I’m guessing business isn’t very good?” she teased, noticing he had a fair amount of work on display.

“You’d be correct,” he laughed dryly. The casualness of her tone of voice was an interesting contrast against her refined appearance. His eyes traveled the length of the white silk gloves she wore, down to the hem of her black fitted skirt, which rested just below her knee. The large, black cat eye sunglasses that sat on top of her ash blonde matched it perfectly.

“You know…” she began, rousing Hajime from his observation, “I like these two.”

“Thanks. So do I,” he quipped.

She whirled around on her heels to face Hajime while reaching for her pocketbook, “I want to buy them!”

The painter blinked a few times trying to process exactly what she had said. Typically, his days of attempting to sell anything were all busts. He had all but given up on making money off his paintings and made this journey everyday out of habit more than anything. He was unprepared. “Well, uh, I… I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?” she laughed in disbelief.

“I never thought I’d come to the point where that would be an issue. Um…” he scratched his head, racking his brain for something reasonable only to come up short, “offer me something.”

The blonde placed a finger on her lips, thinking hard on a good deal. “Fifteen thousand francs! For each,” she offered. “Would that be satisfactory?

Hajime thought his heart was going to stop right there. “Yes…” He cleared his throat trying to rid his voice of any shock. “That would be.” That was enough money to take care of him for about a month and he was going to make it all off two of his own paintings. Doubt began to cloud his mind. “Are you sure you want to spend that much?”

“Oh, what do you care?” she remarked, waving him off with her free hand.

“Isn’t that almost,” he quickly did the calculation in his head while lifting the pieces off the brick wall, “fifty dollars each?”

She ignored his worried queries as she dug through her pocketbook for the cash. She paused, a frown finding its way onto her features, “Oh goodness, I don’t have enough on me.”

Hajime’s shoulders sagged immediately at the news. “Well, you can come back tomorrow. I bet you they’ll still be here,” he said as he began to place the artwork back up.

“I have a better idea!” Hajime jumped at the blonde’s sudden outburst, “Come with me to the hotel I’m staying at? I can pay you there.”

Hajime cocked an eyebrow at the forwardness of her suggestion, “Fine… Is it far?”

“Would you care if it were?” She quickly turned back, leaning over into the street to wave her driver over. “By the way,” she turned back for a moment, displaying a cheeky grin,

“what’s your name?”

“Hajime Iwaizumi,” he answered, preparing his artwork for her to take, “What’s yours?”

“Alisa Haiba,” she responded while opening her car door and hopping in.

When Hajime turned around to hand off the paintings, his eyes grew wide and his breath hitched. He did his best to keep his mouth shut but he had not expected to see her sporting a Delage Cabriolet. “Is… uh… is this yours?” he finally managed to ask.

Alisa flashed him another cheeky smile as she patted the bright orange seat next to her, coaxing him into the luxurious vehicle.

“Maybe I should have charged you more,” he mumbled under his breath before joining her.

….. ….. ….. ….. …..

The trip to the hotel was a quick one. Thankfully leaving no room for awkward silence between the two as they rode down the streets of Paris. The driver had dropped them off directly in front of the main entrance before leaving to find a space to park. Hajime silently marveled at the vaulted ceilings and glittering arches of the lobby while closely following behind Alisa. Other hotel guests breezed by them wearing sharp suits and stylish gowns while some lounged around on the plush sofas. Hajime felt severely underdressed in his dingy white shirt and khaki dress pants. He held the paintings up a little closer to his chest.

After riding the elevator up six stories and walking down a hall, they arrived at her door. She removed one long glove so that she could retrieve her key from her pocketbook. Once unlocked, she stepped in and removed her second glove. She made an abrupt stop in the entryway and turned to Hajime. “I’ll be right back. Make yourself at home,” she said while moving past him to shut the door and then disappeared down the short hall to their left.

“Thanks,” Hajime called after her. He stepped forward into the main room and slowly spun around. He let out an impressed whistle after taking in his surroundings. Four of his studios could fit in this room easily. Beige Rococo style furniture decorated the space and was lit by golden sconces and one small chandelier. He moved over to one of the many large windows to a peek outside. Of course she would have a gorgeous view of the city, especially considering how high up the room was.

Alisa appeared out from the hallway and walked straight over to where Hajime was standing. “Here it is!” she announced cheerfully, lifting his hand so she could place the stack of bills in it. She allowed her hand to linger on his for a moment and tilted her head towards the couch, looking up at him through her eyelashes. “Would you like some sherry?” she asked.

Hajime kept his eyes on the ground. Worried that his expression would reveal the slight nervousness that threatened to take over him. He was beginning to think that this was going a little further than he would have liked, but he was already here. “Alright,” he answered, moving to place the paintings down by the coffee table. Alisa smiled and went to plop down on the couch. She leaned forward to grab a glass from the table so that she could fill it for her guest. Hajime focused on a beautiful white and gold partition that was used to cover a corner of the room. “So,” he began, as he made his way closer to the couch, “how did you happen to find yourself in such an extravagant lifestyle? Your husband? Or your father?”

The blonde let out a small laugh, “My father.”

“What does he do?”

“Oil.” She handed off the full glass up to Hajime.

“I should have known.”

“Suntan oil.”

“Really?” he asked in disbelief, “I had no idea there was so much in that racket.”

Alisa stood up from the couch and moved over to pick up her new art. “No one likes a sunburn,” she answered, examining each piece in her hands. Her eyes moved up to the wall. “Now,” she began, slowly spinning in place, “where should I hang these?”

Hajime took a drink from his glass before setting it down on the table. He studied each wall carefully before gingerly taking one of the paintings from her hands. “I got a place. Good light,” he moved over to the wall opposite of the large windows and placed it next to a huge gold mirror, “Not too much sun.” He turned his head to gauge her reaction.

“Oh, that’s terrific!” She looked back down to the remaining painting in her hand. A smile creeping back on her face. “These really are something,” she said, sitting back down on the couch. “You know, I’ve seen hundreds of paintings by young artists and none of them have impressed like these.”

“Well, I’m glad,” Hajime placed his hand on the top of the couch so that he could lean over and study the art Alisa was so captivated by, “makes it easier to give up.”

Alisa tilted her head to the side, unsure if she heard the painter correctly. “Give up?” she asked.

Hajime shrugged, “It’s kind of hard for an artist to sell. A writer or composer can always buy a copy of what they create but for an artist, it’s the original that counts. Once that’s gone it’s out of his life.”

Alisa frowned at the painter’s cynical view and looked back down to the artwork in her hands. “I never thought about it that way.”

A loud ring from the telephone drew Alisa’s attention away. She hopped off the couch and made her way over to answer. “Oh, hello Levochka. Um, no, don’t come up. Actually, would you mind waiting for me in the dining room? I’ll be right down.” The phone made a soft click when it met the receiver. She turned back to face Hajime, placing both hands on the table behind her so she could lean back a bit.

Hajime took one last drink before setting the empty glass back down on the table. “Uh, sorry. I didn’t mean to stay so long,” he said as he pulled at this tucked shirt, ensuring that it was properly adjusted.

“Oh, don’t apologize. I wanted you to,” she reassured. “I wish we had more time to talk.”

The painter gave a weary smile. “Well, good-bye. Thank you.” He gave an awkward bow, unsure of how to end a social interaction with someone of her status. He rolled his eyes at his foolishness, careful to not let Alisa see, and made for the exit.

Alisa pushed off the table so that she could see him off. “By the way,” she called after him, “what are you doing tonight?”

Hajime stopped in his tracks and turned to look at her over his shoulder. “Why?”

“I’m throwing a small party here tonight and there’ll be an extra girl. Why don’t you swing by?”

“I don’t know,” his eyes narrowed, suspicious of what kind of game the rich blonde was playing with him.

“Why not?” She smiled. “Do you have a date?”

A faint blush dusted his cheeks, but he kept a cool expression. “No.” It had been a few months since he had anyone like that in his life.

“Then come by. I’m sure you’ll find some company here.”

Hajime took a moment to think of an answer. Something in his gut was telling him it was a bad idea. There was a mischievous glint in her eyes, and he knew she was up to something. Unfortunately, he was unable to come up with a polite way to decline her invitation. “Ok,” he answered hesitantly.

“Terrific!” Alisa clapped her hands with delight before plopping back down on the couch, “Nothing formal. Be here at eight. Oh, and my car can take you home, he has nothing to do.”

Hajime continued towards the door. Just as he was about to leave, he turned back to Alisa, “Thank you… for everything.”

A/N: In my first draft, Alisa was Saeko and I was really uncomfortable writing this lol.

I’m excited to post the next chapter because that’s when the fun starts :3c

Any comments are appreciated! Thanks for reading!

#iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwazumi x reader #iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#my writing #wonderful

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fluffy-marshmallow-heart · 6 years

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Drake's Diary ch.23 -The Billiard Room

The Royal Romance canon from Drake's POV

Drake x MC (Emma Rose)

Words: 3020

Warnings: NSFW

After the opera, Drake and Emma head out to play an innocent game of pool...but is it really so innocent?

Later the next night is the opera. Drake did everything he could to arrive separately from everyone else. He made sure he was running late, he made a big deal about where his white shirt was, he couldn’t find the right shoes, his pants didn’t look right. Finally, Maxwell left him alone and Drake breathed a sigh of relief. There’s no way in hell he’s sitting through hours of screeching voices. He had a headache just thinking about it. The only thing was…Emma would be there. She would definitely be there looking all glamorous and beautiful, and also confronting Queen Mother Regina about her role in the plot to destroy her reputation. She needed him tonight, and he would never let her down. When he finally managed to arrive at the opera house, all was quiet. Everyone was inside. Using that to his advantage, Drake slipped inside Emma and Maxwell’s limousine.

Good place as any to hide. Don’t want to run into anyone during intermission. And oh look, Maxwell stocked my favorite whiskey. Damn right he did that, it’s the least he can do to make up for hiding my sister from me.

After a couple glasses, Drake started to doze off. Sitting alone in a limo is so boring. I should have just stayed on the damn train. It’s not like she won’t return to the train after. Unless…unless she goes out with someone after…someone like Liam. He mentioned Madeleine wouldn’t be here tonight.

When he finally saw guests leaving, he exited the limo and went inside the opera house. Walking into the house atrium, Drake couldn’t help but feel a bit in awe of it. It was a gleaming chamber of elaborate marble and gold. There was large ivory staircase, the kind that took up an entire room it was so big. The atrium is alive with activity. Servers buzz about, holding trays laden with wine and champagne. Emma, Hana, Olivia, and Maxwell cluster at the base of the stairs. He debates on going over there, but he really doesn’t feel like dealing with Olivia. So, he went to the bar and he waited again, getting more impatient by the minute. Finally, his opening arrives. As Olivia departs, Drake approaches the group, drink in hand. “Finally, she’s gone.”

Emma looked at him in surprise. “Drake, I didn’t know you were here. Where were you in the audience?”

“I wasn’t. There’s no way in hell I was going to sit through that. I’m just here for the free drinks.” He raises his glass as if making a toast, then takes a sip.

A slow smirk started to cross her face. “Drake does that mean you were just sitting out in the limo for the last three hours?”

He sputtered “What? No! I was…you know, walking around. And stuff.”

Damn it! Why didn’t I do something? I should’ve known she’d bring it up!

Hana looked at him curiously. “Walking around the opera house?”

“Neither seen nor heard?” Maxwell piped in.

“Almost certainly scowling and brooding?” Hana continued.

Oh no, what did I just walk myself into? “I have a feeling this is going somewhere I’m not going to like….”

Waggling her fingers towards him, Emma announced, in what Drake guessed was her ‘spooky’ voice, “I guess you say he’s like… a Phantom of the Opera.”

“Ugh, no.” He rolled his eyes. I knew it. How does she manage to come up with this stuff? She literally has some kind of response for everything.

“Come on, Drake, you can’t deny it. The Phantom of the Opera is there…inside your mind.” She teased.

And then she doesn’t know when to stop. Because she always manages to come up with even more. And damn it, how does she know I’ve seen that? “I’m…going to grab another drink.”

“Ooh! I’ll join!” Maxwell exclaims.

Drake levels him with his stare until he finally slunk back.

“…I mean, I’ll go write down the plot for my breakdance opera before I forget. Promise you won’t tell anyone my idea, though, okay? I don’t want someone else to get there first…”

“Cross my heart!” Hana promised.

“And hope to die before you force me to watch it.” Drake finished, departing in the opposite direction of Maxwell, leaving Emma and Hana alone.

He stood at the bar, watching as Emma left the opera house and walked outside. He sighed. You idiot. You didn’t even ask her how her talk went with Queen Mother. He started walking after her. At least she’s alone and not with Liam or Hana, or even worse, Maxwell.

Back at the train…Emma is about to reach her room, when she runs into Drake heading in the opposite direction.

“Hey Rose.”

She rose an eyebrow. “Where are you headed? It’s nearly midnight.”

“Eh, I couldn’t sleep after I got back to my room.” Except I didn’t make it to my room and instead found myself walking towards yours. “Thought I might as well have some fun.”

“As in have a drink?” She guessed.

God I’m so predictable. “I do have other hobbies besides whiskey you know. Like pool.”

She looked at him excitedly. “There’s a pool room on this train? Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“Heh. As if anyone would want to play on a moving vehicle. I’ve been frequenting this hotel a few blocks from here, and it has a private game room. It’s quiet, it’s open late, and no one bothers me.”

Her face fell a bit. “That must be your idea of paradise. Solitude, a few drinks, a manly game of billiards.”

“Heh. It’s close. Although to be honest, playing solo gets a little boring after a while…” He trailed off. I do want to spend time with her…but we always end up kissing and we really shouldn’t. But then again…it’s too late to go back from it now anyway. “Do you want to come play a game or two? Some competition would make things more interesting.”

She broke out into a slow smile. “Oh, I see. You’re looking for a rematch after our game last night”

He tried to hide his own smile. “….Maybe.”

“You’re on.” She full on grinned.

He couldn’t help but grin back. “Alright but be warned. I won’t go easy on you.”

“If you did, I’d be disappointed.”

She follows Drake out of the train car, and a short walk brings them to a modest-looking hotel. Drake leads her through the lobby to a back room where the doorman bows and waves them both inside.

Emma laughed. “Wow, you must be a regular.”

“Well…When I told Liam about finding this place, he spoke with the owner to make sure I’d be taken care of.” He told her sheepishly.

“I think I could use a private getaway like this.”

“You do have a private train cabin.”

Her eyebrows furrowed. “Er…doesn’t everyone? Don’t tell me you’ve been sharing a bunk with Maxwell.”

Drake scowled. “He calls us ‘best friend roomies’, and I’m very close to throwing myself off the train.” He walks over to the pool table and begins setting up the game as she looks around.

“So, have you been coming here every single night?” She asked.

“Only a few times. Whenever I can’t sleep.”

She catches his eye. “What’s keeping you awake? Is it…scandalous thoughts about me?” She flirted.

He meets her gaze for a moment, saying nothing, only giving a hint of a smile before he turns back to the pool table. Now there’s an obvious question with an even more obvious answer. “I didn’t come here to talk about my sleeping habits, Rose. I came here to show you up at pool.”

“Bold words, Mr. Walker.”

He finishes arranging the balls in the rack and pulls it away. They pick up cue sticks. “Are you up for some house rules?” He asked.

She shrugs. “That depends on the rules.”

“Okay. After the break, we each get one shot per round to sink a ball into a corner pocket. Each ball gets you one point. Best of three rounds wins.”

“I think I can handle that.”

Drake steps aside, gesturing towards the table. “Then go ahead and break.”

She picks up the cue and faces the triangle of pool balls at the center of the table. With one strike from her pool cue, she sends the balls scattering across the table and bouncing off the sides. After a few moments, they roll to a stop.

Huh. Impressive. “Good break.” He studies the layout of the table before striking the cue ball. It glances off a purple ball, which rolls neatly into the corner pocket.

“That’s one.”

“Smooth! Where did you learn to shoot like that?” She asked.

He blushed a bit. He can only imagine what she’ll say to this. “From my mom. She taught me and Savannah all the tricks she knew.”

She dramatically pressed her hand to her heart. “All those lessons must’ve been adorable. Baby Drake trying to hold a cue stick…”

“Adorable probably isn’t the word my mom would use. I was a handful.”

“And teaching you to play a game with giant sticks made that…better?”

“Eh, it kept me occupied. And it made me pretty damn good at pool.”

Emma smirked. “That remains to be seen.”

Drake steps back from the table, giving her room to line up her first shot. She looks back at him, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Do you mind giving me a hand with this?”

He looked at her doubtfully. “You want me to help you win?”

“Just give me a few pointers?” She asked, innocently.

Mmhmm. Pointers. Right. I’ll be pointing something but it’s not going to be a cue stick. “…oh, fine.” He stands behind her and gently wraps his arms around her, so he can place his hands on the cue stick. “You’ll want to hold it here and here.”

“Like this?” She deliberately moves her hands away from where they should be, and he couldn’t help but smile at how obvious she was being.

He presses into her harder and moves one of her hands slightly closer to the end of the stick and the other back towards her. The callouses on his hands linger a moment on hers, until he feels his cock stirring against her ass…and he pulls quickly away.

“There.”

Following his lead as she aims, she uses the cue ball to send another ball spinning into one of the corner pockets. “Yes!”

“There you go.” Drake leans on his cue stick as he squints at the table, visualizing his next shot. Then he steps up and takes aim…knowing he’s going to nail this shot.

Her voice cut in. “You know, you get this little wrinkle in the middle of your forehead when you concentrate. It’s cute.”

“Wha-“ His shot goes wild, the cue ball rolling around the table without knocking any others into a pocket. Well played, Rose. Well played. “I…that was a freebie for you, Rose.”

“I thought you weren’t going to go easy on me.”

“Maybe I’m feeling charitable.”

“Hmm, there’s that wrinkle again…”

Drake rubs his forehead, not quite meeting her eyes. “You’re up.”

She lines up her shot…and easily knocks a ball into a center pocket, but Drake chimes in from behind her.

“Hey, center pockets don’t count! Remember, house rules!”

She frowned. “Oh. I totally forgot. Can I try again?”

Yeah right, I already gave you a freebie. “Sorry, Rose, but that’s it for this round. Which means it’s my turn.” He slowly begins lining up his shot…

Slowly, she begins stripping down to her underwear. First her shirt, then her pants. Drake glances up from his shot and his eyes go wide. “Rose, what…what are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

Drake swallows hard, still staring, as she removes her bra next, her eyes never leaving him.

“Tick tock, Walker.”

He shakes his head and leans back down over the table, lining up the shot. His eyes keep wandering over to her as she sways her hips around the table, one of her fingers grazing the felt as she went. He fumbles with the cue stick, and the cue ball rolls to a stop without sending any other balls into a pocket. “Damn.”

“You’re supposed to watch the ball, Drake. Isn’t that like billiards 101?”

There’s a longing look in his eyes as he studies her. Wow, that body…her breasts…she’s so perfectly made, she’s exactly what I’ve wanted my whole life. “Guess I got distracted. Last shot, Rose.”

An idea formed in his head. If she’s going to play dirty, so am I.

She studies the table, and just as she begins sighting along her cue stick, Drake starts unbuttoning his shirt. She stares as he discards the shirt, drops to the floor, and begins doing push-ups.

“Uh, Drake? What are you doing?”

“Oh, nothing. Don’t mind me. Just gotta get the rest of my nightly workout in.”

“Shirtless?”

“Just borrowing a page from your playbook.” She turns back to the pool table, but Drake switches to one-handed push ups, smiling to himself that she can’t help glancing at him as she lines up the shot. The cue ball bounces off of a green-striped one, but it doesn’t quite make it into the pocket.

She pouted. “No fair. I was trying to concentrate over here.”

He smirked in satisfaction. “Sorry. Couldn’t skip the nightly workout.”

She sighed. “I guess that’s the game. Which means…” She counts up the points on her fingers. “It’s a tie.”

He nodded. “You’re pretty good at this, Rose. I don’t tie a lot of games of pool.”

“Maybe you should play with other people more often.”

“Heh. I’ll consider it.” If it’s you and you keep stripping…abso-freakin-lutely

“But right now, we need to decide what we both won.” She continued.

What? There’s no prizes for a tie. Who the heck has she played with in the past that allowed this rule? Oh no…no I get it. This is exactly like the last time we were in a bar. “For…a tie? This is starting to sound familiar…”

Emma laughed. “Drinking game, pool game. Where’s the fun without any stakes? I say the prize is…a kiss.”

Son of a… “Are you trying to torture me, Rose?”

She sauntered up to him until she was only a breath away. “Is kissing me torture?”

He brushes his thumb across her lips…and then leans in to kiss her, gently pressing his lips against hers. When he finally steps back, his voice is slightly hoarse. “The kind I’ve been hoping for all night.”

She smiled softly. “Then why didn’t you kiss me sooner?”

“You know why, Rose.”

“We’re alone, Drake. How often does that happen?”

Drake’s breath hitched. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying you could kiss me again. If you want to.”

If I want to? In what universe would I not want to? He hesitates only an instant, then pulls her close to him. His lips find hers as his hands tangle in her hair. “I always want to.” He murmured.

She kisses him again, pulling him back against the pool table. Slowly and deliberately, he towers over her, kissing and nipping down her neck. He shivers as she wraps her arms around his waist. He’s only in his boxers, and he grinds himself against her panties, letting her feel how hard he was for her. He felt a bit of wetness penetrate through and he moaned at how soaking wet for him she must be. He starts trailing his hand from her hair, massaging her breast, then lightly continuing towards her center. He was dying to touch her in the most intimate of ways, then wanted to kneel before her and fuck her pussy with his tongue. He needs to taste her, needs to make her fall apart around him. His other hand gripped her skin harder with his thoughts and she arched her back with a moan, realizing where he was heading and encouraging him along.

Suddenly there was a knock at the door to the room. His hand froze just above her clit and he sighed in frustration, yet knew it was for the best to stop. After another lingering kiss, he pulls himself away with obvious effort. “That’ll be the staff letting us know it’s closing time. We should head back.”

“Are you sure you want to?” She questioned breathily.

Hah. Literally the last thing I want.

“No. But I’d rather end tonight on a high note, and getting tossed out by the closing security shift would be a low.”

She bit her lip, contemplating. “Not exactly the ending I had in mind.”

He leaned forward and took her bottom lip between his teeth, biting it gently. “Watch what you do around me, Rose.”

She looked at him seductively. “Trust me, I’m well aware of what I’m doing around you.”

He groaned and reached for his clothes. They both get dressed and quickly tidy up the pool table. The hotel’s doorman gives them a slight bow as they leave. Drake walks Emma back to the train, and when they reach the door to her cabin, he stops outside.

“I had a good time tonight.” He admitted.

“Me too. Next time we should go on a real date.”

His jaw dropped. “That wasn’t…I mean, not that I wouldn’t, but…Wait. You’re teasing me, aren’t you.”

She chuckled lightly. “Only a little. Be honest. If we’d called it a date, would you have taken me anywhere else?”

“Tonight? No.”

“How about on another night?”

He smiles slightly, shaking his head. “We’ll have to see. Sleep well, Rose.”

“Goodnight, Drake.”

Waving, Drake heads off toward his own cabin, hoping Maxwell is nowhere around so he can relieve his throbbing cock, realizing again he didn’t ask her about Queen Mother. Oh well. I’m sure she’ll tell me, if Maxwell doesn’t beat her to it. She’s so damn distracting, I can’t think clearly around her. I can’t believe we stripped down together. I can’t believe I was so close to tasting her. Fuck me, I gotta get under control.

@annekebbphotography @carabeth @gardeningourmet @eileendannie @dancetothestoriesinyoursoul @alesana45 @thequeenofcronuts @zigortega4life

@hrhdes @drakewalkerisreal @akrenich @feartheendlesssummer @moonlightgem7 @i-miss-trr @noey718-blog @snyggflicka @rhymesmenagerie @i-only-signed-up-for-fanfiction @crookedslimecreatorpasta

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#drake's diary #drake x emma #drake x mc #drake walker fanfic #drake walker #the royal romance fanfic #the royal romance #choices the royal romance #trr fanfic #trr drake #choices trr #trr #playchoices #choices stories you play #choices fanfiction #fluffy-marshmallow-heart #sorry this is late #ns*w

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lokis-lady-death · 6 years

Text

Return to Crimson Peak

Disclaimer: This story is written as a sequal to Crimson Peak. If you couldn’t handle the original story, please don’t read, because that would be dumb.

Sir Thomas Sharpe x Reader

Mini Series Halloween (Special thanks to @bambamwolf87 for going back and forth on this idea!)

My name is (y/n), and I would like to tell you a story.

A love story. Filled with hate. Filled with sin. Something real and imaginary, exciting and terrifying.

I want to tell you a ghost story.

There were all kinds of ghost stories that have floated through the world, like a dense fog, capturing the imaginations of those who hear them. Some based as far back as when nobility and class were all anyone cared about, some as notorious as Jack the Ripper, some as tragic as children getting taken by monsters. Each story holds some truths, based on some sort of factual event that forever concretes the illusion of a ghost to the world of the living. Alas, they all inevitably fade away. They become fables we tell children, destined to be nothing more than boy scout campfire tales.

Utter nonsense really.

But then, every once in a while, against all reasonable belief, there is a ghost story so rifeting, so heart wrenching -so full of lust, ambition, and murder- that at the end it leaves one questioning their sanity.

Crimson peak is one of those ghost stories.

The first time my brother Luke and I heard the story of Crimson Peak was from our grandmother. I remember visiting the family home in Buffalo, New York, listening to her spin fantisful tales of this or that while pouring me tea. Grandmother was a wonderful storyteller, a trait I was told she inherited from her own mother, Edith McMichael. Better known by her maiden name, Edith Cushings.

She told us that Edith had grown up a beautiful, well educated woman of the upper society of New York. An unwed heiress that only cared about one thing: writing stories. That is, until her own story had an unexpected character added to the plot. Thomas Sharpe.

From there, everyone knows the story, most likely even read the book.

But this story became something more to my brother. He wanted more than the book. He wanted the experience.

He wanted to see and live it for himself.

As he grew older, he researched more into the story and found the home in which everything took place: Allerdale Hall. As it turned out, the gothic mansion had been made over to be a secluded, lavish hotel for rich bureaucrats traveling the English countryside in the 50’s, however in the 80’s the attention died down. It went a long time without use until 2010 when a new owner took over and turned it into a Victorian Bed and Breakfast with a twist: while it’s 50’s counterpart tried to pretend nothing awful happened in that house, the new owner exploited it. There was even an episode of Ghost Hunter filmed where someone stayed the night in the bed and breakfast. They stayed in Lucille’s room but never saw her ghost. He did say the new owner and her husband were rather odd, though he thought they were just trying to give into the haunted theme they tried to portray.

It was disheartening to say the least that other than the story of Crimson Peak itself, it seemed like there was no actual haunting. I eventually lost interest and moved on with my life, diving into school and social life. But not Luke. He still felt drawn to the story and after working doubles for two months and convincing me to split the fees, we were set to travel to England and actually stay the night in Allerdale Hall.

Which is where my story begins.

*****

“This is it!” Luke exclaimed, heaving one bag onto his shoulder and another under his arm. “Crimson Peak!”

I cut my eyes at my brother, almost annoyed at the whole situation. His Ghosts are Real shirt, his bag of ghost summonings, our grandmother’s copy of Crimson Peak all in hand so as to crescent it with what he deems the unholy land. “I can’t believe you talked me into this…”

His blonde curls bounced as he turned to face our home for the next few days. “But… Just look at it, y/n....”

Turning up from the cab, I took in the entirety of Allerdale Hall. Grand, magnificent, dark, and foreboding, it stood against a gray canvas of fog. In front of it, the key part of the entire story, Sir Thomas Sharpe’s mining invention.

My eyes followed upward the structure, absorbing every last archway and stone of the complex before resting on a single window where I caught sight of a pale faced man.

I was snapped back to my brother when he called my name for what I had to assume by his aggravated tone was not the first time. “What?”

“I said grab your shit, I ain’t no packmule.”

I grabbed my bags and followed him through the double doors.

Inside, it was evident all the work the new owners had put into the mansion. It was extravagant but dark, framed perfectly with a massive wooden staircase that opened all the way to the other floors, victorian era artwork lining every inch of wall space, and a single grand crystal chandelier shining over the foyer.

“Welcome!” called out a british accent. A pink haired woman popped up from behind the registry desk with a gleaming, misplaced smile. “I’m the owner, I go by Rain. You must be the Cushings!”

As if the overtly brightness of her hair was too much for the gothic mansion, she countered with a steampunk style victorian dress of silk, leather metal loops and chains that dangled from her sleeves and a leather corset hugging at her waist.

“Actually, that’s not our name…” I corrected while Luke simply began signing the guest book.

“But you ARE descendants of Edith Cushing, right?” she pushed.

“I… Yes, we are. How did you...?”

“I found you on Ancestry.com! I have been a huge fan of your great, great grandmother for a long time! I saved up for years to buy this place,” the owner said as she looked around the empty lobby with a since of overbuilt romanticism. “Crimson Peak has always been a passion of mine.”

“You two should get along swell then,” I mumbled as Luke laid down the pen. “Now, about our rooms….”

“OH yes!” she exclaimed while pulling out two skeleton keys, handing you each one. “You will be in the west wing, Lucille’s old room,” the owner told Luke. “And you,” she said with a sideways grin, “You’ll be down the hall in Sir Thomas’s room.”

I took the key and stared at it, feeling my heart start to race. “I....”

“Excellent!” my brother cut me off, taking the sets of keys. “Are we allowed to explore some?”

There was some mischief behind the owner’s eyes when she answered, “Its actually encouraged.”

While Luke looked more than please, I had to stop and ask, “Won’t that be disruptive to your other customers?”

“Judging by the guest book, we’re the only ones staying here.”

“Correct! We normally slow down on visitors during the colder months. Which is a shame, because that’s when things always get fun around here.” Rain cut me a wink before finishing, “Now, enjoy!”

Luke’s hand grabbed hold of my shoulder to steer me away from the desk. “Yes, we will, thank you, Ms. Rain!” Just passed her I could make out another grand room with a marble fireplace and piano.

“That’s where Lucille used to play music for her brother,” Luke told like an extremely zealous curator at a museum. I wrinkled my nose, remembering that detail from the book. “Come on, let’s go find our rooms!”

At the base of the stairs was a framed layout of the house to help guests find their way around. A large YOU ARE HERE arrow laid out where you began. Luke’s finger followed the line up to the right and down a hall to West Wing where the two of you would be staying.

Luke held out my key before flashing me one of his overly excited grins, he spat out, “Race ya!”

Before I could argue how rude, childish, and annoying he was being, Luke was off. Never one to be outdone, I bolted up behind him, hoping I remembered the layout. By the time I got to the top of the stairwell, I saw my brother’s sneakers right before they disappeared down a hall. When I got to the opening of the hall, I turned and saw no one. Taking a few steps forward, I listened intently to try and pinpoint where my brother had gone.

But nothing.

“Fuck,” I mumbled under my breath. Giving up on the race, I let out an exasperated sigh and wandered deeper in to the house.

‘Do I turn here?’ I asked myself when I found another hall off the main one. I still didn’t see Luke, so I called out for him but I got no answer.

A round window at the other end of the stretch was all that illuminated my path, casting shadows from the intricate woodwork of the moldings and ceiling.

I was distracted when I heard a soft disruption in all the stillness of the house. I stopped and listened. Someone was moving around in one of the rooms, but which one, I wondered. Following the sound, I came to the end of the hall. A light on the other side was so bright that it boiled through the small gap where the door met the floor. Some more ruffling from the other side confirmed I was at the right room, I could even see shadows move through the light.

“Luke, is this your room?” I asked, going to turn the knob. But it was locked.

“No?” I jumped when I unexpectedly heard his voice from the other end of the hall, where I had just come from. “What are you doing down here?” he asked, “We’re this way.”

“I heard someone, I thought it was you...” I turned back, eying the floor where the light shone through. But there was none now. No light. No movement. Just stillness.

“Oh…” I swallowed but shook my head, knowing it had to be my own imagination getting the better of me.

“You’re already getting haunted?” Luke asked with a hint of jealousy.

“No, you idiot, this stupid house just has me on edge is all.” I grabbed up my bags and eyed him. “Now show me where our rooms are so I can sleep off this jet lag!”

Back down the main hall, he showed me where a set of double doors led down a private wing. The West Wing.

“Here’s your room,” Luke said, taking my key to open it. “My room is the last one on the left.”

The door creaked so horribly it felt like it echoed through the whole mansion.

It did not disappoint. The room, like everything else in the house, was massive, the walls solid wood carved and etched with such fine, minute detail it felt like a painting. The ceiling had golden loops around where two chandeliers hung on either side of the massive four poster bed that sat opposite of a fireplace.

“Holy shit…. Maybe this won’t be so bad, “ I reasoned as I pulled out my phone to text my friends back in the US.

Luke’s voice cracked as he watched, knowing what you must be doing. “Actually, I had one thing I had to tell you, and don’t freak....”

“I HAVE NO SIGNAL?” I raged as my eyes narrowed at him. His hands were up in defense, waiting for the slew of slaps he deserved, but I just let it go. “Fine. Ok. Whatever. Have you found the WiFi password?”

“Actually, about that…”

“Luke…”

“It’s good to take a break from modern advances now and then, y/n, you know it’s healthy…”

“Luke.” I stopped him, staring deep into his soul. “Are you telling me you brought me to the middle of nowhere England, to a haunted house, with no working means to contact the outside world?”

“It’s only for a few days…”

“LUKE, I WILL MuRdEr YOU! You will no longer be looking for a ghost because YOU WILL BE A GHOST!” My hands went flying and all he could do was protect his face.

“Come on, y/n. Don’t be so melodramatic,” he said before stepping out of your doorway. “Take it as an opportunity to get to know yourself. That’s why I told you to bring books.”

The realization that he had known the whole time we would be without technology was even more infuriating, so I started chunking pillows from the bed at him until he closed the door

I threw myself onto the bed and screamed into the comforter.

How was I going to stay sane without the internet for three days?

Sitting back up, I couldn't help but reassess my situation.

I'm stuck.

In a haunted house.

For three days.

A strange sensation washed over me, like the sudden chill of someone walking over your grave.

The house, I realized, was quiet. So quiet. Not another soul to be heard.

That was the first time I noticed that I had been hearing a steady movement the entire time I was alone and hadn't paid it any attention until now. When it stopped.

What had stopped moving?

I stayed still and listened for it to start again.

But it didn't.

Wondering why I had unnecessarily scared myself, I shook my head clear of the thought while opening up one of my bags.

My first bag was my safety net.

Junk food (because I’m shameless), sodas (because I’m shameless), and romance novels (because, you guessed it).

I opened the music on my phone and pulled out my thirstiest book.

Chapter One: How They Met

About twenty minutes into my story, the music was interrupted by a tap on the door. One solid knock. Of course I jumped, anyone would have. Then I heard some shuffling as an envelope flew under my door.

I instantly sprang from my seat- curiosity always being both my best and worst quality- and tore the letter open.

~~We would like to cordially invite you to dinner in the Main Dining Hall this evening at 6pm. PS On the back of the door, you will find attire for the event.~~

Of course my first thought was what a gimmick to pull, but then I had to appreciate their creativity. The place wanted to bring out the Gothic Romance of Allerdale Hall, and it certainly didn’t hold back. Opening the door to find a white silk dress, I saw the depth of that devotion.

I pulled the dress down when I heard Luke’s door open. “Holy shit!” he cussed. I went down the hall to find him awing at a suit hanging from his door. “Y/n!” he squealed through his teeth, “Holy shit!”

I laughed but really, I was excited.

A dressed up dinner in a haunted mansion. Through all the cliche, through all the irritants, I thought maybe this could turn out to be a fun get away.

After all...

What was the harm in playing along?

Part 2 is up!

The role of Luke will be played by Evan Peters:

Like my garbage? Read more of it! Master List

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joestories · 6 years

Text

The Silent Magician

November 1, 1961

Dear Aleister,

If, perchance, someone offers you the opportunity to perform a very special show for the leader of a small, troubled country on the other side of the planet—even if said leader has asked for you by name—politely decline. I’ve gotten myself deep into something. And I’ve broken all three of my cardinal rules.

Everyone is dead, Aleister.

It looks bad, seeing it typed on the page like that. But that’s the truth of the matter.

I want to get this all down while the events are fresh in my mind, but also because I worry, dear friend, that if somehow I fail to make it out alive, this might the only way to recount what’s happened. I might as well start with what I’ve been concealing from you.

It was no lie when I said I’d be traveling to Europe to perform a special show. What I left out is that the people paying for this show weren’t the best sort of people.

I received the letter near the end of summer. Apparently, I was still a celebrity in the world’s farthest crevices. They were so far away that they couldn’t smell the stink of desperation that had attached to me after I’d performed one too many bar mitzvahs. And even the bar mitzvah circuit was drying up.

This leader (or dictator, as I would learn), Konstigt, had grown up watching my old routines on smuggled filmstrips. He still loved me all these years later. And he was willing to pay handsomely for the pleasure of having me perform for him in his palace.

I had grown weary of magic, but perhaps this was what I needed. One last show. Go out with a bang.

I wrote back immediately and the following day I received a visit from a pair of rats from the CIA. Apparently it’s a big deal for them when there’s communication between the country of ██████████████ and a person stateside. They paid me a visit to learn whether I was a spy or an imbecile.

They had my return letter, which had been intercepted. They read it back it me and I was immediately embarrassed by how effusive I had been. They said I sounded like a desperate, sad old man and they were right.

Cooperate, they said, and the charges would disappear. What charges? They couldn’t say, but cooperation seemed simple, not a large deviation from my original plan. I would meet with them at a tavern in town each night and tell them everything I had learned about Konstigt. I would be doing my country a service. They would offer me protection and if everything worked out, I would be rewarded handsomely.

A month later, I found myself in a succession of smaller and smaller planes until I arrived at a small village at the foot of an old castle spire; this was the palace at which I would perform. I was shuttled through the village in what appeared to be a taxi cab. Perched in the back window was a tiny figurine of a serpent. I pocketed it.

Milton called the serpent the subtlest beast in the field. But there was nothing subtle about this country’s obsession with serpents. Quickly, let me recall at least ten instances in which serpents factored into my time spent here:

A magnificent stained glass window in the cathedral.

A sign hanging in front of the tavern where I would rendezvous with my CIA contacts.

The tattoo on Mila’s wrist.

A mural in the lobby of the hotel I stayed at.

On a coin I received as change at the aforementioned tavern.

A wooden toy that I observed a child in the village playing with.

A huge parade float that was operated by at least three people

Engraved on the barrel of a pistol held by a dead man.

An actual snake, which slithered over my foot as I made my way to a secret rendezvous

The figurine. The one I had stolen. It will reappear later.

And of course, barely anyone in this serpent-obsessed country speaks English. The only English I hear is American music on the radio. Where is their music?

The taxi deposits me and my luggage in a hotel lobby. It is eerily quiet. I seem to be the only guest. A concierge silently escorts me to my room. It overlooks a courtyard and features a painting in which a woman on a beach stares at a shark in the ocean.

I open my suitcase and am displeased to learn that it has been ransacked by some sort of brutish security detail. The contents smell vaguely of cheap cigarettes.

My trick gun had been seized. I’m not surprised by this, it looks realistic, even though it can’t actually fire a bullet. I will need to find a replacement before the show.

Of the four decks of playing cards in my suitcase, I am missing four cards. The queen of hearts from each deck. A strangely superstitious people, this bunch.

My clothes have been rifled through. My cape looks to have been trampled by schoolchildren. My poor hat, which is in no way magical, seemed as if it had been run over by a steamroller.

The rubes left my most magical items unmolested. The puzzle cube is untouched. I am able to locate my invisible dagger after feeling around for it inside the lining. Of course they had no idea it was there.

The concierge reappears and leads me back to the lobby where a uniformed military man is waiting for me. He leads me inside the castle walls and through corridors until I am in a tall wood paneled room adorned with paintings of crying women. From the far end of the room, I am approached by a tall man with grey hair and a grey beard. He wears a white, military-style coat. He is smiling.

The first English spoken to me the day I arrived was by the dictator himself. Konstigt says, “I am so happy you could make it.”

He is flanked by two serious looking men. He introduces them. On his left, wearing a black uniform is Pavel, his chief of police. On his right, in a pale green uniform adorned with hundreds of medals is Vlad, the commander of the military.

He asks about my flights. He asks what I think of his country. I smile. I am genial. This man is a fan.

“If you need anything, I will provide it.”

“I’m going to need a coffin, for the final part of my act. I couldn’t bring one with me.”

“Of course. One will be delivered to you tonight. What else?”

“They took my gun,“ I said.

"Ah, well you’re going to need that for your famous bullet catching trick, aren’t you?” He knows my act well.

Pavel says something. I think he’s asking what I said. Konstigt replies in their gibberish language.

This is where it all started to go wrong. I’m about to break the first of my three rules: never explain a trick, even under penalty of death. I always thought that last part was an exaggeration.

Pavel draws his gun. It’s polished silver and ivory. Every surface reflecting light. I’m squinting as it directs sunlight into my eyes. The gun is pointed at me. He says something. Konstigt laughs as he translates: "Pavel wants to see this famous bullet catching trick!”

Panic sets in immediately. The bullet trick is an illusion. I am sputtering, talking fast, trying to explain that. The gun isn’t real. The bullet is transferred to the mouth with sleight of hand. When you strip away the showmanship, it really is quite a simple trick. Konstigt looks disappointed, but he waves at Pavel and the gun is lowered. Even though it is no longer an imminent threat, the gun continues to reflect light at me, daring me not to look at it. I notice a serpent engraved on its barrel.

“You talk too much,” says Konstigt. And in that moment, I make a promise to myself to talk less, starting right now. They can’t understand me anyway. My vacation will be one of profound silence.

I am whisked back to my hotel. I try to relax and rehearse my act, but it’s no use.

It gets dark. At the predetermined time, I wander into the village and find the tavern. The CIA goons are easy to spot. They look as out of place as I do. We settle into a booth in a dark corner. “Can you draw us a layout of the palace?”

“And a good evening to you too, gentlemen.” A notepad is placed in front of me.

I had been escorted around so quickly that I couldn’t remember it with any clarity, but I am embarrassed to admit this, so I make an attempt. I draw the outline of the entry hall, with the two smaller halls coming off of it. My drawing resembles a diagram of the female reproductive system. I slide the notepad back to the goons. “I’m sorry, this is all I remember.”

They want to know if I have any idea where they’re keeping the diamonds.

“Diamonds?”

“Don’t play dumb with us, we know you know about the diamonds. That’s why you’re really here.“

But I’m not playing dumb. "I’m here to perform my act.”

“You want us to believe you came all the way here and put yourself in serious danger to perform? Are you an idiot?”

The other one chimes in. “Listen, if someone asks you if so-and-so is the reason you’re really here, the answer is always yes. That’s the first thing they teach you at the academy.”

I wander back to the hotel in a daze. When I open the door to my room, there’s a loaded revolver on the nightstand and a pine box coffin propped against the wall.

Aleister, have I told you the story of how I decided to become a magician? I’m certain I have, but it bears repeating.

You might know of the vanishing of Orius in 1899. He was a genius performer, but he was not well known. This story takes place on the night of his final performance. He told his audience that he was going to perform an illusion that could be performed only once by any human, and for this reason he had saved it for his last show.

He was going to turn completely invisible.

But the only way for this to work was for everyone who was not pure of spirit to turn around. This was in Bavaria in 1899, so I don’t need to tell you that this meant everyone in the audience.

And so, with the entire audience facing away, he narrated as he vanished each part of his body. His legs, his arms, his torso, and finally his head. Now, as the legend goes, there was a one young child in the audience, and this child thought himself to be pure of spirit. So when Orius had been reduced to a disembodied voice, this child turned to look. And he was the only one to see that Orius was invisible. He cried out in shock, “He’s truly vanished!”

The audience had been transfixed, but this shout caused them all to abruptly turn to the stage. The spell had been broken, and Orius was immediately made visible again. There was thunderous applause, even though no one in the audience had witnessed this trick. Only the boy had seen it. But that boy had seen something truly magical.

I was the boy.

My spirits had improved for day two.

I took in a hearty breakfast, of which the predominant ingredients were boiled cabbage and sausage. The populace seems to sustain itself on boiled cabbage and sausage. The streets stink of it. A dedicated vegetarian like yourself would starve here.

I set about the town collecting the odds and ends that I will need for my show. I am still far from understanding the language, but I have noticed that the locals have bestowed some sort of sobriquet on me in their ugly goat tongue. It sounds like plo-nee-ba-ka. I suspect it to mean something like outsider or interloper. And I was one, wasn’t I? I made a mental note to ask a trusted source for a translation, should I find someone to trust.

In the meantime, I had developed a set of hand gestures for communication. And I started to figure ways that I might incorporate them incorporate into my act.

The townsfolk were full of energy. I was swept up in a parade that deposited me in the what I judged to be the most blighted part of town. And yet, I was not robbed, I was simply subjected to more singing. They have folk songs they sing here, as you would expect, but I was surprised to hear them interspersed with American music which they had written new lyrics for. The crowd performed a version of I Want to Hold Your Hand and I can’t imagine their version was a direct translation. The intonation was too violent. If I was to guess, the hand in this song had been torn from the wrist of an enemy.

I stumbled upon a group of children who had gathered for a show. I joined them. The show was performed with a strange collection of puppets and toys. The plot, as I could gather, was that a benevolent stranger arrives from space. The stranger befriends a mountain princess, and she then betrays him to win her country’s freedom. The only evidence of the identity of the performer is a visible tattoo on a wrist. It is, of course, a serpent.

At the conclusion of the show, one of the children tugs at my sleeve. I look down and he presents me with a note. I examine it: a clock face reading 11, and an image that I recognized as the stained glass window of town’s cathedral. It was a serpent wrapped around an inverted cross. I suppose it would be bad manners to ignore such a finely crafted secret invitation. I put it in my pocket. How would I occupy the next five hours?

I decided to wander back to the palace. I had intended to survey the theater in which I would be performing. This is a very important step before any performance. And I should admit, I had been indulging in drink. All the townsfolk were. Would you reject a beer stein from a smiling man that just a minute before was singing violent love songs?

I was permitted entry to the palace by the guards, but they were not able to direct me to the theater. They did not appear to speak English. I got lost and wandered from room to room hoping to bump into a human who might understand me.

I finally crossed paths with a soldier, but when I got his attention, he seemed very nervous. I used my hand gestures on him, they had no effect. My presence seemed to have spooked him, and he exited the room in a hurry.

I followed him out of the room and through another chamber. When you’re lost in the wilderness, you follow a river. When you’re lost in a palace, you follow a man. Eventually, he would lead me to other people, and perhaps one of them would speak English.

I was horribly, horribly right.

I followed the spooked soldier around a corner and bumped into him. He had frozen in place. Pavel was before us. And this man’s behavior seemed to trigger something in Pavel.

“Mr. Pavel, I am very happy to have happened upon someone who speaks my native tongue. Might I trouble you for directions?”

I was ignored.

Pavel started speaking in a low, accusatory voice. The soldier stuttered a reply. Pavel unholstered his magnificent shiny pistol. The soldier attempted to speak, but Pavel motioned for him to stop. He pointed at the soldier’s groin with his gun.

The soldier, with much hesitation, started to turn the pockets of his trousers inside out. A few handfuls of dirty, unremarkable looking rocks spilled on the floor.

Pavel laughed. “Diamante!” he shouted. Just my luck that this should happen to be the first easily understood word in this guttural swamp language.

Pavel continued to laugh. And the soldier uncomfortably started to laugh too. And so I started to laugh.

Pavel stopped laughing, lifted his gun to the soldier’s head, and fired. The soldier dropped dead on the ground. Pavel resumed laughing. I did not.

I watched a blood stain grow larger on the dark crimson floor. I recalled that most of the floors in the palace were this color. A utilitarian consideration? Easy to conceal bloodstains when all your floors are already the color of blood. What kind of monsters run this country?

I thought of the CIA men laughing at my naivety the prior night. They were right. I didn’t know what I was getting myself into.

Pavel seemed to remember that I was present in the room, and now he addressed me. “Yes, magic man. Have you got any tricks for me?”

“I… I’m afraid not.”

He studied me. “Do you often travel with thieves, then?”

Aleister, you know that if I was to be honest, the answer to this is yes, but this was certainly not the right thing to say in my present situation. But he didn’t bother waiting for an answer. He waved his pistol in my direction.

“Why don’t you let me see what you have in your pockets, magic man?”

A magician and a thief have a thing in common: They both always know the exact contents of every one of their pockets at any given time. Left front pocket: mysterious note. Right front pocket: pilfered serpent figurine.

I was a fool for not destroying the note as soon as I had read it. Old age has made me soft. But there’s always a way out. You know the adage? One can escape from anything. It sounds better in Latin. I have escaped from locked rooms, arguments with shopkeepers, moving vehicles, and marriage proposals. I will escape from this.

Misdirection is the greatest ally of both the thief and the magician. The note, I had inferred, should not be revealed. The serpent figurine I was less certain about. But no one trusts a man with empty pockets.

And so I did have a trick for Pavel after all. I reached into my pockets and turned them out quickly. With my left hand, I palmed the note. With my right hand, I revealed the serpent. As my right hand extended forward, my left hand slipped the note into my sleeve. And then both hands are palm up. The deception is so simple that you would never know anything was out of the ordinary.

Pavel looked at the serpent figurine. He smiled. “Now, how can I help you?”

I was delivered to the theater, but I was feeling scatter-brained, owing to the fellow whose brains I had seen scattered moments before.

In the evening, I once again met with the CIA goons at the allotted time. They were overjoyed by the evidence of diamonds. That I had witnessed an execution didn’t seem to have any effect on them.

One of them gets a serious look on his face. He wants to know if I could use my magic to teleport the diamonds from their location into a suitcase that could then be whisked away. I tell him this is impossible. He wanted to know if this was because I didn’t know exactly where the diamonds were being kept? I told him I am an entertainer. I’m not actually capable of magical acts. He seemed very disappointed in me.

“Do you mean to say that nothing you do is magic? Everything is just an ordinary trick. Something that anyone could learn?“

"I suppose that might be the most pessimistic way to describe what I do.”

They briefed me on the plan for my show tomorrow. They told me that when the performance has ended, if there’s an opportunity to distract Konstigt or any of his men, I should keep them distracted for as long as possible. They told me they would be watching me and they would appear at the first sign of trouble.

The hour was nearing 11. We parted ways and I walked quickly across town. Hoping to avoid detection by Konstigt’s men, should there be any out looking for me, I stuck to the shadows. The only trouble I encountered was in an alleyway a block from the cathedral. In the darkness, a serpent slithered over my foot. I leapt back in shock, but contained my surprise. The snakes, I told myself, worked for no one.

I pushed past the heavy door to the cathedral. A few men in monk’s robes were seated around the altar playing a card game. Another monk emerged from the shadows and lead me down a narrow side passage into some sort of catacomb.

The monk’s hood was pulled back and this monk was revealed to be a beautiful woman.

“My name is Mila. Fate has brought us together.”

I was so charmed that I agreed! Yes, fate had brought us together.

She was familiar with my routine, and had worked as the assistant to local magician whose current whereabouts were unknown (he was a drunk). She wanted to be my assistant. She was quite insistent that she be my assistant. She had been performing since she was a child. I knew I was naive to accept her offer, but I also knew my act would be much better with an assistant.

I noticed that one of her hands was still sheathed in a hand puppet from her performance earlier. This one was a donkey.

“You may join me, but the donkey must stay,” I said, thinking I was being quite clever.

She looked crestfallen. “My hand… it was mangled in a thresher accident when I was just a small child. I keep the puppets to cover my mutilation.”

I was embarrassed, and recanted my previous declaration. She would be my assistant, puppet included. She was overjoyed.

Aleister, you know my act. Two of my illusions are certainly better with an assistant:

Cranks at Work

The Ghost Talks

And then there’s three that I had planned to leave out entirely, as they are impossible without an assistant:

The Doctor’s Secret

Fancy Baggage

A Most Immoral Lady

If this was to be my last show, why not go out with a bang? With Mila’s help, I would be able to perform all of them. Was this greed, or pride, or both?

I was breaking the second of my cardinal rules: When someone offers to help, be suspicious of their motives.

I told her we must meet to rehearse tomorrow morning. She agreed. Then she got a serious look on her face, and I had utterly no idea what she was thinking, though it didn’t seem to be of a romantic nature. She came close to me. In a low voice, she said, “You’re here for it too, aren’t you?”

It? I remembered the advice of my CIA friends. The answer is always yes. So I said, “Yes.” She seemed very relieved. “Good,” she said, “I will speak no more of it.”

I bid her goodnight, and she raised her hand (the unmutilated one) for me to kiss it. This is when I noticed the distinctive serpent tattoo on her wrist.

As we were parting, I remembered something. “The people have been calling me a name… plo-nee-ba-ka, I think. What does that mean?“

She thought about it. "The hollow one. Or invisible one. Or silent. There’s not an exact word in English.”

The Silent Magician. I like the sound of that.

I want to amend my story of the Vanishing of Orius in 1899. Aleister, I am going to tell you something that I have never told a soul, and I want this knowledge to die with you.

I did not witness an act of magic.

Yes, the audience, they all turned their backs. Yes, I was the boy. Orius narrated his disappearance, and when I turned back to face the stage, what I saw was a sad old man. An old magician performing his final show, totally corporeal on the stage. Not a hint of transparency. He wasn’t magical, he was a liar, or perhaps, more charitably, a trickster. And suddenly a very young child, me, held his fate in my tiny hands.

And I chose to carry the lie. I didn’t know why I said what I did at the time. But I know now that I wanted to live in a world where magic was possible.

That’s the problem with magic. The keepers of magic are the ones who know it’s a big charade.

You can’t unsee the man.

There is no magic.

We know definitively, and yet we have to keep telling the lie.

The rehearsal was a success. The room, as I’d demanded, was empty except for myself and Mila. She had gotten some looks for her puppet (today it was a wasp), but the story of her mutilated hand elicited sympathy (or at least deference) from the guards.

They asked how I wanted to be introduced. I told them to call me The Silent Magician. Plo-nee-ba-ka.

The rest of the day was a blur. All I cared about was the show.

I watched nervously from behind the curtains as the audience was filled in. It was a mix of townsfolk and military men. Konstigt was seated front and center with Pavel to his side. Vlad was conspicuously absent.

I’m not going to bother describing my act. You’ve seen it a dozen times. Of course, I had to remove the double entendres, those only work with spoken language. Some of them I tried to relate with hand gestures, but they were single entendres at best. But it didn’t matter, there was a real excitement in the air. I had an eager audience, and my set was performed without a hitch. It was brilliant.

The standing ovation carried on for an embarrassingly long amount of time, I am certain this was due to the fact that Konstigt continued to stand and applaud and so everyone else felt the need to follow suit.

Perhaps this also means the audience was less enraptured with my performance, and was merely performing for Konstigt? Well, that’s possible, but let’s not dwell on that. Trust me, I know a great show. This was a great show.

The curtain was dropped and I stood frozen in place. It was done. I had done my act, and I had done it silently, and I had still wowed them. It was a wonderful feeling. It was something I hadn’t felt in a long time.

Seconds later, Konstigt had appeared backstage with Pavel in tow. He stood to my left, clasping my shoulder, with Pavel in front of me. And then there was a noise from backstage and Vlad appeared.

Vlad was apologetic about missing the show. Pavel’s expression soured. I was a look that I’d seen before. He issued a command in his goat language and Vlad laughed. But Pavel wasn’t laughing. I recognized the command. He was asking Vlad to turn out his pockets.

When Vlad did not comply, Pavel drew his pistol and pointed it at him. Vlad, in response, drew his own weapon, a large revolver. Konstigt now had a very grave expression. Pavel and Vlad stood on opposite sides of me, I was positioned perfectly to catch their crossfire. I slowly started to back away, but the pine box coffin was still on the stage from my final trick and it blocked my path.

Aleister, would you agree that this seems like the best time for my buddies from the CIA to show themselves? To rush to the rescue?

They thought so too, rushing the stage from opposite ends, and when they saw the guns, they positioned themselves so one of them was behind Pavel and the other was behind Vlad. Much to my chagrin, their guns were pointed at the midsection of each man (and those midsections were aimed at me), which meant there was now the possibility of four bullets hitting me.

Konstigt had taken his hand from my shoulder. He had a furious look on his face, as if he had just understood I had been working against him this whole time. Had I, though? If you could look into my heart with a microscope, I think you would see that I just wanted to perform. That was my motive. I was pure of spirit, at least in this one regard!

Konstigt was unholstering his weapon when the cover of the coffin flung open next to me.

From it emerged Mila. With a theatrical flourish, she unsheathed her hand previously hidden by a puppet, to reveal a perfectly lovely hand holding a perfectly lovely gun. Did you see that one coming, Aleister? You were always sharper than I was. Mila yelled something in that cursed troll language, which if I had to guess, I would think might be “The revolution has started, and your time is now at an end.”

She was pointing the gun at Konstigt, who at this point has his own gun drawn and pointed back at her, which also means that both of them are pointed at me as well and I’m now in for six bullets when the guns go off.

I’ve enclosed a diagram if you’re having trouble visualizing my predicament.

[enclosed image missing]

Everyone was shouting in their terrible tongue, and I couldn’t say anything. They were yelling at each other, they were yelling at me. I was trapped. I was a fool. At least I had one last good show.

And in my last moments on earth, I thought about Orius. Not his act, but what he said. Everyone gets one chance to vanish. It’s a thing you can do only once and never again. If that were the case, I had never used mine. This would be the time to use it, if ever there was one. I pressed my eyes shut.

I don’t need to tell you the ways of the magician. We weave magic out of what we have to work with. We don’t witness miracles, but we can tell others we did.

A miracle happened. I turned invisible. I had my eyes shut, so I couldn’t see myself turn invisible, but I felt it. And it must have startled my gun wielding stage-mates because there was a sudden, terrible cacophony and the air was alive with bullets, And then six thumps as six bodies fell.

I opened my eyes. First I saw the blood. My brilliant white cape was specked with it. I dropped it to the floor and noticed a half dozen new perforations. I felt myself up and down. Where was I hit? Where did I feel pain? But I didn’t feel pain. I hadn’t been hit.

I was the only one who hadn’t.

They were all dead and crumpled on the floor.

Konstigt had a bullet between the eyes. Pavel and Vlad had felled the CIA men (whose names, shamefully, I am realizing I never bothered to remember). Or perhaps they felled each other? The four of them wore shocked, lifeless expressions. Pavel’s hand still gripped his beloved engraved pistol.

And Mila, poor Mila. Just as dead as the others. She’d fallen back into the coffin, her two perfect hands draped over her lap. She would have looked like she was sleeping if you could ignore the chunks of her brain that were splattered across stage left.

In a daze, I stumbled my way past the curtains and into the orchestra section, and I started to become aware of the commotion as my senses come back. Bodies of soldiers and townsfolk were sprinkled throughout the aisle. Some of the townsfolk had donned animal masks. A fox and a rabbit were trying to decapitate a fallen soldier with makeshift knife. There was blood everywhere. Or there wasn’t. It’s hard to tell when the floors are the color of blood.

I shuffle past numerous scenes of agony and violence. I’m not wearing a military uniform or a police uniform or an animal mask, so it’s as if I’m invisible.

The streets are in chaos. I mind my business and make my way back to the hotel. Where will I go next?

It’s when I start to consider how I might bribe my way out of this mess that I realize that I’ve broken my third cardinal rule: Always get the money first.

My room seemed undisturbed. I went to my suitcase seeking my invisible dagger. When I’m in a dangerous situation, it always calms me to hold it, even though I’ve never had to use it.

It has been sitting on the table next to me while I type this out. I am ready to brandish it if necessary. The last time I peeked outside, there was black smoke rising from the palace and the commotion seemed to have died down a bit. Even revolutionaries need to sleep.

When the sun is up, I’ll figure out what’s next. First, I’m going to try to post this letter. If you’re reading this, then at least something went right.

I’m not sure if I’m a hero, a villain, or just an invisible person. I will know soon.

With the best regards I can muster given the circumstances, One can escape from anything, Your friend always,

The Silent Magician LL

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