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xxresi-rotxx · 2 years

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Jealousy- Leon Kennedy Part 1 (NSFW)

Ahhhh cannot believe I’m writing smut again...oddly feels right XD

Either way enjoy whatever this is! I will most likely not stick to any sort of timeline or actually events from the games so if you’re thinking “that’s not right” you are probably correct lmao, I really only have one objective... ;)

Part 2-

Summary: You’ve been waiting months for Leon to finally come home from his most recent mission but when he does it seems he’s still preoccupied with tying up loose ends. Luckily for you, Chris knows exactly how to change that.

Warnings: Nothing too nsfw in this part, tipsy reader, jealous Leon, no smut yet but everything is fully consented in all of my writings so keep that in mind. Alcohol, spanking, dom!Leon

1285 Words

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One week. In hindsight, one week wasn’t all that long considering what your boyfriend did for work, but it still irked you relentlessly. Leon had been home for one week since his most previous mission with the DSO but it seemed his mind was elsewhere. The first night he returned was wonderful. Intimate and warm, almost as if the two of you had to remind each other who you were.

You can’t help but smile at the memory of showering with him that night. Being so close again, relishing in each other's embrace under the hot water; the steam making it slightly harder to breathe. As much as you loved the reunion, that’s where it ended. You didn’t think much of it, nor did you blame him. You knew he must have been exhausted from traveling & truth be told being back in his arms was more than enough.

At least it was a week ago. Now you found yourself sitting at the local bar, across from Chris Redfield, while you watched in slight annoyance as your boyfriend hounded Chris’s sister Claire for the information she gathered following the events after Leon’s mission.

Chris took notice of how you couldn’t keep your eyes off of Leon & laughed before taking another swig of his beer.

“You know, when you came to sit with me I figured we’d at least have a conversation. If you wanted to keep staring, you could have done so back when you were sitting next to him you know.” Chris said as he eyed you from behind his beer with a smug smirk on his face.

Your attention now on Chris, you rolled your eyes before taking a sip from your drink. “Ugh, I know I know. I just- I’m trying to figure out if I’m being a bad girlfriend or not.” You said before downing the rest of your beer thinking somehow that would help your decision.

“You a bad girlfriend? Doubtful.” Chris scoffed “You know what we all do for a living and you put up with more shit than I assume most women would. We’ve only been back for a week, I thought it would have taken Leon longer than that to fuck things up.”

You gazed at Chris utterly confused now and realizing maybe you shouldn’t have had as many beers as you did, because everything was starting to feel warmer, and you could feel your filter slowly slipping away.

“What? No he didn’t do anything. Well actually that’s the problem.” You slid your hands down your face sighing before putting them on the counter of the bar & staring directly at Chris. “I understand what you all do is beyond important, but I though you invited everyone out tonight to take their minds off of it. Leon hasn’t let Claire have a break since the moment we got in here. Pretty sure he’s been too busy interrogating her to even finish his first beer!” And with that you plopped your head down onto the bar and enjoyed the cool feel of the counter hitting your cheek.

“Ah” Chris sighed before finishing what had to be his fourth beer. “That’s why you want to know if you’re the bad girlfriend...because he’s been too distracted by work, and you feel guilty about being upset about it yeah?”

You nodded your head as best you could while keeping it on the surface of the counter.

“You know, he’s a pretty easy guy to read once you know him well enough.”

This piqued your interest and had you lifting your head to ask Chris what he meant. Before you could, Chris leaned in close; moving your hair from the side of your face and leaning in close enough to whisper in your ear.

“Bet he’s looking right now, am I right?”

You glanced up from where your eyes had previously been a moment ago and made direct eye contact with Leon, who had his eyes trained not on Chris but on you. You couldn’t help the nervous rush that flooded your system as a result of him looking at you like that. You tore your eyes from your boyfriend’s gaze long enough to look back at Chris who had resumed his prior position sitting slouched at the bar. Chris glanced at you from his seat before smirking and ordering another beer for himself & for you.

“Bet you’ve got his full attention now.”

It was taking everything in you to process what had just happened. Was Leon jealous? Is that what his reaction was? ‘Surely not’ you though to yourself, Leon trusted Chris and Claire with his life. There’s no way that little action would catch his attention. Maybe it was just good timing. But as you drew your eyes back up to glance in his direction you realized his eyes were still trained on you. Feeling beyond intimidated you broke the eye contact immediately and brought it instead to the beer now sitting in front of you.

“Gahh Chris, what did you do?!” You couldn’t help but sink lower into your seat, feeling like a child caught doing something wrong, and Leon’s stare did nothing but intimidate you. You stopped yourself mid sip when you thought ‘why did that intimidate me? Like I did anything wrong’. You let the thought go assuming the alcohol was just fucking with your mind at this point, until you noticed Leon leaving the booth and walking your way. The only other discernable thing being Chris’s laugh that quickly faded as Leon got closer.

“Redfield” Leon said while grabbing Chris’s shoulder, “mind if I steal my girl away for a bit?” He said as his gaze brought its way back to you.

“Not at all, but she did just start another drink with me-”

Before Chris could finish his sentence Leon had your beer in hand and was making quick work of it.

“Thanks” he said to Chris while holding a smirk “we’ll be back later.”

He held his hand out for you to take, which giving the events leading up to this, seemed rather sweet. That was until you must have taken too long to reach for his hand and your whole world flipped. The next thing you knew Leon was hauling you out of the bar over his shoulder. When you looked up you saw Chris mouthing the words “fixed it” before winking and getting up to go sit beside his sister.

“Leo-” you started and abruptly stopped as his hand connected with your rear. You squealed, not out of pain, but surprise. You’d never noticed a jealous side of Leon, how in the world had Chris?!

“Please wait until we get to the car, I’m slowly losing my self-control and would really like to not make as scene in the parking lot.”

A few more strides and Leon was at his Jeep, his firm arm setting you down in front of the back passenger door. As he opened it, you looked up at him in disbelief.

“I have to ride in the back?”

“No, you just have to get in.” Leon was slowly losing his patience but couldn’t deny how cute you were when you got tipsy. Realizing you might not catch on; he maneuvered you into the back before getting in himself & shutting the door.

Laying down in the backseat of his Jeep, you looked up to Leon who was now straddling your hips; or trying his best given the limited amount of space you two had.

Leon held your hands before pinning them above your head and lowering his mouth so that it was hovering above yours.

“Now” he breathed ghosting his lips over yours “where to begin?”

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Ahhhh okay I actually liked how this turned out more than I thought I would! Part 2 to come very very soon! Please be nice & leave me your thoughts!!

Thanks:) xoxo -Kitty

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy smut #dom leon #jealous leon #jealousy smut #resident evil smut #resident evil #leon scott kennedy #leon smut #smut

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obsessedwithkpopfics · 1 year

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Payu sickfic

Sickie: Payu

Caretaker: Rain (slight Prapai)

Payu p.o.v

In hindsight, kissing Rain when he was sick was definitely not my best idea. But in my defense he looked so cute with his fluffy hair and his innocent face and cute shyness. And when he confessed…. Well, it's not like I wasn't going to kiss him. But of course, bad decisions come back to you. I had woken up with a pretty awful headache. It was so bad that I didn't even want to put my hair up, and the last time I wore my hair down to work was over three years ago. I went downstairs and began cooking breakfast for Rain so he could eat before class.

Cooking was proving to be difficult. As the oldest in the family. I had learned to cook pretty early in high school. But cooking while having a terrible headache was another thing. I could barely keep my eyes open as the sunlight from the open windows hit me straight in the face. I felt a slight tickle in the back of my sinuses which I pushed to the back of my head. I couldn't let Rain find out I was sick. I was supposed to be the strong one in the relationship and I didn't want him to worry. But with the sunlight constantly hitting my face, there was only so long I could go without ultimately sneezing. I heard Rain climbing down the stairs and immediately put on my most neutral face. I couldn't let Rain find out. I thought. Seems easy. It really wasn't.

Rain walked around the counter and snuggled up against my back, his arms wrapped around my waist. "Good morning," He said softly, "Did you sleep well?" He asked, nuzzling his face against my back. "Good." I lied. He unwrapped himself from the embrace and went around to the front of the counter and sat down. "Your hair is down," He commented. I ran a hand through it. "Yeah."

"It looks good," He said softly. I smiled, "Thank you." I was glad he liked it enough that he didn't question it. Unfortunately when I smiled at him the sunlight outside hit my eyes just right and brought the annoying tickle out, "ngtch!- hnktch!- kktchh!-" I pinched my nose and stifled the sneezes forcefully. "Ouch, that sounded painful," Rain said, looking concerned. I shrugged. "It's fine. You should eat though. You have class." I reminded him and he pouted at me. I laughed lightly as I handed him his breakfast before going back to my room to get dressed for work. I didn't know how I was going to survive work today but I guess I'll have to wait and see.

As I was driving to my office, I felt another sneeze build in the back of my sinuses and I instinctively brought my hand up to cover my face. "HhtKScHu!- Hh…HksChu!- HksSchu!-" I sighed softly. Today was gonna be difficult. I got to the office and was met by Prapai. "Holy shit dude. You look-"

"Yeah I know. Rain got me sick." I said with a noncommittal shrug. My breath caught on an inhale and I coughed a few times. "How?"

"I kissed him," I admitted, Prapai laughed, "Maybe you deserve it." He gently punched my arm. I rolled my eyes. "Your hair is down," He commented. I brought my hand up and ruffled it. "Yeah, my head hurts."

"Do you need some painkillers or something?"

"I'll be okay," I said confidently. "I've got to get some work done though. I'll see you- hh-ktchUH! hKtchu!- hhh- HKtchhu!-KTcShhu!- snf later." "Are you sure you don't need anything?" Prapai asked, his voice becoming softer, concerned. I smiled at his sweetness. "Yeah. I'll call you if I need anything. Thanks, Pai." He nodded. "I'll get going then. Don't overexert yourself." He said teasingly and I hit his arm lightly, to which he laughed and walked away. As I started working, I quickly realized I won't be able to get anything done today. The ever-present headache and tickle in my sinuses was making it impossible to work. Not being able to hold it back anymore, I cupped my nose with my hand as the tickle finally overpowered me. "HhKcHu!- Ugh, HtkscHu!- Hhh…HkttChu!-" I sighed softly. "That definitely does not sound good, Payu." I flinched at the voice but it turned out to be my boss, coming in and sitting next to me. "I'm fine, Sir." "Are you sure? I can give you an off day if you're sick." He said and I just nodded. I'll see if I really need to go home or not. "Thank you, Sir." He smiled and left. I rested my head in my arms, my hair falling over my face. I felt straight up awful. My head was pounding, I felt like sneezing every 2 seconds and my nose wouldn't stop running. I sat up straighter and my hair, now over my eyes, tickled my nose slightly, making my breath hitch again. "HhkCHu!- HkTSchUh!- Htkttchh!-" I took a tissue from my desk and blew my nose, which triggered yet another sneeze. "HktSchuH!- HtKsChu!- HtkSchuH!- Ugh." After I was finally done sneezing, I decided I needed to go home. Knowing I definitely shouldn't drive in a state like this, I pulled out my phone to call Prapai.

"Hello?" He answered. "Hey, can you, maybe, drive me home?"

"Sure, is something wrong with your car?"

"First of all, if something was wrong with my car, why would I call you. Second of all, I don't feel good. And I'm trying to be responsible and not drive."

"Probably a good idea. Also, you're mean."

"I know." I smiled to myself and hung up. I started packing my stuff, pausing a few times to cough or sneeze. When I finished I went to find Pai. When I saw him, the two of us walked to his car. "I'm surprised you're actually going home. Usually you just keep working." He said, giving me a side-eyed look. "To be honest. I'm really not feeling good. My head is killing me and I- hh- ktSHu! EhKtshu!- ktsChu! Ugh, sorry- keep sneezing."

"Yeah, I've noticed. Sounds painful."

"Honestly, it is. My throat and head hurt. But it's nothing compared to how much it hurt earlier when I stifled them around Rain." I coughed then cleared my throat. "It felt like my head was gonna explode."

"You should probably-"

"KTshHu!- heKTChu! Sorry."

"It's fine. But you definitely should tell Rain that you're sick."

"I don't think I can avoid it. Even if I wanted to." I coughed a few times, "He's already suspicious just from this morning."

"What happened this morning?"

"I sneezed. I've literally never sneezed in front of him before. So it makes sense he'd be surprised or suspicious."

"Honestly I don't think I've ever heard you sneeze either… actually I take that back." He laughed, "Remember when that kitten came to the race track?" He laughed. I shuddered slightly. "Yeah, I remember. That was so embarrassing. I don't think I had ever sneezed that much in my entire life. But I guess today's a strong competitor." Prapai laughed loudly again before placing his hand on my shoulder and rubbing it comfortingly. "I'm glad you actually did call me. It wouldn't be the first time you had almost passed out in the office because you refused to rest when you're sick." I nodded, "Yeah, I know. I'm glad I called you too." He smiled at me, his eyes soft. Prapai really was sweeter than he looked. We drove in silence, before I felt like sneezing again. I pinched my nose shut, trying to make the sneeze go away. "Don't do that. You can sneeze if you need to. And don’t you dare stifle it." Prapai said warningly and I nodded before pitching forward. "HhKSccHu!- HKscChu!- HtskSCHu!- Ugh, HhktsChu!-"

"See now your head won't explode." I rolled my eyes. The rest of the way we rode in silence. My throat hurt too much to talk and it seemed like Pai was being mindful of my headache. I got back to my house and grabbed my stuff. "Is Rain home?"

"Not yet, he's not going to be done with classes for probably 2 more hours or so." I explained. "Would you like me to stay with you around until he gets home?"

"I'll be okay but thanks for the offer. I'll probably take a short nap." I explained. Even though I knew full well I'd never sleep with how much my head was hurting and how often I needed to sneeze. "Okay, but call me if you need anything."

"Alright. Thanks Pai."

"Yep, no problem." I smiled at him. He waved and drove away. I walked inside and threw my bag down on the couch. I went into the kitchen and got a cup of water and began searching for painkillers to help with my head. But I didn't get much of a chance before I was forced to change my search to tissues. "HEtKChu! EhKtshu- ktsChu! EhTTchu! heKTChu!" I groaned softly and blew my nose into the tissues. I took the painkillers, hoping they'll help before walking to the couch. I fell asleep almost immediately too. After what felt like a short time, I was woken up by someone sitting down next to me. I opened my eyes and saw Rain, his arm resting on my shoulder. He looked adorable. I sat up straight before asking him, "How was your day?" "It was pretty good. I have so much homework though." Rain replied. He looked at me curiously. "Why are you back early from the office? You hardly ever take days off." I mentally decided to shrug off my symptoms so that Rain won't be worried. "I had a headache and my boss decided to send me back home." I replied shortly. Rain looked at me, suspicious. "Are you coming down with something? Was that why you sneezed this morning?" I groaned at how on the mark Rain's assumption was. "Rain, I'm fine. You don't need- hh- HktKsch!- Httnchh!- HktChuH!- HktKsChuH!- Ugh, sorry. You don't need to worry." As soon as I said it, I knew it wouldn't be effective but atleast I tried. "Seriously? Payu, you're my boyfriend it's my job to take care of-"

"S-hh-sorry-hh- NgChh! ktchH!- ngtch!- hnktch!-" I tried not to cringe, but I did cough from the way the sneezes shredded my throat. "Payu, don't do that. You'll hurt yourself." He reached over and pressed his hand to my forehead. "You've got a bit of a fever. Have you taken anything yet?" I nodded. "When I got home."

"When was that?"

"About two hours ago." I said, he nodded, "Have you eaten anything?"

"Not hungry." I said sniffling. "Payu, you need to eat something. Especially because you took medicine. I don't want you to get a stomach ache." I nodded again. "I'll order food, okay? And you're gonna rest. Got that?" I nodded, slightly amused at how authoritative Rain could be when he wanted to be. Rain scanned my face. "What're you thinking?" He asked. I kissed his cheek, "Thinking about how cool my boyfriend actually is." I said and Rain blushed. "Okay, I'm done with you. The fever's getting to your head. You should rest now." Said Rain but I didn't miss the little smile he gave while he said that. The doorbell rang and Rain went down to collect our food. He had ordered some soup, probably to soothe my throat for which I was immensely grateful. As we sat in silence, eating our food, I felt the intense tickle return to my sinuses again. Rain seemed to have noticed that I was gonna sneeze because he took my dominant hand before saying, "Don't stifle. You're allowed to sneeze. And it's definitely not embarrassing." I nodded, my eyes glossing over before I turned to the side. "HktSchuH!- HhtKScHu!- HkScHu!- HhkTscChu!- HhTksChu!-" My hair flew over my face while I sneezed and Rain gently reached over and ran his hand through my hair. "Should we put your hair up? Might keep it out of your face. Especially if you keep sneezing like this." He said as he handed me a tissue. "It gives me a headache."

"What if I put it in loose braids? That way it will still be out of your face but not hurting your head."

"Do you know how to braid?"

"I actually do. One of my friends taught me back in primary school."

"If you want it. Go for it." He smiled and moved so he was sitting on the couch behind me. And I sat between his legs. "Let me know if it hurts okay?"

"Okay." His hands were gentle, his fingers soft, I shivered when they brushed the back of my neck. "Does it hurt?" He asked softly. "No, it feels nice. You're so gentle." He kissed the top of my head. As he braided I felt a prickling sensation in my nose. "Rain?"

"Hmm?"

"I-hh- I need to sneeze." I felt him drop my hair, "Go ahead."

"HKtchShu! HeTCHshu- HH- ktChShu!"

You good now?" I gave a tentative sniff. "Think so."

He went back to braiding my hair. Instead of just one braid, he made multiple ones all over my head. "Are you okay if I rubber band them? I just don't want them to come out when you sneeze."

"Sure." Rain brought out a box of rubber bands and started tying up the braids. After he was done, I felt my hair. "Thanks, Rain." He smiled at me. "No problem. Okay, you need to rest now." I nodded. We decided to just stay on the couch instead of going to my bedroom as it'll be easier to get everything I need and Rain could also do his work. We sat together, my head falling on Rain's shoulder. I felt my nose tingle again. I immediately lifted my head from his shoulder and turned away from him. "HhTksChuH!- HhkKtcHU!- Hh…" I rubbed at my nose, trying to make the sneeze come out. "Got a sneeze stuck?" Rain asked and I nodded, still rubbing at my nose. Fortunately, it worked and I felt the tingling sensation in my nose return. "HhkTsCshu!- HTtsSchUH!- HkTsChuH!-" I groaned after I was done. Rain stroked my cheek softly before saying, "Come on. You need to sleep now." I put my head on his shoulder again and within minutes, I felt myself drifting off. I whispered under my breath, "Thank you for everything, Rain. I love you." He kissed my forehead. "I love you too." I smiled again.

#Thai drama #bl drama #sickfic #snz #sneeze #Love In The Air

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lovedetlost · 2 years

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Every guy I talk to on dating apps seem to just want friends with benefits and it’s so frustrating cause I never had a relationship (I’m now done with college) and everyone talks about their high school and college relationships and it’s like what am I doing wrong! I know I’m not the most attractive girl but nobody has ever showed an interest in me until I got on dating apps (a few months ago) and it’s all just fwb or they stop talking to me like I know I’m awkward but ugh. And I don’t think it’s even jealousy anymore, it’s just, what is so wrong with me that all of my friends and family seem to always have people chasing after them and always going in dates (or are in long term relationships. And it’s like the only guy that ever kissed me was at a party and I’m pretty sure he only did cause he had just broken up with his girlfriend (I did not know that at the time). And you would think ok, it’s my personality then, I’m a bitch right? But I really don’t think so, that’s like the one thing I pride myself on is being nice and kind to everyone and always willing to drop what I’m doing to help others and I don’t like saying bad things about people (like yeah I do gossip about things but not really anything hurtful, and that’s only with very close friends). It’s just like why did I never have the opportunity to experience a high school or college romance. Like why was I and why am I still not good enough? And now everyone is past that stage and into the I just want to fuck with no commitment stage.

And to be honest, I feel like I could be in a fwb situation too but I don’t want it first to be like that. I know a lot of people find the whole virginity thing a controlling social construct, which yeah it is, but I want my first time to be meaningful, not special per say like in the movies where it’s no pain, and everything is perfect, but just meaningful, you know?

And what if one day I do get into a relationship, I tell them I have never been in a relationship before/never had sex, and it’s seen as weird and a red flag.

Anyways, sorry for ranting so much. It’s just upsetting you know?

Also I don’t know why it added a ton of space between the first and second paragraph but it won’t go away so sorry for the format

i am so sorry this got lost in the myriad of asks this one speaks to my soul.

darling i am 29 and have had one relationship that lasted for four months, and in hindsight i don't even know if he liked me let alone loved me. i have spent what feels like all of my adult life looking for what others seem to find so fucking easy.

and i am the same. i have tried to find someone, anyone willing to have me just on the side. but i seem to be so easy to live without.

and every day i fight that narrative, the one just one sentence above. it is not always easy, and it weighs so heavily on my heart. but i believe, i have to believe, that there is a reason and a point to this and one day i will find someone who wants to scream from the rooftops that i'm their girl.

and baby, if i believe that for me, i believe it for you. one day the why will make sense. and though it sometimes makes me cry so much i feel i may drown, i just have to hold my head eye and act confident and hope that acting will soon be being. but i will never stop yearning for what others have. i just have to make peace with it, and hope that it will soon change.

also in regard to the virginity thing, i may have changed the truth to the guy i slept with for the first time. i’ve spoken about that if you’re interested.

baby, if you’re going to take away anything, take away this. people around us will not always be the best barometers for who we are. just because the men in your life (and mine) have easily cast us aside, doesn’t mean we deserve it. you’re beautiful and kind and one day someone will wonder why the fuck no one snatched you up, but thrilled they didn’t

#asks #agony aunt #sex ed

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pxrifiedmxniac · 2 years

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Huh, it seems that you have met your end. Ugh, what a pity. Y'know I-I dont feel too bad about it, though. After all, if it weren’t me, it would’ve just been one of the others, I guess. I’m honestly just glad to be out of those air ducts. Y’know it’s-it’s not easy for a hippopotamus to fit up there, and not easy to get down either. I’m not as young as I used to be, as you can see. I used to be able to do all the sorts of things. Y-you’re young, you’re vibrant, you have that sort of pep in your step. Heh, reminds me of a conversation that I was havin’ with one of my good friends Orville. We were havin’ a nice picnic one day. I believe it was summer or perhaps it was…was it the fall? Yes, yes. It was the fall because the leaves had turned already. But I said to Orville I says, ‘Orville I have a story to tell you,’ and Orville looked at me–y’know, kinda odd–and, and said, ‘What’s it about?’ I said to him, ‘not every story has to be about something Orville. Sometimes a person just wants to talk. Why does everything have to be a story?’ I said to him. He just looked at me. He said, ‘Well y-you said you had a story.’ Y’know he was quite right. I did in fact. I told him I had a story. I suppose if a person just wants to talk then it’s best to not announce that you’re telling a story. Tellin’ a story does come with its own pressures and expectations I-I suppose. After all, if you’re just talking to a friend then there’s no more expectations than if you were talkin’ into the wind. Words by themselves aren’t expected to carry–uh, aren’t expected to stick, but if, y’know, if you announce that you’re tellin’ a story well then there’d better be a point to it all, y’know? No one wants to sit and listen to someone ramble on and on and on with absolutely no end in sight. So, y’know it’s-it’s good to be mindful of that when you tell someone that you’re about to tell a story, that you have something to say. Tellin’ someone that you’re gonna tell them a story is tantamount to askin’ them to stop what they’re doin’ and–and pay attention. You’re basically sayin’, ‘hey, hey buddy, stop everything, stop what you’re thinking. I have a solution to everything.’ And well I didn’t really have a story to tell. In-in hindsight I-I probably just misspoke when I said that I had a story. I think it would’ve just been better to tell Orville that I wanted to tell him something, rather than tell him that I had a story. But, y’know, even then it mighta put too much importance on the whole thing. Either way, it was quite a nice day. I remember–I remember that we were drinking tea.”

"Um... what?"

#anonymous #I... Wh... I just... Whaat.

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mysticjourneys · 2 years

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[Because I love Mr.Hippo we're doing this.]

"Where on earth am I?" Maria asked. Last thing she knew she was traversing through the hellish realms and now here, infront of a purple hippo? He seemed to talk a lot, going on and on with this friend called Orville. "C-could you ask me where I am first?" She asked.

#anonymous #ask answered #Maria Azamat

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warriorpax · 2 years

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"Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...."

"DAFUQ?"

#anonymous #ic #I see yo FNAF reference there homeboi!#Or homegirl!#Or nonbinary friend!

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diffxrentwxrlds · 2 years

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{{ L }} "H-hey now j-just because I have purple hair doesn't make me the purple guy, I'm not William Afton. G-get out of here."

#{ answered }

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professorspork · 3 years

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If you're accepting non-superhell prompts, I'd love to see a conversation between Nora and Emerald! I've been REALLY loving these microfics, I've subscribed to you on Ao3, I'll read whatever else you write

[Gahhh that’s so nice you’re so nice!! thanks for being patient on this one, finding my Nora took some doing]

It’s occurring to Emerald that she’s never had a close female friend before.

You say that like you’ve ever had any friends before, the voice in her head that sounds suspiciously like Mercury needles her, but she brushes it aside. Like—okay, yeah, she’ll concede the point when it comes to Cinder. In hindsight, whatever they’d had going on between them may have been... super intense... but it probably had never been friendship, in the usual definition. But she and Mercury were friends, no matter what the judgy little shitstain version of him who lives in her head has to say about it. They’d always gotten along. Told each other stuff. It’s not like there’s more to it than that, right?

It had always been like that. Been—instinctive somehow, with guys. Before Cinder, on the street, it was always the men who’d been easiest to manipulate; who would empty their pockets for a smile and a sob story. And then she and Merc had been two sides of the same coin for so long, and then... well, Hazel’d liked her enough to die for her, apparently. (Which—that’s a door that she keeps closed, thanks. She shuts it firmly again, now.) Oscar seems fond of her, in a sweet, uncomplicated sort of way that she really doesn’t know what to do with, seeing as he shares headspace with like a trillion year old man and the idea that anything to do with that kid could be “uncomplicated” is batshit. Ren vouched for her once, and then again, and now he keeps doing it, like it’s habit, like she should just be used to the fact that people are going to have her back, to ask her if she’s eaten, to turn to her with a raised eyebrow in conversation like her opinion would be constructive.

Anyway.

Now that she’s noticed the pattern, it seems like the kind of thing she should probably… work on, or whatever. And Nora seems like an obvious place for Emerald to start. They’ve been thrown in together a lot, lately, Emerald and Oscar expected to fill in the gaps of what’s left of the old JNPR by default. Not that they’ve ever really had a conversation about it—Emerald can’t think of the last time Nora said two words to her that weren’t combat warnings like “more Grimm coming” or “on your left,” but. That’s probably just because things have been tense. She remembers Nora being friendly, on the whole of it. Off-puttingly friendly, even, back at Beacon.

How hard could it be?

The answer, it turns out, is absurdly hard. Nora’s barely ever in the temporary barracks they’re all living out of, instead always checking on the refugees, going on supply runs over esoteric requests, volunteering for extra patrols. Emerald used to find that kind of dogged do-goodery gag-inducing, but now that she’s been the helping hand herself a few times, she’s starting to see the appeal. The way people look at you when you’ve been of service, it’s—nice. Really nice. But Nora works utterly thankless jobs, the kind most people don’t even notice, let alone appreciate. And when they have their insufferably long leadership meetings and they’re talking about distribution of resources or whatever, Nora’s a fierce debater—jumping in to advocate for the people from Mantle sometimes even before May can. As far as Emerald can tell, she does this stuff just because... she believes in it. Because it’s the right thing to do, and someone has to.

She can’t imagine what it would feel like, to have the attention of someone like that turned on her. She’s craved it from the wrong people for so long, but now that she has her pick of options... she’s letting herself actually want the right kind, for once. She thinks.

Which is all to say that largely through no fault of her own, Emerald unexpectedly finds herself sitting with a profound, fervent desire for Nora Valkyrie to think she’s cool.

She hates that.

Fighting with Nora is easy.

(—er. Alongside. Fighting alongside Nora is easy. Emerald’s done fighting with these people. Very done.)

It’s weird, because Emerald’s finding working with a full team to be a real adjustment. When battles get big enough to merit it, she’s used to keeping to the sidelines to use her Semblance for nefarious purposes, or, in a jam, used to having Mercury’s six—literally, because all the forward momentum from his feet-first style always left his back wide open. Figuring out where to put herself so that Oscar can use her shoulder as a fulcrum as he dodges, or trying to aim for the Grimm Ren isn’t already shooting (ugh)—it’s taking work.

But somehow, it’s not work for Nora. Nora seems to anticipate with perfect ease how Emerald will move or what she’ll be doing; Nora bobs and weaves around their ragtag little band with her war hammer like it’s breathing.

It doesn’t bother Emerald until it does, and she means to bring it up casually but there’s never a good time. So it just… stews, and stews, until she can’t keep it bottled up anymore.

Which means that instead of the earnest question she intends it to be, it comes out like this:

“Okay, seriously? It’s creepy how you do that.”

It’s just the two of them, plus the handful of dweeby Atlesian tech-types they’re escorting back from their foray installing some fancy hydro-filtration modules on the outskirts of the camp. And it’s not like Emerald had felt outmatched by the half-dozen Ravagers that had decided they looked like lunch—she can shoot Ravagers in her sleep, at this point—but still. The way Nora had moved around her, it was like they’d been fighting side by side for years.

Nora just cocks her head to the side. “Do what?” she asks, like she hadn’t just basically read Emerald’s mind in front of the water nerds.

Emerald does a complicated gesture with her hands, wrist over wrist, and then flicking two fingers—trying to evoke the way Nora had flipped over Emerald’s back and then kicked off, just trusting Emerald would reel her back in with a chain in midair before a Grimm could fly away with her sorry ass. “That.”

“Oh!” Nora laughs and rubs at the back of her neck, looking sheepish. “It’s nothing. I guess it’s just not a big deal for me? Like—I was there when Ren built StormFlower. The cables are newish, but we practiced so much back in Atlas… I dunno. It’s just reflex, when your weapons are so similar. Fighting with you, it’s almost like fighting with him. I don’t even have to think about it.”

Nora swallows, then, and makes a face Emerald can’t interpret—disappointed, maybe, or ashamed. Which: good. She probably should be, taking things for granted like that.

“Well—just—” Emerald’s not even sure what she wants to say. Ask, next time? Don’t? “You shouldn’t make assumptions. I’m not your boyfriend, okay?”

The venom she puts behind the word is directed more at herself than Nora—frustrated, again, that she’s put herself in the position of wanting so desperately to be liked.

Pathetic.

Nora just nods, looking glum.

“Yeah,” she murmurs, cheeks pulling in a bitter smile. “You’d think I’d be able to keep that one straight, huh?”

She says it with such pointed irony that for a second Emerald wonders if she’d gotten it wrong somehow, but like—Nora and Ren are a thing, right? That’s—everyone knows that.

“Hey, what—?”

“Let’s just go,” Nora says, and Emerald automatically falls into line behind her.

They make the rest of the walk back in silence.

Sometimes at night, when she can’t sleep, Emerald likes to climb up to the roof of the barracks and look out over the refugee camp.

It’s—peaceful, is all. A good reminder of where she is; how far she’s come. The night sky in Vacuo has more stars than she’s ever seen, and being able to watch over all these people who have somehow become her responsibility… well.

A part of her will always be standing on the rooftop at Beacon, looking down on pure chaos as a queasy, frightened sensation twists in her gut and its noxious voice whispers you did this, you did this, you did this. What did you think was going to happen, you stupid little girl? You don’t get to feel sorry for it now.

But she does.

Weird how the only thing that’s helped is actually doing something about it.

She hears a scuffling noise over her shoulder, and she’s got Thief’s Respite drawn and ready before she can even really register what she’s heard. She relaxes when she sees it’s Nora at the other end of the barrels, unarmed and hands raised—a funny little smile on her face, like yeah, fair enough, I should have known better than to try and sneak up.

“Just me,” she says, unnecessarily.

Emerald holsters her guns. “Can I help you?” she asks, and—what is it about her voice, that makes sentences that would be nice if any other human said them come out straight-up hostile?

Nora shrugs, hands dropping to her sides. “I was hoping we could talk; I figured you’d come up here if I waited long enough.”

Well, see—what kind of lesson is she supposed to take from that? She’s been hoping for Nora to talk to her for weeks, and acting like a bitch is the thing that gets her what she wants? Good guys are supposed to know better.

And there’s the way she said it, too. Like everyone knows Emerald comes up here to brood; like it’s a big open secret. The knowledge sits uncomfortably in her stomach, makes her feel watched. Even now, even here, she can’t get a moment alone. Not really.

“What, so you’re spying on me now?”

Nora’s eyes narrow. “I have a pretty bad track record when it comes to losing people. Makes a girl want to put in a little hustle when it comes to keeping tabs on her friends.”

And Emerald would snark at that, or maybe apologize, or something, only—

Nora thinks they’re friends?

“Well, take a seat, I guess,” she mumbles, scooching to the side as though she needs to make room on the massive, empty roof.

Nora walks over and joins Emerald on the asphalt, letting her legs dangle over the edge. Seemingly unsure of where to start, she stares at her hands. Emerald stares too, but her eyes can’t help but wander—tracing the way scars, silvery in the moonlight, spiderweb up Nora’s bare wrists and forearms to fetter her shoulders, clavicle, neck. Like cracks in a pane of glass, right before it shatters.

(Only that’s not it at all, is it? It’s not a sign of weakness, but a warning of strength. I care this much, her scars announce to the word. You wanna try me?

Hazel’s arms always looked like that.)

Emerald doesn’t want to be the one to break the silence, sure that whatever she’d say would be incredibly stupid.

Luckily, Nora has no such qualms, and opens with: “I really admire you, you know?”

Emerald stares, jaw slack, certain she’s heard wrong. “I—what?” She’d say something defensive, like yeah right or you don’t have to make fun of me, only Nora’s eyes are so wide and so guileless they don’t leave any room for argument.

“I mean it,” Nora adds. “I know we don’t know all that much about each other, but… here’s what I do know: I can’t remember a time I saw you without Mercury right behind. Just like me’n Ren. And the way you fought for Cinder…” Nora smiles a sad, private little smile. “You don’t fight like that unless it’s personal; unless someone means something to you. Just like me’n Ren. And now you’re here. All on your own. And you didn’t have to be. That’s—don’t you think that’s crazy brave? I sure do.”

Of course she fucking doesn’t. Crazy brave would have been walking away the first, tenth, hundredth time she had a flash of panic about what she was doing. Or, better yet, doing something about it. Crazy brave is taking thirty thousand volts to get to your friends; it’s flooding your veins with pure crystalline power and saying Go, I’m doing what Gretchen would have done, it’s—

She closes that door.

“It’s not like I really had a choice,” she sighs, dodging the question.

“Oh, you know that’s not true,” Nora scoffs dismissively, tilting sideways to nudge Emerald with her shoulder.

And Emerald jolts, because—look, it’s not like no one touches her. They have to manhandle each other all the time in battle, and… and Oscar gives her high fives sometimes, which makes her embarrassingly pleased. But what Nora’s offering now, that kind of buddy-buddy casual contact…

… it’s been a while, is all.

“So, why did you want to talk to me?” Emerald asks, overwhelmed and suddenly desperate to find a way to get this conversation over with. She feels like she’s sprinted five miles; like she’s had the crap kicked out of her and she has to go somewhere to lick her wounds. Too much, too fast.

Nora laughs—a chuffing, cynical noise that doesn’t sound at all like her. “Looking for pointers? See, I’m trying this thing where I do things on my own, but I just—I suck at it. Like today; you saw. Even when I’m not with Ren, all I do is… is act exactly the same way I do when I’m with Ren. Like I literally don’t know how to exist without him, whether he’s actually there or not. And I know that’s not fair to anyone; I didn’t mean to treat you like—” She shakes her head, biting her lip. “You’re not just some stand-in. It’s not you at all. I’m just—broken, or something. One trick pony.”

“No, hey—”

“But you figured it out,” she barrels on, which is good, because Emerald doesn’t actually have a clue what she would have said there. “You don’t have anyone and somehow you’re just, like—good to go!” Nora says it cheerily, like it’s a compliment, but has the grace to balk a little when she hears how it sounds. “…sorry. That’s—sorry.”

Emerald shrugs, drawing her knees to her chest and resting her chin there. She feels like an idiot; building it up for weeks like spending time with Nora would solve all her problems when, surprise surprise, Nora’s just as fucked up as she is.

“Hate to disappoint you, but I don’t have any hot tips,” she mutters into the crooks of her elbows. “I don’t have a clue what I’m doing. Like—you want to know the really sad part? I was just following your lead.”

“My…?” Nora can’t even finish repeating it, which: Emerald can’t blame her. It’s so dumb. “Huh?”

“Come on. You know.”

“I don’t,” Nora says, voice thick with exhaustion. Like she’s sick of herself. “Ask anyone—I’m not the brains of the operation.”

Hearing Nora talk about herself that way makes Emerald’s chest feel tight; like her ribs have locked in place so her lungs can’t expand. She doesn’t know how to explain it; not without sounding like a starry-eyed fangirl or a moron with a crush and that’s not what this—it’s only that—

She chooses to start a different way.

“You wanna know why I switched sides? Like, really why?”

Nora softens, and reaches out to touch the back of Emerald’s left hand, where it dangles over her knee. “Sure,” she says, but Emerald barely hears it; it’s taking all of her concentration not to clench her fist or pull away in response.

“I overheard Oscar—or, Ozpin, I guess, I don’t know—talking to Hazel about Salem, about her goals. And… listen. No one joins under Salem because they’re trying to kill the world, okay? I mean, no one but Tyrian, anyway. We were all just trying to… find ways to get by. And when Cinder found me, she—” Emerald swallows, hard. This cuts too deep, too close. It’s not something she can just say. “I wasn’t trying to be some big villain, or something. I was just—looking out for the people who were looking out for me. And why wouldn’t I? No one else ever seemed to think I was worth it.”

“Of course you are,” Nora cuts in, quiet but vehement. “Everyone is.”

“See, the worst part is that you mean that when you say it,” Emerald grumbles, scrubbing at her face until smears of color kaleidoscope behind her closed eyes. “I figured people like you didn’t exist, and then Cinder and Merc were glad to prove me right, and—I let them. You know? And maybe if I’d just held out a little longer…”

“You’re not the only one here who’s ashamed of her past. Harriet tried to blow up Mantle, like, a month ago.”

“That’s not—forget that. I’m talking about you. Nora.” It’s the first time she’s ever said her name like that—addressing her, in conversation. It feels… astonishingly intimate, for so small a thing. Emerald powers past it. “Every day, I see you do something ridiculous, like double back on a patrol because you forgot you promised some kid a candy bar, or something, and that—matters. To me. It’s so stupid, but it’s not, because… argh! I want—it’s—” She tries to get her mouth to form the words, that’s the kind of person I want to be, but they stop in her throat.

Still, Nora seems to get the message. Her eyes seem suspiciously shiny for a moment—but when she blinks, it’s gone. “I… thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Emerald grumbles. Saying it like she means it: seriously. Don’t mention it.

“I understand what you mean, though. For years, the only person who looked out for me was Ren. And if he’d said…” Nora trails off, then, cocking her head to the side as she works through something. “Huh.”

“What?”

“Nothing, just. I remembered something. I was about to say that if Ren told me the only way for us to get by was a life of crime, or something, I would’ve taken his word for it, but—the opposite happened. We decided to enroll at Beacon. And that wasn’t his idea; it was mine. I always wanted to be a Huntress. To… to be the one strong enough to help people, instead of always needing the help. He wasn’t sure if we would make it, but I was. We were together, right? How could we lose?” She chuckles, a little, shaking her head at herself. “Get a load of that. He followed me.”

They smile at each other, then. Like they’ve figured out something profound. Maybe Nora has; Emerald hopes so.

“I’m glad you’re here, Emerald,” Nora says, and—there it is again. The frisson of electricity that comes with being referred to by name.

Of course, then Emerald ruins it by blurting out:

“Of course you are, all your other friends are dead.”

Which—“Fuck!” she sputters, because she didn’t mean to say that. What is wrong with her? “Sorry! Sorry.”

Nora only grins at her, feral and incisive. “Yeah, well. Yours are evil, so. Pick your poison. At least I’m proud of mine.”

Touché.

“Still glad I’m here?” Emerald jeers, because her first instinct is still to press on the bruise to see how much it hurts.

Nora laughs, and gets to her feet. “Believe it or not, yes. If putting your foot in your mouth was all it took to get booted from Hero Club, I’d have been kicked out a long time ago.” She reaches down to offer Emerald a hand; Emerald takes it, letting Nora pull her to standing. “Now go and get some rest, huh? None of us can ever sleep when you’re up here thinking so loud.”

“That an order?”

“Advice. Friends give it, from time to time.”

And—yeah. Maybe they do.

#typeoneninja #emerald sustrai #nora valkyrie #rwby #emerald and nora #fic what i wrote

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soranis-sunshadow · 3 years

Text

Looking back

@cruelfeline wanted a snippet between Hordak and Glimmer where they contemplated on how much of a fuckup either of them is.

I took it as a prompt and I hope this little oneshot scratches that itch.

It was always better to go to a banquet than to host it, Glimmer thought to herself while making her way down the long hallway of the reclusive palace wing. If she felt at odds or tired or just not in the mood, all she had to do was signal Bow and he’d take her home. But as a host, she WAS home, there was nowhere else to go to. Besides, since she was the esteemed host, she couldn’t leave early. It would be in poor taste.

This year, the anniversary of the end of the war was hosted in Bright Moon and she had to find a secluded place in her own home to take a breather from all the commotion before she had to return to the party and smile and nod and… try not to feel like such an imposter.

She finally found her favorite overlook, the one where she came to sulk whenever her mother gave her a stern -and justified- talking to, the best view and the music of the party down in the main hall was muted. No sooner did she lay her hands upon the balustrade that she spotted movement to the periphery of her vision. It was another person she really didn’t want to interact with due to the sheer awkwardness: Hordak. He was sitting by himself in contemplation, looking on into the distance in the last light of the day.

She and he stood meters apart on the balcony in silence for a while. He seemed to look at peace while staring off into the sunset. She tried to do the same. Her maelstrom of thoughts made it difficult.

During the war, she had never met him face to face, all she knew was what other people said of him – both her own and other hordesmen that were captured and interrogated.

Their first meeting in the flesh had been memorable… for very terrible, nightmare inducing reasons. Even now, she couldn’t look at Hordak without seeing Prime discard his errant tool then threaten to destroy her world in a dulcet voice as if it were the most trite of things. It probably had been to that monster…

Hordak hadn’t been what she – an everyone else thought he was. What made it even more jarring, and unexpected, had been his eagerness to repent and atone following the war.

Glimmer had decreed that Prime’s little brothers were not at fault for what they had been made to do for their creator, all of them, Hordak included. She couldn’t in good conscience persecute any of them whilst knowing, intimately – unlike the other monarchs- where they came from and what had been done to them.

Hordak however, decided to be difficult, because of course he did.

He insisted that even had his actions been in the hopes of serving Prime, they had been his actions, his mistakes. He owned them, and he owed Etheria. He had decided- by himself - to rebuild the things he had a hand in destroying not out of a desperate bid for forgiveness but because it was what he had been convinced that it was the right, and the just thing to do.

It made it very awkward for her to interact with him… whenever she invited Entrapta to these events, he was always her plus one. Entrapta was a sore spot for Glimmer. She had decided that the Dryll princess would be the first one to be invited whenever Glimmer hosted any event. It was the least she owed her.

She had learned that Entrapta endangered herself to save her back when she had been abducted on Prime’s ship… a few weeks before that, Glimmer had argued with Adora and Bow to leave her on Beast Island for the time being. It was a shame that stung deeply. Entrapta had been a far better friend to her than she had been to Entrapta. To make matters worse, Entrapta seemed either oblivious or not to hold it against her. It made Glimmer’s guilt even worse. At times, she wished Entrapta HAD been angry, she wished the other princess would give her a piece of her mind, at least then, she’d be able to make it up to her.

Huh!

No wonder Hordak “punished” himself with reparations and reconstructions…She couldn't stop a heavy sigh from escaping her. It wasn't an invitation to talk but he seemed to take it as one since the noise startled him out of his contemplation and he slowly turned towards her.

“Good evening, your grace.” It was always a bit comical when one of Prime’s clones bowed to her, they would have to bend over comically low to match her height. Hordak didn’t. He merely bowed his head smoothly and lowered his ears to convey submission.

“Uh, hey.” How dignified of her. She wished she had half as much grace as her mother had. “Uuuh,-“ he looked at her with that blank face that had been conditioned into him. ‘Ugh, say something Glimmer, this doesn’t have to be this awkward. Make an effort, for Entrapta’s sake at least!’. “- lovely sunset, right?”

He blinked slowly then turned back to the vista. “Indeed.”

‘C’mon! Give me SOMETHING to work with here!’ She thought to herself. “What do you think of the party?” That had been a host thing to ask, it was appropriate and neutral right?

It wasn’t... The answer came in that calm, low, dignified and slightly husky voice of his, a voice that had cracked from screaming and had never recovered. His posture betrayed his unease. Hordak further stiffened at the question.

“It is,-“ he paused considering his words carefully “quite sumptuous, your grace.” He bowed again. It was clearly at least as uncomfortable for him as it was for her.

This wasn’t helping… ‘Good job Glimmer!’ If it hadn’t been weird and both of them had enjoyed the companionable silence before, now she had made things awkward.

While considering what to say next, he saved her the effort by saying. “Your guests are enjoying themselves.” Was that a compliment? Was he trying to compliment her? She knew from former interactions with him that he had a very stiff and formal way of talking, very unlike his progenitor. Words fit poorly in his mouth. It was so curious how, despite having the same voice and the same face, almost… they sounded worlds apart. He held himself differently too, Prime had filled every space he was in, he owned every room he walked into. Hordak on the other hand seemed perpetually on eggshells. Was that why he was here by himself?

“You are my guest too.” She said to him, trying to sound warm and welcoming but it came out a bit defensive.

The unasked question hung between them in the dying light of the day.

He saved her from asking it once more. “My presence… makes some of your other guests uneasy, your grace. I did not wish to impose.”

“Impose? Nonsense!” She waved it off with a chuckle. “You and Entrapta are welcome here, I’ve expressly invited the both of you myself. There is no way you could ‘impose’ in any way!” Then it hit her… “Did anyone tell either of you that you were imposing? If they did, tell me who it was and I’ll have a chat with them.”

He huffed out a chuckle then turned towards her once more. A small, tentative smile made its way on his face. “No such thing your grace, the initiative was all mine.” The shared gaze was broken as he looked at his feet then back into the distance. “ I wished to prevent it from becoming an issue. Many of your kinsmen are weary of me, and for good reason. My actions on your world did not endear me to most of your kind.” It seems that guilt had brought them both on this overlook.

“I should name this ‘the shitty overlook!’ Hah!” She laughed. “Because everyone comes on this balcony to feel shitty.” He looked at her, one browridge raised in inquiry. “You’re here because of the whole conquest thing and I’m here because I’ a terrible friend.”

Glimmer continued. “We both did regrettable things during the war.” She too looked on into the distance, the line of bleeding orange light got thinner and thinner as night overtook it, a thin line of fiery hues reflected off the surface of the turbulent lake. Silence hung between them for a few minutes.

“You did what you thought was necessary, your grace.” Despite the curt tone, it was a reassurance. It was uncanny for Hordak of all people to be the one trying to comfort her.

“We both did. It still doesn’t make it feel right.” Both of their closets had skeletons cramped in them.

“It may not but, at the time, you saw no other way to do your duty.” He sighed deeply. “Hindsight is indeed, not a charitable beast your majesty, but it is unfair.” He clicked his claws on the balustrade. The motion was somewhat distracting. ” You know things now that you couldn’t have possibly known back then. Within the constraints of the time and the data available, you did the best that you could, the best that could be expected. You were a formidable opponent.” As sound as his logic was, it did little to assuage the anger she aimed at herself.

“And I had my friends take the fall for me because I thought it was necessary.” She sighed and hugged herself. “I was wrong, even back then but I didn’t want to admit it, I thought the ends justify the means. They don’t. They never do.”

“It’s easy to overthink the choices made when one is aware that there were other options, other paths that could have been taken.” He sounded, small and sad, his own demons haunting him.” The reality of it is that, in the moment, you may not have been aware of other possibilities and time had not been on your side. You decided to move forward down the only path you saw before you. The alternative would have been admitting defeat. Had you done so, you wouldn’t be here to second guess yourself. It was, in general, the right thing to do even if you are left with the consequences of your perceived momentary oversights. You have the privilege now, to make up for your mistakes – a privilege you wouldn’t have had should you have not done the things you did. “

“Thank you. I needed to hear that.” She hadn’t known she needed it nor would she had ever asked for it and that’s exactly why the point had hit home. “She was right, you’re a good listener.”

He chuckled again, an animate chuckle that rippled through him as he shook his head and turned back to look at the lake. She made her way closer and took in the familiar view. Neither of them said anything after that.

They watched the stars appear on the night sky, reflecting off the surface of the lake, somewhat distorted. The ripples of the lake made their twinkling even brighter. The night was peaceful.

#glimmer #hordak #entrapdak #spop fanfic

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inkingtwice · 3 years

Text

Don’t mind me, I’m just trying to sort out something because I’m stalled on this fic and I suspect this is why: Si-mok’s head is such a hard one to get into. It doesn’t help that what I like best to write is the cathartic stuff that we rarely get more than a hint of in canon, and in Stranger/SF it takes a minimum of 14 episodes to build to that for good reason. (See in transit, where I needed a very wordy 25K+ words to get there and it wasn’t even his POV, and solve for x, which I had to give up on when I realized I’d basically written a 30K dark AU of season 2 before it even came out: ugh.) Si-mok needs a sustained push toward that end.

I suspect I need to work more on pinning down his character, the biggest challenge of which is how his brain surgery impacts his experience.

Not easy. I mostly prefer to splash around in the subtextual spaces of canon, and concrete info on Si-mok’s condition is fairly sparse in the show. Which isn’t to say I haven’t formed opinions (boy do I have those, buckle up): just that I think they’re incomplete.

This was outlined in what I felt were somewhat hand-wavey terms in the beginning of season 1; my initial impression was mainly that it was a plot device to set up Si-mok's character arc and the unique nature of his and Yeo-jin’s partnership. Based on what they cover in the first few episodes, he had some kind of hypersensitivity to sound, paired (?) with an intolerance for stress, leading to violent outbursts to stop the painful stimulus—which was solved by a pretty radical-sounding surgery. Stated side effects of said surgery being either extreme mood swings or no emotion at all, and Si-mok ended up with the second option. (Except Mr. Yoon does some research and thinks maybe the emotion was just suppressed for…20 years.)

Just you wait till episode 15, bub.

It’s a fictional world, is what I’m saying: I accepted it on those terms. Mainly because Cho Seung-woo sold it so well that after a few episodes I’d happily have bought the Brooklyn Bridge from him.

Personal side note: I also accepted it because some of it was familiar. Weird Tiny Me was diagnosed young with what was first believed to be a bizarre presentation of ADD, but turned out to be an auditory processing disorder. (The TL;DR version is that my hearing is unusually sensitive and my brain doesn’t filter sounds well, or discriminate easily between similar ones.) I was kicked upward a grade around the same time, and my family didn’t want me to feel/be any more Weird, so in a hilarious-in-hindsight case of paving the road with good intentions nobody told me about any of this until I was leaving for college. By then I’d cobbled together my own coping mechanisms and decided I probably wasn’t crazy, so. Here I am: meditating a lot, bringing earbuds with me everywhere, and being an aggressively visual learner and a notoriously crap conversationalist in ambient noise.

My Weird doesn’t align with this fictional one, but I had a distinct huh moment when I put together what Tiny Si-mok was experiencing, because I never expected to see it on a screen.

Anyway.

Teen Si-mok went from very smart and isolated by his hypersensitivity to sound to crazy smart and...even more isolated by the solution to his hypersensitivity to sound, which is some pretty shit luck. (I hope at some point we get to learn more about what led to taking such a drastic step—the flashbacks and tabloid comments seem to put the focus on the social element, but if it was 50/50 that he’d end up with extreme mood swings, it seems like pain had to have been the overriding factor.)

It was made pretty clear by about E5 in S1 that he could still feel some things, but that he honestly didn’t know he was doing that, which says a lot about his post-surgery experience.

I went nosing around early on for neuroscience articles about the insular cortex out of curiosity, and tentatively concluded, in my very non-neurosciency way, that it probably has something to do with processing sensory information and connecting it to emotion. (Happy/eager to be educated, by the way, if there are any neurosciencey people who want to chime in.) So, preferences and comfort/discomfort, but also the physical experience of emotion, which is kind of a lot of the experience of emotion.

I think this is borne out in the show: by episode 6 I’d decided that it was considerably less hand-wavey than my first impression—again, mainly due to Cho Seung-woo’s glorious sell.

Si-mok has no idea he’s smiling until Han Yeo-jin points it out; he has no idea he’s angry until she draws his face. The harder he’s pushed in season 1, the more pronounced his physical reactions are and, presumably, the more observable they would be to him, even if his brain doesn’t link them to emotions the way someone else’s would. I’m also inferring, on the meager evidence of a few flashbacks and the rich evidence of Cho Seung-woo’s wonderfully subtle and clockwork-consistent acting choices, that recall applies: at some level, these sensations must surely tie back to his pre-surgery memories.

(“Being pissed off is just like riding a bike!” I imagine Yeo-jin thinking right before she thumps him on the back.)

My sense is that Si-mok started to put it together in the first third of season 1, when Yeo-jin presented him with evidence and a different perspective. Also with her unique brand of support: she doesn’t demand a specific response from him except where it regards questions of morality, and more importantly she doesn’t tend to see his behavior as lacking. As @beingjanee has put so smartly in their analyses, this gives Si-mok room to interact in ways that actually are comfortable for him instead of in ways that are comfortable (or decidedly not) for other people.

He’s no longer isolated, perhaps for the first time in decades. He has someone who shares his mission and accepts his way of interacting. He starts offering small bits of personal information. He invites her into his space. His posture begins to improve. He meets her eyes, and then other people’s eyes, more and more often. His body language changes. His perspective on right and wrong changes. The overall picture is of someone who long ago decided his inner life wasn’t really relevant (or relevantly real), but who has suddenly found a space for it. How long had it been since he’d shared anything about himself with anyone? How long since he’d thought of himself as a person instead of a job?

When Yeo-jin pulls out her notebook to draw his smile and Si-mok stops her and tells her not to give him any gifts, it was a comedic moment, but I thought it was also a pretty big indicator that he had started to consider the possibility that she was right, and needed some space to figure out what that might mean. By the end of season 1, when he was comfortable enough (and self-aware enough) to express honest regret for the way he treated Eun-soo and to consciously play straightman to Yeo-jin’s jokes, there was no doubt in my mind that Si-mok knew Yeo-jin was right.

So my tentative take is that the most significant impact of Si-mok’s surgery is that it created a blind spot, which he believed was a void until Yeo-jin held up a mirror and showed him otherwise. (They’re there, you're just not showing them, she told him, and he would surely have wondered what she was seeing that made her so certain.) The side effects of the surgery would presumably mean that his emotions are something he isn’t usually able to perceive the physical evidence of—and emotion is, overall, a pretty physical experience.

But he is, through natural ability or surgical miracle, crazy smart: given enough evidence to tie the sensation to the emotion, and someone he trusts to help his brain make the leap, Si-mok learns pretty quickly.

Season two gave us a lot more to work with.

The quiet but repeated focus on Si-mok’s experiences with things he likes—cabbage, soju, cold soda after a bitch of a headache, whatever that boxed lunch was he had with Yeo-jin at the NPA—or doesn’t like—salty things, bleach smell, makgeolli, and (memorably) cooked cow intestines—feels pretty deliberate in a show that wastes not a single line or frame. The focus on him trying to sleep in an uncomfortable space does, too. (The focus on his discomfort, period. Season 1 Si-mok might have noticed but I doubt he would have cared, any more than he cared that his udon was too salty in S1E8.) His wince at the car horn in the background when he calls Kang Won-chul. The way he shakes his hand out after cutting it trying to pound open a padlock. The tap of his fingers on the steering wheel when he's driving away and that lovely song In This Silence is playing.

All of these little details point to a new physical experience: the sensory input might have been there before, but now Si-mok finds it relevant.

On a few occasions this season he even names his inner experience: I don’t enjoy this, he says to Kang Won-chul. I don’t trust him to Park Gwang-su’s widow; and I trust her to Choi Bit. And of course that lovely moment over lunch where he thinks about what could have been for Eun-soo, and Yeo-jin gives him the word for it: sad.

And then there’s the mirror that Han Yeo-jin provides; less deliberately for a lot of this season, and without the visual aid of her drawings, but maybe it’s all the more powerful for that: it forces him to reach out for what he wants—it forces him to acknowledge and act on wanting something—when this sort of soft-tissue effort must be pretty unfamiliar to him. Yeo-jin shouts at Kim Hu-jeong when her frustration gets the better of her, and she kicks her chair back and stands to address Jeon Seung-Pyo when she’s angry: Si-mok does the same things later, with the same impetus behind them. She surprises Si-mok into laughing in episode 12 (and doesn't it figure that his idea of funny would be situational irony + deadpan delivery, just as it figures that she intuited this); in episodes 15 with Kim Hu-jeong and 16 with Kang Won-chul, he’s already using it as a form of communication.

Yeo-jin leaves her colleagues behind in the council meeting to help him get somewhere quiet when one of his headaches hits, and sticks around to feed him soda and make him feel better. Three episodes later when she learns the truth about the chief she so admires, Si-mok’s attention is only for her even though he’s in the middle of interviewing someone about a case; and when she’s caught in the crossfire between the police and the prosecution—and between Si-mok’s relentless pursuit of justice and Woo Tae-has’s ruthless pursuit of power—Si-mok steps all the way outside his comfort zone to protect her.

He picked up anger and humor and worry and care in rapid succession, much faster than he did in season 1, because in season 2 he’s operating on the understanding that he is capable of these things. By that last dinner with Yeo-jin, he seemed to have developed a pretty solid grasp on bittersweet, as well.

Which is not to say I think he’s aware of all of them, or even most of them, in the moment: he still has to be pushed to the brink before his emotions and his conscious actions start to sync up. He still lacks the natural connection between his physical experience and his emotional life. (Yeo-jin pointing out to him that his headaches only seem to happen in moments of considerable stress should make for some interesting developments in season 3.)

He also doesn’t appear to be comfortable exploring this newfound experience without the support of a friend—or perhaps he just doesn’t consider it as relevant without a mirror around to show him what he's doing. (I cheered when Mr. Kim showed up in Wonju and Si-mok's immediate response was pleased surprise and a joke; I really hope they plan to make use of that relationship.) Which is practical: it doesn’t seem like he’s had anyone on his side in a very long time, and deciding something is relevant is a far cry from taking the risk of sharing it. In any case: Si-mok is out of sync with himself most of the time, but things seem to be slowly lining up—and the harder he’s pushed, the faster it happens.

...Right, now I just need to figure out how this translates into fiction.

*sigh*

#tvn stranger #tvn secret forest #stranger 2 #secret forest 2 #hwang si mok #cho seung woo #character analysis #meta #so much meta #too much meta #this is my new form of procrastination isn't it #god i hate it when i get stuck on a fic like this #i'm just going to sit in front of write or die until something happens #this is why hemingway drank isn't it #headcanon

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sgtjbbhasmyheart · 4 years

Text

Drunk Texting Is(n’t) Bad for Your Health- Chapter One

Series Summary: Talk about your unconventional meet-cute! Bucky receives a text by mistake requesting he prove he's not Reader's sister. The easy dialogue between Reader and Bucky sparks a natural friendship, but could it lead to more? Bucky still deems himself unworthy of any form of affection or love. Reader is hellbent to prove him wrong. With the help of some (meddling) friends along the way, Bucky may get his happily-ever-after after all.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 2101

Chapter Warning: Bad Language Words, tiny bit of angst

A/N: I started this on AO3 awhile ago. Now that I have a blog dedicated primarily to just Marvel/Bucky, I thought I’d add it here, too. Enjoy!

DO NOT copy or replicate without my permission.

Bucky heard his phone buzz as he was tugging a butter-soft tee over his head. He glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand next to his bed as he worked his arms into their respective holes.

9:36

Steve was long in bed already, so the text most likely wasn’t from him. Sam was on a me me kick-- No, what did he call them? Memes!-- of a disgruntled cat which he swore reminded him of the super soldier. He wouldn’t be surprised if it were him. Or possibly Nat. She picked up the new issue of Guns & Ammo the other day and was sending him pictures of a Mossberg MC1sc 9mm she was drooling over.

Smoothing the body of the shirt over his torso, Bucky ambled over to his bed. He snatched up the phone from the navy blue comforter and flipped it over. To his amazement, the text wasn’t from Sam or Nat. Or even Steve.

(917) 460-5480 work thing boring af. kinda tied one on. might be late meeting you tomorrow

He blinked several times at the message, uncertain how to respond. It was a wrong number, right? Bucky hadn’t made plans with anyone for tomorrow that he could remember. Plus, everyone he knew had the same work thing. And it was rarely boring.

Definitely a wrong number.

He set the phone down near the clock, choosing to ignore the text. Hopefully, whoever this person was, figured out quickly they were texting the wrong number and moved on.

Bucky pulled back the covers before climbing into bed. His body melted into the mattress, muscles relaxing for the first time since breakfast. Training had been non-stop all day today. It felt good to just be, for once.

He grabbed the book he was reading off the nightstand and opened it to the spot he left off. He cleared his mind, as best he could, and concentrated on the words on the page.

A few pages in, his phone vibrated alive again. Another text message.

(917) 460-5480 sis dont be mad youd be drinking too if you had to sit thru one of these business dinners

Bucky sighed. He had hoped his radio silence would have clued this person into their mistake. Wishful thinking. Before he could punch out a reply, another text came through.

(917) 460-5480 timmons is droning on about this new client. kill me now

He quickly typed out a reply:

(917) 308-3117 I think you sent this to me by mistake.

Bucky watched the text indicator pulse as this unknown person worked out their response.

(917) 460-5480 haha very funny sis

Bucky huffed at this person’s disbelief, thumbs working on typing out his next message.

(917) 308-3117 I’m not trying to be funny. I can’t be someone’s sister when I’m a man.

He set the phone down on the nightstand again, hoping this person finally took a hint. He opened his book back up to the current page, taking a deep breath.

The room’s silence was broken again by the loud thrumming of his phone skittering across the surface of the black wood veneer.

(917) 460-5480 how does kevin feel about this so close to the wedding???

(917)460-5480 will you still need a wedding dress or will you just get a tux???

(917) 460-5480 am i still your maid of honor???

Bucky chuckled at this girl (no, young woman) asking the essential questions.

(917) 308-3117 Your sister did not get a sex change. Yes, she will still need a wedding dress. Yes, you are still her maid of honor. Like I said before, wrong number.

An almost immediate reply came through.

(917) 460-5480 prove it

Bucky grew slightly irritated at the insinuation. Why couldn’t she take his word for it? He exhaled loudly through his nose.

(917) 308-3117 How?

A few moments passed before the device juddered in the palm of his large hand.

(917) 460-5480 selfie

Bucky blanched at the request. He could feel the color drain from his face, only to immediately heat with a blush. A selfie? That is the last thing he wanted to do.

Although he’d been exonerated for his crimes as The Winter Soldier, he still knew about the dislike people felt about him as a person, in general. They couldn’t get past the brainwashing or other persona. God knows he still struggled with it.

He couldn’t go broadcasting his face through texts to a stranger. What if she was one of those who didn’t understand he had no say in what he did or what happened to him under Hydra’s control?

What if he ignored the solicitation? He could do that. Maybe even turn off his phone.

She did seem the type to be very persistent until she got what she wanted.

True to form, another text rang through.

(917) 460-5480 i will keep texting until i see your manly face

One corner of his lips quirked higher. Yup, persistent.

He navigated to the camera app on his phone and switched it to selfie mode. He stared at the damp locks falling to his shoulders. His beard would require a trim soon, but it wasn’t scraggly. Luckily, he’d had the hindsight to shave his neckbeard in the shower earlier.

Was he considering this? Some girl says jump, and he asks how high?

He combed metal fingers through his hair, blowing out a breath.

(917) 460-5480 im waiting

Bucky growled at the text, running a hand over his face. “Okay, okay. Give me a second,” he said to his phone. He held it up to head height, half an arm’s length away.

Click!

He previewed the picture, assuring himself it didn’t reveal too much. It was, somehow, off-center, containing a bearded chin and half a smirked mouth, one nostril, and a half-lidded eye.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Bucky pulled the messaging app back up and then sent off the picture. He tossed the phone aside, not wanting to watch the taunting blinking dots as he waited for a reply.

The picture was barely recognizable, but someone like Steve or Nat could tell it was him. It would be okay. No one would know.

His phone vibrated violently near him on the bed. Bucky cautiously plucked the device up, debating whether he wanted to read her reply. What if it said, “Holy shit! You’re The Winter Soldier!”? The hope of this woman thinking he was just some regular guy knotted up his stomach. He didn’t know why he cared so much about whether this stranger thought he was The Soldier or not. He had no control over who believed the lies perpetrated as truth through the media. He could only wish for the best.

He blew out the breath he was holding in and eyed the phone’s screen.

(917) 460-5480 is it fair to say men shouldnt be allowed to have long eyelashes??

Bucky laughed and immediately thought of poor Steve.

(917) 308-3117 You should see my buddy’s. The girls swoon and complain at the same time.

He quickly added to the message thread:

(917) 308-3117 Am I correct to assume you believe I’m a man and not your sister?

The response was swift.

(917) 460-5480 oh shit ur not my sister

(917) 460-5480 this isnt 9173083447?

Bucky laughed again, the tension in his chest slowly unfurling.

(917) 308-3117 Unfortunately for you-- no.

(917) 460-5480 ugh im such an idiot sorry for the shit i said

(917) 308-3117 Don’t worry about it. I had a good laugh at your expense.

(917) 460-5480 oh god now i feel like a bigger ass

Bucky suddenly felt like backpedaling. He hadn’t meant for her to feel bad about her mistake. It was cute in a roundabout way.

(917) 308-3117 Please don’t be embarrassed. It was the highlight of my night.

(917) 460-5480 me forcing u to prove ur a man was the best part of ur night??

Bucky thought for a moment. Was it the best part? The training sessions had become monotonous lately, even with the new agents. The team hadn’t been on any missions in a few weeks, so it was pretty accurate to say he was bored around the compound.

(917) 308-3117 I suppose it was. Work’s been a little slow, and there’s only so much training you can do before it becomes tedious.

(917) 460-5480 training? r u in the military? ooh, r u an athlete??

A laugh bubbled up from his chest. It was comical to see her try to guess his profession. His selfie hadn’t announced who he was to her after all.

(917) 308-3117 Something like that.

(917) 460-5480 so mysterious! r u some assassin who needs to keep his identity secret? is that y ur selfie only showed a quarter of ur face??

He paled at the implication. Maybe she did know and was yanking his chain. How did he block numbers again?

Another text came through from the mystery woman:

(917) 460-5480 not that i mind u have a luscious mouth

Bucky guffawed at the comment as flames rose beneath the skin of his cheeks. He hadn’t remembered blushing this much in such a short amount of time in decades.

(917) 308-3117 How much have you had to drink tonight, doll?

(917) 460-5480 doll?? what r u my grandpa??

He chuckled again. God, he was old enough and then some.

(917) 460-5480 enough to not want to shoot my brains out but not enough to know this dinner isnt a party

(917) 308-3117 Maybe you should get back to your dinner? I don’t want to get you into trouble.

He regretted the text the second he pressed send. Was he trying to get rid of her? No. Or was he looking out for her? This person he knew nothing about. She was more entertaining than the recurring nightmare he’d been having for the last week, that's for sure. He'd cling to this unknown to avoid slipping into that black abyss.

(917) 460-5480 aww does the military-trained assassin athlete mchottie not want to talk with me anymore?? 🙁

(917) 308-3117 No!! I’m honestly concerned you’ll be reprimanded if you pay more attention to your phone than Timmons.

The last thing Bucky needed was to feel more guilt, especially if it was at the expense of someone’s livelihood. His shoulders were already heavy enough.

(917) 460-5480 thats sweet but dont worry ur pretty little head over me timmons wouldnt last a day w/o me

(917) 460-5480 timmons may be the boss but i run that office

He simpered at her swagger. He could only imagine what kind of office she worked in because, again, a total stranger. Did he want to get to know her more, or was this a one and done thing? Would she wake up tomorrow and want to continue the conversation or blow him off for the drunken mistake her first text had been?

Bucky stared at his phone for several more minutes, pondering precisely what he was doing and what his expectations of the night were. It’s not like he was going to meet her in person, right? Was he that delusional? He was an Avenger now. He didn’t get a social life. Not that he had one before but still.

He was startled from his reverie as the phone shook in his hand.

(917) 460-5480 did i scare you away??

(917) 308-3117 No. Just thinking about tomorrow.

(917) 460-5480 shit a military-trained assassin athlete mchottie must have a lot to prepare for mentally ill let u get ur rest

He smiled at the gesture. If only she knew.

(917) 308-3117 Send me a text when you get home. I want to make sure you arrived okay.

(917) 460-5480 such a gentleman! i don’t want to wake u if ur asleep tho

(917) 308-3117 I doubt I’ll be sleeping, but it’ll help ease my mind.

(917) 460-5480 alright ill shoot a text ttfn

(917) 308-3117 ttfn?

(917) 460-5480 ta ta for now god u r a grandpa

(917) 308-3117 Yeah, yeah

Bucky’s mouth split into yet, another grin as he set his phone down once again on the nightstand. He picked up his discarded book and found his place on the page. After a few minutes of re-reading the same paragraph over and over, he slipped the bookmark into the gutter of the book. His mind was too preoccupied with the thought of some random girl in the city at a boring work dinner. He realized he hadn’t stopped smiling since they temporarily said goodbye.

Maybe there was a good chance this conversation would carry into tomorrow.

CHAPTER TWO

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky fanfiction #bucky fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic

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parkerlyn · 4 years

Note

How would the ROs react to getting trapped in a closet with the MC (like seven minutes in heaven style)?

Hahaha weeeelll (written in the crushing stage, magic trap style with the whole gang 👀)

---

The door slams behind the two of you just as you realize that the room had no depth at all. A snap of magic encases you in darkness just barely breached by a sliver of light sneaking past the door frame.

"HEY!" You call back frantically, slamming a spell to try to interrupt the runes now faintly beginning to glow against your face.

“It seems like a weak trap, hold on a second!” comes a muted call back from the others. There’s a furious pulling from the other side, and though the door rattles in its frame the magic holds it firm.

You give a sigh and turn in the tight space to look at...

The Healer:

They have to crouch within the strange trap you’ve found yourself caught in, cool blue light scattered across their skin.

“It’s never easy for us, is it?” they try to joke, while pressing a hand against the back wall, shoulders rolling back and forth to try and find the most comfortable position.

"Doesn’t seem like it," you grumble, finding some solace in the fact that you’re not stuck alone.

The Healer’s eyes are flitting around the door, colors swirling like blown glass between the cerulean and gold. The runes cast shadows over their collar in stark lines, and you realize you can trace the exact edges of them because your face is within inches of theirs.

They realize it the same time you do.

Their usual forward confidence immediately shrinks back, creating just the barest extra space between you since they have no where else to go. In vain, they begin to busy themself with trying to turn in the confined space, hands running over the rough surface that nearby digs into your back. They continue their pointless search in a desperate attempt to appear more preoccupied by the wall than you.

“Think there’s another way out?” You ask quietly, letting the facade continue for just a little longer as you turn to stare at the door.

The shrill whine of magic trying to break through the trap is the only accompanying sound you register at first, until you hear them sigh. “Doubt it,” they finally admit, shuffling in place to reposition their body.

Though your focus is ahead of you, the trace sensation of breath against your cheek drags your consciousness screaming back to the mortalis next to you. Before you can control the impulse, you turn towards its source, finding yourself staring at the Healer again.

“I’m sure they’ll get us out in no time, though,” they whisper out, their face not really concentrated on the statement.

"I hope so," you respond, cursing an unsuppressed shiver. The Healer’s breathing becomes shallower and slower, as if not wanting to mix the air between you, afraid that it may pull them forward.

It does anyway, their face magnetized toward you with their next question.

"Are you worried?" There’s a movement in the corner of your eye as their hand starts to raise, hesitating and hovering near your arm. Heat radiates from their palm, in contrast to the cool feel of their magic beginning to sweep out at their conflicted emotions.

"In general? Or right now?" You answer back, equally uninterested in the conversation and more aware of yourself leaning into their touch.

When their hand connects you feel their fingers freeze, unsure of their own function for a few brief moments, before they eventually remember, closing around your bicep and sending a lancing heat through your chest. Carefully and recklessly, the hand shifts upward to your shoulder.

But as soon as they reach it, something snaps near you, and the two of you draw away just in time for the door to open.

You see the Healer's eyes caught on yours while your ears hardly register the faded drone of someone boasting about their magic, and eventually they smile and hold out their arm to let you go from this snare, at least.

The Magesmith:

A string of curses flies from their lips as they pull on the door as well. “Can you try a little harder?!” they snap back across the barrier. You can practically envision Oisein mouthing the words with dramatic annoyance on the other side.

Taking matters into their own hands, the Magesmith fumbles in the dark with something at their metallic elbow, before sliding their fingers along the top of their forearm. You watch the color between their joints start to shift to blue, the saturation changing depending on where they trace their other hand. With a slight hint of hesitation, they hold their brass hand close to the layer of magic on the door, the blues starting to harmonize with each other.

They press their fingers forward into the runes, the symbols bending like gel caving into itself. The sight is so unexpected that it takes your eyes a moment to fully grasp the movement, unsure if the door is now melting against their hands or if you're just imagining things. Fingers steady their arm, small adjustments here and there along the gears as their eyes narrow and their teeth grind against eachother.

“Magesmith?” comes an urgent call from the other side. “TELL me you’re not-”

That's quickly interrupted, however, when a flash fills your vision and a heavy weight slams into your body. It throws you back roughly as your spine crashes against the wall, and you tumble within the small space to feel the floor greet your lower back and limbs far too quickly.

A fragile high whine ricochets around your ears and your skull while you try to take some sort of stock of the rest of your body.

And the body on top of you.

"Fucking- shit I thought I-...ugh-" comes a low whisper near your ear, warmth lazily drifting across your neck from the Magesmith's lips. Dark auburn hair waterfalls over their headband and barely brushes against your ear. You freeze underneath them as they groan and straighten their arms to lift themselves.

Head hanging forward, you see their eyes start to open, a flutter of color swarming underneath their eyelashes. They scrunch their eyes closed again, lips pressed into a thin line, before opening them to soft brown. Finally, they look up, caging you beneath their arms.

“You alright?” they ask bluntly, clearly still trying to blink the spots from their eyes.

“Yeah, yeah I think so.”

“Sorry, in hindsight I should’ve seen the trap having an escape ward, but I might have...gotten a little curious, but didn’t think about it fully, which was stupid, and-" An uncertain pause. "....what?”

They look at you with a questioning stare as you try to press yourself into the corner you’ve found yourself backed into underneath them. You give an awkward smile, look them in the face, back down at where their legs frame your hips, and then back up.

“I’m just...I can’t move because-”

Realization hits them as the magic drops and the door opens.

“I can’t believe you didn’t think that through and-”

You don't even have to look to feel the salacious grin spreading on Oisein's face.

“...Wow. I mean, if you guys wanted us to leave the door closed all you had to do was-”

The Magesmith is off you in a blur of motion, running a hand down their face with an embarrassed string of excuses. They brace themselves off the walls of the trap and storm out, pushing Oisein aside. Who, you note, looks back to you with eyebrows raised and a smirk that says ‘I’m not letting either of you live this down for at least a week.’

The Sage:

The usual calmness in their demeanor still permeates through their body, but you notice an outline of nerves as they look to you in the dim light. Their hands roll over one another as they turn and watch the runes begin to coalesce in front of you.

“Ah, our trappers are from Han, it seems.”

You turn to them in bewilderment, at least some of the edge of your situation slightly dulled. “How do you know?”

They raise a hand, with an almost unnoticeable swallow while they survey the tight space around you, their eyes eventually landing on the magic. Their finger hovers just barely overtop the symbol itself, tracing a web of lines that snake between it and the other magic glyphs.

“For people who work with enchanting, you see small signatures like this in their work. I’d wager no small amount of athasins that if you laid these lines on a map, they’d match some portion of the rivers around Han.” They give a weak smile. “The Magesmith would protest at me saying, but there are a lot of flame-like symbols and sharp mountains that appear in their glyphs if you know where to look.”

You watch them methodically course over each river, bobbing along each connection and confluence. But after a few more moments, you register the almost constant shiver that runs down their arm through their hands.

With a turn you find their face knotted in concentration and focus honed in on the light around you. Their jaw is clenched, rigid, unmoving, their shoulders locked firmly in place. You begin to open your mouth to say something, but think better, letting the breath ease from your chest as you look to where their hand starts to trace the rivers again.

Gingerly you lift your arm, a cautious hand lowering to the back of theirs and letting your fingers fall around their palm. There’s more cold, clammy, nervousness than you expect and they continue to scour the paths of the channels.

But soon the shudders subside, and they stop after one last run through the rivers, hand resting against the surface with their hand splayed against it and yours holding theirs. Shoulders unfurl and they close their eyes with a sigh, before turning to watch your face with a more relaxed smile.

They spread their fingers to let you weave between their knuckles, and delicately lift your hand. At first, you think they’ll back away from the contact, trying to find some polite way to drop and disconnect your touch. Instead, they bring your fingers softly to their lips, furrowing their brow as they hold them there.

“Thank you,” comes a murmur, right as the light shines inward when the magic seal breaks.

They do drop your hands then, but together, still connected, and they hold on tightly with a smile.

Oisein:

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” they groan out, looking around at the tight quarters. “Who makes a trap out of a tiny room? At least make it exciting, some spikes or something.”

“Sorry-" You slide your hands down the door and turned with brows raised, though you're not sure they can see it. "Are you disappointed that we’re not getting impaled?”

They pout, then grimace, screwing up their face with a frustrated swipe at their eyes. “No, that's not- no, sorry.”

Silence hangs between you as you come to terms with the situation, and you watch them roll their lips together with lavender cast downward. Though you swear you feel their gaze cascade over you in the dim light, everytime you look over, they snap their eyes away again.

Had it ever been this awkward with Oisein?

No, you answer yourself.

But things had changed recently, hadn't they?

Oisein had never watched you with a serene longing in Saor, had never desperately held you in Saor, had never lingered a second too long when helping to brush dust from your skin in Saor.

Or maybe you just hadn't noticed.

An aura of force passes through your chests as someone tries to break the trap from the other side, to no avail. Oisein tsks, squinting an eye and scratching at their heart.

"Mortalis magic," they scoff under their breath. You let a small smile creep onto your face before looking at them, finally catching their eyes. They don't look away this time, mustering the courage to hold firmly to your gaze. "The rate they're going, we might be stuck here forever, huh?"

Familiarity buzzes warmly in your lungs at the return of their more usual snark in the midst of the quiet.

"Good thing I like your company then," you respond.

"Mm, think it's better that I like yours, otherwise I might be annoying on purpose."

"Here I thought that was just a constant unconscious effort."

Oisein's brow rises, and they just shake their head with a barely hidden smirk. Another minute passes, but the lack of conversation feels more comfortable, and you let your head drift against the back wall to relax in the stillness.

"I'd be happy to be stuck with you, though." The statement pierces through the methodical taps on the door, and you roll your head along its crown to look over at the other sheevra. They've straightened their frame, eyes softening. "I mean- outside of death traps too. I'd want..." They trail off, and the unfinished sentence lures you towards them.

"Want what?" For a moment you swear you only thought the question, but Oisein's face shows that you whispered it outloud.

"I-"

"GOT IT!" Comes the dull shout before you feel the magic shatter and light pours in with a torrent. Oisein shields their face with a sharp intake of breath, and you watch it morph immediately into a mask of flippant disdain.

"Took you long enough!" They bluster, forcing their way out the door, the anxious pitch only noticeable to you.

"A 'thank you' would be great, you know, just a suggestion," someone sneers, though you don’t really register who.

You suppose you'll find out more later, peeling yourself forward with the breath you'd been holding and offering Oisein’s missing “Thank you.”

---

Thank you for the ask! ❤️

#ro asks #drabbles #drabble #the healer #the magesmith #the sage #oisein #seven minutes in heaven #sorry these are a little silly and also a little crap #okay probably the last big drabble before the next update xD

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moonlitceleste · 4 years

Text

Elevator Love (Ch. 1)

A/N: Welcome to my first multi-chaptered fic! This was supposed to be a one-shot but I kept writing and here we are. I’m not super happy with this, so I’m probably going to rewrite it eventually. Staring at my document hasn’t seemed to help so far, so I’m probably gonna take a break on this and work on requests. For now, just sit back and enjoy :D

Marinette gnawed on her lip nervously as her fingers toyed with the ladybug keychain on her white crossbody purse.

Her eyes were glued to the towering Wayne Enterprises building before her. The big “W” atop it seemed to stare her down, issuing a silent challenge for her to walk past its doors.

“You got this, Marinette!”

The heroine smiled weakly at Tikki’s assurance—although she did appreciate the sentiment, Marinette wasn’t quite sure she could agree.

She was not prepared to meet Tim whatsoever.

Sure, they had been friends for nearly two years—but regardless, Marinette couldn’t help but stress.

It had all started when Tim decided to commission MDC for a few pieces, offering a large sum of money in exchange for her efforts. Despite being doubtful of whether or not he was truly who he claimed to be, Marinette accepted the request.

Soon enough, back-and-forth emails progressed to casual texting, which led to an eventual friendship. The two seemed to click naturally, which was evident in their smoothly-flowing conversations.

Tim knew everything there was to know about her (barring her identity, of course), yet they had never met in person.

He was the co-CEO of a multi-billion dollar company and she was a prominent designer that moonlighted as a superhero—finding time to video chat one another was hard enough.

But now that Marinette had finished université, she had nothing tying her down to Paris. 19 was a young age to be done with school, but her life wasn’t exactly normal.

That’s why a few weeks before graduation, Marinette decided to email Bruce Wayne.

It was a spur-of-the-moment decision; Tim had made an offhand remark about how he wished he could be there for her graduation, and the cogs in Marinette’s brain began to turn. Maybe he couldn’t come to Paris, but she could go to Gotham.

Once her mind was made up, it was only a matter of planning.

It was surprisingly easy to get ahold of Tim’s father; from then on, everything else fell into place.

Perhaps attempting to surprise someone as smart as him went against her better judgement, but it was too late to turn back now.

Marinette’s phone pinged, and she scrambled to press her thumb to its home button. Speak of the devil.

Mr. Wayne

It’s ready.

Tell your name to the receptionist at the front desk, and she’ll give you a lanyard with a pass into Tim’s office as well as a set of directions.

I apologize again for not being there to guide you; unfortunately, I have other matters to attend to.

Marinette tucked the gift box she was holding under one arm, freeing her hands to type out a response.

Marinette

Thank you so much for your generosity, M. Wayne!

I really appreciate all your help in planning this, and for allowing me to surprise Tim in the first place.

Despite your busy schedule you’ve gone through so much trouble to help me. I really can’t thank you enough!

Once she pressed send on her last message, Marinette inhaled deeply.

Her hands moved to smooth down the soft fabric of her blush pink dress.

It was an admittedly simple ensemble, but the billowy sleeves and fluttery skirt gave it a delicate flair. Her white strappy sandals, circle purse, and wavy half-up braided hairstyle tied it all together nicely.

Marinette checked herself over one last time to make sure she wasn’t forgetting anything. She tucked her phone into her purse, grabbed the box containing Tim’s gift, and turned to look at the imposing building with a burst of newfound confidence.

Here we go.

“To the right…” Marinette muttered. “Or was it to the left?”

The designer scrunched her nose in confusion, turning around in a circle to better survey the building.

She had already obtained the lanyard and directions, but decided to make a last-minute detour to the bathroom. It shouldn’t have been a problem since Marinette was a few minutes early, but now she was lost. Sure, the place had a fairly open floor plan, but it was enormous! She couldn’t be expected to navigate this.

In hindsight, maybe deciding to deviate from her original schedule had been a mistake.

Marinette sighed and started walking. She didn’t want to disturb anyone, so wandering aimlessly was her only other option.

Well, it wasn’t her only option—she could easily use her Ladybug magic to give herself a push in the right direction, but Tikki would disapprove. Oh, and it was wrong to use her powers for selfish gain. Marinette totally remembered that.

Turns out she didn’t even need to use her Ladybug powers, though; it only took a few minutes of searching for her to stumble across what she was looking for.

About 10 meters away was a set of elevators lined up against the wall. A glowing “up” arrow was visible on the panel beside a pair of open steel doors.

Marinette’s eyes widened at the sight of the open elevator. She promptly broke into a jog, careful to keep her speed somewhat appropriate for the environment. The doors started to close, and Marinette’s heart raced faster. There was a shadowed figure inside, but due to the angle they likely couldn’t see her.

“Wait!” she called as loudly as she dared.

It was almost funny how similar the experience was to her lycée days.

Marinette pushed the thought to the back of her mind—she would rather not taint her day with memories of that dumpster fire.

She turned her attention back to the elevator, whose doors had retreated. Thankfully, the person inside heard her. Marinette slowed her pace as she covered the last few meters, but was mindful to not walk obnoxiously so.

As she approached her destination, it became increasingly apparent that whoever was inside was remarkably tall.

Ugh, she could practically hear Tim’s jest in her head—are you sure it’s not just because you’re short? He loved to poke fun at her height with short jokes, even though he was only 8 cm taller than her.

Anyways, despite her petite stature, Marinette was sure the person inside would be considered tall by any standards.

She prepared a friendly smile, a “thanks” on the tip of her tongue when they finally came into view.

The first thing she saw was a pair of worn black men’s work boots on what was an admittedly toned body.

Marinette didn’t let her eyes linger on the muscles there, rather opting to trace her gaze from the man’s body up to their face. And wow, was that a gorgeous face.

She wasn’t the type to fall for someone based on appearance alone, but Marinette would be crazy to think this wasn’t the most attractive person she’d ever seen.

He had messy black hair with a pure white streak in the front, tousled to perfection in a way that would make a supermodel jealous. His brilliant green eyes were pools of emerald, richer than any shade she had seen before. Marinette would gladly drown in them.

Speaking of his eyes, he was looking at her with his captivating gaze and mesmerizing face...

Marinette would forever deny swooning at the sight. She would never swoon.

(She totally did.)

Say something! she scolded.

“Uh, than-thank you.”

Oh no. It was the stutter.

Not just a stutter, but the stutter. The one that only appeared when she was nervous and/or talking to hot guys.

Marinette had long outgrown it—or at least, she thought she had—but apparently now it was back with a vengeance.

Her face heated up, and she moved forward to press the button to her designated floor before taking her place some distance away from the man. She turned her head away in embarrassment, hair shielding her face so he couldn’t see her flushed cheeks.

If she had been looking up, perhaps Marinette would have been prepared for the flood of incoming mass. But she was too busy cursing herself to notice the group of people entering until she felt a nudge on her right side.

Marinette squeaked at the stack of boxes that was suddenly in front of her face and looked up to see a small group of workers entering the elevator, pushing a large platform truck stacked with packages. She shuffled on instinct to make more room.

The cart seemed way too big to fit, especially with the capacity of the elevator. Someone would have to contort themselves, or at the very least they’d be squished up against one another uncomfortably.

Marinette watched as they pushed the platform truck in all the way. It left the tiniest bit of wiggle room, just enough space for someone to squeeze past.

The designer found herself slowly edging towards her left each time another person wiggled their way past the load.

The elevator wasn’t too crowded, and the process went relatively smoothly—that is, until the last worker attempted to get inside.

He had a build somewhat similar to her Papa: tall and large, so his struggle was understandable. It took a minute of grunts and loud sighs, but he managed to slip past the obstruction and into the elevator.

His large frame, however, meant less space for everyone, and Marinette felt the sudden impact of being shoved.

She couldn’t help the soft yelp that fell out of her mouth as her feet stumbled, and before she knew it her left side was firmly pressed up against someone.

Oh god. It was Hot Guy. Of course it was him.

She pressed her lips together in mortification, arms squeezing Tim’s gift to her chest even tighter.

“Sorry.”

Marinette nearly jumped as the husky voice spoke quietly next to her ear. Her head whipped towards the direction it came from, which wasn’t exactly hard to place. There was only one person on her left side.

She turned her head to face the man with the white streak. She had to crane her neck awkwardly in order to properly see him, which really put into perspective their height difference.

His green eyes were sincere, and Marinette could see the apology in them.

The lack of space wasn’t his fault whatsoever, but it was nice to see someone care about her boundaries.

“U-um, it’s okay.”

Marinette smiled at him shyly, then diverted her eyes away. Her brief burst of courage could only take her so far.

Before she knew it, the ride was over. The elevator stopped with a ding, and coincidentally enough, everyone was headed to the same floor.

Marinette fished out the set of directions Mr. Wayne had written from her purse, skimming over them once more. Her stomach filled with butterflies at the thought of finally meeting her best friend.

She barely noticed the workers pushing out the platform truck or Hot Guy walking away, the outside world long forgotten.

Marinette’s body went on autopilot, following the instructions on the paper until she found herself stopped in front of a sleek door. She didn’t know what it was made of, but she was glad it wasn’t glass like many other things in Wayne Enterprises. That would make her surprise a lot harder to pull off.

Above the key card security system on the left was a name plate, nearly identical to others she had passed on her way here. The name Tim Drake was written in elegant silver cursive letters, the metal gleaming as if it were brand new.

Marinette’s chest tightened in anticipation as she pulled out the lanyard Mr. Wayne had given her. She took a deep breath before knocking twice.

There was a short pause before a familiar voice responded.

“Who is it?”

She scanned her card and opened the door.

“Marinette?!”

A/N: For reference, Marinette is 5’3” (160 cm) and Jason is 6’4” (193 cm), so there's a 13" (33 cm) difference. I tried to use French terms and measurements so it'd feel more like Marinette's perspective.

And yea, I'm not super proud of this so I'm probably gonna rewrite it in the future. I have a bunch of other WIPs to work on though, so sorry in advance for my wacky updating schedule!

PERMANENT TAGLIST @avengerthewarrior @enternalempires @freesportspalacesalad @h1sss @nathleigh

#maribat #celestewrites #timari #platonic timari #jasonette #cel's fics

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bangtae-sohotddaeng · 4 years

Text

we’ll be counting stars | k.th. | 3

(^ gif cred: ON THE VOYAGE | pinterest)

pairing: idol!Taehyung x publisher!Reader

rating: nc-17 (for language and themes)

summary: You’d sworn off love and relationships forever. You were here to do your job - work with the biggest boyband of the world. Not forge friendships and...and whatever it was that you and Taehyung were building up with these sneaky glances. It was, to be very fair, your Chief Editor’s fault that you’d landed in this mess. Maybe you should quit your job? Maybe you should quit life -

Oh, he was staring again, and did he freaking lick his lips?

warnings: swearing (reader’s got a potty mouth) + this is set like 5 years in the future + reader has emotional issues, she's a relationship phobe + mentions of weed

genre: so much ANGST ugh + fluff + comedy + some crack

words: 5 k

note: hey, y'all. so last month i went on a new year's trip to my boyfriend's city (yes, covid has forced us into an ldr, fml) and got too occupied in all the celebrations and reunions, and this got delayed. also, you might have noticed how the chapters progressively grow wordier, lmao i'd been confused. but i think i've found the perfectly comfortable number now. expect this length from now on. thank you for reading~💜

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series masterlist

gimme feedback, much much appreciated!

You were, to be very honest, a complete mess at this point.

You hadn’t been quite certain as to what to expect when you’d picked Jungkook’s name out of the bowl in your office, but you could say with certainty that it hadn’t been even close to this.

This boy was brimming with ideas! You hadn’t been able to get a single sentence in the midst of his own enthusiastic chatter, with words and ideas folding and layering all over each other. All you had done was nod, mumble words of agreement and appreciation—that you were pretty sure he didn’t even hear—and type it all. Freaking typing. So much typing.

So basically, the entirety of yesterday spent fussing over the repertoires to ensure that the list of tasks for the first set of three weeks were well-constructed had led to this—not being able to so much as tell him about the questions your team had so meticulously framed! You felt irked, amused, exasperated, exhausted, and at the same time, really fucking lost.

How were you supposed to interrupt him without disrespecting him? You didn’t have a great amount of tact and usually just cut to the chase. Which was generally an appreciated quality in your profession, because no writer wanted to be just lathered with compliments to later find out his work was actually bullshit that no one wanted to read. But this situation was different. You felt pressured, nervous and out of your element. Because you really had no idea how to respectfully stop this guy from making a mess of all your hard work.

He was Jeon freaking Jungkook of BTS, for God’s sake!

How could you shut him up?

You were both in Jungkook’s personal studio in the BTS dorm. The boy was seated on a couch across the coffee table from your own, literally swimming in a trillion size bigger t-shirt and some loose sweatpants. His hair floof-ed all over the place as he spoke, bubbling and bursting with enthusiasm. Which he was doing a lot of. Speaking, that is.

For the better part of two hours now, you’d been listening to him go on and on about what all he wanted to include in the book. Your fingers were nearly cramping with all the typing, but you’d promised the guys no recorders and you didn’t wanna miss anything he said. But it was freaking difficult with the speed he was going at!

And also with the mess and reluctance in your own head. You were used to pulling the reins with writers. This situation was making you feel incompetent.

You hadn’t even touched your list, yet. What would your teammates think of you if their very team leader failed to finish with the assigned data collection and messed up the team’s hard work? Ugh!

Currently, Jungkook was having you make a list of all the people he needed to talk about in the book.

“And there was this boy my age, Ji-Hyun, he was so much better than me at everything! It is him, truly, that I credit my overachieving traits to. I had to work so, so hard—oh! Please also note down Mun-Hee’s name! She was the best dancer in my entire school. So… wait, where was I?” He looked up at you with wide big, round eyes.

You opened your mouth to speak—was this when you asked him to shut up? It had to be, right, because this was the first time he’d actually prompted you to speak.

You meant to take your shot, but then stopped. You blinked. Looked back at your laptop. Blinked again.

You were so confused, right now. “Uh, Ji-Hyun was better than you—”

“Oh yes!” Jungkook exclaimed, launching off into a detailed story about how and in what respects, exactly, this guy was better than Jungkook.

You shut your eyes. This had gone beyond “taking notes” and was quickly turning into Jungkook enthusiastically reminiscing his childhood and freaking telling you tales about it. And he seemed to be enjoying himself so thoroughly, looking so adorable, that it felt very wrong to ask him to stop even when you tried to avoid the added pressure of him being a whole ass idol.

But you had actual work to do. And you were leading a team. You couldn’t act so unprofessionally.

In hindsight, maybe you shouldn’t have told the boys that this was going to be like “making friends.” Jungkook seemed to have taken it too literally.

Biting down on your lip, you cleared your throat. He didn’t acknowledge it. Sighing, you shut your laptop. “Jungkook?”

This time, he stopped mid-word, looking at you with his lips rounded in a pout, sparkling eyes turning into saucers.

Now, you were in no way attracted to the guy, but you really could not deny how freaking cute he looked in the moment.

“All okay?” he asked, looking at you and then the shut laptop on your lap.

You took a deep breath, winced a little, and then shook your head. “No, Jungkook. We need to pause…” You had to stop speaking when his face crumpled. “Whoa…um?”

Jungkook slumped in his place, shoulders sinking. “I’ve been giving horrible ideas, haven’t I?”

Your eyes widened. “What? No! Absolutely not! That isn’t the case, I was…”

He wiped his face with both his hands before looking at you with really sad eyes, all enthusiasm from some time ago washed away. “Then what? You can tell me, it’s okay.”

Now. You prided yourself to be a practical human being who strived to be as straightforward in her life as possible. But right now, you really could not stop yourself from lying your way out of this one. You decided to blame it on the fear of upsetting a client, and not the impossible-to-control empathy that Jungkook’s doe eyes seemed to naturally draw out of people.

“I just need a coffee. It’s been a while, my hands need a break. And my brain’s kinda overwhelmed, too,” you expertly lied, relaxing when Jungkook’s eyebrows lifted.

“We’ve been sitting here for long, haven’t we?” he said in an almost guilty tone before standing up. “And I didn’t even show you around the dorm!”

You tried to tell him how it was really not necessary, not to mention a bit too personal and…not what you were here for? But he was already moving towards the door and beckoning you along.

“Come on, let’s drop by the kitchen and then we’ll take a walk around the property!” he enthusiastically announced.

You stood up and followed him out of the room, awkwardly trying to ignore the two bodyguards that had stood as still as mannequins while you were in the room and then started to follow Jungkook wordlessly as you left.

The walk to the kitchen was a short one, and the place was, unsurprisingly, not empty.

Your team members along with their partnered BTS members had been assigned one particular space in the dorm, each. According to the email you received last evening, the kitchen was supposed to be used by Simon and—

“Taehyungie-hyung! Are those chicken burgers?” Jungkook excitedly rounded the kitchen island to peek into the paper bag Taehyung was fiddling with. “They smell so good…”

You looked from Jungkook’s face that was awash with childlike excitement to Taehyung’s, and your breath caught when you found his eyes already trained on you. While you struggled to formulate a coherent thought at the intensity his eyes seemed to be emanating, yet again, his lips slipped into an easy smile.

“Hello!” he greeted you cheerily, bowing his head.

You, dazedly, bowed back and dragged your feet up to the island, standing across from the two guys. “Hey,” you mumbled in English.

His smile widened further to show his teeth. “Food?” he asked you in English, nodding at the burger Jungkook was pulling out of the bag.

You shook your head. “No, coffee,” you responded in Korean, earning raised eyebrows from him.

“I hate coffee.”

You smiled, this time. “You’re missing out.”

“Can I call you by your name?” he asked out of the blue, and you did a double take.

“Uh…yes?” you stammered. “Yes, of course Taehyung-ssi.”

“You should call me Tae.”

You swallowed, continually nodding your head like a damn puppet. “Yes. Tae. Sure.”

“I’m bac—boss?”

You twisted on your heels at the familiar squeak. “Simon, hi,” you mumbled, professionalism slipping over you in the blink of an eye at having a member of your team in your vicinity. “Where did you wander off to?”

Simon seemed to be sweating a bit, and you really couldn’t really tell why. You’d just asked a simple question.

Maybe you’d become too scary…

“Just the loo,” Simon responded with a forced giggle.

You nodded, giving him a long look and observing how his smile grew progressively weirder. Then you turned back to the island. And nearly choked.

Taehyung’s fringe hung over his eyes, making his eyes look that much more hooded. His lips were twisted up as he watched you.

Oh, dear God, did this guy have a crush on you or something? But how? Why?

He was a bonafide Greek God, and you were…well. Not.

And needless to say, he was literally not allowed to have a crush on you. Or anybody else, for that matter. It was against BigHit’s policies. According to what you’d read, the boys were to wait out one more year, as of now, before indulging in any sort of romance.

You were, by contract, also bound to not encourage any such advancements. Not that smiling at you could be considered one, to be honest. He could very well be trying to make friends, and you could be reading too much into it.

You decided to stop thinking so much.

“You want to eat something?” Jungkook asked as he handed you a cup of brew.

You smiled and shook your head. “I don’t eat at work. None of us do.” You eyed Simon and he nodded with his gaze wide. “Disturbs the momentum.”

“Hey, you shouldn’t consider this strictly work,” Taehyung spoke up in that deep ass voice of his, startling you. “We’re also making friends, here. This is also not your office, but our home.”

And then he grinned at you with all of his teeth. You felt your cheeks heating up.

This was not going according to plan.

You were panicking.

Flashing Taehyung a close-lipped smile, you stepped away from the counter. “Um, Jungkook?” you mumbled. “D’you guys have a pool in the house?”

Jungkook looked surprised but as enthusiastic as ever. He nodded, his hair bouncing all over. “Come on!”

Throughout your walk around the house, you had tried to slip in ideas from your first three week’s layout to Jungkook that would fascinate him enough to make him at least want to hear them out. And, you’d proudly like to claim, it had worked.

Jungkook had heard your plans and had even asked you to pull the list up on your laptop to have a look at it. And henceforth, you’d made tremendous progress.

And now, at nearly nine o’clock of the night, you and your team were taking your leave for the day.

You had exchanged brief words with all the members to see how they found their partners. Currently, you were conversing with Yoongi.

“ARMYs know a lot about all of that,” the guy said, referring to his life before BTS. “But there’s still a lot that they don’t. I talked to Nathan about all of it, we made notes. I’m really excited about the book.”

You gave him a professional grin. “I couldn’t be happier! Nathan’s got a really innovative mind. I’m sure he’ll make this a good experience for you.”

Nodding, Yoongi wished you a good night and bowed. You bowed back, moving away from the building and towards the vans waiting to drive you back to your hotel.

Jimin flashed you a wide grin as you got into the car. “Have a good night,” he wished you, shutting the door like a gentleman. Then he peeked and waved at Areum, your team member assigned to him. “See you tomorrow, Areum-ssi!”

Namjoon followed suit with a hand forwarded through the window for you to shake. “How did today go for you?” he asked you in English, causing Hoseok to elbow Jungkook, probably asking the younger to eavesdrop. Jungkook’s eyes met yours, though, and the two of you shared a covert giggle. “Did we meet your expectations?”

You smiled, formally. “It was… a good introduction of sorts, I’d say. Highly informative. Moderately productive. And we didn’t have any expectations, per se, but my team really loved you guys. We’re super excited to be working with you.”

You looked around yourself, prompting the three team members seated with you to nod in agreement. “Likewise!” Namjoon nodded at you, his smile turning his eyes to crescent moons.

“Thank you. How was your experience with Sana?” you asked him, nudging the girl sitting next to you.

Namjoon grinned with his teeth. “Amazing! She’s really compassionate and driven. Today’s session was interesting and felt comfortable. I’m eagerly looking forward to more.”

You secretly exhaled in relief. Sana had been the one person on your team that you’d been the most worried about. It was good to learn that she’d managed to impress Namjoon despite her initial nerves.

Next to you, she gave a short, very professional chuckle, and leant by you to nod at Namjoon. “Thank you, Namjoon-ssi.”

“Have a safe journey and a good night,” Namjoon wished you before peeking into the car. “Bye, Sana! See you tomorrow!”

You waved at the boys and their manager as your van started to move. You looked behind to check that the other one, carrying the remaining three members of your team, was following closely behind.

“What a day!” Simon exclaimed from his seat opposite you.

“You can say that again,” you mumbled, massaging your temples. “And what was up with you? You looked really wound up when I saw you in the kitchen.”

Simon took his glasses off and rested his head against the back of the van’s seat. “Let’s just wait it out, boss. I’ll tell you later if I absolutely have to. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

You frowned, but let him be.

Today was just the first day. If you stuck to your schedule, you would have a hundred and twenty five more of these before this project was done.

You could do it.

Right?

You, as it turned out by the end of the first week, could do it. The same couldn’t be said about Simon, though.

On Saturday night, barely an hour after you’d all retired to your rooms after dinner, Simon sent an SOS to the group chat. The six of you were in his room within a minute.

“You look physically okay,” Nathan, the only other guy on the team, mumbled as he squinted at the bespectacled nervous wreck. “What’s up?”

“I can’t do this anymore!” Simon blurted out.

All eyes immediately landed on you.

You did a double take. “Come again? You can’t do what anymore?”

He sighed, shrinking into himself as Riya, another member of your team, sleepily sat on one corner of his bed. “You can’t quit the project, Si,” she mumbled, patting his shoulder. “You signed a contract.”

Simon’s wide eyes met yours. You raised your eyebrows.

“Then—then I need a different partner.”

Sana clicked her tongue. “No can do. We’ve all worked on our homeworks. No one’s gonna sacrifice theirs for you.”

You agreed, so you stayed quiet when Simon looked at you in hopes of a counter.

“I can’t go into another week, please! It’s…” Simon trailed off with a helpless expression on his face.

You sighed. “Everyone, out.”

Your team trickled out of the room, tossing curious glances and hushed whispers your way.

“What is it?” you questioned Simon when it was just the two of you.

“He’s too intense. I have a huge crush on him.”

Your jaw fell open. “Dude… I… what? You have a fiance!”

He exhaled. “Yeah, he cheated on me.”

You drew a sharp breath, shocked. “Oh. Oh, my God, what? What the hell’s been going on with you, I’m so sorry, Simon. Are you…okay? When did you find out?”

“I’d been suspicious for a whole week, hoping it’d turn out to be a lie.” He sighed. “Guess not. But, don’t worry.” He waved a dismissive hand. “I’ll deal with it, no big deal. It’s happened before. I’ve done it before, too, that’s not the issue. The problem is that, right now, this is all making me wanna kiss Taheyung. What the fuck do I do, boss?”

You sympathised with the guy and felt responsible, in a way. After all, you’d been the one that forced him to propose to his boyfriend so that you could bring him with you on this project. If only you knew what kind of a toxic pair these two were! Goddammit.

But, this guy was really telling you he couldn’t focus on work properly because he wanted to kiss Taehyung? For real?

What a guy.

“Get a fucking grip, Simon, what else?” you exclaimed, throwing your arms up.

“No, I can’t. Don’t you think I have tried, already? Please take me off this project before I fuck things up for all of us and the company.” He shut his eyes, rubbing his face with both his palms. “And I’ve also, technically, broken the contract, so… Ask Boss to send someone else in.”

Was this happening for real? You were caught between wanting to smash the glass vase kept next to you over Simon’s head, and hurling yourself over the balcony.

You inhaled deeply, then exhaled. You could, realistically, do neither of the above. So you thought clinically and professionally, and made the sound decision to burden your boss with this mess instead of trying to sweep it under the rug by yourself.

“Fine.” You cleared your throat. “Take a break tomorrow. I’ll have a word with Manager Woo, he’ll talk to Taehyung. Tomorrow’s a Sunday, so I’ll be calling Boss for the first weekly check-in. I’ll ask her if something can be done to replace you on the team.”

Simon nodded with a grimace, which may have been his attempt at trying to smile.

You retired to your room on heavy feet. How could things go south in a week? You had barely begun and a buckload of bullshit was on you already.

Exhaling, you opened your laptop to leave a mail for Manager Woo. Quoting a personal emergency, you drafted an apologetic letter stating Simon’s absence tomorrow and asked the man to forward your apologies to Taehyung as well. At the same time, you were also mentally seasoning yourself for a possible confrontation with Taehyung when you went in tomorrow.

You’d just put your laptop away when your phone rang. Frowning, you lifted it up, only to silent the ring with a groan.

Ever since you landed in Seoul, your best-friend cum roommate back at home had taken to giving you a call every single night. Even when you didn’t pick up. Ever.

Every morning you would text him an apology, and every night he would call again. It’d been a week to this pattern, now.

Why was he doing this? You’d made it abundantly clear that you weren’t going to get roped into any kind of affair with him—emotional or physical. What did he want, now?

For a second, you wondered if he was maybe only just concerned about your well-being in a foreign country? But then you dismissed it, immediately. Why would he? What had you ever done to deserve his—or anyone’s, really—concern? You were a bitch to the majority of people in your life, without trying and even meaning to. Why would anyone give a fuck about you without ulterior motives, right?

Lying back on your pillows, you looked at the ceiling.

You’d been absolutely horrible at treating people with compassion and care for the majority of your life. You were always labelled either too prudish, too selfish, too career-oriented, or plainly, too narcissistic by people around you.

And, strangely enough, it never bothered you.

But that didn’t mean you had not cared about anyone, ever. You had. Too much too, once upon a time. But what had that left you with? Expectations and hurt.

So then, wasn’t it better to not care at all, and not expect at all? You never got hurt, this way.

Sighing, you rolled over to your side, tugging the covers up to your chin. Lifting up your phone from the nightstand, you turned it to silent.

An unread message was displayed on the locked screen:

Looks like you went to bed early again, lol. Hope you’re safe, warm and relaxed. Have a good day at work tomorrow xo

You sighed, yet again. You did not need anyone’s hugs and kisses for your day to be good. Why couldn’t people take a hint?

Shutting your eyes, you tried to get some sleep.

You were absolutely not surprised when, barely an hour into a fierce discussion about his school life, you and Jungkook were disturbed by a knock on the door. But Jungkook was, and jumped at the loud rapping, his wide eyes flashing to the door.

Your back being to the doorway, you looked at the boy expectantly to inform you of the intruder. Not that you didn’t already know.

Jungkook didn’t say anything, though, and simply kept looking behind you with raised eyebrows and rounded eyes. You sat very tightly wound up, contemplating whether to peek around the sofa’s high back or to stand up, when a deep, heavy voice enunciated your name.

You stood up, slowly, pulling on a professional frown of very minute concern on your face. You willed yourself to act surprised when your eyes met a timid looking Taehyung’s. And, you actually slightly were, too. Why did he seem so shifty and nervous?

“Hello, Tae,” you wished, formally bowing to greet him.

He bowed back, licking his lips as he stood back straight up. “May I please borrow you for a few minutes?”

You twisted on your heels to look at Jungkook. It took him a few seconds to focus on your stare and recognise the question. “Oh! Sure! Of course! I’ll be here, I’ll wait.”

Nodding in gratitude, you stepped out of the studio to join Taehyung in the lounge area attached to the kitchen.

“I know what you would ask—”

“Have I not been cooperating well with Simon?” Taehyung cut you off with a question you were not expecting.

You frowned. “What makes you say that? He had a personal emergency today, Tae, that’s all! I’m sure he must be having a great time working with you.”

Taehyung sighed. “You think, or you know?”

How were you supposed to answer that? You bit your lip, trying to read Taehyung’s eyes, but the collar-bones peeking above the wide neckline of his oversized, brown t-shirt kept distracting you. On some level, you could understand what Simon must have been facing. But! You were all supposed to be professional adults and quell any unprofessional thoughts and not foster them!

You turned your face to your feet, not missing the wide-legged, knee-length shorts Taehyung wore. You mentally cursed yourself.

His sigh floated over to you. “I hope it isn’t something I did. I know I can seem a bit overwhelming sometimes and uninterested at other times, but… I am excited for this project and I really want to give it my best, too.” His eyes looked pained when you met them again. You softened. “Please tell me the truth.”

You drew in a breath. “It’s just as I told you, Tae. Simon has to sort some issues out in his personal life. And what makes you think you’re too overwhelming or uninterested? Did Simon say something?”

“No, no!” Taehyung immediately shook his head. “I just…speak from previous experiences. I don’t collaborate with people that well. I tire them out. And Simon… I don’t think we like each other’s approach very much. I feel like he doesn’t really agree with my ideas, just goes along out of courtesy.”

Your lips turned downwards. “I’m sure it’s none of that, Tae. Absolutely positive. And if worse comes to worst and the two of you actually aren’t able to work together, we will arrange for a switch-up so that you’re able to work comfortably.”

Taehyung seemed to perk up at that. “Switch-up? Will you work with me?”

You narrowed your eyes. He seemed a bit too keen about wanting to work with you, didn’t he? You could very clearly recall your first meeting and how he’d seemed to wane when you told him you were paired up with Jungkook.

Curious.

“We’ll see how it unfolds. But as of now, I am partnered up with Jungkook and you’re fretting over nothing. Simon will be back tomorrow, and things will get back on track. I promise.”

You hoped.

Taehyung nodded, excusing himself to visit the kitchen and you took your leave and came back to an eagerly waiting Jungkook.

He stood up the moment you entered the room. “Is everything okay? Hyung looked sad.”

You honestly had zero idea as to what to tell Jungkook. Pursing your lips, you slowly nodded in contemplation as you made your way to your seat. “He’s not working well with Simon,” you honestly told him.

“Oh.” Jungkook’s lips rounded, forming an adorable pout. “Taehyung hyung has a very artistic soul,” he said, taking you by surprise. You leant forward to listen in with interest. “He tends to get awkward and insecure about his ideas and conceptualizations. They’re usually off-beat and hard to work with, but they’re amazingly creative if you look at them like an artist. Not everybody has the right vision for those things, though. Maybe that is why Simon is…” Jungkook trailed off with a shrug.

You bit your lip in consideration. Taehyung’s words echoed in your head.

‘I don’t think we like each other’s approach very much.’

Maybe they really were mismatched, outside of Simon’s immature, unprofessional, god-awful behaviour, too.

“Hey, could we add him to our group?” Jungkook suddenly asked, confusing you.

“Huh?” you very eloquently responded.

He gave a small giggle. “Hyung. Could he work with us? We have been pretty efficient, and you certainly seem to have an artistic vision.”

You smiled. “Thank you, Jungkook, that’s really flattering. But also, no, I don’t think we can do that. The contract we’ve all drawn has a couple of strict clauses and one-on-one sessions is one of them.”

Frowning, Jungkook nodded in acceptance.

The two of you resumed your discussions from before, but the vigour and drive was now lessened to a great extent. You, especially, couldn’t stop worrying. You were the leader of the team, after all.

Sunday night brought in the awaited conference call with your boss.

Looking at her excited, smiling face on your computer screen, you couldn’t help but dread the news you were about to break to her.

“So. How is it going?” Your boss rubbed her hands together, wiggling her eyebrows. “How is Sana doing? You were quite wound up about her, if I remember correctly.”

“You do remember correctly. There’s good news and bad news,” you responded with a grimace. “Which one first?”

Your boss pursed her lips. “Don’t wanna immediately spoil my mood, so, the good one please.”

“Sana has been doing fantastic. She’s been nothing short of professional, and according to what I’ve seen and heard, Namjoon is really pleased with her,” you relayed, smiling when your boss sighed in relief.

“Okay, so that’s out of the way. What’s wrong?”

You sighed. Better rip the band-aid straight off. “Simon has a huge crush on Taehyung and feels like he broke the contract. He wants to leave.”

You watched quietly as your boss choked on an inhale, coughed, had some water, and sat back down to blink at you with a blank face. “These words must not leave your room. Or Simon’s. None of the BigHit staff must catch a wind of it.”

You groaned. “Please don’t ask me to work through this, boss, please—”

“Work through it, Y/N!” your boss cruelly cut you off. “This is such a tiny, little, manageable thing! Resolve it.”

You gawked. “You literally just choked—how is this little, boss?”

“Counsel Simon. Ask him to push through. Threaten his employment with us, if necessary.”

It was your turn to blink at her, owlishly. “And? That’s it?”

Your boss shrugged. “And if it doesn’t work out, swap him with someone else on your team.”

You sighed. “This is all such high school, teen flick bullshit. What the hell.”

“I know, hun. Which is why I’m asking you to manage it. And I know you can. You’re my favourite, Y/N.” Your boss nodded at you with a solemn look. “I have believed in your capabilities since day one. It’s time to make them shine.”

You nodded, dumbly. The back of your mind was hinting at an inkling that you were being manipulated by flattery, but the forefront was basking in all the praise and could really not be bothered.

All you had to do was keep the whole thing hush-hush from the BigHit people and keep Simon in line, right? You could manage that.

Bidding your boss goodbye, you rung up Simon.

“Hey, boss.”

“You’re coming with us tomorrow and you’re gonna be a fucking professional like you’re supposed to!” you barked into the phone. “Bottle up your feelings, or eat them—I don’t care. You’ll do the job you were here for, and you’ll do it right.”

There was a long, suspended silence at the other end. And then a sigh escaped Simon. “I don’t think I have a choice. Fine, I’ll try.”

You put your phone to silent and shut your eyes, knowing you’d receive another call tonight and that you won’t pick up tonight, either.

You lay back in the bed, gearing up for tomorrow.

If worse actually did come to worst, and Simon sent everything down the rabbit hole, who would you make him swap places with? All of you had built really amazing rapports with your assigned partners in just a week. No one would be willing to start over.

If it came to it, would you have to? Would you be able to?

You could maintain professionalism a hundred times better than Simon, that much was certain. But you and Jungkook had been working so well! And who was to say Simon wouldn’t cause trouble with Jungkook, too?

You let out a whine, beyond mad at the situation this guy had landed you in.

But you’d have to navigate out of it, somehow. This was the biggest project of your life so far—the first ever you were heading. You would ensure everything worked out at the end.

You would tie all the loose ends and make it all work. You would.

(You literally had no choice.)

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