#it’s so rare you see him in interviews tripping over his words or unsure of how to say something but he is in that moment | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

httphopewrld · 4 years ago

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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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umccall71 · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter 22

Characters: Prince Liam and MC Lady Sexy

Rating:Mature content includes profanity, sexual content,talks about depression.

Word Count:3885

Disclaimer:All characters are property of Pixelberry except my OC Lady Saige. The use of these characters are for entertainment only and i am only borrowing them.

Summary:After a summer of a lifetime,Prince Liam thought he could have it all.He was carefree, free,, and sharing time with the woman of his dreams.When life was easy, a balancing act between love and duty, he realizes his truths are lies, wrong is right, and decisions do have consequences. Lady Saige never imagined she would be one of his consequences.When an utter act horror throws her world into a tailspin.

Warning: This series contains subject matter of depression and hopelessness.The story may trigger certain individuals. Please be advised. If your reading this series you are acknowledging you are 18+.

A/N:Sorry for the long delay.Things have been hectic in my life for a bit chaotic.I had to take some time to focus on my health. I feel horrible that it’s been so long.Thanks for your understanding and support for those still interested in this story.

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@eadanga @ao719 @carabethpow @lauradowning29 @elles-choices @hopefulmoonobject @indiacater @3pawandme @blackcoffee @simsvetements @wughhumans @drakesensworld @romanticatheart-posts @fantasy-of-fiction @choices97 @gibbles82 @furiousherringoperatortoad @marietrinmimi @whenyourheartskipsabeat @kuladekiwi @custaroonie @smalltalk88 @jovialyouthmusic @sashatrr @jared2612 @the-soot-sprite @ownworldresident @silverofdreams @rainbowsinthestorm @silviasutton1989 @lodberg @kingliam2019 @dcbbw

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It had been 48 hours since the decision had been made to go public about the nightmare and tragedy that had changed the very core of their life together. Liam had Bastien coordinate with the office for Ana De Luca to get the interview scheduled. This was going to be such an exposed moment for her, for them. The monarchy had a history of concealing the not so sunny facets from the people. The faces of the crown only showed that which would be received well by the Cordonian citizens. It was rare that any bad news was willingly shared, especially such a heinous crime against the crown by the crown. Liam made sure to check in repeatedly with Saige if she was certain that she would want to move forward with the interview. He made sure that Miss DeLuca understood that his Queen had the final say in whether she wanted to broadcast the interview, or how much got shared.

“Bastien, is everything prepared in the gazebo for the interview?”, Liam inquired.

“Your majesty, Miss DeLuca is aware that her majesty has the final call on what topics will be covered during the interview. She has also signed a non-disclosure agreement. There will be minimal members of the press present during the interview to assure that Queen Saige is completely at ease.”

Liam nodded, clapped Bastien on the shoulder and thanked him, “Bastien, it means a great deal to myself and Saige for all of your support during these last several months. There are a few trusted people we would turn to in these dark days. “

Bastien simply nodded and excused himself to complete the task at hand. “Sir, I will notify you when she arrives.” He turned on his heel after bowing to his monarch.

Liam adjusted his three-piece steel-gray suit as he made his way down the corridor from the study to the master suite to meet Saige to escort her to the gazebo.

“There will be better days”, she chanted quietly to herself in front of her mirror. Saige was doing her best to hold it together as she finished dressing for her interview.

Liam held onto the door jam as he watched her lovingly and determined to see her through this journey He watched as Saige tied the sash of her pale pink maxi dress that cascaded around her baby bump. She slid on the wedge heels and dabbed a little lip gloss on her supple lips. He interrupted her thought, “it’s really hard to make perfection any better.”

Saige smiled at her handsome husband that stood admiring her from the door. Liam moves closer to her and came to stand behind her in the mirror. He nuzzled her neck and gently kissed her cheek. “I’ll do my best not to mess up your make up, although you don’t really need it. Your beautiful as you are my love. “

Liam’s hands cupped her belly feeling his little love fluttering slightly. “I will never cease to be amazed at this feeling”, his blue eyes flashed brightly at the overwhelming feeling of love.

“Liam, is it time to go yet ?”, she asked barely audible. Saige shook her hands trying to release the slight tension from the bundle of nerve building in her body. Saige knew that once her story was shared that she may face some backlash from supporters of the former king. Here she was a virtual stranger in this country coming forward to reveal the atrocities exposed against her. All she wanted was to love Liam and hopefully love this child with fierce protectiveness. She recounted the night she and Liam made love and she professed her desire to start a family with him. He was a guiding force in these trying times. She had spent most of her life depending on herself or her dad. He was gone and she never had the forethought to think about a future that included a family of her own.

Liam turned her face and gently kissed her lips. “Saige, you have nothing to fear from telling the truth. I’m right beside you.”, he traced his thumb along her porcelain skin. “We are a team that cannot be taken for granted. I love you… I love our child… and I love the future we have to look forward to sharing.” He pulled her close to his chest, sending his warmth and safety through his embrace.

“Let’s go…you are going to make the country love you just as much as I do… if that’s possible.”Liam took Saige by the hand and led her out of the doors of the estate down to the gazebo.

*********

The Interview

Ana DeLuca: Ladies and gentlemen, I am joined today at the beautiful duchy Valtoria by King Liam and Queen Saige of Cordonia. The royals have allowed us a glimpse into what it’s been like for them over the last few months. Yes… we have wondered why the silence from the royal family, but soon we will learn some answers.

“Thank you both for allowing me into your home and a peek into your lives. So what has it been like for the two of you since the passing of the former king?”

Liam grasped Saige’s hand reassuringly and locked blue eyes as they composed themselves to answer.

King Liam: Thank you for having us Ms.DeLuca. It’s been quite a transition for our family in the last several months. My father… taking his life was surprisingly cowardice. He took his life to keep from facing his own crimes. He left behind more questions than answers. There were things that my father has been believed to have done throughout his reign here in Cordonia, but his recent actions have torn a hole in the fabric of our lives. The story we share is not so much of mine...as it is my queen’s.”

He turned slightly and placed a tender kiss on Saige's temple. He whispered softly to her, “love, the decision is yours as to how much is shared today. I love you and I am proud of you.”

Saige nodded and smiled softly, but it was clear to anyone that saw her that she was nervous and unsure. She gazed into Liam’s loving eyes and took a deep breath. She drew strength from him at that moment and every moment since her attack. Ana noticed her reluctance and smiled to the queen mouthing, “it’s okay.”

Ana DeLuca: “So Your majesty, I understand that there has been a lot of change in your life in recent months. Can you share with the Cordonian people a little about that?”

Queen Saige: “Ms. DeLuca, thank you for allowing us to speak to the citizens of Cordonia through your voice. This country has become my home. Meeting Liam has been the greatest joy of my life until… until we learned that we were expecting. Liam has been a godsend for me in these trying times.”

The blonde reporter seemed a bit puzzled by her response. Most people would be elated to have a new child on the way. Her eyes darted back and forth between the royal couple trying to decide how much to divulge to the public. Saige smoothed the fabric of her dress unknowingly. She tried to keep her emotions in check as she opened her personal pandora’s box. Saige anticipated the whispers and snide remark when her truth was revealed. King Constantine...who would believe the beloved former king had violated her? She glanced at Liam and allowed her truth to flow.

Queen Saige: “Getting married, and starting a family would be an extraordinary gift, but our path was fraught. I came to Cordonia as part of a summer trip to spend time with my best friend from college… Duchess Olivia, but back then she just Liv to me. She convinced me to spend some time in her beautiful home country and it was one of the best decisions I ever made.” She smiled and gently stroked Liam’s hand. “We came to spend an afternoon with some of her friends at a quiet get together, and it was there I met Liam...Prince Liam, only I hadn’t learned of his title just yet. We spent time together just talking and sharing some laughs. I was charmed by him immediately, but he was so down to earth. It was so amazingly easy to open up to him.”

Ana DeLuca: “ So are you saying you fell for each other instantly?” Ana leaned forward , she had become engrossed in their story. She smiled and looked between the two entranced.

King Liam: “ For me it certainly was… she's beautiful, charming, witty, compassionate, caring, intelligent… what’s not to love about her?” He smirked and lifted her hand to place a chaste kiss to her knuckles.

Queen Saige: “There was certainly a connection right away. Liam is a hard man to get out of your head. He spent the next several days trying to convince me to go out with him. He had dozens of flower bouquets sent every hour from sun up to sun down to Olivia’s estate. Finally, when the last arrangement had taken over her home, it was delivered with a note with his phone number asking me to call him.” Saige giggled reminiscing about the first time she allowed him into her heart. “I contemplated shortly and ended up calling him and we made plans for a first date. He took me to a lovely greek restaurant that we were shared alone. I had no idea that he emptied the place out so that we would have some privacy. It was that night I finally learned that he a prince.”

Liam's eyes were staring adoringly at her lips, and he was so in love… that much was evident to anyone. The way he would brush a stray tendril of her auburn locks out her face, the way he would grasp her hand and not let go, the smile that never left his face as they recounted their love story.

Queen Saige: “After that night we spent every free minute together that was allowed. We had late-night phone calls and it was the happiest I had been in a really long time. Then he did me the honor of inviting me to a ball at the palace. He surprised me with a beautiful gown and it was a night to remember, until it quickly turned into a night I couldn't forget.” Her facial expression became sullen, panic-stricken when she thought back to the night she first encountered the former king. “ That night’s events drive me from the palace and … and from Cordonia never being quite the same.”

Liam squeezed her hand and took over as she collected her thoughts. He knew this dark period caused her to shut down with everyone… including him.

King Liam: “ Little did I know that a short time later , Saige would disappear from my life. It had been months since she left without a word or forwarding address that I finally laid eyes on her again. It broke my heart to learn why she left, but I was grateful to be able to share with her what I truly felt...love... I loved her and had to make certain she knew.”

Liam seemed wistful as he thought of that tumultuous time. “After we both shared a tender reunion and I learned the truth, I realized I did not want to lose her again … so I proposed.”

The two of them happily smiled at the memory. “We married a short time later in Texas and again when we landed in Cordonia surrounded by a few family and close friends.”

Ana DeLuca: “So no one knew you two were married?”

King Liam: “ There were a few people that knew but respected our decision to make our announcement to the public. When the decision of my brother to step down was shared and it was known that I would be next in line for the crown and Saige agreed that we would be okay if I ascended to the throne, I had no choice but to go public being my father was pushing for a social season, but there was no need. I had my bride, my queen.” There was such tenderness in his gaze as he pronounced his love to the world.

Ana DeLuca: “ You announced the same night of the coronation that you two were going to become parents. Congratulations by the way. This is truly a monumental time for you two, for the monarchy.”

Queen Saige: “Thank you for your kind words...and yes it should have been an exciting time, but something changed a week after the coronation. You see, my husband was expected in Italy for a conference and I happen to have a doctor’s appointment the day after he left so I could not go with him.” Saige’s voice dropped low as she weighed the decision to open up.

“We chatted that night before bed and I had chosen to turn in early. Little did I know that there were other plans in the works that night. I woke up a short time later wanting a snack. It was then that I heard a noise coming from the living area. I thought nothing of it as I went to grab something to eat and a bottle of water.”

The queen became visibly affected as she continued to explain her personal hell in the palace. Her eyes became dampened with unshed tears, she could not allow her grief to stand in the way of her moment to free her spirit again.

“ I walked down the darkened hallway to be met by an enormous hand choking me into silence. This night, i was attacked within my home ...in my living room.”

Saige’s leg began to bounce from the nerves trying to bubble up. She wanted to run away, but she knew that wasn’t her answer. She couldn’t do that to Liam, she couldn’t do it to herself .She suddenly took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and looked at loving husband. She knew that she needed to rely on his strength more than even right now.

“That night, I was beaten and violently raped by … the former king. He had two guards, one of which was my own to hold me down and tear my clothing from my body. He… he uttered such vile things as he hurt me. His hand was over my mouth the entire time. He didn’t care the agonizing pain as I shook, pleading with my eyes to stop hurting me. Not to hurt my baby, but he didn’t… he never gave a damn what hell he put me through.”

Saige bit her inner cheek fighting like hell to keep from breaking down. She couldn’t let him steal this moment in time from her, from his grave. She had her family to think about. Without thinking her free hand moved down her body and gently cupped her belly. She felt a flutter within her willing her to continue to stand up to the demon that shared Liam’s bloodline.

“I spent days in the hospital… mostly unconscious… unaware of what had happened to me. I had no idea that my husband had to rush home to find out the atrocities that had been committed against us. I had no idea how to feel when I opened my eyes… finally and learned where I was and the fallout from king Constantine. The true extent of what he’d stolen from is that night.”

Saige looked down to her belly and willed herself to keep it together. Liam saw the pain etched in her porcelain features. Her beautiful blue eyes that were so full of pain, yet hopeful that something good could come of this. He squeezed her hand and nodded. Saige knew with this man , she was going to be okay. Liam looked at Ana DeLuca baring a determined look in his eyes. He took over the moment.

King Liam: “I learned while my wife was out fighting for our baby’s life that she was severely beaten and damage during the heinous act caused her to lose our child.”

Ana looked bewildered as her eyes darted back and forth between the royals and then to the queen’s abdomen. Liam sensed her confusion and continued.

“ The meeting I had a short time after arriving with the doctor I learned of the miscarriage and I also learned that we were not expecting one child...but two. How do you process such a gift and a heartache at the same time? I had to think about how we would break the news to my queen.”

The sight of a monarch visibly emotionally moved by reliving the loss of a child bought Ana to tears. She tried to quickly recollect herself to not deviate from the interview.

Ana DeLuca: “King Liam, how did you come to terms with the loss of your child, your heir?”

King Liam:” I realize that the baby, our baby was the heir… but he or she was our family member first.That was a baby that we loved and planned for ...together. What do you do with the promise that is unrealized? Where do the future first experiences go? The first smile, the first steps, the first time hearing that little one call me daddy, the first giggles, the first steps, the first time planning a birthday, our first holiday as a family… What do you do with that?”

Silence as Ana tried to process the hypothetical question. She saw a glimpse of the personal hell that her king and queen, Cordonia’s king and queen had been suffering. It made sense in a news flash sort of way that they were quiet in their personal life for a bit.As if reading her mind, Liam chimed in again.

“I had to… in that moment focus on helping my wife heal physically and emotionally. We were both reeling from the reality that our little family would be missing a part of our dream. I also had to come to grasp the abominable actions of the man whose father had violated my wife and caused the death of our unborn child.”

Liam pauses at the realization hearing himself speaking aloud about how his world was turned upside down by his father’s actions.

“Apparently the former king was a coward unwilling to face consequences of his actions.Rather than atone for going to his sins, he chose to take his own life. Here it was we were expecting the next generation of the Rhys royal bloodline, and to have a future cut short by our own family member.”

Liam clenched his fist at the thought of what injustice his father had perpetrated against Saige. He felt for what had gone through… still was going through at the hands of his father.

Ana beautifully refocused the moment back to the queen.It was not lost on her the reaction as she listened intently as Liam shared the most devastating moment of her life.

Ana De Luca: “ma’am what do you want the citizens of Cordonia to take away from this interview?”

Saige paused thoughtfully as she considered what message she wanted to carry forward.

Queen Saige: “I want the citizens, I want our child to know that you can rise against all odds. You will see some dark times, but being surrounded by the people you love...and that love you, there is a better tomorrow. The pain will seem overwhelming and endless, but you must find a way to get out of bed in the morning… start to hope again by putting one foot in front of the other. I know by the grace of my king, I now feel a sense of purpose. We are going to invest that extra love into the child that will share life upon this world. I have to think that heaven must have made room for an angel a little early. I will think of our little that’s not able to walk amongst us here when I look into the eyes of the baby that’s on the way. When I hear the laughter of a Cordonian child, I will smile thinking of the laughter that was lost earlier this year. We did need some time to grieve and to pick ourselves up and continue pressing forward… but still I’ll rise … I’ll rise to fight another day.

Ana DeLuca: “Do you have any final words for our viewers king Liam?”

Liam smiled proudly at his queen. He felt this overwhelming feeling growing in his chest. He watched her conquer her fear. His father couldn’t hurt her anymore. She faced her boogie man in front of the country with such strength and determination.He stood and dropped down to one knee… bowing to his Queen.

King Liam: “I couldn’t say it any better than my queen. I echo her words and look forward to peace and prosperity for Cordonia. I want the best for our country and for our family.”

Ana DeLuca: “Thank you both your majesties for allowing us to share a glimpse into your worlds.”

Ana faced the camera and bid farewell to the viewers .

“Thank you for spending time with your monarchs Cordonia. We look forward to meeting the new heir once he or she make their entrance into the world.”

“And cut”... the cameras were turned off and the lights were dimmed.

Liam’s strong arms wrapped around his wife and he cupped her face in his hands. He smiled as he softly placed a tender kiss to the top of Saige’s head. “I am so very proud of you my love.”

She released a breath she did not realize she was holding. She outstretched her hands grabbing on his face. “I was so nervous Liam, but you being here meant the world to me.” She planted a quick peck on his lips.

He acknowledged Ana and her crew before turning to leave. “Ana, thank you for allowing us time to share our story. My head of security will see you to your transportation. Have a good night.”

Liam led Saige to the edge of the waters surrounding Valtoria and wrapped his arm around her waist. They both veered our into the orangish purple hues that made up the perfect sunset that was minutes away from saying good night to the sun. There was something so serene about watching the skies tranquil above Cordonia. They sat in the grassy field beside the flowing waters thinking about the remains of the day. King Liam sat with his legs opened inviting his queen to lean back to take a respite from the world. Saige leaned back into his chest, raised her hand to lace with his fingers , he reached out his large hand and gently laid it upon her growing belly.

He whispered in her ear, “ you were amazing love, tomorrow we shall meet with our people … a kingdom gained. I love you and our babies here and lost.”

They sat nestled in the comfort of each other’s arms.Saige closed her eyes and smiled softly in the warmth of his love. “Tomorrow…we put one foot in front of the other to welcome a new day.”

#king liam #king liam x mc #pixelberry #the royal romance #mc x king liam #the royal heir #liam x mc pregnancy #trh

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blu-joons · 5 years ago

Text

Dating Namjoon ~ BTS Headcanon

Getting Together

He would stare at you for ages, not realising he was doing it until one of the boys nudged him

Every time he saw you glancing at him, he would act confidently, shrugging his shoulders or fixing his hair

Once he’d built up enough confidence, he would approach you, confidently introducing himself

He would awkwardly laugh as he spoke to you, not always certain on what to say

The first time you met properly he would take you out to a restaurant for a nice meal

Of course, Namjoon would pay for it all wanting to be the complete gentleman

His eyes would be fixated on you, making sure you knew he was listening to your every word

You quickly found you have similar interests, the conversation flowed between you both

Very quickly he was quite affectionate, whether it just be a hand on your shoulder, or the small of your back

He’d go back to the boys and tell them everything in order to get their advice

Initially he finds it hard to read signals, unsure how into him you were

One of the big things he liked to talk to you about were his collectables, you loved how passionate he was about it

He would text all the time, if you took a while to respond he would panic thinking he had done something wrong

Very quickly he knew he wanted to take things further, only after a few dates would he decide to make things official

For this date, he decided to take you back to the restaurant you had your first date in as he knew how much you loved it

He specifically asked for a window seat to give you both a nice view of the city

He tried to stay calm, but you quickly picked up on his nervous giggle

Namjoon was always so giggly you ignored it as just him being his usual self

Taehyung had styled him for the evening wanting to make sure he looked handsome

He also wore his glasses, because as you told him, they made him look so much sexier

Namjoon would try and push it to the back of his mind, engaging with you as much as he could

As the night came to an end Namjoon knew it was a now or never situation

“Y/N…can I ask you something? I feel like we’ve been getting on really well, so how would you fancy being my girlfriend?”

Under the table his leg shook with fear, he didn’t want to risk losing you by moving to quickly

“Of course!” You smiled

As soon as you said yes, he jumped up, running to give you a hug

Excitement got the better of him still as he pulled you in to share your first kiss

Your hands ran through his soft hair

Namjoon being Namjoon somehow ended up catching the side of your face with his glasses

He quickly kissed it better, making it all okay

Being In A Relationship

Namjoon was very confident in your relationship, not wasting any time to introduce you to people

There wasn’t enough time in the day for him, desperate to see you whenever he could

A lot of hand holding, it was his way of knowing you were always there

It was clear for everyone to see how happy he was, especially in interviews

Being asked about you in interviews pretty quickly into your relationship

He would never force you into doing something you didn’t want to do, much rather you are comfortable

Showering you with compliments, even when you thought you looked terrible

Playing with your hair all the time, trying to perfect ponytails and plaits especially

As much as he liked you natural, he loved it when you wore makeup, especially bright eyeshadows

Sometimes he would feel awkward in situations, for example if you were sick, it took him some time to know exactly what to do

Always snapping selfies and sending them to you throughout the day

Attempting to cook, but honestly every time so far it always ended up burnt or raw

Breaking things – you lost count of the number of things you had to repair for him

You spent a lot of time at the studio with him, just playing on your phone whilst he worked

Every now and then you’d sneak out to get him a drink and some food to keep energised

Competitive video games, especially Pokémon, any time you won crushed him on the inside

Taking it in turns to be the big spoon depending on who had had the worst day

You were very popular with the fans because you were humble, and it was clear how happy Namjoon was

He loved to hold you against his chest, allowing his hands to graze your waist

Lots of dates at the beach, Namjoon loved for you to join him on his crab adventures

Constantly swapping book recommendations so you could discuss the book after

Both taking photos of each other to keep your social medias busy, very rarely taking selfies

Helping him with his English whenever he found a new phrase or saying

He was a perfectionist so wanted you to help him with his pronunciation

Sneaking in lines of raps he’d made about you into raps for the band

Starting your own collections of snow globes that he bought from all the places he travelled

FaceTime was definitely your friend when he was on tour

He would often turn to you when he was struggling with the pressure as you always knew how to come him down

Having to drag him to the gym with you sometimes because he couldn’t be bothered

Going his choreography late at night because he wanted to be as good as the others

Whenever he got excited, he’d look for you, you were the first person he wanted to share the experience with

Always wearing his glasses because he knew how big of a turn on they were

He was incredibly protective but also knew not to be too clingy

He was an old romantic at heart, he loved to surprise you when you least expected it

When he was sad, he would lay cuddled up in your lap with a blanket over him

Your favourite gift from him was plushies that you could cuddle when he was away

He would try and bring you on trips with him as often as possible

You were always in stitches because of the random things he came out with

Always having to shout him before he banged into something or knocked it over

The two of you often had in depth conversations, talking about things such as flat earth and aliens

Puzzles, lots of puzzles to keep your minds ticking over

Anniversaries were big, Namjoon would always be home for them and treasure them

Sleeping in most of the mornings, slowly waking up with light conversations and cuddles.

Affection/Skinship

He was quite affectionate in public to make a clear statement

He loved to kiss your cheeks and forehead the most

His kisses were always full of passion and love

He was very dominate he liked to be in control of your embraces

He loved your boobs; he’d always hold them and tease them to arouse you

Constant contact when you slept, he wouldn’t sleep without your body close to you

He wasn’t backwards in coming forwards with sex, the sooner the better really

Once you’d had it once he would initiate it as often as possible

Very cuddly, especially when he was tired or sleepy, he was needy for your affection

Something he did always want to try with you was toys, experimentation was key

Very experienced, knew exactly what he was doing, most likely from the research he had done

Doesn’t mind giving, but loves receiving, it always arouses him more when he sees you down on him

Sex always started with kisses, that was his way of telling you he wanted you

Sex was for behind closed doors, but he didn’t care where in the house you were for it

Would make you climax at least twice before he entered you

Definitely cuddle you after sex, no matter how rough he was he still wanted to show you he loved you

It was a quiet occasion, normally the room would just be filled with his grunts and your moans

The two of you had a safe word, sometimes his desire would get the better of him, not that you ever complained, yet

Plenty of hickeys, he definitely marked what was his own

Eye contact was a must, you loved seeing the desire in his eyes

He could hold you forever, he loved the way your body moulded to his

Arguments

Conflict was rare, you two were very good at talking through your problems before your voices raised

You were both very stubborn when you argued, it would take a lot for someone to back down

Upon reflection he hated the fact that he’d hurt you and would apologise all night long

He would often leave you at home and go for a walk to clear his head

His voice would raise a little, but he would never shout, he could never intimidate you

When he sees you cry in an argument all is very quickly forgotten, he hugs you tight so you can barely breath

He could never sleep on an argument, his brain would go into overdrive, he needed it to be resolved

Arguments were his chance to be open about his feelings, telling you how he felt in order to make things right

There were never any direct insults, you had too much love for each other to insult each other

As soon as an argument was resolved you were back to your usual selves, moving past it

Apologies on either ends for things that were said when one of you finally caved

Being very wary not to cause the same argument for a few days after

Very affectionate if you’d argued earlier in the day

You were usually the one to get angrier, but you still cared massively for Namjoon

Arguments were kept for at home, he would never do it in view of anyone else

The following day he would usually surprise you with a gift or something to make you happy again

If he cried, you knew things were serious, promising him you weren’t going anywhere when he begged you to forgive him

Your Relationship With The Boys

The boys looked at you as another leader figure, you were very valued by the boys

Just like Namjoon they relied on you to help with their English, going through phrases and words to perfect

They cared for you like an extension of BTS, Namjoon made them promise when you started dating that they would support you

Having a female around made the environment better, especially when they needed relationship advice

Hobi was who you were closest too, he made you laugh hysterically with his silly behaviour

Jin was just like your elder brother, you were a deadly duo when you were left alone together

Jungkook turned to you mainly for help with English, he was so dedicated you would always make time for him

Taehyung wanted your opinion on his outfits, you had a keen eye for fashion so would help him decide what would go with what

Suga was slightly hit and miss, to begin with he felt like he los his roomie, but soon grew to love you when he saw how happy Namjoon was around you

Jimin would be the biggest wind up merchant, hugging you loads to annoy Namjoon

Ultimately you were a great figure to have in the studio, cooking for them, hydrating them, always having their best interests at heart

The boys were so happy to see their leader happy; they would treat you incredibly well

The Future

Namjoon was pretty quick in buying an engagement ring, but waited a few years to find the perfect moment

He proposed at the beach as it was your favourite place to spend time together

Your wedding was lowkey, it was a simple affair filled with traditions, all the boys being groomsmen

Namjoon would happily call time on his career in order to start a family with you

He took a year or so out in order to dedicate his time to you and your family

He still carried his confident swagger; he had the most gorgeous girl in the world after all

He could have never dreamt of finding a woman as amazing as you

Masterlist

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crimsonbluemoon · 5 years ago

Note

Terrornuckle/ Terrormoo (did we change the shipname?) 18, 1, 26

Okay, I went way too hard on this one. I always do that with this couple, damn >.>

AU: Celebrity Trope: Friends to loversPrompt: “sometimes, i sit in bed and wonder what would happen if things were different.”

Pairing: Terrormoo

“Where are you going this time?” Brian always enjoyed the limo ride to the private plane Brock owned. It was one of the only times that he got his friend alone, really. When he was working, he couldn’t be distracted and would lock himself in his home for days at a time. Brian didn’t blame him for it; being the writer of the biggest novel series in the world meant that he needed to nurture time for his craft. When he wasn’t writing his amazing stories, he was being carted away by Marcel, his manager, to different parts of the world for interviews and book signings. One day he’d be in their city, and the next he’d be in Hong Kong.

“It’s a small tour, so I’ll just be doing an interview with Ellen, a book meeting with my company in Los Angeles, and then a Q and A at a convention in San Francisco. I should be back before Wednesday.” Brian remembered a time when Brock hated flying. The loudness of the plane, the turbulence, the fear of falling before completing his dreams in life- Brock had told Brian them all one drunk night three years ago. Back at the time, Brock had only just picked up some steam, and had been asked to come to a small bookstore in Atlanta to meet some fans. They met as neighbors four years before, their apartments both sharing terrible heating and thin walls. That was when Brock’s greatness was still hidden. Two months later, the world would be exposed to Brock’s beautiful smile.

That had been before.

“It’s okay if you can’t make it,” Brian answered, trying to keep his grin wide to hide his own feelings. Brock always worried his lip too much when he thought Brian was upset, which then would get him scolded by Marcel and the make up artist he’d have to deal with for Ellen. Brock once told him he hated that part about his TV appearances the most. Brian remembered the first time Brock had pursed his lips out for Brian to coat with lipstick left over from his high school theater make-up. How his eyes had popped out after the eyeliner guarded his lids like a coat of armor. How Brock’s eyelashes looked so long with mascara. Brock hadn’t needed blush; he’d turned a pretty shade of red when Brian had told him how beautiful he was.

But that had been before.

“It’s your birthday. I won’t miss it.” Again hung so heavy in the air between them, Brian was sure he’d choke on it. He glanced out the limo’s window with a chuckle he hoped wouldn’t be wet with the sadness he held back. Last year had been…a rough time for them. Brock’s busy schedule pushed Brian away, and the conflicting feelings of jealousy and sadness waged war in Brian’s heart, making him curl away from Brock’s friendly affection when he did have time. Because Brian didn’t want friendly; it took a month long absence of Brock’s presence by his side for him to realize it.

His birthday had been shared with friends and family, with pretty girls and lots of booze. Brock was in Madrid, promoting his new book. There were no ‘after birthday pancakes’ the next morning, no horribly burnt bacon (six years and Brock still couldn’t make it right) and embarrassingly (but endearing) off-key singing. There was a nameless stranger in his cold bed and shameful hickies on his neck, which would have been signs of a successful birthday years prior.

But that was before.

“I’m not saving you a piece of cake if you’re late,” Brian said instead of any of the words that rattled in his heart. Brock rolled his eyes, his shoulder bumping gently into Brian’s. He didn’t pull away, and Brian stayed quiet about it.

“I’ll buy a whole customized sheet cake from that fancy bakery you liked in California and bring it back with me.”

“You wouldn’t, you hate showing you’re rich unless it’s for charity,” Brian answered quickly, their eyes meeting at the challenge.

“Or if it’s for you,” Brock’s soft reply twisted something fierce in Brian’s stomach, his fingers digging into his pant leg to keep from pulling Brock into a kiss. Because he knew it was the truth; Brock always spoiled Brian. He did the same for his other friends, sure, but Evan and Tyler never let Brian forget how ‘special’ he was.

Brock moved him into a house right next to Brock’s that Brian could never afford, and always made sure his needs were taken care of. Brock took Brian on some of his longer trips to Venice or Palm Springs, which Brian loved. But it had been just seven months ago when he had first discovered Proof Bakery in California. It was his favorite place, though not for the pastries like Brock always assumed. The little shop, which was way overpriced and the lines far too long, was where Brian first realized just how in love with Brock he was. The moment would always be sketched into his mind; the whipped cream that had crept over Brock’s nose from his frothy drink, the shy smile, the soft way his voice caressed the tail end of Brian’s name, and the sunlight that illuminated just how breathtaking all of it was put together.

He’d nearly confessed right there, if not for the fact that cameras and paparazzi were hanging on every word they said. Their picture had been splattered on several tabloid magazines, with questions of their ‘relationship’ hounding both men for weeks. Brian had been avoidant of the question, waiting for Brock to bring it up. He never did, not to Brian, though he always spoke about his ‘good friend’ on TV shows and red carpet interviews. It’d been a knife in Brian’s heart. Because once, Brian had hoped the soft glimmer in Brock’s eyes at the bakery had been love for him.

But that was before, too.

“Evan’s gonna get jealous, then Scotty will whine, and you’ll have to do it for everyone. With all the friends you have, you’ll actually put a dent in your wallet.” Brian doused any increased heartbeat he had by reminding himself how dedicated Brock was to making all his friends happy. Hurting himself more, he patted Brock’s thigh, not letting himself enjoy the muscle under his palm before pointing out the window. “Look, got here in record time. Almost time for you to head out.”

“Oh, right.” Brock’s voice hid something that Brian missed looking out the window, but by the time he glanced back, it was gone. He quirked an eyebrow, knowing he was grinning like a fool after Brock’s cheeks turned pink.

“You don’t sound to excited to get on your plane, mister. What, you gonna miss this beautiful face?” He forced himself to wink and blow a kiss at Brock, expecting the normal eye roll or scolding curve to his name that always made him feel special.

“What if I will?” So the open heartbeak that cracked Brock’s eyes made Brian pause, frozen by the look he never wanted to see.

“Brock, what… you know you can call m-us.” Desperate to get rid of the look on his friend, Brian leaned closer, ignoring his own rules of touch to cradle Brock’s face in his palms. “Video chat, anytime. Day or night, I don’t care. If you miss me- or any of the guys, that’s okay. We’ll miss you, too. We always do.”

“We, or you?” The distinction seemed important to Brock, but Brian’s tongue was too tied up in emotion to give a response. Sighing, Brock closed his eyes, letting his shoulders fall in defeat. “Sometimes…sometimes, I sit in bed and wonder…. what would happen if things were different?”

“Different? Different how?” Brian asked, unsure if his heart could stay contained in his chest at the soft nuzzle of Brock’s nose against his fingers.

“If I’d told you how having you come on the ride with me in the limo to the airport always helps me feel safe before leaving. If I said how much you saved me from my fears of flying by giving me all those helpful tricks. If I’d admitted you were the first person to make me feel beautiful that night with the make-up. Or, if I’d…if I’d been the one you’d taken to bed the night of your birthday last year, not that girl.” Soft flesh trembled against Brian’s thumb when he brushed it over Brock’s mouth, feeling the words from his own heart spill through Brock’s lips. “Would this be different, if I’d told all those TV hosts or interviewers the truth.”

“What’s the truth?” He was breathless from a marathon only his heart was running, eyes desperate for Brock’s pretty gaze when it finally opened to him again.

“That I’m head over heels in love with you. Would that make any of this different between us?” He was so vulnerable, splaying himself out in front of Brian with his heart in his hands. It was rare to see someone with Brock’s power, money, status in the world with such an open soul. But this moment, this little piece of Brock now shining bright in the back of the limo, this wasn’t for the world to see. This was Brian’s, if Brian would take it, and nobody else’s.

“Yeah, that makes a difference alright.” Brian leaned forward slowly, making sure Brock felt every indent and inch of his lips when kissing him. The kiss was slow, longing, full of each negative and positive emotion Brian had ever felt for Brock. He took his time pouring himself over Brock, teasing the crevices and dips of the mouth he’d been sure he’d only taste in his dreams. Brock was a willing participant, once his mind seemed to kick back on. Lust and need simmered just under the overwhelming love he had for Brock, and after fully divulging the months of realized emotion into their kiss, he pulled back. Not far, as his next words were whispered softly against bruised lips. “It’s going to make you late for your flight, love.”

Usually, Brian hated saying goodbye to Brock after their limo trips, knowing it was another chance for him to find someone to settle down with on his adventures without Brian. Brock still left this time, Brian waving from the limo they’d destroyed with their love making. This time, Brian’s heart didn’t ache watching Brock disappear into the plane taking him away. There was no pain.

Because that was before; before Brian knew Brock loved him, too.

#Anonymous #Terrormoo #Soft boys #Terroriser #Moo Snuckle #<3 #Crimson drabblez

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inactiive-shit · 4 years ago

Text

Meeting The Family

This is a quick sequal to another story I wrote, Medusa. This will definitely make more sense if you read that first.

Without further ado, here’s the rest of the gang.

Words: 1,925

~~~~~

“Have a good night, Mr. Foster!”

“You, too!” Patton called over his shoulder. He hurried out of the big tent, stage make up wiped away and costume hidden under his street clothes. While the show had been over for a good couple of hours now, many people still milled around, looking at some of the smaller attractions and trying to get in souvenirs.

“Night, Miss Julie!”

“You too, Patty. And make sure to actually get some sleep, you hear?” replied the old ticket-taker at the front booth. Patton waved as he left and jogged across the field. A few vines were crawling out of the forest and tried to trip him up, but Patton expertly side stepped and sprang over them and made it to the street without incident. A few howls rent the air, and he paused to check the moon. Not full, but it was getting close.

He hefted his bag over his shoulder a little more securely and made his way home. He had to get to his apartment real quick so he could drop off his bag and grab everything else he would need. His boyfriend would be getting up soon, if he wasn’t already, and Patton didn’t want to be late.

Luckily, almost nobody was on the streets at this time of night, so Patton made great time all the way back. He quickly put on darker, more comfortable clothes and emptied out the cooling box sitting in the corner. It had taken a lot of work to get this stuff, and he didn’t want a single drop to go to waste.

The good thing about working at the circus was that they only did evening to night shows, so Patton could sleep on the same schedule as the others. The bad thing about working at the circus was that the shows could run way over the timeframe if something went wrong or the audience was willing to pay for more or they wanted to try something new. It made getting anywhere afterward an incredibly imprecise guessing game.

Patton slipped through the streets like a shadow, trying not to let anybody see him. He would cut through the forest, but it was too close to the full moon for comfort and the vines out there had already tried to bring him in. He doesn’t need to be caught up in there. He’s got places to be!

Finally, after what felt like an eternity since he'd gotten out of the circus tent, Patton could see the warehouse across the street. It was mostly used for storage for things like shelves and beds and cabinets and people rarely ever went in, making it ideal for their uses.

Patton waited until the patrolman made his leisurely way down the street and turned the corner. Then Patton rushed across the street and squeezed through the door. It shut behind him with a quiet snick. The place looked deserted, shadows draped over the haphazardly stacked boxes.

"Hey, everybody!" he called. There was the barest shuffle and then Roman stood in front of him, face uncharacteristically pouty.

"How's everybody doing?" Patton asked. Two out of breath 'good's echoed from somewhere on the other side of room, and Patton could guess that Virgil and Logan were getting up to some shenanigans.

"Absolutely awful," Roman lamented, taking the bags from Patton's arms and leaning into him.

"Aw, Ro, what's wrong?"

"We have a new member of the secret society!" Remus yelled, accompanied by a crash. Patton winced sympathetically and then squealed, kissing Roman on the cheek and rushing farther into the warehouse to meet their newest member. He navigated the boxes and shelving mostly by memory. He couldn't see in the dark warehouse like all of the others could, and sometimes they forgot that. But it was better to have secret meeting in the dark anyway, so Patton made do with what he had.

"Hi!" he exclaimed and thrust a hand out toward the dark silhouette that looked like a person.

"Wrong person, Pat," Virgil said.

"Whoops," Patton said. He shifted slightly. A soft light started emanating from behind him - Roman had probably lit a candle - and then he could see the person he didn't know. "Hi! I'm Patton!"

"Janus Dante Ophiuchus," he said, shaking Patton hand. Roman leaned into Patton's back, chin just barely hooked over his shoulder, and glared. Remus glared back, and Patton realized that he definitely was out of the loop on something.

"Oh, that's such a pretty name. Mine's Patton Hart," he said. Then, when no one else seemed likely to say anything or stop glaring, "Those are some really interesting scales ya got there."

"No thank you," Janus said.

"I'm so sorry!" Patton rushed out. "I didn't meant to be rude or anything! I just-I thought-"

"It's okay, mi amor," Roman whispered in his ear. "The snake can only speak in lies." Patton hummed quietly and made a mental note to tell Roman to be a little kinder to the man in front of him.

"Reverse speak?" He beamed at Janus. "That's so neat! I don't have anything cool like that, but I can do a handstand." Patton flipped to be upside, almost kicking Roman in the process. He took a few steps around the room. "I work at the circus, so it feels like I spend most of my life upside down or tumbling through the air." Just as quickly as he went upside down, Patton dropped into a back bend and sprang back to his feet.

"Well, it's really nice to meet you! I hope you stick around. And your scarf is really pretty." Patton waved and skipped over to where Roman had stored the bagged blood he'd brought over.

"Roman and Virgil are trying to go vegetarian," Remus said to Janus. Patton stiffled a giggle and wrapped his arms around Roman, getting a proper kiss. "They think bagged blood is better for the world or whatever, but it just doesn't taste the same. A healthy dose of fear makes things a little sweeter. They'll give it up eventually."

"I can hear you, you know!" Virgil shouted, from where Patton still didn't know. Roman winced at his volume, so Patton kissed him again.

"I know," Remus said, but he didn't raise his voice at all. An aggravated shriek echoed from across the warehouse and Patton ducked out of the way just in time to miss Virgil lunging for Remus.

"What's up with you, Fledermaus?" Patton asked, nuzzling into Roman's hair while Virgil and Remus battled behind him.

"Remus brought that snake here while we were sleeping!" Roman exclaimed, wrapping his arms around Patton's waist. "He could have killed us in the day and none of us would have heard it coming!"

"You know Virgil sleeps lighter than that," Patton said, rubbing Roman's back. "He would've woken up if Janus had done anything."

"And been killed!" Roman glared over Patton's shoulder. Patton twisted to see the scene, and-oh. Virgil and Remus had managed to decimate a few boxes and Logan seemed to be interviewing Janus.

"You really think Janus could take Virgil in a fight?" Patton asked. Roman huffed.

"I just don't like it," he said.

"He seems alright to me," Patton said. "But if you really don't like him, he doesn't have to stay."

"Argh," Roman groaned. "No. Remus would stake me again. He really does like that liar and his snake hair."

Patton coughed. "Snake hair?"

"Yeah," Roman said. "It's why he's wearing the scarf on his head. So he doesn't Medusa people into impressively realistic statues." He paused. "Patty? You okay?"

"Snakes are like spiders if they were bigger and didn't have legs." Patton shuffled around to be slightly behind Roman. "Snakes are like spider that don't have to obey physics." He shivered and squeezed Roman to him. Then, the most terrifying thought Patton had ever had occurred to him. "What if they get off his head?"

"Well, I don't think they can do that," Roman said. "They're just hair snakes. But fear not, dear one. I will protect you, should the need arise."

"That's nice, Roman," Patton said. "But let's call them what they are."

"Snake hair-?"

"Sinister slithering death dealers."

"O-kay," Roman said. "Regardless, I'll keep you safe. You won't have to worry about them." He gave Patton a kiss and hugged him tightly.

"Plus," Virgil added, "most spiders and snakes in this area aren't venomous. Even if they did get you, you'd be fine."

"And I'm not right here," Janus added dryly. Remus popped off the ground and draped himself across Janus' lap.

"Sorry," Patton said sheepishly. Janus snorted, but then paused, looking a little more unsure. He glanced down at Remus before looking at Patton.

"You didn't say you liked my scales," Janus said.

"Of course I do, kiddo!" Patton rushed to reassure him, stepping away from Roman and toward Janus, trying not to think about the snake hair. "They're really pretty."

"Snakes are covered in scales," Janus said.

"But they bite!" Patton said.

"I don't bite," Janus said. He bared his teeth.

"Aww, look!" Patton squealed. "He's got little fangs! That's so cute!"

"Pat, those aren't little," Virgil said. "Those are like, the size of your finger."

"Adorable," Patton said, this time more forcefully. Virgil held his hands up in surrender and stepped back. Janus stared at Patton with the look Patton usually got when he did death-defying tricks on the trapeze.

"I-" Janus said.

"Oh, snakey, are you blushing?" Remus demanded. He laughed, bouncing up and dragging Janus into a chaotic waltz. Patton giggled as he started singing, one of the most lurid songs he'd ever heard. Remus had probably gotten from the sailors at the docks (Patton had heard a song or two from them, too, and they never failed to entertain). Roman choked once the lyrics registered and Virgil started howling with laughter. Janus started wailing the lyrics too, and somehow, he managed to sound even worse than Remus. Remus stuttered over a few words, staring at Janus wide eyed, but then continued even more energetically.

"They're going to be insufferable," Logan groaned.

"Considering you were just making out with my brother behind a box, I don't want to hear it," Roman said. Logan flushed and refused to make eye contact.

"What do you think?" Virgil asked lowly.

"I don't know," Roman muttered. "I mean, he brought him here while we were sleeping."

"Yeah." Virgil shrugged. "His method of introduction kinda sucked." Virgil raised his voice on the last word, pointedly looking toward Remus. Remus pointedly sang even louder. "But we weren't murdered and honestly, he seems pretty cool. I say we keep him."

"We aren't adopting strays, Virgil," Roman said.

"Uhm." Virgil motioned to himself, then Logan, then Patton.

"Point taken." Roman rubbed his face.

"Plus, when's the last time you saw Remus this happy? I don't think Janus being here will be a bad thing."

"Also," Logan added, "he's been relatively quiet since I got here, but he's made accomodations to his appearance so that Patton and I may comfortably and safely be in the same room as him. He's not complained at all about Remus'...over the top nature, and even seems to be getting genuine joy out his antics."

"Patty? Opinions?" Roman asked, but there was a tired smile on his face that told Patton he already knew what the decision was going to be.

"I like him," Patton said. "The more, the merrier!"

"Well," Roman said, "I guess we have a new club member."

#sanders sides #medusa #patton sanders #janus sanders #remus sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #logan sanders #ts patton #ts janus #ts roman #ts remus #ts virgil #ts logan #my wriitng #meeting the family #fanfic

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rkxsungwoon-blog · 5 years ago

Photo

☆ mga5 auditions ; june 14 ; hanlim multi art school ! — part three; interview

the interview portion of the auditions is something sungwoon is actually looking forward to. talking, especially in front of a camera or a big audience, has never been much of a challenge for him. for the most part, he feels comfortable speaking to a crowd and rarely ever trips over his words (practiced or otherwise) when he feels like he's in his element. getting the opportunity to elaborate on himself and his musical goals definitely qualifies as 'his element' this time around. sungwoon thinks he's in a better place to articulate what he wants out of this whole process than he was previously. if he'd been uncertain about what path to take in the future, he isn't anymore.

the interview is also his one chance to plug empty enigma's new album. it's part of the reason why the rest of the band decided to do the mgas, after all, so sungwoon definitely cannot afford to forget about it. but on a more personal note, this will also be his first time acknowledging his alternate identity and his band as part of him. sure, he listed it on his entry form the same as everyone else, but saying it out loud makes it real and concrete. and to do so in this room makes it a truth he can't run away from. there's no going back after this, and part of him questions if it's the right thing to do. will it do more harm than good? but it's too late for doubts—the information is already in mnet's hands.

when he arrives at the interview area, the staff members quickly touch up the make kenta applied earlier in the day (one of the stylists looks impressed, and sungwoon happily tells her his friend was responsible for his look) and offer him a bottle of water before leading him to a chair. sungwoon polishes off half the bottle and sets it down next to the chair before turning to the interviewer and giving her a thumbs up, indicating he's ready to begin. his posture is relaxed, open, his body language inviting as he looks at the interviewer in anticipation of the questions.

“please go ahead and introduce yourself to the viewers.”

sungwoon blinks, the corners of his mouth curving into a smile. this really feels like deja vu. "yeah, of course." he clears his throat before launching into a standard introduction. "my name is ha sungwoon. i'm a twenty two year old student in my final year at seoul national university." he pauses, momentarily startled by his own words. final year. he's really almost at the end of his academic career here. it's strange to think about, but the interviewer is waiting for him to continue, so he pulls himself out of his thoughts and grins.

"my major is in crop science and biotechnology—i grew up on a farm, so it makes sense for me, even if music is my first love." science is a third love, maybe, but a love nonetheless. "i work as a research assistant in my department, and also part time time at a cute little french bakery in itaewon called eclaire de lune." and finally, the big one. he sucks in a breath and adds, "aside from that, i'm the frontman and keyboardist of a band called empty enigma."

“you were a contestant on the last season of the mgas. what brings you back to the show this year?”

his mouth forms a small 'o' of surprise. sungwoon didn't think people would remember him from his ill-fated stunt in the mgas last year. his tenure on the show loomed large over most of 2018 for sungwoon, but he always thought he failed to make much of an impression on anyone else. "i got eliminated?" he tries, holding back a laugh, then falls silent as he ponders the question. it's not like sungwoon can admit the mgas made him question whether he should be a musician or not, and this is his opportunity to show that he's found his answer—he should be here. he deserves to.

"no, but i really do mean that," sungwoon continues finally. "i got eliminated in episode seven last season. it was a really humbling experience for me.” he doesn’t fight to keep vulnerability out of his voice. doesn’t know if he can, to be honest, when the memory is still a little raw. “i think what i regret the most is that i didn’t get the opportunity to show the full extent of my talents, and i’m hoping to fix that this year.”

"what do you aim to accomplish during season five of the mgas, then?"

“i want to show much i’ve grown as an artist,” sungwoon says honestly. not only vocally, but in other areas of his artistry as well. working on the empty enigma album, writing songs and working with producers pushed his creative skills to their limit. unbeknownst to most of his friends, sungwoon has also been taking dance lessons for the past year, and the thought of performing choreography no longer fills him with dread. the push to develop those skills came from the mgas last year, when he’d been mortified to be the weak link performance wise in every single team he was on. sungwoon didn’t want to care, but he hated not being able to keep up with his teammates. so he learned and he pushed himself to a point where he feels comfortable with choreography now. he doesn’t think he’ll ever be an amazing dancer, but he’s no longer awful. and part of him is excited to show that he can dance.

“and i suppose i want to see how far i can go in this show. i mean, i don’t have any aspirations of winning, but in many ways, this is my last chance to pursue a legitimate career in this industry.” he runs his tongue over his teeth, unsure of whether he should admit to this or not. no one else knows his future goals, not even the people closest to him. “if i don’t get anywhere, i intend to enlist next year after graduation.” the words fall easily from his lips, and he sends a silent sorry to the band for not telling them in advance. “when i say this is my final and only shot—it really is.” and he’s alright with that. sungwoon wishes he could be one of those people who can say they’ll keep pursuing music till the end, but he’s too much of a realist to cling onto a pipe dream past its prime.

"you said you're part of a band called empty enigma. where does the group fit into your goals? what makes you want to pursue the path of an idol instead of continuing onwards with your band?”

sungwoon sits up a little straighter, his hands folded on his lap. “i’ve been part of empty enigma since 2016 and it means the world to me,” he says carefully. “being up on stage as a part of the band… taught me to really love performing, and introduced me to some of the best friends i’ve made in my life.” he counts them out on his fingers. “daniel—he was on the mgas last year with me—woojin, kenta, and minhyun. they’re all auditioning for the show this year since this is something we want to do together.” well, he thinks privately, he’s not totally sure if that’s true. daniel spearheaded the campaign to get them all here, but sungwoon assumes the others agreed because they wanted to give it a try too. “we’ve been through a lot—we just released an album called between fear and faith—and this seems like a natural challenge for us to attempt, especially since daniel and i already participated last year.” he’s proud of himself for the not-so-subtle album plug there.

he hums a little under his breath before continuing. “i don’t think any of us want to be an idol instead of being in a band, you know? but all of my bandmates are talented in their own ways and deserve their own moment to shine. you can’t always share the spotlight equally in a band.” it’s his fault, in large part. sungwoon’s role and alter ego tend to want to dominate their stages. “in an ideal world, we could do both the idol thing and the band thing—or the ‘band as idols’ thing, like n.flying or day6.” sungwoon selfishly hopes they’ll get signed together, if that’s what they want. debut together, because he can’t imagine being separated from empty enigma. “i just know i personally don’t want to be boxed into one catagory, because i and the rest of my bandmates have a lot more to show.”

“have your musical influences changed in any way, or are they still primarily bands? what kind of music would like to make in the future?”

finally, a less weighted question. sungwoon shifts in his seat and rubs his chin in thought. “yeah, of course. i definitely still lean towards nell, royal pirates, jaurim, the koxx, so on as musical inspirations and influences. overseas bands too, like muse and aerosmith.” a chunk of his heart will always belong to the kinds of artists he would listen to late at night during his middle and high school years, tucked under the covers with his discman. “but i’ve diversified in the past year too; i like listening to artists like crush, dean, sik-k, paul kim, bolbbalgan4. some foreign pop artists like lauv, troye sivan, and bazzi as well.” the truth is, his taste has become a lot more eclectic, which makes it more difficult to answer a question like this one. “there are also a few idol groups i like. convex, for one, and also luxe. i dunno.” he lets his hand fall to his sides. “i’d like to make rock music, really, but i’m not opposed to branching out and trying new things.”

“last year you listed nova and sphere as dream companies, but this year you have nova and royal. what changed for you and what didn’t?”

“nova’s the dream company for the rest of my bandmates too,” he admits. “we just feel like our best chances of getting signed would be to a company that isn’t afraid to invest in non-typical artists—and they have nell.” the fanboy in him is still alive and well. “our second choices are all different, though. i put down royal because i do enjoy their releases, and i’m a fan of luxe. i’d love to meet them someday.” sungwoon throws the interviewer a cheeky grin before breaking off and shaking his head. “i couldn’t really tell you what appealed to me about royal this time around. i think i just respect so jisub and wouldn’t mind being a part of his company.”

“thank you for your time.”

“thank you.” sungwoon grabs the half-empty water bottle as he stands and bows to the interviewer and the rest of the staff. “you’ve worked hard!” so has he—though his inability to shut up should probably not be called hard work. massaging his throat with his free hand, sungwoon finishes off the rest of the water and tosses the empty bottle into the recycling bin before moving on to the next part of the audition. he’s almost to the end. well, to the break, but it could for something.

#rkmga5 #rkmga5audition3 #( c: solo )#danielxrk #rkpwj #rkkenta #rkminhyun #( because mentioned )#( jesus i hate tagging empty enigma individually )#( wc: 1893 )#( i'm SICK )#( this is really rambly i'm so sorry )

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seungcheolrk · 6 years ago

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home.

rkmelting — 2019 new year’s celebrations. december 31st, 2018 → january 1st, 2019.

it hits him a little late that this is his first new year’s eve away from his parents. really, it doesn’t matter — it’s not like he’s scared of the fireworks ( surprisingly ) or of being alone, but the shift in his life in such a short time makes his head spin. this time last year, he’d been blissfully unaware of the fact that in three days they’d have a measly five days to sort out sleeping arrangements between themselves and move into their dorms. at that point, he didn’t even really feel like he knew some of his group mates, let alone enough to live with them — to share bunk beds and living spaces. now, he feels like he can talk to any of them about his worries without judgement, he feels at home, but he still can’t help but feel that a presence is missing as he realises the clock is ticking closer to midnight.

but then, he thinks they likely all��miss their parents. he surely isn’t the only mummy’s boy in a group of thirteen, right? it’s just not statistically likely.

his fingers itch to dial their number a few minutes before the clock strikes, his thumb hovering over the button. it’d only take a twitch to accidentally hit call and maybe that’s what he’s hoping for inside because as it is, it feels like there’s a force field around his phone that prevents his thumb from lowering any closer. he wonders what they’re doing; he doesn’t want to disturb their peace. maybe they’re out at a new year’s party or fireworks show, free of the reigns of staying in with him. they could’ve gone out in his later years, but they’d always insisted on staying together in the warmth of their home, watching the celebrations on television or out their apartment window. he wonders if they’re wondering what he’s doing. he can hear the usual ruckus of thirteen boys under one roof in the next room, knows they’re getting ready to countdown together while he sits here, unsure what to do. it’s silly. the longer he sits here pondering, the closer he gets to running out of time, the new year starting without him.

drawing in a deep breath, he sends his parents a group message wishing them a happy end to the current year and a promise to call soon after the turn of the new one. he pockets it and celebrates with his members, as he did christmas, as he will almost every holiday for the years to come.

january 1st, 2019 — 00:21am

slipping away, he speed-dials the familiar number in a heartbeat, holding his phone at arms length, his mother having gotten fond of video calls in the last few months of scarcely seeing him ( and rarely believing his insistence that he’s fine; he can’t blame her, though, she is his worrywart mother — he had to get his own tendencies from somewhere ). she answers after a few seconds, framed poorly as his father tries to fit in beside her.

“hey,” he smiles softly, “happy new year.”

his mother frowns as their tablet slips between her fingers. “hey, cheollie.” he blushes, embarrassed. “happy new year to you, too!”

his dad pitches in, voice even though his face displays a warm smile. “did you celebrate with your group?” seungcheol nods, glances at the door, expecting one of them to come crashing in at just the right moment, but nothing happens. he doesn’t say that he missed ringing in the new year with them, but he knows they can read it in his eyes, in the way they soften when he sees his mother finally content with her placement of the tablet. her hands free, she gestures wildly as she lists off expected, pressing questions.

“no, I didn’t drink,” he answers first, “and yes, we’re having a good time. yes, I’ve been looking after jihoon, and yes, I am flying out to jeju and no, I am not ready to go on a plane but I don’t have a choice. It’s not like teleportation has been invented yet.”

his mother laughs, “just pretend it’s the— what’s it called? the spaceship in star wars?” he rolls his eyes.

“the millennium falcon?” she nods. “I can’t believe it’s been twenty years and you still haven’t either learnt the names of anything from my favourite franchise but also realised that relating every situation to it in any way possible offers me no comfort.” he teases, unwilling to admit that it does, in fact, help a little. he’s still scared beyond belief, but she isn’t too wrong. it is still a flying hunk of metal, designed to get its occupants from one place to another — it’s just that one is real and one is fictional; one travels around the earth and the other through the far reaches of space. really, his short trip to jeju is a walk in the park in comparison.

a little while later, his mother asks him if he has any new year’s resolutions, or if any of the others do and whilst he doesn’t really know in terms of the rest of convex, he has thought a little about what to aim for in 2019, knowing full well it’s ridiculously likely to be a question they’re asked if they are to do any interviews or television shows in the next couple of months. at first, he has no idea. he knows he has plenty to work on — his stage presence, his stutter, his dance skills beyond their given choreography he’s had so long to practice, to name a few. he wouldn’t ever say he doesn’t have anything to improve on; maybe it’s just harder to pin down one or two or word them in a way that makes them feel both realistic but worth fighting for. ‘dance better’ isn’t a goal he can see progress on at the end of the year, but practising more overall is. abolishing his stutter, as unlikely as it feels now, is a viable goal over a vague ‘get more confident’. he draws in a deep breath.

“yeah, I have a lot to work on—” he laughs, but it’s genuine for once whilst talking about his weaknesses. he doesn’t feel any shame talking to his parents about the things he lacks. “I want to practice my dancing more. I’d also like to learn to play video games, though I feel like that’ll conflict a little with practising more.” his parents laugh this time, warm smiles making his cheeks flush red once more. “maybe I’ll even see someone about this darn stutter. or maybe I’ll just leave it and call it my charming point. I’ve thought about new year’s resolutions a lot, but... looking back at the past year...” he clears his throat, embarrassment creeping up his spine. “you’re not allowed to laugh, alright? but the most important resolution for this year, to me, is to talk to you guys more. getting ready for convex... I had jihoon and the other members, but... I missed you guys a lot. I want to call more often, even if we don’t have much to talk about. it’s hard for me to take time off even when they tell me to because I feel like I should use every minute to improve as an idol, so this is my happy balance. fair warning, though— it’ll almost always be stupidly late at night.”

no one will ever know if his affectionate chuckle is at his own words or the soft tears trickling down his mother’s cheeks. he gets his emotional side from her, too, he’s reminded.

“we love you so much, cheol; we’re so proud of you. you have so much pressure on your shoulders and yet you’re worried about us—”

gasping, he exclaims, “you? I’m worried about me! I’m the mummy’s boy here!” his mother laughs once more.

“we’ll definitely call more, cheollie. promise us you won’t miss out on sleep or anything just to call us, alright?”

he frowns, but hums in reluctant agreement moments later. “fine. but you have to promise me you’ll at least learn one star wars character’s name before we next call!”

she grunts, “excuse me, I know han slow-mo!” his dramatic groan mixes with her cackle as they say their final goodbyes, hanging up with a smile that rounds his cheeks and crinkles the corners of his eyes. his heart lifted, he sighs contently. ringing in the new year isn’t quite the same as it used to be, but he can get used to this, he thinks.

#rkmelting #cheol;solo #( wc; 1435 )#jacerk #( mentioned! )#( wrote this yesterday but couldn't think of a title and had to rush to bed otl )#( so here u go a few hours before the deadline jkDSJ )

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coldlipsmag · 7 years ago

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PHONELESS IN BERLIN

Words: Kirsty Allison

All photographs by Martyn Goodacre, except images of Danielle De Picciotto’s art, and Alexander Hacke’s studio…and the portrait of Morgan, by Kirsty.

Clouds’ shadows camouflage the sea. Sardine boats dodge the lifeboat wind farms. I jet-trash over last night’s cab, and the phone left on the back seat.

SCHONEFIELD AIRPORT

“Yes,” with an ‘of course’-face, “It has all the streets on it.” The tourist board office give me a map with the VisitBerlin travel card – 41E for 6 days, generous. I like free travel, and I like maps. Not Maps that rhyme with apps. I see the island of West Berlin – I put all the streets in my long black woollen notebook pocket.

U-BAHN/S-BAHN

Map in a glass cage – no index – I’ll take a photo – look at it when I’m moving – I can’t take a photo. My cogs shift from the cybernet dimension.

Alone. Letting go of my infatuation with being monitored, I feel an analogue glitch, a slip of fortune as I enter the low-rise city, uninterrupted with pings.

A watch. I could buy a watch – to tell the time.

I could walk rather than do the connection.

THE HORRORS / Synästhesie Festival / Volksbühne

“The people putting this festival together told me this granite floor was from Hitler’s Bunker,” says Anton Newcombe of the Brian Jonestown Massacre and A Records, DJing in the green room, two floors of sweeping staircases up in the People’s Theatre of Mitte’s Rosa-Luxemburg Platz – once the centre of East Berlin’s GDR.

“Do you believe them?” I ask, of the 8MM Bar promoters who put the festival together. We consider the plausibility, the Nazi star, in dirty creams and blood reds.

Mark Reeder later confirms it to be from the Nazi Vice Chancellor office. And of the cenotaphs stashed beneath the KuDamm – the Nazi spikes. Close enough. Anton is a hero – DIG! the film he stars in aside spars, The Dandy Warhols – an essential on the rock n roll rites-of-passage Reading List. Between his selection of classic psychedelia: “I was born in 1967, in California, of course I’m psychedelic”, with highlights such as Fabio Viscollios 7”, he sets the record straight on all kindsa connections that zip around my references of the night – the stars that guide us, the magnets who form us.

Arrival in Neukölln

So 90s, no blue arrow locator. Without the digital psychographic veils of my screen, the meaning of wrong direction changes – I love to travel, to feel on top of the globe, wherever you walk, with only the weight of the identifiers you carry.

Natural order leads me to Stroke Order – my faux-god-sista, of the Sacred Sound Club – her haus is pink. Y3 shoes, high ceilings, dribble shower, CK mirror. She’s a costume designer for films, but has been hiding out here for a year. Making minimal techno – using autonomous sensory meridian response samples – sounds that turn us on.

Our mothers are pretend godmothers to me and her. She grew up in Vancouver. Dad is a motorcycle racer and ballet dancer in Japan.

Synästhesie Festival / Volksbühne

CAMERA take to the main stage of seated theatre hall. Brutalist fractal collage films of matrix shifting cities, juddering with intent. Projections of you watching me watching you – perhaps being shot live in the auditorium – full scope. Beaming around the physical force of a standing drummer triballing out for a 20 minute set on a bass drum, snare and cymbal. The centre-piece. Astral simulacrum to The Egg who I played with earlier this year. The standing drummer keels in sweat, throws a death white sheet over the drums as though he has beaten them dead, only to dampen their noise, and continue hitting and hitting. Keys, 2 x guitar, sitar bass, different genereration radical on sax – elf dancing.

I’m reminded of the need for parameters – the ones we invent to live inside. The significance of numbers plays on the screens – another hallucination. A replacement for seeing everything through snapshot Insagram lens. Abandoning our digital religion – is so FKK (freikörperkultur – the GDR East Berliners act of rebellion was to strip on Sundays around the lakes – to rip off the communist soaked nylons of identikit clothing*). So naked.

TANGERINE DREAM

A violinist in black – modular synth Memotron on one side – a bank of other buttons on the other side. One life. One nerve shatters and then rest follow. First they twitch, and glitch the matrix…

I catch a bit of THE PINS – all girls – superhot, riot grrrrl electronica.

THE HORRORS

Violent Lenin Uber Alles track shatters across the increased scale of the stage for this headline performance – punk anger of East Berlin, red deco chandeliers of alles Ku-damm Cabaret glory. Waiting for Faris Badwan, the singer who I first interviewed for Dazed and Confused, making a film about his illustration – and exhibition, I wonder about the symbolism of genre/sound/music/art as signs of the times – about resonance – of what we are creating and producing – of X Factor sounds as the capitalist panacea – of our art resonating our environment – or us gravitating towards it. Stroke Order making techno in Berlin.

The futurism of white noise perfection – the dystopian values, four albums in from when I first met Faris – he was maybe 23 then. Unsure if he was going to carry on at St Martins art school. By the time I interviewed him again for Vogue, he was not going back.

And here, seated in the very front row – I witness the evocation of destiny – he’s become less of the shy frontman, but someone who is commanding the respect of the universe – he violently whips the mic lead – he hails the pulses of front row screamers, bonding their necks with rubber wire – he in black PVC – guitarist in red lipstick – beautiful rockstar boys. Lyrics are lost in the Elritch reverb – Faris is crown stealing. Volatile black energy of goth industrial – contemporised by Tom Furse – and his techno pyramid synths. Ice sweat dripping Hackney vampire bassist Rhys Webb. Faris has become storming iconic balearic, striding over theatre seats, in smart city shoes. It’s cosmic goth, it is power – it is owning the depth of Poe hell to Blakean heavens. From voyeurs to submission, the audience leave satisfied.

WEDDING/NW multi-cultural reaches of the city.

Fire station studio. Danielle De Picciotto walks us across a courtyard in twilight. Pyramid of flowers, split by stairs to a below-sea-level, waiting buddha, draped with beads. Left and right basement of Californian security doors, co-joined studios, His and Hers. Drums on the male side, Alexander Hacke, Einsturzende Neubatten – poles of metal to hit. Next door: paintings of black and white folklore S+M dolls with tripped out wings, and photograph reflections. Hers. With tea. Laughter. Discussion. Love. She is love.

***

Lost – ghetto kid guides me and Stroke Order to the ambient dinner in a bar beneath a block in Wedding: soundproof triangles of three-tone pastel shaved hardwood. Clean vegetables, and a series of performances from three post-Akai-ists. Poetry, soundscapes layering paranoic schizophrenic voices – a DJ girl in from Seattle. The residents, ex-pats, from across Germany, and the world – carrying less ego than London. A wholesome intellect carries through, it gets lost in the whirl of London survival. I think back to hanging with the man commonly known as Rodent, the Sex Pistols’ sound tech – he was saying everything is lost in our digital times – the lack of ability to hang out together, they had to live frugally, himself in the studio of The Clash. The intensity of art. It’s easier here. To get involved in your creativity – away from the grab.

SUNDAY

Home jukebox, coffee, and Okay Cafe cinnamon swirls at Jason McGlade and Anne-Cathrin Saure’s (the art director/photographer, and designer of Cold Lips II, and co-createurs of the Shedville font). They moved back here recently – but Jason’s back and forth to London, working on an incredible analogue Polaroid project.

Stroke Order and I head out to Berghain – but instead collide with a very old friend who’s been living in Thailand for 14 years – Martyn Goodacre. He took the most iconic picture of Kurt Cobain, and many more. We tried doing music together when we worked on magazines. We go to a bar, meet with a midwife – talk about the horror show of birth, the guidance into the world, policed by the womb and the channel to birth and the rejection from the vulvic eye. The propulsion.

MONDAY MORNING COMING DOWN FROM AN EMAIL THAT IS CHANGING MY LIFE

Space, China – coffee with Mark Reeder. His vinyl of Mauderstadt is out now. I’ve just run a trilogy of stories on him in DJ Mag, explaining his part in Berlin, from being the Factory rep in Berlin in Joy Division days, through to putting on punk gigs in East Berlin, recording the music in gay bars to play to New Order – thus Blue Monday – and since, from inventing trance music with his label MfS – getting Paul van Dyk on the map – he’s the man. His uniforms. Rare light.

“Danielle [De Picciotto] and Katia – Love Parade would never have started without them.”

[Love Parade was the street party that began in the ecstatic reunification of East and West Berlin. The wall came down in 1990. The old GDR was a wild land. Read Danielle De Picciotto’s Beauty of Transgression for more…or watch Mark Reeder’s B-Movie…and his forthcoming E-Movie.]

He realises he’s late for his lunch…

Alone, back on the Neukölln streets, I look into the door of a Moroccan cafe – get called in by a round-faced Muslim woman, grey jumper, jeans – trainers – Tangiers market vibes, enter – beans – good – no English – point at a box – I don’t know if she knows I don’t want a tagine but takeaway – they waterfall me mint tea – the door slams shut. There are stickers on the wall tiles – plastic table cloths. Am I about to be drugged? Locked in – I have few Euros and no phone to be stolen.

I sit, read the Unspoken Berlin I’ve picked up – and wait for either the drugs to kick in, or to relax. Oh, some brot on the table – no it ain’t Gucci Bloom sea hedgehog fennel and jerusalem artichoke, chestnut puree and scallop, purple watercress like the exquisite experience of Lokal where local ingredients will dance on plates for us later – nor is is it as refined as the Techno sauna we’ll meditate in around the bar – but it is E2.50 and beautifully wholesome – the chickpeas are larger than London.

—-

Neurotitan have taken Cold Lips and my last 3 copies of Unedited. Stefi there is lovely. It’s somewhere that’s always called me on previous trips to Berlin. Many putting a film together that became impossible, about Manuel Gottching, of Ash Ra Tempel – and E2:E4 – the most sampled record – inventor of ambient – before Eno, before the HANSA recordings of Iggy and Bowie. I tell Stefi of my gig last night with Whisky and Words at the Keith bar – where Stroke Order – her pals – and Jason McGlade come by – and Mark Reeder. And Rasp Thorne [post coming to Cold Lips soon, or buy the second edition for total spread]- the consumate performer – lighter over here – my lips are still red from the wine. Stephen Crane. Rasp’s performance of Crane. He’s so good.

Everytime I get on a train here the stasi black jacket ticket checkers are on the same carriage. It’s happened to Morgan 3 times in her year here – and 3 times with me in as many days. I am able to fight my usual paranoias from the top of my Maslow pyramid – the email from a publisher – saying he wants to publish my novel – the one I have had two agents hawk around in 11 years – during which time, I have changed, and so has the story. It is the best email I’ve ever had. Here, lying in bed on the Monday morning after meeting with Anton Newcombe and front row for Faris – Faris frow.Two days later, I’m still flying, as I hit EchoBucher, back in Wedding – they’re taking some Cold Lips…I drop into Potsdamer – meeting… No fucking way. Ticket checkers.

Zug Fallt aus!

You have amazing eyes – you look like Madonna said the guy from Milano – I’m hoping he means old skool hot Madz. En route to the airport – delays – nerves shot / triggering towards Parkinsons and spiked dreams. He calmed me – so did the guy who was also travelling to Stansted – as we ran for the plane, and vice versa. Detoxed from the phone, train home, to the temple – travelling with Alice A Bailey. Nanobotic karmic overide. More ticket inspectors – haunted by the stasi – on plane now – could do with some extra O2 from the overhead locker after running in a coat I just bought which I think I may be allergic to. But it’s so warm.

*German born LA-resident, Benedikt Taschen, the art collector and publisher, has directed the content of the new EAST GERMAN HANDBOOK. An encyclopedic collab with Wende Museum, a place of Cold War artefacts in Culver City. It’s a compendium of communist porn – picture-led, masonically-charged graphics of the whole nine yards of life behind the wall – from ideal weaponary to food, fags, appalling vodka, and the requisite communist shit shoes. It’s got 50s utopian vision written all over it.

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lonelyandgone · 7 years ago

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And so the story begins…..BTW, the teaser/prologue can be found here. And a big, enormous, super special thanks to @pumpkinspicelatteswiftie and @holyground89 who have provided input, listened to me ramble, researched, reviewed, listened to me ramble some more and will continue to listen to me ramble and do all those other helpful things as this story progresses. And yes, it will progress for a long while so I really hope you enjoy it.

Unexpected – Chapter 1

There have been moments in his life, many to be honest, where the words “what were you thinking” have been necessary. This, he believes, is probably one of those moments. What was he thinking asking her to explore the city with him? A woman he barely knows. What was he thinking telling the driver of the car he had secured prior to boarding the plane to take them to Sacre Coeur instead of taking just him to the hotel. What was he thinking? But as quickly as the thought enters his mind, he pushes it away and replaces it with another. What was she thinking?

From the corner of his eye, he can see her leaning into the car door. Her arms are wrapped across her chest, securing her jacket firmly to her, her long legs are tucked back slightly and to the side. He can see the faint smile on her face, can see how occasionally it rises a little more, as she watches the city pass by outside of her window. He recognizes the look. He seen it on his mom’s face when he surprised her four years ago with a trip to Dublin. He had been in awe of her awe when they first arrived and her eyes scoured the city from their rented car. He had wondered what she was thinking, what she was feeling as she feasted on the foreign land. Now, he finds himself wondering about Taylor.

“It’s so breathtakingly beautiful,” she says and he wonders if she has sensed what he is thinking, “it doesn’t matter how many times I’ve been here, sitting in the car and watching it whisk by, or how many times I’ve seen it on TV or in books or magazines. I’m always mesmerized. I love how it feels.” She glances at him and smiles before she returns her gaze to the passing city.

He considers responding but when he sees her smiling out the window once more, he decides against it. She’s lost in the feeling of Paris and he doesn’t want to take that away from her.

He moves his gaze to his hands, staring down at them for a moment before he moves it once more and looks out his own window. He doesn’t know how long it will take them to get to Sacre Coeur. He honestly doesn’t even know if he came close to pronouncing it correctly when he directed the driver. If he did, the driver didn’t say and Taylor didn’t seem to notice nor did she ask why he had chosen to start there. He’s thankful for that.

He chose to start there not because he knows anything about it. He doesn’t. He chose it for one reason and one reason only. Because Jenny had mentioned it to him. They had been at her home and she had brought out six or seven old photo albums. They spent hours flipping through page after page, Jenny telling story after story. It had been one of his favorite days with her. And when they came to the pictures she had taken during a trip to Paris after her senior year of high school, she had raved about the city, about the food, about the flirtatious French men with their beautiful accents. She had pointed out one picture in particular that was her favorite from the entire trip. A panoramic view of the city taken from the atop the steps of Sacre Coeur. 270 steps, he remembers her saying, 270 painful steps to get this amazing picture. He remembers exactly how her face lit up when she said it was worth it.

That was eight months ago but he can’t help but note how it feels like a lifetime ago now. They broke up soon after, for reasons he’s still unsure of. And now, she’s an ocean away from him but she might as well be a galaxy away. And he, well he is sitting in a car in Paris with Taylor Swift sitting mere inches away. He shakes his head once more. What was he thinking?

They arrive at a street near the Sacre Coeur a short time later, after the driver tells them of an alternative way to reach it without taking the steps at the front. It will help keep you away from prying eyes, he had said, his own gaze moving to Taylor in the rearview mirror.

When the car comes to a halt, Taylor bounds out before the driver can even exit to open her door. He laughs as he sees her, her eyes vibrant, full of anticipation. Almost childlike. It’s something he rarely sees amongst those he rubs shoulders with in Hollywood. It’s something he’s quite surprised to see in someone with a name like hers. It’s refreshing, he thinks again.

She turns to him, cocking an eyebrow, a gentle smile on her face. “So how about it,” she asks, tilting her head slightly toward the cobblestone street behind her.

When she broadens her smile, her eyes animated even more, he nods. “Ok.”

They begin their walk in silence, the sound of her heels clanking along the stone and the sound of the bag she carries on her shoulder rubbing against her coat virtually the only noise between them. Beside of him, he can see her glancing at the windows of the buildings as they pass, most of them dark as their occupants have long since went home or are tucked comfortably in their beds.

Again, it’s like she can hear what he is thinking as she glances at him. “Everyone is gone or asleep and little do they know that Captain America is walking right outside their door.”

Chuckling, he shakes his head, “I would believe they would care more about you being here than me.”

He hears her laugh. “They would only care if they were writing for a tabloid.” When he sees her raise her head higher and mouth the word “wow” he turns in the same direction. She’s looking at the towers of Sacre Coeur, their walls jetting into the sky, the soft glow of the moon illuminating them in a way that makes them feel surreal, captivating.

She keeps her eyes on them, as does he, as they continue to meander up the cobblestones, passing by a few cars but no people until they reach the backside of the basilica and walk past empty benches that line the edge of a small park. He glances at her occasionally at they move forward, a smile always present on her lips as she seems to relish the view in front of her.

They meander for a while, along little pathways, glancing down narrow streets that lead to blackened buildings and then up some stairs until they reach the place he recalls from Jenny’s picture. His breath hitches in his chest when he allows his view to fall fully on what is before him. Paris. The city aglow as it sleeps. It almost takes his breath away.

He’s still lost in the vision before him when he hears her. “It’s surreal,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper, “dreamy.” His lips tug upward at her words. “Standing up here, the city below. It’s like we’re on the outside looking in. Like we’re looking at a picture. It doesn’t even seem real. Like there is no way this much perfection could be real.” She hesitates for a moment, her eyes moving over the cityscape below. “I did an interview the last time I was in Paris. After it was over, the man asked me if I was staying in the city longer. I told him I wasn’t, I was leaving a couple hours later but said I wished I could stay longer and visit the Eiffel Tower again. It’s pretty much the only place I had ever been in Paris before.” She takes another pause before she glances at him and then back to the city below. “I remember he told me then that it wasn��t the Tower that I needed to visit, it was this place. Everyone thinks of the Eiffel Tower when they think of Paris, he said, but I think of the steps of Sacre Coeur. I was confused . . . . why would someone think of steps over the most famous landmark in the world and so I asked him. He laughed and said because he’s lived in Paris his entire life, seen the Tower almost every day. It’s normal for him. It’s part of his everyday life so he has no fascination with it. But the steps, he said, when he reaches the top and turns around to see the city below, it’s like he’s seeing Paris for the first time. It’s always different, even if the city is the same. It’s the only time I’m in Paris and feel like a tourist, he said. I remember the way he looked when he said it. Like he was remembering the most precious memory . . . like this beautiful image was replaying in his mind.”

“But you didn’t take his advice and come here,” he asks softly as he tucks his hands into his pant pockets.

She shakes her head. “No. I honestly didn’t even remember the name of the place, only the part about the steps. Until now. Until you brought me here.” She moves her gaze to him. “Thank you. I can’t think of a more perfect way to see Paris.”

He smiles, thinking of how her words seem so similar to how Jenny described this place, this view. But even he can admit that the view in front of them at this moment is even more beautiful than that in Jenny’s picture. The city bathed in the buttery light of night without a single person visible.

The minutes pass, both entranced with the scene and then he sees Taylor lean forward, reaching her neck out as if she is looking for something below them.

“There,” she says, pointing into the darkness. His eyes scan in the direction she is pointing but he sees nothing at first, just the faint outline of steps and trees, until he reaches an object being barely illuminated by the street lights around it. It’s a carousel.

“The other thing I remember from that conversation. When he was talking about Sacre Coeur, there was a young girl who entered the room. I think she worked for the hotel and she started clearing away the water glasses and carafes on the table behind us. She was young. Probably 18 or so. When she heard him talking, she piped in that she loved the carousel at the bottom of the steps. She slipped in that her boyfriend had brought her there to ride it on their first date. The interviewer seemed annoyed at the interruption and she scurried away. It’s strange though because now as I’m looking at it, I’m remembering her story and imagining in my mind what that first date was like for her. How amazing it must have been riding on the carousel, the ambience of Paris all around them.” Her eyes move to him once more. “Isn’t it strange how we forget things, sometimes as soon as they are said, yet months or years later, they reemerge and we can replay them just as if it happened that day. It’s like I tucked that conversation in the back of my mind waiting for this moment when I could bring it back to the forefront.”

“I hadn’t thought about that before,” he says, “but it’s true. When I was about 13, I was outside working on a car with my dad when the little girl next door came to the fence. She was annoying the hell out of us.” He laughs and hears her laugh beside of him. “She went on and on about the fair she had went to the day before. She kept asking if we had gone and I kept telling her no. But she just kept talking about it and about how she had ridden the carousel like ten times. I think she told us every detail of every horse she rode on those ten rides. By the time she was done, I was at my wits end. But you know, to this day, every single time I see a carousel or even see a sign for a local fair or carnival, I think of that story and about her riding that carousel.”

“She’d probably love that one,” Taylor adds, her tranquility evident in her voice, “Even now.” A few more seconds pass before he hears her clear her throat. “I wish it were open. I can’t tell you the last time I rode one.”

“Really,” he questions, surprised.

In the darkness, he sees her shake her head. “No. Probably when we went to Disney World when I was six or so. Maybe. We never had any carnivals or anything where we lived in Pennsylvania, at least not that I remember. There were some in Nashville, near where we lived, but by then I was so busy with school and then later with recording and touring and all of that stuff, that I never got to go. I always wanted to though.”

He tucks his hands further into the pockets of his jeans. “Another childhood dream.”

She laughs and he knows she’s thinking back to their conversation on the airplane. “Yes . . . I guess I’m revealing all of those to you tonight, aren’t I?”

He allows the laughter to dissipate between them, allows the silence of the night to set back in, and they both return to staring wordlessly. They are both seemingly lost in the view, in the moment, in their etching of the scene in their heads. It’s only when he hears her rustle near him that he speaks again.

“You still want to see more,” he asks, “I can get you back to your hotel after this if you want . . . .”

His words trail off when he sees her shake her head. “No, no. I definitely want to see more. Besides, I have so many more childhood dreams to tell you about.” They both laugh as they turn.

She tightens her jacket around her chest as they walk more around the grounds, eventually finding another small street near the backside. He glances at her only briefly, raising his eyebrow as if to ask if she wants to take it, and she simply smiles and nods.

They walk. And walk. Mostly in silence. Occasionally with her providing an ooh or ahh or declare how this is so different for her. He doesn’t ask why but her words stick in his mind.

They’ve passed a grocery store and boulangerie, both closed for the night, when they begin down another winding street. A few minutes later, Taylor stops, turning to look at the wall beside of her. She smiles, his eyes still on her. “I love you,” she whispers and he turns to look toward the wall. Upon it, in what seems to be an endless number of languages, are the words I love you. He watches as she steps forward, running her finger along a few of the lines, and he realizes she is doing so to the languages she recognizes. He does the same. Te amo. Ti amo. Ich liebe dich. Je t’aime.

“I would have never seen this. Probably never in my life.” She looks to him briefly before returning to the wall. “I would, maybe even should, be locked up in some high-priced penthouse with room service and a television playing shows in a language I don’t know. And two days from now, I would have gone home and told people I had been to Paris. But I wouldn’t have been. I would have only been in Paris. Not to Paris.”

He lets her words wash through him and he realizes this is what she meant when she said this was different for her. This small little journey, them standing in front of a simple wall with the words I love you written across it, is allowing her to briefly break free from her celebrity jail and live the way she wishes. And it’s at this moment that he realizes that this is something he has taken for granted. Sure, he is a celebrity and lives his life in front of a camera. But not the way she does. Not with nearly the fascination and malice that she faces. Whereas he can walk through LA or New York alone without much fear of anything other than a fangirl wanting a hug and an autograph, she can’t leave her home without a swarm of paparazzi, a dozen stories obsessing about where she went or who she was with and a couple bodyguards to keep her protected from those men he’s read stories about, who stalk her and obsess over their claim to her.

His gaze rests on her face, her own still on the wall, her face still alight and briefly he allows his previous question to slip into his mind. What was he thinking?

Perhaps this is.

He pushes the question back when he sees her jerk up, standing up straight and then she turns and starts moving farther down the street. She raises her arm into the air just as he hears a car coming near them. She’s hailing a taxi, he laughs, shaking his head.

When the car stops beside of them, she pulls a hat out of the bag on her arm and places it on her head. She slips inside and he quickly takes the seat beside of her. “La Notre Dame,” she says quickly, keeping her head toward the window and away from the view of the driver. For a second, he wonders why she wants to go there. Perhaps the interviewer mentioned it as well. Or maybe she remembers it from a movie or an article somewhere. He doesn’t ask, instead watches the city pass again as the driver navigates the nearly empty side streets en route.

They arrive at the plaza in front of the cathedral a few minutes later and he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet, paying the driver before Taylor has a chance to. She mutters a thank you before they step out and the car speeds away. She removes her hat and tucks it back in her bag as the car disappears.

The cathedral towers a short distance away and he watches Taylor as she scans it. But this time, she doesn’t keep her gaze placed long. Instead, he sees her pull away after just a few seconds, turning to scan around the empty plaza area. She moves as she does and he squints his eyes, confused as to what she is doing. A few seconds later, she stops.

She says nothing at first and he believes he can see her chest rising and falling more rapidly. A couple more seconds pass before she starts walking slowly. He falls in step behind her, watching her move steadily toward what looks to be a store of some sort in the distance. He catches a name on the window as they draw closer. Shakespeare and Company. He soon realizes it is a bookstore.

A darkened bookstore, closed for the night.

Taylor though continues on, stepping onto the walk just in front of it, her eyes scanning inside. She seems enthralled, mesmerized, and he has no idea why. It’s quaint. Small. He’s sure it is charming. But it reminds him of just about any small, probably family owned, bookstore in any city in any country around the world. He finds himself scanning his brain, trying to remember if perhaps this bookstore has been used in a movie, thinking maybe that’s why she is fascinated by it. But if it has, he hasn’t seen it.

Moments later, she turns to him, a faint smile on her lips. He can’t help but notice the vibrancy so evident earlier is now gone. “This is Tom’s favorite place in Paris.”

He lowers his eyes, unsure how to respond or even if he should respond at all. It’s the first time she’s mentioned his friend and honestly, he’s surprised she does. He chooses not to say anything and she continues on. “He lived here before. I’m not sure how long,” she rambles, “but he told me about this place and about the old man who owns it. He had stumbled across it one day and ended up spending the afternoon looking through books with the man. He told me how much he enjoyed that day, talking classics and Shakespeare with someone who loved them as he does.” She lowers her eyes again and he watches as she rubs her hands together. “I told him I wanted to come here one day with him. Yet here I am, in Paris, in front of this bookstore . . . with you.”

Turning without another word, she starts to walk away and he finds himself following behind her once again. They go a short distance before she stops at a bench and takes a seat. “Can we sit for just a minute, please,” she says, a smile he recognizes as fake plastered on her face.

“Of course,” he nods as he sits at the other end.

“I probably shouldn’t have asked the taxi driver to bring us here,” she mumbles and he can tell she’s fighting her emotions, “I should have just said to take us to the Champs-Elysees or the Bridge of Locks or somewhere. But I was staring at this wall with I love you written all over it and I couldn’t help but think of Tom. Standing there then, I felt like I needed to see this bookstore. I’m not so sure now.”

He rests back against the bench, tucking his legs under the seat. “Do you want to talk about it,” he asks, sensing she does.

She waits a few seconds, rubbing her hands together in her lap. “I love him. I’m in love with him. Still. Probably stupidly. But I am.” Biting at her bottom lip, she glances at him quickly and then returns to look at her hand. “I made a mistake. I was scared and confused and everything around us was a mess. So I ended it. I broke his heart . . . and I broke mine. And I’ve been trying for months to rectify that mistake. I’ve called him. I’ve texted him.” She laughs ironically. “Heck, I’ve even sent him a letter. But he doesn’t want to talk to me. And honestly, I don’t blame him. Because if it were me and I was the one who had someone run away and break my heart, I wouldn’t want to speak to them again either.”

“Taylor,” he says, unsure of what to say but finding her name still on the tip of his tongue and a need to find words to pacify her in some way.

“He risked a great deal for me,” she says, stopping him, “he put his heart, his career, on the line. And I got spooked and ran. I was a coward. Markings of an amazing girlfriend there.” She laughs, glancing at him and winking through glassy eyes.

“Love is scary,” he says, his voice seeming to carry in the gentle night breeze, “I don’t care what anyone says, it is. And sometimes we make mistakes. Foolish mistakes. I doubt there is one person in this world who can say they’ve never messed up when it comes to love. I have. Countless times. You can’t beat yourself up over it. You are doing the only thing you can do. You are admitting to the mistake and trying to fix it.”

She shakes her head, never turning to him, and he leans forward to plant his elbows on his knees. “Do you realize how brave that act is? No matter how cowardly you think running was . . . . admitting you messed up takes guts. It takes bravery.”

“I’m glad you think that. But it doesn’t matter because I’ll never be able to rectify the situation if he will never speak to me again.”

He glances at the cathedral, the ancient structure soaring into the sky before them, his mind not focused on it though but rather on Taylor’s words. For a moment, he also allows himself to think of Jenny.

“Then you keep trying,” he says softly, “Love isn’t easy. But if it’s right, it will happen. So, if you love him, keep reminding him of that. Keep reminding him of why he fell in love with you and eventually, when he thinks of you he won’t think of you breaking his heart, he’ll remember why he loved you to begin with.”

“Hopefully,” she whispers, her voice laced with uncertainty. His mind falls back to Jenny. To their breakup. To the night when he failed at remembering why he loved her and made her forget why she loved him. To his own night of cowardly antics and costly mistakes. He had not realized what he was doing at the time, did not realize he was letting go. But he had and he did. And now, months later, he is wordlessly drowning in the same sea of remorse that the woman beside of him is. But that, he thinks, is another story for another day.

“Thank you.” Her voice cuts through the air a few moments later, breaking him from his devastating thoughts. “And I’m sorry. We were having a good night and I shouldn’t have bombarded you with my problems.”

With a quick shake of his head, he forces Jenny to the back of his mind again and smiles at Taylor. “We can still have a good night. It’s a big city and the night is still fairly young.”

For a brief moment, it looks like she hesitates but she nods and smiles. “Let’s do it.”

The walk along the Seine, passing a few people along the way, and he notices how Taylor turns her head fully away from them as she does. He also notices though that she doesn’t put the hat back on. She asks about his family and he tells her about growing up in Sudbury, laughing when she reveals she’s never heard of it. He likes the way she becomes so enthralled, so interested, in hearing about his family. He had grown so used to people asking questions just to ask them, not because they were interested in the answer. But with her, he notes, its different. She listens to him talk of his love for his mom and his siblings, even asking follow up questions as he does. They walk slowly and she tells him of her own family, of Andrea and Scott and Austin. Her shoulders relax as she speaks of them and he sees the vibrancy return to her eyes, a sharp contrast to her stance on the bench not long before.

When they reach Pont des Art, she hesitates momentarily until the couple who had been standing near the middle of the bridge starts moving farther away from them. “I placed a lock here before they removed them,” she says as they walk onto the bridge, “it’s pretty much the only thing I’ve done before in Paris other than a quick visit to the Eiffel Tower. And looking back on it now, I’m wondering why I even did it. I know the locks were supposed to represent committed love, a romantic gesture.”

“What did yours represent,” he asks, walking in step beside of her as he looks at the murals that have now replaced the locks.

“Well, I could stand here and lie to you and say that it represented a relationship or even the hope of a relationship but in honesty, it pretty much represented me being a typical tourist and falling into the whimsy of things to do in Paris.”

He laughs. “At least you’re honest.” Stopping, he turns to look straight onto the sides of the bridge, at the artwork. “To me, this is far better. I know that locks and keys have long represented love but I’m not sure I understand why. Locks keep things hidden, trapped may be a better word. Yes, they protect, but the things they protect are trapped behind doors or in boxes. To me, locks represent a prison, not a relationship. Something that should be free and open.”

He can tell by her expression that she is thinking of his words. “I never thought of it like that,” she says with a nod and then turns to look at the murals, “you’re a bit of a philosopher aren’t you, Mr. Evans.”

“A realist,” he laughs, “I think I’m just more pragmatic than some. I wouldn’t ever want to be considered locked down and I would never want to lock someone down. Love isn’t like that or at least it shouldn’t be. Love should flourish.”

She smiles, stuffing her hands into her jacket pockets as she starts to walk again and he joins her. They arrive at the side of the Louvre soon after and walk to the front. He laughs when Taylor mentions that she’s not sure if she’s fond of the pyramids, noting that they seem somewhat out of place in front of the palace. But as she stares at them, her gaze roaming from one side to the other and then back again, she shrugs and says she guesses they are ok. Sometimes you have to shake up the norm, she laughs, and pyramids in front of old palaces certainly shakes things up.

They explore what they can of the grounds, walking past the gate to the garden, before they return to the walkway near the Seine. “I had a friend in high school who did an exchange student program for one year,” he says as they wander, “she lived in Paris during that time and she told me that she got lost her first week here and she was panicking until she found the Seine. She said the river will always lead you to familiar places.”

From the corner of his eye, he sees her smile. “That reminds me of Sabrina.”

“Sabrina,” he questions.

“C’mon now Chris, you are a Harrison Ford fan. You should know Sabrina.”

“Ahh, the movie,” he laughs, throwing his head back slightly.

“She talks about how the river speaks to her. I love that movie. I love Paris in that movie.”

“Paris is always a good idea,” he adds, noting the line from the movie. His smile broadens when he hears her laugh.

“Paris is always a good idea. But my favorite part of the movie is when Sabrina says Paris isn’t for changing planes, it’s for changing your outlook. For throwing open windows and letting in . . .”

“La vie en rose,” he says, joining her voice to speak the final words in French.

“Exactly,” she says, her voice laced with happiness, “I don’t know why though I never actually took those words to heart. Up until now, Paris pretty much has only been for changing planes. Maybe a little more, but definitely not much.”

He glances around, his eyes moving over the Place de la Concorde as they pass through and back to the steady stream of the Seine. “So, is it changing your outlook now?”

“Yeah,” she says, her eyes falling on him briefly.

Their journey continues along the river, the hours passing as if they were minutes, as they explore. They stop occasionally as they happen upon benches and they talk of their careers and their plans. He watches her face as the thinks back upon all the movies he has been in that she has watched, pointing out that The Losers was her favorite. He throws his head back laughing as she reveals this, telling her it was a horrible movie. But you were hilarious, she adds and he simply accepts her compliment.

He tells her about being at her Super Bowl concert and she giggles when he starts to sing off key lyrics to Better Man. I didn’t know you wrote that song until that night, he adds and she nods softly. She says no more about it and he neither does he.

It’s upon another bench, after she mentions once again the dreaminess of the city, that he brings up childhood dreams once more.

“I’ve always been a dreamer,” she says and he can see her eyes twinkle even in the darkness, “and as a child, I was an even bigger dreamer. But what’s funny is that the things that stick out to me now, the thinks I dreamed of doing as a child, are the things that most people can easily do but because I chose this life that I live, I don’t get to so easily.”

“Like what,” he asks, leaning back and placing his leg over his knee.

“Like carnivals and carousels,” she laughs, “and going roller-skating or playing paintball. Riding a motorcycle . . . not acting like I’m riding one for a video shoot. I can do those things, I know, but it requires renting out roller-skating rinks and keeping things so hush hush so no paparazzi finds out.” He watches her as she speaks, watching the emotions play out in detail upon her face. He’s amazed at how much he can see on her face even in the dark. “I guess you could say a childhood dream is the reason I bought my house in Rhode Island. I always wanted to sit on the porch or the balcony and watch the ocean crash on the shore. Admittedly, I got this notion in my head as a child after watching Sleeping with the Enemy and falling in love with the house on the beach and then Nights in Rodanthe only strengthened it. I bought the house where I did because I knew there would be less people to watch me or watch for me.”

“What else,” he asks, genuinely interested.

“There are a million more like that. Simple little things. Then, of course, there are the ones like I mentioned on the plane. Like that . . . . and like just the simple act of growing old with someone, of having big family birthday parties and cookouts, playing badminton or coloring Easter eggs. Things like finding that person who not only chooses you first but that you choose first. Which admittedly, sometimes hasn’t been the case for me.” She takes a breath, her face soft, as she looks up. “Sitting under the stars. Going on road trips. Spending the day with my daughter as she gets ready for her first prom. This is the kind of stuff I have always dreamed off. Mundane. Normal. Beautiful.”

He thinks of her words as he nods. “I like that.”

“What about you? What are your childhood dreams? Other than racing cars and exploring Paris at night?”

He shrugs one shoulder as he thinks of her question. “You know Swift, tonight you are making me think of things I don’t normally think of.” He laughs as she does. “My childhood dreams. I always wanted to go whitewater rafting. To jump out of a plane and skydive, which I’ve done. I wanted to take my mom to Ireland, which I’ve also done.” He takes a breath, thoughts roaming through his brain. “I always thought I’d be that guy who would have a house in Sudbury. White picket fence and all. A basketball hoop in the driveway. A swing in the tree in the front yard. And you know, I still want that.”

He sees her nod, sees the smile on her face, even though he doesn’t turn to her. “Paris is amazing. Dreamy. But it’s not home. And then . . . . let’s see, I always dreamed of marrying Diane Lane.”

She laughs, throwing her head back against the bench as her laughter booms around them. “It’s true. You mentioning Nights of Rodanthe reminded me of that again. Of course, I fell in love with her after watching The Outsiders.”

“Cherry Valance,” she giggles.

He whistles. “Cherry Valance.”

“I don’t know if Diane is single but I’m sure that’s still an option.”

“Nah,” he chuckles, “I’d act like some pubescent kid around her, I’m sure. It would be awful.”

“Cherry Valance turning Captain America into mush. I love it.”

They laugh more, talk about childhood dreams a bit more, he pushing her to reveal her secret crush on Benicio del Toro. And they walk, along the river, upon narrow streets and past landmarks. Before long, he can see the sky start to lighten and he starts to smell the faint aroma of bread as the early rising bakers begin their day.

The city will be waking soon, he knows, but there is part of him that wishes it would not. He’s enjoyed this night, enjoyed the walk, the exploration, the conversations. He’s enjoyed her and the ease of getting to know her.

Their senses seem to dictate their path and the sky is still a light shade of gray when they reach the front of a boulangerie and he notices that the door is slightly ajar.

“I think they are open,” he says, glancing quickly at her, “wait here.”

Moving inside, he speaks to the lone baker who peeks out of the back, and asks if he can buy something . . . your favorite, he adds, and he watches as the baker smiles. He disappears for a couple minutes and then emerges with a bag. Chris places money on the counter as the bag is handed to him and then walks out.

He finds Taylor leaning against the side of the building, her eyes focused on the Eiffel Tower a short distance away. It’s lit up like a beacon in the dusty sky. He steps in beside of her, pulling a piece of bread out and reaching it toward her. “I couldn’t understand what he called this, but it looks like it has chocolate in it.”

She smiles as she takes it from him. “Paris. Chocolate. Bread. The Eiffel Tower in the distance. It’s kind of perfect isn’t it.”

Taking a bite, he follows her gaze. “Yeah it is.”

They remain in that position, their eyes on the tower, until the bread is gone and the sky is a shade lighter. “Let’s go,” he says, crumpling the bag up and tossing it in a nearby bin.

“Where,” she asks, glancing at the sky as the dawn nears.

“We can’t explore Paris without going to the Eiffel Tower.”

“I don’t think it’s open,” she says as she falls in step beside of him.

He chuckles. “Neither has the Louvre or the cathedral at Notre Dame or anywhere else besides this bakery. Doesn’t mean we can’t go to the base and make ourselves feel like ants below it.”

“That’s an interesting thought,” she laughs.

“Indeed,” he says as they reach the area nearest the tower. The grounds are empty but in the distance, he sees a security guard. One of a few, he is sure. A thought enters his head. A memory. An idea. He glances at her, her eyes glued on the tower.

They inch closer but then he places his hand on her arm and stops her. “Wait here,” he says, not waiting for a response before he sprints closer to the tower.

He returns a few minutes later, feeling his own smile pulling at his cheeks. “C’mon,” he says, reaching for her hand. She narrows her eyes on him for a second but then slips her hand into his and allows him to pull her back in the direction he just came from.

The security guard smiles at him when they reach the elevator. “Five minutes,” he says and Chris nods, grasping Taylor’s hand tighter as he leads her inside and the ascent begins.

“How did you pull this off,” she asks, her voice surprised and excited.

He shrugs and laughs. “I’m Captain America.”

When they reach the observation deck and the door opens, he hears Taylor gasp. Before them, the sky is grower lighter, the lights from the city dimming as daylight approaches. She releases his hand, he just then realizes she had held it the entire ride, and takes a few steps onto the platform. He watches her as she does so, watches as she reacts to what she is seeing, how her face continues to show her emotions so vividly. She breaks from her movement only momentarily, to look at him and smile, allowing him to see her blue eyes radiating.

She reaches the edge before he even moves but when he joins her, joins her view, he feels as if his breath has been sucked from him. They have roamed through the city as it slept and now here, all alone atop the Eiffel Tower, they are watching as it awakens. It’s a sight he never knew he wanted to see until now.

A few cars dot the cityscape but it’s the historic buildings, the picture-like scene in front of him, that holds his attention. Second by second, inch by inch, the city becomes painted in a different light. Each moment providing a different view, a new memory. He knows she is seeing it too, her eyes moving slowly as if she is memorizing every detail.

It’s at that moment that he notices, and remembers, something else. In the distance, just behind the Sacre Coeur, is the sun. It rises slowly, it’s warm light breathing new life into the city below it.

“A picture,” she says, almost breathlessly, startling him from his thoughts, “I haven’t taken any pictures at all this entire night.” She fumbles with the phone as she removes it from her pocket and then curses under her breath. “The battery is dead.”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his own phone. “Come here,” he says, reaching for her with his free hand as he thumbs his phone with the other.

He positions the phone in front of them, slipping his arm around her waist and pulling her close to his side. He snaps a picture and then glances at it, Taylor doing so as well. He smiles when he sees it, the city and the sunrise taking center stage behind them.

He glances behind him and then reaches to her waist again. “One more,” he says, repositioning the phone above their heads, making sure he gets the city and sunrise again. But this time, just before he hits the button for the picture to take, he turns his head and brushes his lips to hers.

It's quick. Easy. A gentle peck. And when he pulls back, her eyes are closed. She smiles, eyes still closed, and he sees her cheeks flush as she lowers her head slightly. “My childhood dream,” she whispers, slowly raising her head and opening her eyes on him, “from the plane. You remembered.”

He nods, the memory of their discussion fleeting through his mind. “Not Prince Charming like you wanted but you can check that one off your list.”

She laughs, shaking her head. “Captain America. Close enough.”

He looks once more at the sunrise, noting how quickly the city is becoming alive. “We need to go,” he says, his eyes moving back to her. She nods.

They ride back down the elevator in comfortable silence and he can feel her smile, prompting him to do so as well.

The security guard dips his chin to them as they exit and he can see people starting to dot the grounds in the distance. He quickens his step, Taylor mimicking his actions, until they reach the street and he hails the nearest cab.

She slips her hat back on this time, whispering to him the name of her hotel so he can say it aloud. The streets are far more crowded, the city looking completely different now. She glances at him and smiles, mouthing the words “thank you” to him as the driver makes sharp turns and goes down increasingly busy streets.

They arrive at her hotel a few minutes later and he asks the driver to wait for him before he walks her inside. The lobby is still empty and as she notices this, she removes her hat. “This has been amazing,” she says, her smile friendly and bright, “a dream come true. Something I never dreamed I’d be able to do. I don’t know how to thank you.”

“You don’t need to,” he laughs, “this night was enough. And now, we have to go back to our lives without the cover of darkness.”

She nods and he knows she understands what he means. “Well thank you anyway,” she whispers.

He stuffs his hands into his pockets, taking a step backward, when he feels compelled to speak again. He doesn’t allow himself long enough to think of his words before he says them. “Taylor,” he says, prompting her eyes back to him, “you deserve a good guy and Tom is a good guy. He’ll come around.”

Her smile broadens at his words. “I hope so.”

She turns then and so does he but then her voice calling his name stops him again. He turns to find her beaming, her face full of life, of the vibrancy he knows he will remember her by. When he smiles back at her she winks.

“We’ll always have Paris.”

He smiles, his heart warm, and then turns and leaves.

#taylor swift fanfiction #lonely and gone #unexpected #chapter 1

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httphopewrld · 4 years ago

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

Pairing: friend/lover/bfhoseok! x female reader

Genre: slow-burn fluff, some angst, 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, reader uses dildo, slight degradation, and just lots of filth—YOU’RE WELCOME FELLOW FILTHY ANIMALS.

Word Count: more than 10,000 (not finished yet)

A/N: Happy birthday J-Hope! Although the fic won’t be released today, or tomorrow, on his birthday, it will be out next Friday (February 26). Please let me know in the comments if you wanted to be included in the taglist, and what you think!

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

⊱ ────── {⋅. ✯ .⋅} ────── ⊰

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 you managed 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 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. Please check on West if he needs anything.” You requested. “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 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 backed 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, taking 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, genders, and colours. 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 then 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.

#bts #bts fanfic #bts jhope #jhope fanfic #jhope smut #jhope fluff #jhope angst #bts smut #bts fluff #bts angst #ficswithluv #houseofddaeng

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passionate-hedgehog · 7 years ago

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Wine pt 2

A/N: I really didn't think I’d make Wine into anything more than a blurb to gert my mind to stop racing at night. I’m so glad you guys liked it! Thank you for all the kind words!

I’m not sure how long this is going to be but for once I know exactly where I want this story to go. I’m excited about it!

Let me know if you want to be tagged in any of my postings! Enjoy the fruits of my labor and the works from my heart!

Tagline: @reiding-and-writing @sassygeek77

Spencer’s name lit up Hannah’s phone screen for the umpteenth time one night, a week after they met. They had decided to get to know each other, because the other person was worth it, and talked over lunch. The deli in the grocery store had been a favorite place for the brunette to eat. The agent had mentioned that he had never tried it, so she made it her mission to show him how great it was. They had gotten to talking, and they clicked. It wasn’t as if they had so many things in common, but their personalities fit so well.

Hannah had just laid her daughter down for the night when she heard the text tone go off. Their conversations had been constant and diverse. They rarely stayed on the topic longer than a day, and if they did, it was because they were just so interested in the other person. The single mother couldn’t remember the last time she felt like that.

Swiping her finger across her screen, Hannah opened the most recent text and giggled quietly, so she didn’t wake Chloe. What had appeared on her screen was a picture taken from Halloween of Spencer scaring the living daylights out of one of his coworkers. Someone had captured it on their phone and sent him the picture.

That’s Derek, right? The one that’s like a big brother to you?

Hannah sat the phone down to put a load of laundry into the washer and set the machine. After she had picked up a full basket of clean clothes, she grabbed her phone and made her way to the living room. She set the basket down and read his reply.

Yeah. I do it to him every year, but he never learns.

She gave another giggle. Apparently not. Is it just him that you try to scare?

It’s a long running thing between us. We had a prank battle a year or so back.

Is it what you imagined having a sibling would be like when you were younger?

Sorta. If I had a brother, I mean. I don’t think I’d want to play jokes on my sister if I had one. I don’t actually know. I picture what I’d want as far as having siblings, but I’m not sure if it’s a real concept? I hear too many stories about older siblings being terrible to their nerdy younger brothers and sisters.

Yeah, I guess. But what if it were the other way around, Spence? What if you were the big brother? What do you think you’d be like?

A reply didn’t come as fast as the others. When Hannah set her phone down to attempt to get actual folding done, she was surprised at her phone’s ringtone going off. She accepted the call. The phone was cradled between her head and shoulder as she continued with her chore.

“Are your fingers tired from typing on your dinosaur phone, Grandpa?”

“I’ll have you know that my phone has a higher chance of surviving a trip to the floor and a smaller chance of getting stolen. So there.”

She raised an eyebrow at Spencer’s voice inflection. “Did you just stick your tongue out at me over the phone where I can’t see you?”

“I guess you’ll never know.”

“Oh, real mature. Maybe I was wrong about the ‘Grandpa’ comment. You’re more like a toddler.”

The two ‘adults’ shared a small laugh, and then there was a comfortable silence between the two. They didn’t say anything to each other, just listened to the sounds around them and what they could hear through the phone. Spencer was the one to break it, though.

“I missed your voice. That’s why I called.”

The woman put the shirt she was folding in her lap and bit her bottom lip, giving a silent smile.

“Hannah? Was that too much? Too forward? I’m sorry if I just made that weird. I wasn’t sure if-”

“Spencer!” She called his name to get him to stop rambling, even if it was cute. “Sweetie, it wasn’t too much. It was...endearing. And if I were to be honest, it gave me the sweetest kind of butterflies. Thank you, for not finding it annoying.”

“Never! It calms me after a long day at work. I just wish I could hear it more often. Thank you for being my very own mug of chamomile tea.”

Hannah was conflicted. She craved to be for Spencer what he was implying, to be able to see and talk to him more, but she wasn’t sure. She knew she couldn’t get too deeply involved with him until she was sure he’d stick around. When Hannah first started dating after Chloe’s dad, she made some mistakes. So Hannah let some people into her and her daughter's lives who didn’t deserve to be there. Yet, she felt she had to do a better job with it.

“That, for sure, just set some alarms in your head. That’s the longest you’ve gone without responding. I’m sorry if I said something wrong. It wasn’t my intention to make you uncomfortable. I value our friendship very much.”

“It wasn’t you, Spencer. I just… It’s complicated.” Hannah played with the loose threads on the old shirt still sitting in her lap, unfolded. “It’s never you. You, my dear, treat me very well.”

“If I can ask, what happened? I know you said that there was a bad experience you had. I just want to make sure I don’t make any repeats.”

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Hannah closed her bluish green eyes. “I lost someone very close to me. We got into this massive fight that we were never able to come back from and now we can never mend our relationship. I just don’t want to make the same mistakes that he and I made. Our friendship means a lot to me, too, Spencer. You’re imperative to me, and I want to keep it like that.”

“Well, I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.”

“Yeah,” Hannah replied softly almost as if she wasn’t sure she believed it.

“Hey, I need to head to bed. It’s getting late, and I can already feel the large caseload for tomorrow. I’ll text you when I can, okay?”

“Yes, of course. I have an appointment with the elementary school in the morning, but I’ll be free after that.”

“You got the interview?! Hannah, that’s great! We’ll have to celebrate when I get back into town. I’m so proud of you!”

“Whoa there, Cowboy. It’s just an interview. I don’t have the job.” Rolling her eyes, Hannah gave a soft chuckle.

“But you will. They’d be moronic not to give it to you.”

“Thank you, Spencer. The confidence boost means a lot. I’ll tell you about it as soon as I can, alright? Now get to sleep. You have a long day ahead of you.”

“You’re right. I’ll be good and go to bed. Goodnight, Hannah.”

After giving a soft “Buona notte,” Hannah ended the call and released a heavy breath. Spencer was proving to be an excellent man and a viable friend, but she was still unsure about telling him everything. She was worried about Chloe and her getting too close to someone that would leave and break her like Alec had broken Hannah.

- - -

The next day came and nearly left without a word from Spencer. At almost midnight he sent a text letting her know they indeed had a major case in a city many miles away. They had worked their butts off that day and didn’t catch many leads. It was exhausting one of his texts had read. She couldn’t even begin to imagine what it was like doing what he did. Somehow, though, he still found the energy to give her a surprise call before she fell asleep for the night.

“I thought you’d want to get some rest as soon as you could, given your day. Is everything okay, Spence?”

“Hmm, yes? No? I don’t...”

Hannah sat up in her bed at that response and gave her full attention to her friend on the other end. “What’s wrong?”

“This case. I can’t stop thinking about these kids. They’re so young and little, and this guy is just tearing them into pieces like they’re some toy he’s throwing a tantrum with. I can’t get it out of my mind wondering what they could be thinking about in their last moments.”

“Oh, Lord. Spencer, that’s terrible. In pieces??? Like… their arms and legs?”

“It’s horrible, Hannah. There’s no way these children have done anything to deserve it, and I don’t know. I want to be there for them. Kid’s cases are always the hardest. They probably aren't even aware that there’s this kind of evil in the world. They couldn’t of have been warned. And to make it worse, they didn’t have a family.”

“Orphans. Were they homeless or foster kids?” Hannah got out of bed and walked down the hallway towards Chloe’s bedroom.

“Both.”

His voice indicated he was on the edge of hysterics and Hannah wished for nothing more than to be able to hold her friend and will all the bad things away. She wanted to run her hands through his hair like she did when her daughter had a nightmare and tell him he was safe with her.

“I wish I could make it go away, Spencer. But you will. You’ll find this guy and stop him from going for other children.” She silently opened her daughter’s bedroom door and watched her sleep, taking comfort in knowing the three-year-old was right where she was supposed to be.

“I want to save them. All of them. It’s so hard to see their faces and know that we didn’t do anything to stop it.”

Hannah closed the door as quietly as she opened it and stepped away. “But you are! And you guys will save them.”

“If they had families, they’d be safe. If they had reliable foster parents or if they were adopted.”

“Are you saying you’d want to do that, someday?”

“I don’t know, maybe?”

The brunette held her breath and let Spencer think.

“Yeah. I would, I do. I want to be someone that they can rely on for more than police protection.”

“That’s very noble, Spencer. I hope you get your wish. You’d, at the very least, be a great big brother.”

“What about you? Being a mom?”

She smiled at her daughter’s door and walked back into her room. “I think it would be the most important thing I could ever do.”

“Would you foster? Or adopt, even?”

“If I had the means to, I would. If I can give all my love to a child that doesn’t know what being loved is, then I would do it without regrets.”

“Thank you.”

“For what?” Hannah slid back into bed and put the covers back over her.

“For answering my call and letting me talk. It helped. I agree with my earlier sentiment about you being like a cup of chamomile tea. You relax me like no other and bring me back from some terrifying places.”

The man never ceased to make Hannah feel good about herself. “I’m glad I could help. Now, get some sleep so you can save those kids. I’ll see you when you get home. Don’t be afraid to call me when you feel like you’re drowning.”

“Hannah, I...thank you. Sweet dreams.”

“Buonanotte, Spencer.” She ended the call and laid her head down after she put her phone on the nightstand.

If there was anything about Spencer that she was positive of, it was that he was quickly becoming her best friend and confidant. She swam in the amazing feeling she got knowing he trusted her with his hardest days and toughest feelings.

Spencer Reid, I think you may be getting in under my skin, and I don’t want you to leave.

#sr.imagines #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid imagines #spencer reid fanfiction #dr spencer reid #spencer reid #criminal minds #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #mgg #Matthew Gray Gubler

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thesteelqueen · 8 years ago

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Fahej’s complex history

I am bored, you are bored, let’s read (I am posting it in the link card later). If you have an opinion I will gladly hear it.

Fahej’s history

Family background

Fahéj doesn’t have any sibling, neither she wanted to have any. Her parents weren’t exactly the richest people, mother took care of the fields and crops, her father worked in the factory. Most of her free time she spend helping her mother Edina, building things she tried to put into the real life and strolling around with the Gypsies children. Her family also had a dog, Bernat.

Her father, Pitti, worked in the gun factory in the nearby Nyiregyhaza. He was often away, trying to help his family in the financial way. Though he didn’t spend much time with Fahéj, she loved him much and knew why he is not there. On the contrary her relations with the her mother were kind of cold. The woman that raised her had a loving hearth, but the times made her to be tough and she did what she had to do to survive. Fahéj knew that her mother loved her, but they could rarely come to terms with a lot of subjects.

Edina’s family lived in the Vaja from the ages and they held this part of the land from the long time. Pitti travelled a lot of as a Gypsy with his family, moving through the Hungary with his family. It was when they came to Vaja that he noticed Edina – one of the fairest lady in the village. He started immediately to follow her, asking her out. At first she was wary about him, but not in the long time they grew found of each other. At first Edina’s father didn’t want to trust Pitti, since the Gypsies didn’t had the best reputation all over the world, but when the man was ready to do anything for this marriage, he no longer brought objections.

Pitti’s family stayed on the wedding and after that they went into the journey once again, from time to time coming back to Vaja, while Pitti stayed in the village and took over the farm with his new wife. On the 7th of January 2042 their only daughter, Fahéj Erdélyi, was born.

By now Edina and Pitti are on the retirement, living from their small incomes and money their daughter sends them, taking care of the farm.

Childhood and teenage years

Fahéj at first didn’t actually get along with other kids – though she was talented in the school subjects, she had a few arguments about her family background . Though her classmate’s words were only a small teasing about her person, she already started to see them as a less-sensitive, unfairly placing herself on the superior position, feeling smarter than them and getting her victories whether she could beat them with knowledge.

The only kids that didn’t care much about her level of knowledge or her heritage were Gypsy’s children. She quickly befriended them – if mutual sarcastic comments and teasing could be called ‘friendship’ – her proudness breaking a bit under the witty puns from people who liked her. Fahéj started to hang out with them, strolling around the village and the area.

It would be safe to say that this was a moment when her ‘teenage rebellion’ began. Gypsy people had very bad reputation, so the gossips, those that were truth and those completely made up, spread up pretty quickly, making Fahéj sick of the town itself. Now most of her free time she spend near the lake or camping in the forest. To separate herself even more, she started to accept alcohol – drinking a lot on the meetings and coming home with not a hint what is going on while she still was underage, lowering her grades at school. Daring herself more and more, she even moved to steal some things from the shops and homes.

One of the often family arguments finally broke her proudness – hearing that she will never achieve anything if she would continue behaving like that was like a strike on her face, but the girl knew that her mother was straight to her point in this one. At the state like this she would end up living in the Vaja with the simple life, not getting to do anything, or even worse, becoming a drunkard with the broken dreams. She moved everyone aside, devoting only to studying from that time. She managed to return to the best scores in her school and her hard work was paid off when she accepted to Budapest Engineering and Robotic University.

Studies and the terrorist attack

At first she was scared of the Budapest – the first time in that huge city and being all alone here made her unsure what to do. She didn’t know anyone here and it was her first time being in the other city. It was the moment when she was afraid and seriously thought of the returning to her home.

Luckily the group of people that studied with her was quite open and most of them quickly befriended with her. It was the first time when she was feeling the part of the larger group and get attached to them pretty quickly. Moreover, she finally met someone she could call her best friend. One of the girl in the group took her under her wings, not pushing too much but also helping Fahéj to unwind.

Cili somehow managed to reach to everyone and she had that cheerful attitude that helped everyone to ease themselves whether she was around. Her free-spirit yet open attitude quickly learned Fahéj that is good to open sometimes for the new experience. They both spend a lot of time together, working together, making sleepovers and realizing stupid yet harmless ideas for the fun.

Fahéj became more open towards the other, managing to improve relations not only with other people, but also with her mothers. Now she could see how tough was the time of her childhood and after few sincere talks they both managed to make some consensus. From that time they started to repair the years of the fighting and arguing between both of them.

The whole group planned what they could do, deciding to make a joined project of new housing estates that would be friendly for both omnics and people, taking an inspiration for the Numbani’s experiences. They worked hard on it, making few trips to the important technological resorts in the Hungary and other nearby countries to see the relations between the citizens and what could be improved.

As the conference that gathered the ideas for both was about to being held on they university, the all started to work even more harder and the presentation was created to show their ideas. Many investors and important guests declared their appearance, so it was a chance for the whole group to boost their project and maybe even find a sponsor. They all were excited when the conference started, but neither of them could predict the danger. The activists decided to start and the bombs blew off, destroying part of the building and ending many innocent lives.

For almost half of a day Fahéj and many other people stayed, major wounded and not knowing if and where the rescue will arrive. She was somehow separated, but she managed to create enough space to see Cili, they both trying to lift their spirits up by jokes and reassuring words, holding hands desperately. Before they were saved, Cili passed away.

Breakdown and joining police forces

After a week of being unconscious she woke up, remembering every detail of the events that turned her life upside-down. Part of her irrationally started to blame herself for that and part of her was still mad about it. Moreover, hearing the news about the victims and finding out that she didn’t even had the chance to take part in the funeral seemed to be too much for her. The visit of Cili’s parents pushed her even further into herself as she stopped to care about anything.

Being granted a break for the recovery she spend a lot of time walking around the city, mostly finding the less welcoming pubs and places where no one asked questions and where she could drink alone and don’t care about the others. Fahéj distanced herself from others, not wanting to hear any consolation words but couldn’t ask for the support either, not knowing to whom she should ask. It slowly drifted into the direction of the smoking and alcoholism, and at that time she didn’t dare to touch anything from her projects, locking her tools in

But once again she was granted a chance. One of her old professors who heard about her state decided to visit her once time. He also suffered in the accident and from that time he was bounded to the wheel-chair, disabled for the rest of his life. It was some breakthrough for both of them, as they talked all night, discussing about their future now they both lost something and debating on the possibilities. It was a small thing but it pushed Fahéj towards the change.

Trying to make a new start, with the help of Kristóf, she decided to sign to the psychologist, asking now for help. Managing to find the job, she slowly returned to her former self, returning to the engineering and once again in her life achieving what she has previously lost, pushing alcohol and loneliness away. Graduating from the university with one of the highest score, she was now thinking what she should do in her life.

Though she still wanted to make the world a better place, her wiliness to do that was now striped of the idealism of the previous idea – she knew that the chance to do that won’t magically appear. She had to do something, take the initiative and mostly, work on herself. She got interested in the Overwatch, the global service that helped to save people. The biggest impression on her made all the constructors of the organization, especially Torbjörn who tried now to repair the mistakes from his past.

The woman decided to risk and send her application, in the meantime trying to catch the other job. In some time she was received a chance as she got the invitation for the interview, but before she managed to get into one, Overwatch was forced to disband. Not planning to give up now, she quickly assigned to the police academy, in the meantime taking the employment in one of the renowned company that helped the young people with a start in the market.

It was during this time when the idea for the ‘Boudica’ was born. Fahéj wanted to create something that would help special forces to be more efficient – the thing that would make them move faster, but at the same time made them more protected against the different kinds of bullet. She created and built the first and original Overground Battlesuit and named the first prototype ‘Boudica’ after the famous Iceni queen – a good name to say that you should stand for what is right. And the warning of what will happen if you push too much into the revenge.

That got the attention of the Hungarian government that decided to set up this in the use. Fahéj agreed to give all the rights, in return demanding of not using it in the case she would not give her agreement. After joining the rank of the police, she used it herself, though she didn’t have that chance many times. That also provided her a new career job as now she was accepted into the part responsible for creating and supporting Hungarian national defense system, creating the weapons and bombs that would be used on the polygons.

Serving in the police

The news about the terrorist attack and her university turned out to fade quickly since the attacker was never found. The woman didn’t complain, rather wanting to take care of more burning issues that could be solved, starting from paperwork and small cases to kick herself in. Sometimes she helped with more important things when the bigger group. After few years of work, her case once again showed up. Fahéj was offered a participation in this case, but she turned it down, reasoning it with lack of the experience and personal attachment to the case.

She didn’t expect that she would be dragged to this against her will, as one night she got an urgent email by mistake, in which one of her colleague asked for the meeting. Fahéj decided to show up, not knowing that both of them walked straight into the ambush. She managed to get out of it with a minor shot, the fellow officer sadly didn’t make it, giving her information that opened many old cases.

It turned out that for many years there was an omnic activists group that was responsible for many riots and acts of violence. They didn’t believe in the coexistence between humans and omnics, opting for starting one more Crisis and spread the one that was in Russia. Whole Budapest police started a chase for the gang and everyone felt that they were chasing with time before something else will happen, but every time they had the trace of the activists, the criminals managed to get away.

Finally they managed to discover the plot about blowing up the Parliament, all special units and forces swung to the action. Fahéj didn’t expect herself to be the one person to stand eye to eye with a person that almost killed her, both of them standing and aiming to each other. Though a huge part of her wanted to solve it the violent way but she tried to solve it more peaceful way. It didn’t work as a distant shooting made both of the fire, the omnic killed instantly and Fahéj with a bullet through her chest, barley managing to survive this. After that she take her time returning to her condition, taking more stationery work from that time.

#lunch break (out of character)#one girl from Vaja (about Fahej)

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archivesdiveronarpg · 8 years ago

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Congratulations, RONI! You’ve been accepted for the role of PUCK. Roni, I can’t count how many times I broke out into a silly grin while I was reading your application - you captured his mischievousness perfectly from your interview answers to his writing sample. Which was, by the way, wonderful how you managed to encapsulate all his main points and connections while still maintaining his humor perfectly. From his autobiography to your very last headcanon - I was smitten from start to finish. I can't WAIT to see what havoc he wreaks on Verona! Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Roni

Age | 21

Preferred Pronouns | she/her

Activity Level | I’m attending uni this year, and it’s not too difficult at the moment. I have a lighter course due to dropping a class, yet the ones remaining are still rigorous. So while I am on Tumblr during my free time, it’s hard to gauge when my free time will be. However, I would probably rate myself a seven out of ten on weekdays and a eight out of ten on most weekends, depending on how many replies I have/the length of my replies.

Timezone | EST

Permission | yes, you have my permission to publish this application!

IN CHARACTER

Character | Puck // Pavel Lam

What drew you to this character? | honestly, i always adore playing neutral characters, as i find them to be a wonderful balance between the groups at war. their own motivations and their paths of interactions are always wonderful to explore. with pavel, he of course has that same potential — and it’s constructed in an incredibly exciting way. the way that pavel lives his life, with every action echoed by a dastardly smile on his face, is enticing. the way he has created his own darkness as he built his reputation around his services and pranks, and they way he thrives on his own is such a contrast to everyone else. i enjoy reading his standards and how he sticks to them, i adore the how connected the threads of his story are, and i love that he is still untouchable because he doesn’t place stakes in anything, really. he is a jester with so many possibilities, and i would love to explore them if accepted.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character?

( plan i ) his pranks are to sate his boredom more often than not; there are a lifeline, in a way, for these pranks allow not only social interaction, but insight to the people he will either work for or assassinate in the future. and it helps these pranks provide some of the greatest entertainment for himself. but i want to explore the possibility of pavel miscalculating the consequences of a prank; perhaps he underestimated the number of people pissed off, maybe there’s another target on his back and it’s from a legitimate threat. he has ties to no side, and while i am sure the capulets and the montagues have hired him before (whether directly or not, whether recently or once long, long ago), if one of his pranks injures someone from either side, what will happen? how much danger would he accidentally place himself in? i imagine this occurring with either one of his most elaborate plans, where he maybe should have expected something to go awry but was too confident in, or his simple pranks that caused a chain reaction of something even worse occurring, where the blame is directed at him for being the start of it all, if that makes sense.

( plan ii ) the connection between alva and pavel is one i definitely want to explore. i feel like, while puck’s badgering of alva is far from anything akin to obsession, alva is definitely someone puck attempts to rattle more than he would others? pavel doesn’t have anyone close to him; while it’s more because he doesn’t need people to be his friends, the lack of closeness with people does affect how he socializes with others. some interactions will be light-hearted, but there are certainly ones where he antagonizes, and he tends to take those interactions to the extreme. and i feel like that occurs with alva, if only because alva doesn’t react the way pavel expects. pavel keeps pushing the extremes because he craves a desired reaction and alva rarely gives it to him. add that to the skill alva possesses, one pavel is irritated of hearing over and over again, and you have pavel beginning to approach their interactions like a game. and this is one he doesn’t win, really, which is ridiculous considering its his game. yet alva is so different, pavel can’t help but keep attempting to win instead of flitting away. besides, he’s seen a crack in alva’s demeanor once, seen that flicker in the other’s eyes that alludes to more, and pavel is determined to pull that mask from alva’s face and witness the true wickedness he believes alva fosters. i’m not sure if this all completely makes sense, but this connection is just —- it’s one that won’t release pavel anytime soon, and i want it explored at every possible angle while its grip is tight!

( plan iii ) how does a man who is untouchable in the reality he has shaped for himself transform into someone who can finally be touched? i have no specific plans for this path, for it may never happen — yet i want to see if it does. what will it take for pavel’s life to change; what will happen when he falls from the pedestal he has built for himself? or will he never trip, because he is someone who plays all the right cards when he should? pavel can either fuck up horribly at some point, or he avoids such loss for and of himself. he either will fall or he won’t, and i want to see what path his story takes at diverona!

IN DEPTH

What is your favorite place in Verona?

“Oooooo, that’s a hard one since there are so many spectacular places here at this shithole! I have to say, the thrum of The Tempest is intoxicating. The way the music seeps into your veins, how your heartbeat matches the beats pounding in your ears — it’s a high in of itself, really.” A smile stretches across his features, wide and dazzling. “And when people sneak to the lower levels, the way the darkness can envelope you as you follow — well, they’re all easy targets, I’ll leave it at that.”

Easy targets for what, he’ll leave for assumption. He has done many things others wouldn’t risk in such neutral spaces, and while he is sure he has drawn the ire of the Three Witches, he has never been caught, so why ever stop?

“I suppose I could also say the bridge, since it works in the same manner. Easy targets, depending on the time of day and the circumstances. Plus, you have the added bonus of pushing people over the edge and guessing whether they will survive the fall. That game is always fun to play.”

( yes, he is beginning to paint a morbid picture with these casual mentions, but imagine him sipping at a cup of espresso, eyes bright as he observes the morning crowd where a phoenix and turtle play.

or maybe you should imagine him outside the entrance where people try to tame soup, upper lip curled in disgust at what is truly occurring in the building, and yet still notices the boy with the thinnest of clothes, the one unsure of entering, and quickly, silently, pockets a few coins the boy will find later.

if pavel lam was to be honest in this moment, maybe he would mention those places instead. )

What does your typical day look like?

“I wake up, eat, do my usual shit, and then fall asleep. ‘And what’s your usual shit?’ I’m sure you’re wondering. Well, well, well, all I can say is that it varies.”

Even if someone pinned a daily routine for him — one day it’s an assassination, the other prank galore — they wouldn’t ever be able to say how the assassination would play out or what the prank would be for the day.

Everything was unpredictable, and that’s how his life would remain.

“Would you like me to go into length? Because that would be involved describing quite a nasty situation as an example, and I’m positive you do not have the stomach for it.”

What are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues?

And his smile falters, the face of disgust transforming his demeanor. Crossing his arms, he rolls his eyes and smacks his lips, a reminder to keep his opinions coherent.

“The two sides deserve each other, they really do. Illusive kidnappings, dedicated torture, ‘we’ll send them a message!’ bravado — it’s like they’re trying to out-dramatize one another in their proposals.”

He leans forward then, eyes narrowed. “It’s a fucking nasty cycle they’ve got. An unnecessary one. But that’s how power corrupts — and that’s what happens when you have too many on your side that can be used against you or betray whatever the fuck you’re fighting for.

“Organized crime delivers everything with a smile and sharp words, but never forget it’s still crime. They’re as dirty as the rest of us, no matter how people may worship them, no matter how many people fear them, and I surely cannot wait for the day they all realize that we die the same here in Verona.”

In-Character Para Sample: triggers: blood, drub mention, death mention, violence. additional note: this is a little all over the place since it’s more snippets than a chronological storyline, so i apologize in advance if there’s any confusion! )

The sun beats on his face, and he shifts uncomfortably; the heat of Verona reaches an odd extreme at even odder times during the season, causing everything to sway unnaturally. Today, the binoculars are too heavy, and his clammy hands do not help in keeping it still. Tomorrow, maybe the heat will sap too much energy, and he’ll not only fall asleep, but fall from the roof.

Would that be a tragic end, or perhaps the funniest punchline of them all?

A long, dramatic sigh falls from Pavel’s lips, and he smacks his lips, returning. his attention to the target. He adjusts the binoculars, the man’s frame sharpening to near perfection, and Pavel writes sloppy notes for him to read later ( if he is able to interpret his own notes — funny, how a top assassin can’t even make sense of what he writes! he’s a fucking mess! gotta remember that for the autobiography! ).

The man staggers — the two shots of vodka from earlier already making his ears flush, the poor lightweight — and Pavel sees his father.

He blinks. Still there. Pulls away from the binoculars, rubs his eyes, returns. Sees the proper target once more, all in his blonde glory.

Pavel shifts again, his body whining at the ache slowly settling in his shoulders. He won’t be falling to sleep today, no, and he will complete the job with no debate over what his ending may mean for the story of his life.

( a reminder though, for the autobiography: there is little insanity in finding similarities between a white, blonde man, and a chinese, raven-haired father, if they have the same drunken stumble )

There is little he remembers of his childhood.

Correction: there is little he wants to remember of his childhood.

The few times he stares at the ceiling of his studio and dares to falter back, the rest of the night is him seeing tattered wood, of sleeping on the floor with a single blanket that did a piss-poor job, of keeping an eye on the door so he could move away from his father’s stumbling steps when the man returned home.

Whenever he falters back, he remembers his mother’s muffled cry as she is told about the death of his father, mistress in his arms and tear-stains on his cheeks, remembers feeling a small drop of pity as her face contorts into grief. How quickly that drop had evaporated, though, when not an hour later he hears her gasps of ecstasy and smells the burn of her escape.

The memories are like pages of a book he is trying to skim, flashes of imagery screaming for attention before he continues forth. There, one page near the beginning, the closest to a feast the three of them ever ate: a whole pie, stolen from some window. And there, the opening chapter to Pavel’s first attempt at pick-pocketing, all with the failure and the would-be-victim’s bruising grip on his arm. Oh, and look, him starving and crying and forever reminding the household there existed a child — and no one cared enough.

Finally, the page that matters: his father dying, his mother wasting her life, and Pavel washing his hands of them with a laugh.

( well, it was more like running off toward the sunset with middle fingers in the air and a chipper laugh. yeah, he will write it exactly like that. )

He runs into Orpheus — literally, he barrels into Orpheus’s chest or something, and there is a crack somewhere as he falls on his ass. He blinks past the daze, notices with distaste that of course the older man didn’t budge.

fucking mountain.

“Puck.” Orpheus, the man who can deliver his message with one word and a concoction of tones that do the job, sounds annoyed and irritated and a trite amused.

It’s a wonder what ten years can do; the stretch of time is too long and too short all at once. Pavel remembers the moment he stepped into Orpheus’ path and witnessed the man’s power, the growl of victory as blood drenched his stubble ( because remember, they were all practically babies back then, Pavel a cute teen and Orpheus only just beginning to grow a beard at good ol’ twenty-seven ).

Pavel cannot forget the worship that blanketed him whenever he thought of Orpheus. He was young, naive, trying too hard to adapt to his new world of Verona. The chaos Orpheus conducted was what Pavel aspired to — the way Orpheus worked that music for the right people was fucking amazing. Pavel couldn’t imagine himself going to that length, but Orpheus, whether he cared or not, still did. He was a force against the elite; he threatened them, succeeded more often than not, and for Pavel’s teenage mind, that was wonderful.

And then Orpheus fell, exposed as a fool even if the man didn’t believe it. Pavel leered in what could possibly be written as heartbreak.

Here’s the lesson, kiddos: never put your faith in anyone, for they will always disappoint you.

“Oberon,” he coos, a cattish smile on his lips. He jumps back to his feet, standing on his tip-toes as he sways toward Orpheus, throwing that smile directly in the man’s face. “I do hope you’re looking over your shoulder for any Capulet ready to throw you over the bridge!”

“They know better than to try,” is the man’s response, and Pavel wants to punch his fucking face because how stupid can this man be? He has no faith Orpheus has a master plan to overthrow the Capulets — he would have done so already, really — and the man’s choices are maddening. Absolutely maddening!

“You’re a true sell-out, Orphy, fake crown and all.” With a tut and a stomp on the man’s foot ( he had to do something, okay, and breaking his hand by punching oberon’s face wasn’t a good idea ), he skitters away from Orpheus’ reach.

Ten years is a long time; it’s long enough to uphold the lesson of only caring and having faith in oneself. Makes you a better person in the long run.

His hands never shake, which is always a good thing. His heartbeat can skyrocket, whether out of adrenaline or fear ( when was the last time he feared someone, though? ), but his hands will always remain still.

Of course, that didn’t happen with his first assassination. His hands shook like a flopping fish on land, and damn, it took so long to grab hold of the asshole and dig that knife across his throat. He didn’t even drag it all the way across, for the knife was too deep for a clean cut and his hands would not stop moving in ways he didn’t want them to.

There was blood on his face, he’s sure, from rubbing it after the kill. He must have a been a sight, a quivering boy with a strained voice reporting success to the client.

And yet, this is one for the autobiography: his hands stopped shaking as soon as the words left his mouth. I killed him —- and that was it! It was like he waved a wand with words, and that was the spell to halt the nuisance of a natural reaction.

It’s a wonderful tale, isn’t it? Killing is so much easier now, and he’s able to enjoy the thrill of it, just a little, along with the improved offers as he becomes better. He’s grateful for a body that doesn’t react unnecessarily anymore.

Pavel definitely recommends his line of work if your hands shake too much!

This is how he ends his day: he cleans everything. And by everything, it’s his weapons, it’s his apartment, it’s the damn refrigerator that never holds that much food in it to begin with.

Pavel begins with his knives. First, it’s wiping the blood from the ones he used for the job that day, and then sharpening. It’s slow, a process that has him drift just enough that he can plan whatever prank he decides upon, but not so far that he will cut himself. If he does, there are bandaids right beside the mattress on the floor.

After he sheathes all knives, he goes for his revolver. Usually, there are no other guns for him to clean, though sometimes he will withdraw the .45 pistol to ensure it’s in good condition. The revolver is an even slower process; it requires depositing the bullets he didn’t fire, removing powder and grime, holding it to the darkened sky outside his window to comfort himself that, yes, he knows how to sight and shoot. He hasn’t forgotten that in the last hour since he used it.

He tucks the revolver beside the bandaids, underneath whatever book he is reading for the month. And then — it’s everything else. Dusting the few pieces of furniture, wiping down the island and countertops, discarding the rotting food in the refrigerator and writing on a reminder on a sticky note of what he needs to replace. And then he cleans the fridge, calling an expensive service to send him some expensive food as he does so.

He’ll eat when the food arrives, slowly chewing as he retrieves the book from the floor, and slowly chewing still as he reads, savoring what little taste he actually registers as he tries to make sense of foreign words.

And then when he finishes, he’ll wash the dishes, wipe until they’re spotless, and then return them to their place. He’ll stretch the book over the revolver once more, and then try to sleep on the mattress that is a little too lumpy, but does its job anyways.

His apartment appears entirely different from the hovel he was raised in, and he’ll fall asleep knowing that.

And yet, whenever he closes his eyes, he sees a roof with too many cracks, smells his mother’s perfume despite the stench of whatever it was she was trying that night, and feels that sharp pang of hunger never leaving him alone.

( he doesn’t ever remember his dreams, if he ever did dream the night prior. he only remembers that fucking image in those few moments he was still awake. )

EXTRAS

~ color palette

~ quotes

“May fortune favor the fuckups”

“it’s winter and you feel reckless you step into the ocean and you laugh as the cold seeps feeling from your feet he calls you wild and you bare your teeth”

“there was a war in your childhood home, and you can still remember the fires, how the blood was pretty and sick on the bathroom’s pristine tiles, your mother’s still warm body limp in the tub. breathe in through the mouth: in, out, in. you are not guilty. her life is not on your hands.”

“He danced on the knife’s edge between awareness and sleep. When he dreamt like this, he was a king. The world was his to bend. His to burn.”

“longing paces circles in your heart. the want for more thrums just under your skin, and in your blood there are a thousand wolves howling, necks craned back in prayer to the moon. (you are not a monster for wanting more than what has been offered to you.)”

“why must you crush all that you’ve held within your grasp? ribs break so easy”

~ headcanons

his speech is rough, and lacks the effortless skill so many possess, and, oh, he has long stopped caring. his speech informs everyone where he was born, of how he was raised, and he would rather everyone remember that for the rest of their lives. they need to remember he wasn’t born with riches, and that he has never transformed himself to fit that notion either. everyone should remember that the person they hire — and perhaps the last person they hear – is someone they would spit upon on better days.

listen, he will always prefer his revolver and his collection of knives, but don’t let that fool you into thinking he has never used any other weapon in his life. he is keen to keep his skills sharp, and goes to the range biweekly to practice with all types of guns. but though sniper rifles — and sometimes, any other gun than a revolver — will usually make a job easier, pavel will take the route he wants for a job. so what if it makes the assassination near impossible? it’s a challenge he doesn’t mind at all, and when he succeeds, it’s all that more impressive.

he won’t be able to inform you the number of languages he knows because he’s not fluent in many; he knows enough to get by, though, and that’s what matter. he is fluent in russian and italian — they have been the languages of survival, after all. everything else is broken: english, some french, mandarin. whatever else you can think of, pavel might know a bit, even if it’s only a string of curses.

pavel remains in shape due to parkour; believe it or not, but once he began accepting jobs for exposing affairs, that was the solution for quick and elusive escapes. he has his own regime that he does outside of his jobs, and it’s not unusual to see him flying from roof to roof on a sunny day.

he possesses a scattering of scars; the most notable one ( because it belongs to his most shared story ) is the bullet hole one on his ass after he was shot by the woman caught in her affair. it’s a hilarious story of jealousy and trickery, remind him to share that with you when he haves the time! there are scars belonging to knife fights – the one that peeks to sight is the one along the side of his neck. it travels to his collarbone, and it’s a clean cut, which he appreciates. there are some cuts on both hands, a mark on his left in the divot between his thumb and index finger from a wrong hand position with a gun. and then there are long, horizontal marks on his thighs, hidden from everyone’s sight ( few people have asked about them, if they ever discovered them during frivolous nights. he always smiles and never answers ).

the only thing of excess ( outside of weaponry ) pavel will indulge in is food. he spent too many months — too many years, really — starving. that specific pain is something he never wishes to remember, never dreams to return to, and so he will feast as he likes. he will not waste any food, no, he will eat all that is on his plate even if he doesn’t enjoy the taste. it is the compromise he has made with himself, and he will keep it no matter how ridiculous it is to others.

he wants to throw a cherry pie in alva’s face. not the whipped cream one you see in comics or those funny videos. a cherry pie. that is all.

#accepted: puck

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