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#Anyway rip comedy mask I hope she can get that back

gukyi · 4 years

Text

the heiress and the hotelier | ksj

summary: when you share a kiss with a mysterious but gorgeous stranger on the night of your unwanted, lavish masquerade birthday party, the last thing you expect is for him to vanish at midnight on the dot. but when, as punishment for always arguing with him, your father assigns you to oversee the company’s newest resort hotel, you begin to realize that the handsome stranger may be closer than you think.

{cinderella!au, heiress reader!au, hotelier seokjin!au}

pairing: kim seokjin x female reader genre: fluff, comedy word count: 21k warnings: alcohol consumption (nothing major), workaholic characters, face blindness, idiots to lovers a/n: hello and welcome to guyi is a nonstop writer!! that’s the fuck right !!!! thank you so much to @aurawatercolor for commissioning me for this (again!) and for being genuinely wonderful. happy birthday! oh--and i’ll be on a socially-distanced vacation this upcoming week, so i’ll be a little more inactive than usual, but here’s this fic to keep you occupied while i’m gone!

Your birthdays have never belonged to you.

Not when you were little, when your mother was always the most excited for you to open your presents and host your birthday party. Not when you were older, and your parents started using your age as a reason for you to start learning the inner workings of the family business under the understanding that you would one day inherit it. And certainly not when you’re an adult, when all your birthdays ever remind you of are the years gone by, blowing past you like dandelion wisps, glimpses of memories that are too nimble to catch between your fingertips.

When people say that time goes by faster as you get older, they aren’t saying it because your life is getting exponentially more interesting with each day that passes. They aren’t saying it because you’re having more fun or doing more things, things that distract you to the point of looking out your window and realizing that it’s dark outside.

They say it because the more years that you have lived, the more years you have to remember. And when you have to recall something as overwhelming as your life, your brain makes shortcuts. The days, weeks, and months blur together, leaving behind snippets from events that your memory deems worthy, events that have become less and less frequent with time. You can’t remember the last major celebration you had. Perhaps your university graduation?

The thing about birthdays is that you know that there will always be one next year. So why bother with celebrating now?

You would give anything to have everyone pretend that your birthday is just a normal day.

Unfortunately for you, you are the only one in your family who seems to have adopted this mindset.

Heaving out a sigh, you look at yourself in the mirror, reflection bathed in the white light of the bathroom, stark and unforgiving. In the merciless glow of the bathroom, you barely recognize yourself. Gone are the deep eye bags that you’ve so dearly acquainted yourself with, tired eyes covered with contacts to bring back the shimmer that has long been lost. You gaze into your eyes and they don’t even feel like they’re yours anymore.

In your hand sits the masquerade mask you had ripped off the moment you entered the bathroom, having been desperate to take it off from the minute you arrived at the hotel. The feathers brush against your skin, soft and black, a custom-made accessory designed to match your gown, an ink black floor-length piece with onyx gems that sparkle silver in the light.

Hoseok was going for a black swan theme—said that it would match your personality perfectly. You’re not exactly sure what he meant by that.

Frantically, like there is a timer ticking down inside of you that you cannot turn off, you pull the mask back on, adjusting it over your eyes until it sits just right, resting atop the bridge of your nose. Hiding behind it, you can almost deceive yourself into thinking, if only for this one night, you are someone else.

The door swings open next to you, revealing a guest that you don’t recognize, someone on the list of hundreds that your mother invited, none of whom you know very well and could certainly not identify beneath a masquerade mask. She smiles in that polite, awkward way as she rushes into a stall, deep maroon train trailing behind her, leaving you stuck between a rock and a hard place, having no desire to go back out into the fray but also not wanting to stay in the bathroom and listen to other people do their business.

Thank God she didn’t recognize you. Your mother was insistent that you be recognized as the guest of honor despite the whole point of a masquerade party being the inability to correctly identify people, so you might as well be walking around in a t-shirt with your face on it. At least the mask is doing something.

You blink at yourself, hoping that maybe if you close your eyes enough, when you open them you’ll be someone else. When that doesn’t seem to work, you take a breath and fix your mask one last time before heading back into the ballroom.

Immediately, amongst the crowd of people, all of whom are only here to elevate their own statuses by being associated with an event hosted by your family, you spot the back of Jungkook’s head, deep brunette tufts of hair deftly styled by a whole team of people, a slicked back, Phantom of the Opera style. He’s got on a tuxedo and mask to match, but even with that on you could recognize him in your sleep. He is your brother, after all.

He’s talking animatedly with the pianist, an old mutual friend of your family’s named Yoongi, who isn’t wearing a mask and is thus immediately identifiable. Not to mention the fact that your family has known his since before you learned to walk. As you get closer to them, you notice that his maskless-ness is because Jungkook’s got it snatched up in between his fingers, dangling it in front of Yoongi like the taunting claw of a rigged toy machine. You decide not to bother them. He’s always been closer with Jungkook, anyway.

You really wish your mother better understood what a masquerade-themed party meant. You can’t get more than three steps in before being stopped by someone you can hardly recognize, all smiles for the birthday girl. They wish you a happy birthday and give you a lifeless compliment that goes in one ear and out the other before going on their way, positively thrilled that they’ve been invited to an event as grand as this and determined to make the most of it.

Eventually, after far too many interruptions, you make it to the catering table, helping yourself to a piece of the five-tiered, golden-iced cake your parents had ordered. At least they got your favorite flavor right—chocolate and vanilla swirl. You wait happily beside the rest of the catered food as you eat, hoping that you are just out of reach enough to go unnoticed. The least your birthday party guests could do is leave you alone.

“Y/N!”

Never mind.

You look up to the source of the sound and find only your father approaching, all dressed up in a crisp suit from the same tailors that made Jungkook’s. He isn’t wearing a mask and apparently doesn’t need one, since it is your birthday and not his. Not a good enough excuse, in your opinion.

“Dad,” you say with a smile, wiping away the icing you feel sitting just off the corner of your lips.

“Enjoying yourself?” He asks heartily, all smiles because he’s always felt rather at home surrounded by this sort of grandeur, almost as much as your mother. No wonder the two of them get along so well.

“The cake is nice,” you dodge the question.

“Ah, glad you like it,” he says, helping himself to his own piece. “We were going to get red velvet but then Jungkook reminded us your favorite flavor was the swirly one,” he laughs to himself, like it’s funny that they almost got it wrong. “Had to call the bakery last minute and change it.”

You purse your lips together in a tense smile, fork picking at the crumbs left on your plate.

“Have you been chatting with your friends?” He asks.

“Here and there,” you respond. Nobody here, except perhaps Jungkook and Yoongi, would be people you considered friends. Acquaintances at best. And besides, it’s not like you can even identify half of the attendees anyway. “You?” You always do much better when the topic of conversation is not your social life.

“Ah, yes, of course, you know me,” he jokes, always the aristocrat. “I was just speaking with Mr. Oh about that corporate investment deal that I had been arranging with him.”

“Dad,” you say, exasperated, “You know that I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Y/N,” he says, already beginning to get frustrated. You and him have shared this conversation countless times already. “You aren’t the final decision maker. You know that.”

“Yes, but you value my input, don’t you?” You challenge. He nods tensely. “So listen to me. I don’t think this deal will be good for us. Even though the Oh’s have more money in their investments, they aren’t transparent with it. If you make this deal you won’t know where our money is going.”

“Nonsense,” your father rebukes. “Mr. Oh and I have known each other for years. I trust him. You’re just saying this because you don’t like their son.”

“Sehun has nothing to do with this,” you argue, even if it is true. Your mother had set you up on a blind date with him a couple of years ago and from the moment he walked through the door, you knew it would go south. He’s got the same conceited attitude his father has. “I don’t think it’s a wise business decision.”

“You mustn’t let personal grievances get in the way of your work and you know that,” your father commands sternly, eyebrows furrowed as he looks at you. “What will you do when you are the CEO of Jeon Group? Are you going to let pettiness get in the way of major advancements for the company?”

“No!” You insist, though you are far too gone for your father to believe you.

“This deal is happening and that’s final, Y/N,” your father declares harshly, eyes narrowed at you.

“But, Dad—”

“I don’t want to hear another word from you about this,” he directs. “You should know better than to argue with me about this sort of thing. Especially here. Your mother worked very hard on putting this party on for you, and you should be grateful.”

You exhale, incensed. “I am, Dad, but the business means more to me than—”

“Stop. You can’t change my mind.” Your father sets his finished plate down on a cart an arm’s length away, piled high with discarded dishes, glasses and utensils. “Go talk with your friends instead.” You frown at him, nose scrunched up in contempt. He gestures you away from him. “Go.”

Sighing, you wipe away the sweat that has gathered along your temples and go back out into the center of the ballroom, watching begrudgingly as your father steers you from him, having deemed your conversation over even if you weren’t finished talking. It’s obvious that there’s no more getting through to him. Unless all of the Ohs are suddenly arrested for embezzling funds or mail fraud, that deal is happening.

Standing in the middle of the room, you turn around once and you’re immediately lost amongst all of the guests, surrounded by people everywhere you look. You turn back to where your father was standing but he’s vanished, and when you turn the other way, Jungkook has disappeared from beside the grand piano as well. It feels like you’re outnumbered, like you’re trapped in a maze of people with no end in sight, like one wrong move and suddenly they will all turn to look at you, stare you down like camera lenses, relentless flashes of light. Nobody to talk to, nowhere to run.

You’re stuck.

Now that you think about it, you sort of always have been.

The room gets blurrier.

“Hey, are you alright?” A voice asks.

You feel like you spin around several times before your eyes focus in on the man it belongs to.

“Here, come on, let’s get out of here.”

Your feet move against your mind’s better judgement, the man ushering you away from the center of the room and out of the crowd. You barely notice the direction he’s taking you in until you feel the cool late night air blow past you, tickling your skin and sending shivers down your spine.

It’s the balcony.

The glass door shuts behind the two of you, sending a stream of wind against your back as it effectively removes all of the background noise of the party, containing it within the ballroom, leaving the both of you shrouded in the stars’ silence.

Out here, you have a perfect view of the city. Even though it’s nearing midnight, the lights are still on, coating the town in a twinkling glow, yellow lights flickering on and off, as if someone were looking at the universe from far beyond it. Some parts of the city go to sleep when the sun sets. Others are just waking up.

Next to you, the man removes his suit jacket and drops it ceremoniously on the floor at his feet, arms resting on the balcony’s railing as he gazes out into the distance. As you look out into the same deep navy sky, it’s almost as if the rest of the night has faded away. You don’t know who he is and you can only hope that he doesn’t know you either, hope that he has rescued you from the crowd to talk you down rather than talk you up. But you don’t miss the way he hasn’t said a word to you since you stepped foot outside, hasn’t dared to initiate contact just in case you were looking for a respite from all of it.

At this angle, you can turn your head just enough to get a good look at him, at the way half of his face is enveloped in shadow while the other half is letting the moonlight do all of the talking. From here, the light from the full moon is faint, a barely-there silver glow, but it casts him in just enough light to make him seem as though he belongs in a dream. Like he isn’t even real. It highlights the sharpness of his jaw, the peaks of his cheekbones, his round button nose. But what it really makes gleam are his eyes, almost pitch black in the night. They reflect the sky like nothing else, glimmers of faint starlight in an ocean of ink.

Quite frankly, you wouldn’t mind staying like this for the rest of the night.

“Thank you.” You breathe out the words and immediately feel his gaze jerk sharply towards you. “For getting me out of there.”

“Of course,” he says, and oh, goodness, his voice is thick and warm and comforting, like a fireplace on a cool night, like a blanket after a nightmare. “You just seemed like you needed a break.”

“You could say that,” you say, shrugging to yourself. You could use more than a break. A general pause on life is something you certainly wouldn’t object to—if only it was that easy. But hey, you take what is given to you and never miss an opportunity if you can help it. There’s a lot that you can (and do) complain about but even more than you should be grateful for. Your father was right. This party took a lot of planning on your mother’s part and you spent half of it in the bathroom wishing you were anywhere but here.

“A lot on your plate?” He asks with a smile, a real one, one that isn’t forced like everybody else. Almost like he’s smiling because he’s actually enjoying himself.

“I feel like it’s endless,” you say, keeping it vague because, as it stands, this gorgeous man does not know who you are, and you would like to keep it that way.

“As is all of life,” he says sagely, almost as if it’s a reminder to himself as well. You wonder what he must have on his mind. You wonder if it’s worth sharing your life with a stranger. “It looked like you had a lot on your mind back in there.” He gestures weakly back towards the door.

“I have a lot on my mind no matter where I am,” you correct, and you try to make it sound funny but instead it just comes out sounding sad. Normally you wouldn’t be cracking jokes at your expense in front of someone whose name you don’t even know, but you had a couple of drinks tonight and the taste is still fresh on your tongue, sitting alongside all of the words you want to say but don’t know how to.

The man leaves it at that, not wanting to push any further, but you aren’t finished yet. Someone might as well know how you feel, since you bottle it up around everyone else.

“Do you ever wish that you could just… I don’t know. Disappear?” You turn to look at him, heaving out a sigh. He doesn’t say anything, simply gazes back at you, like he’s willing you to carry on. It, in a way, worries you. “Ugh. I feel ridiculous saying it out loud.”

There’s a tense, pregnant pause between the two of you. It makes you feel like talking was a mistake.

“It’s not ridiculous.” It almost sounds like the words are coming from someone else. Like this whole thing is just a figment of your imagination, created by your mind to keep you company because there’s no one else to turn to.

He’s staring out over the balcony now, waiting for you to continue.

“I don’t know,” you say, feeling utterly idiotic, like a fish out of water. “Sometimes I just wish that I could go somewhere else and be someone else and not have to worry about all of the things in my life. Things like my family, and my work. There are so many things that people expect of me. All the time. It feels like I’m living for them instead of myself.”

He nods along, holding back to see if you have anything else to say. You must sound like such an ungrateful little rich girl, you think to yourself. Complaining about this fabulous party and incredible life that you live, a life filled with wealth and grandeur and power, a life that most people dream of having. What will he think of you?

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself. “I probably sound like such a spoiled brat.”

“You don’t,” he immediately assures you, taking a step to his right and closing the gap between you two. “It doesn’t sound like that at all.”

“Then what does it sound like?” You muse to yourself, forcing a laugh.

“It sounds like you have a lot that you feel like you owe to other people,” he says organically. “You know, like you feel like you have to do all of these things because you can’t let other people down. I get it. I know that everyone nowadays is all, ‘You shouldn’t give a shit about what other people think of you, just do whatever you want,’ but it’s hard not to think about what other people think of you. And what other people expect from you. Letting them down sucks.”

You chuckle. Sounds about right. You may not be completely satisfied with your life right now but that doesn’t mean you’re going to fling your responsibilities onto the shoulders’ of other people. Your father works hard, your mother works hard, your brother works hard. The least you could do for them is offer up the same diligence.

“You’re quite the smooth talker,” you joke, looking him up and down and nodding your approval. He’s definitely figured you out, at least.

“I’m just a people person,” the man admits. “I like talking with people.”

“And here I was, thinking that I’d be confessing my secrets to a brick wall,” you say, making him crack a smile, another real one. You like the look of them. A part of you wants to do it more often.

“Secrets, huh?” He asks, sliding another inch closer, daringly so, teetering on the edge of territory that you haven’t touched in years. “I like the sound of that. Got any more for me?”

You smirk up at him, a grin playing on your lips. “Only if you have one for me in return. No freebies.”

He laughs, loud and clear, the sound ringing out in the nighttime air. “Alright,” he says, obliging. He leans in close, lips hovering above your ear. “I think you’re gorgeous.”

You’ve been listening to compliments all night but this one makes the heat rush to your cheeks like nothing else, a fire set alight in your veins.

“That’s a secret, is it?” You ask, suddenly feeling shy, looking all around you just so you don’t have to look him in his eyes and feel your legs turn to jelly.

“Not anymore,” he reminds you. “What about you? Anything else to share with me?” He’s standing dangerously close to you now, barely half a foot of space between your bodies as he leans into you, hands hovering above your waist.

Slowly he begins to tilt his head towards you, and while you’ve never been one for dramatics, you have to admit that you haven’t felt this way since your schoolgirl crush days back when you were a teenager, giddy and electric and desperately craving more.

You watch as his lips flutter above yours, feel transparent underneath his steel gaze, and you say, “I think you’re gorgeous, too.”

The fireworks thing had always been over the top for you. Like it was impossible for a kiss to feel that explosive to anyone, setting you alight over and over and over again. But his lips pressed against yours come pretty damn close. It makes your whole body go weak, like you can barely hold yourself up, hands clutching onto his sleeves just to make sure you don’t go topping off the balcony. He kisses you and you swear that you would never do this sort of thing normally—go about your romantic interests like a professional, a couple of dates and then perhaps a kiss on your doorstep—but goddamn, it feels like you might just give up everything for him. It feels like there are sparks running all across your skin, sending jolts of life into your heart. It feels like he is someone you are going to miss.

It lasts too long and ends too quickly all at once. You distantly hear the party celebrate the clock striking twelve indoors, cheers and screams and shouts as people rally themselves to continue long after the mark of a new day, and feel him pull away from you at the very same instant. Shamelessly, you instinctively reach up to try and meet his lips again, refusing to believe it’s over, but already he’s separating himself from you.

“Hey, what’s wrong—?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing, I promise,” the man says, the words barely registering in your kiss-drunk haze. He scoops up his jacket from the floor and immediately begins to head back inside. “I just have to go, really. It’s nothing.”

You freeze, mouth agape. “Wait, I don’t even know your—”

“It was really nice meeting you, I hope that we can see each other again!” He pulls open the door with one final grin, one beautiful, brilliant smile, and then suddenly, he’s gone.

You feel the rush of wind blow against your skin, holding you hostage on the balcony as you stare at the closed door, almost like he had never been here at all.

It wasn’t a dream. It couldn’t have been. He was real, and he was here, and then he was right in front of you, his hands were on your waist, his lips were on your lips. And still, it’s almost as if it never even happened.

You blink back at the door, trying to convince yourself that you are still awake, that you haven’t gone mad with loneliness, when you feel yourself step on something.

It’s his mask. A plain, black one with a couple of decorative touches. The string meant to secure it to his face is broken, having probably snapped in half in his rush to leave, leaving it as the only reminder that you didn’t dream up the entire ordeal to begin with.

You reach down to pick it up, letting it rest between your fingertips, and you laugh. Here you are, having fallen for a man whose name you don’t know and whom you don’t think you’ll ever see again, the only piece left you have of him being a broken, forgotten masquerade mask. Like the worst rendition of Cinderella ever.

Leaning back over the balcony, you sigh, resigning yourself to the fact that even if tonight was more eventful than you thought it would be, you will have to get up tomorrow morning and go to work, just the same.

And you suppose that that really is what the man was talking about when he said life was endless.

It’s not that it has no end. It’s just that it doesn’t really feel like you’re ever beginning something new.

You wake up in a cold sweat and are convinced you dreamt of the whole thing until you see the mask sitting on your chest of drawers, grounding you back to reality.

You wonder what it is about him, about last night, that so easily deceives you into thinking it never happened. Perhaps it was the time, or the alcohol on your tongue, or how storybook the whole thing felt, from the talking to the kissing to the disappearing into the night. Or perhaps it was the fact that you can’t remember the last time someone made you feel the way that he made you feel, can’t remember the last time someone kissed you like he did. Like your brain was convinced it would just never happen.

At least you know that there’s still a little hope for you.

A part of you almost thinks that, for the rest of time, you won’t be able to think of anything but the mystery man and his excellent kissing skills. Even the morning after, the tingling feeling on your lips still lingers like lint on a blazer, like a scar that won’t fade. It feels like it won’t ever go away, dancing along your lips every time you look in a mirror. You hardly remember anything else about that night besides him, besides talking to him, besides his lips on yours.

You continue to live in this post-kiss bliss for another ten minutes as you help yourself to breakfast and hum a mindless tune. Then your phone lights up.

“Hey, Dad!” You say cheerfully, practically bouncing on your feet.

“Y/N,” he says gruffly. “You haven’t left for work yet, have you?”

“Nope,” you say, stuffing a spoonful of Honey Nut Cheerios into your mouth. “Why? Do you need me to bring something?”

“Actually, Y/N, you won’t be coming to the office today.” His tone is stern and sharp, no-nonsense. The same way he speaks to interns who have fucked up.

Oh, no.

“What do you mean?” You ask, trying to keep your tone positive even though you already know you’re toast.

“I’m assigning you to watch over the new resort hotel at the edge of the city.” Your father has never been known to beat around the bush.

“What?” You gasp out, shocked. “Dad, you know that I—”

“You wanted more independence and more input in decision-making, didn’t you?” He says pointedly, a reminder of last night.

“Yes, but I—”

“Good,” he declares. “This resort is going to be your responsibility and I want to see that you are doing well with the tasks at hand.”

“Dad, that sounds good, but you know I much prefer more corporate responsibilities—”

“And at this resort, you will have that,” he informs you. “It’s high time you take on your own tasks instead of doing the ones that I hand down to you. I expect to see this resort flourish.” You don’t understand his logic. Isn’t he literally handing you an entire resort to oversee? A brand new one, too?

“But wouldn’t you rather manage such a new hotel? What if it starts to encounter deficits?” You plead, a final attempt to get him to take your name off of this project so you can go back to doing what you’re used to instead of being flung a brand new resort you definitely aren’t keen on overseeing.

“Then I should hope to see you solve them quickly,” he clips, effectively dissolving any hope you had that he would change his mind. Normally, you love your father’s typical hands-off approach when it comes to business, usually because it allows you to gain working experience without him carrying you every step of the way, but right now, you just wish he was more of a selfish businessman. For once, it would actually work out quite well for you.

“Dad—”

“I’ll be checking in.”

He hangs up.

Standing in the middle of your kitchen, you huff, nose scrunched up and eyebrows furrow as you try to think your way out of this. Getting through to your father is impossible, getting through to your mother, even more so. She’s always preferred to stick to philanthropy, anyway, having zero interest in what you and your father do. You scowl to yourself, already beginning to run out of options. Is your list really that short? Who else in your family could help?

Suddenly, you smack your head, shocked at how forgetful you’ve been. You grab your phone from where it sits on the counter and dial his number.

“Y/N?” Jungkook asks from the other end, voice still groggy. At least he gets to sleep in.

“Hey, Jungkook,” you say, sighing out your hello to sound more casual.

“What’s up?” He asks in between yawns.

“Listen, Dad just assigned me to oversee that new resort hotel on the beach just outside of town,” you say economically. You’ve always gotten straight to the point with your brother. It’s the only reason the two of you aren’t constantly at each other’s necks anymore.

“Really? That’s awesome!” Jungkook says excitedly, voice jumping up half an octave.

“I mean…” You begin, because it’s really… not.

“This probably means that Dad’s going to retire soon, don’t you think? Since he’s giving you such a big responsibility, right?” Jungkook asks, a suggestion that nearly sends you into a coughing fit at the mere thought of it. Retirement?

“You think so?” You ask, a little terrified.

“I don’t know,” Jungkook says, and you can hear his nonchalant shrug through the phone. “Maybe. He has been talking a lot recently about what’s going to happen when you take over the company.”

“Don’t you want that same responsibility, though?” Jungkook has never been treated as a business equal the same way you have, despite having the same expensive education as you and being much better with people. You’ve always wondered if that’s bothered him.

“Not really,” Jungkook tells you, and you can hear the familiar log-in sound of his computer in the background. “I mean, I’ve always known you were going to inherit the company. This sort of thing just makes sense to me.”

You frown to yourself. “You don’t want to be involved with the business at all?”

“No, it’s not like that,” Jungkook says with a sigh, voice still groggy. “I’m happy that I’m getting the work experience and everything. But it’s just never something I’ve seen as part of my future.”

Mostly because it’s always been yours.

The fact of the matter is that Jungkook, even if he is younger, and a little more rambunctious, and a little bit more impulsive, has always been the better candidate to take over the family business. He excels at task-driven jobs and has charmed the pants off of everyone he’s ever met, from Yoongi to your florist to the nice woman at the customer service counter at your local grocery store. He’s a quick decision-maker and never second-guesses himself. He also has zero problems with his love life and potential partners, something that your parents are desperate for you to figure out. He’s perfect for the position.

So why are you the heir?

“What, are you just going to livestream video games for a living, then?” You ask snarkily, already knowing that he’s sat at his desk, ready for another match.

“Probably. I could probably double the family’s fortune, you know,” he says, and he’s right. What he does is equally as profitable as what you do, and he gets bonus points because it’s something that he genuinely enjoys.

“You better get started then, gamer boy,” you say, hearing his bubbly laugh echo through the phone before you hang up.

Jungkook would take over the resort hotel management if you asked, and you know it. He’s got the experience and the expertise to do it flawlessly, no questions asked. But he won’t, because you won’t ask that of him. Because even if you don’t want to do it, it is better you than him. Someone in this family deserves to do what they love for a living. And nobody deserves that more than him.

The Honey Nut Cheerios slosh around in the milk in the bowl in front of you. You aren’t very hungry anymore.

Your father has always had an eye for design, a trait he never seemed to pass on to you. It’s no wonder why he’s the one the architectures and interior decorators run everything by while you manage the finances. It’s something your mother always says she loves about him. So, even if you are assigned to oversee a resort hotel that you have zero interest in whatsoever, at least it looks nice.

“Whoa, this place is fancy,” Hoseok says, gasping as the two of you step out of the car beneath the golden awning that covers the hotel entrance. There are little lights lining the structure, something to bathe the canopy in a sparkling glow when the sun says goodbye for the day, light it up like stars in the night sky.

“You’ve been to my house, this is nothing,” you say with a shrug, making him laugh as the doors open for you, carpet plush and hardly touched. From what you read in the file your father sent you, this place hasn’t been open for more than two weeks.

It looks like it’s barely been occupied.

The security guard, a gruff, stout man, nods a hello to you as you enter.

“Uh, your house doesn’t have security guards,” Hoseok whispers into your ear as you pass him, pointing rather conspicuously to the man behind you. “Your dad really went all out on this one.”

You huff, gritting your teeth. Good thing it’s not an eyesore, otherwise you don’t think you’d last a week here. “Well, he’s always loved the beach.”

“Why does that not surprise me,” Hoseok lilts, whistling as he gazes away from you, guilty.

You smack him with the back of your hand in the middle of his torso. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, nothing,” he says, backing off even though he knows he’s the only person (well, besides Jungkook) who can get away with saying that sort of thing in front of you. “You two have always been polar opposites, I’m just saying.”

“Yeah, well, say it in your head,” you sulk, hitting him again so that he straightens up. You both have a duty to make a good first impression, though Hoseok’s red suit is doing half of the work for him.

As you enter, all of the staff behind the desk scramble to get to their positions, hands together neatly in front of them as you peer over your wire-rimmed glasses to get a good look at the place. It’s clean, elegant, with touches of luxury here and there, a golden coffee table, an accent along the lining of the walls. It smells faintly of lemon and mostly of the ocean, a scent you are going to have to get used to. Everything seems to be in order.

You stroll up the front desk, eyeing everything closely. Behind it, the three employees currently on front-desk duty wait patiently for you to speak. Their names are written in capital letters on gold-plated tags, pinned to the pockets of their blazers. You nod as you memorize their names. Irene, Seohyun, and Seokjin.

Seokjin looks positively wide-eyed, flabbergasted to be seeing you, to be standing in front of you. There’s this faint sort of recognition on his face, like he’s just realized something life-altering, and he’s doing a rather poor job of hiding it. Perhaps he’s just starstruck.

“Well, we might as well get the introductions over with,” you declare, clapping your hands together. The sound makes the three of them jump. “If you didn’t know, I’m Y/N, and I’ll be overseeing this hotel for the foreseeable future. So let’s get along well together. For all of our sakes.”

They nod, polite smiles on their faces.

“Which one of you is the hotelier?” You ask, looking between the three of them. Your father had written it down in that file somewhere but quite frankly, you were so exasperated that you had been assigned the hotel that you hadn’t really looked it over properly.

“That would be me,” the man, Seokjin, says with a tense, small little grin, nodding his head when you turn to face him. He looks strikingly familiar, this sort of picturesque nostalgia that you can’t quite place, angles sharp in the bright light of the hotel. You wonder where you’ve seen it before. Possibly in some magazine or at an event. He certainly is worthy of being photographed.

“Excellent,” you declare happily. “Then you’re on my staff, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I just received word about that last night,” he affirms.

“Wonderful,” you say, fingers tapping against the granite countertops. “I can tell that this will all go smoothly, so long as we all make sure to stay on task. Sounds good?”

“Of course, Miss Jeon,” Seokjin says.

“Please, call me Y/N. I do hate formalities,” you request. “So, shall we get started? I trust that you all know exactly what you’re doing. But I would like to receive a few updates here and there about the goings-on here. Mostly, I would like all total daily income numbers to be faxed to my office, transcripts of all of the customer service requests, and an updated menu. The pizza is far too cheap and the lobster just as expensive. How’s that for a starting list?”

“Would you like those numbers in an Excel sheet or graphed?” Irene asks, eyebrows raised.

“Both,” you answer. She and Seohyun get right to work, leaving you feeling confident that this won’t be a complete train wreck. “Seokjin, you are with me.” You gesture for him to come out from behind the desk, and begin to walk around the lobby of the hotel, hoping to put some distance between you two and the other employees. He stays a solid two feet behind you the entire time, taking quick, short steps so he doesn’t dare start to catch up.

“How can I help, Miss Jeon?” He asks, eyes wide.

You smile, shaking your head. “I told you that Y/N is fine. In any case, since you are the hotelier, I will need a little more from you.” He nods. “First, I need a summary of all expenses and income since you opened, preferably in Excel and formatted cleanly. I’ll also need a list of all of the employees, their respective positions, and their salaries. It would be great if we could begin to eliminate the part-time slots and allow the employees to become full-time so that they receive the same benefits as you and I. I’ll also need information on their schedules.”

You notice he isn’t writing any of this down, simply bobbing his head as you lift off everything you want and a few things that you’re throwing in just so you don’t have to do them.

“I assume that you don’t have constant contact with my father, but I don’t mind being the messenger in regards to hotel infrastructure and design. Any and all malfunctions should also be reported to me. It would also be great if we could maybe lose the curtains in the lobby. I think they close up the room. But, your choice.” You narrow your eyes, looking around to see if there’s anything else that needs urgent attention, when you see Hoseok already beginning to hunt through the concessions room, picking up bags of different themed Jelly Belly. “I think that should be enough for now. Update me whenever possible, please.”

“You got it,” Seokjin says, heading back to the desk as quickly as he had walked away from it, concentration washing over his features. It does, at least, bring you comfort that nobody seems particularly incompetent.

Behind you, you can hear Hoseok muttering a few things at the front desk, most likely having to do with you and your attitude. But you don’t think it’s that big of a deal. You’ve always been work-oriented. It’s always been your biggest focus. Lingering in the lobby, you gaze out the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out at the entrance, the slick, newly-paved asphalt, the tropical flowers that surround it. You have always preferred a city to a beach, but at least the time might pass quicker here with people who know how to do their jobs.

Perhaps this might not be so bad after all.

Then, your phone vibrates in your pants pocket.

“Mom,” you greet, surprised that she’s calling you during work. “Hey, how are you?”

“Wonderful!” She shrieks, always the energizer. “Your father told me all about how he assigned you to oversee that new resort. I’m so proud of you!”

“Thanks,” you respond, lifeless.

“You know, you have a lot of responsibility now,” she reminds you, as if you had already forgotten how much work goes into supervising something like this. “Directing a hotel and its staff is a big deal. I don’t want you to think that you can just slack off.”

“Mom, I’m not going to slack off,” you explain. “You know I care about this stuff, just like Dad.”

“I know, I know, I’m just making sure. We want to make sure the company is in good hands when your father retires. He doesn’t have too many years left, you know.”

“Well, whenever he’s ready, I’ll be too,” you assure her, a promise you have vowed to uphold, no matter what becomes of you or your social life.

“Good.” The conversation ends there. Or, more takes a quick pause, which can only mean one thing. Your mother has something else she needs to tell you. “Speaking of seeing you off…”

“Yes—?”

“Your father and I both think it’s high time you start to settle down with someone. You know we don’t want to see you end up all alone,” she begins, the same argument that you’ve had with your parents time and time again.

“Mom, you know that I’m not really interested in going out and finding people right now.” Or ever.

“Yes,” she begins, sucking in her breath between her teeth. Oh, goodness, what’s she going to say now? “But luckily, you don’t have to. You’re so busy, we can’t expect you to just drop everything. So we did.”

“You what?”

“Your father and I have set you up on some dates—just a couple!—with some of his associates’ sons,” she explains, but you are already livid. “We just think that you should be taking more time to see—”

“See what?” You demand. “See his friends’ bratty sons tell me how much money they make? See their cars and their clothes and their stupid Italian leather shoes? See them tell me how I work too hard and that I should just stay at home while they go out and change the world? No thank you.” You can’t name a thing in this world less appealing. Except perhaps supervising a resort hotel against your will. But even that’s better, because the men here actually know what they’re doing.

“Honey, you just aren’t giving them the opportunity—”

“Mom, they don’t deserve an opportunity. I don’t need to be dating people right now. At all!” You exclaim. “Like you said, I’m busy. If Dad is going to retire soon then I need to be ready for it. I have other priorities.”

“Your happiness is our priority,” your mother insists, convinced she’s doing you a good deed by setting you up on blind dates with rich men who care more about their watches and Italian leather shoes than they would a woman.

“Working makes me happy,” you say between gritted teeth. “I’m perfectly happy as I am.”

“Will you please just give them a try, honey? You never know,” she pleads, desperate to get you to agree with something.

“Fine,” you say, caving in just to get her to stop talking about it. “But don’t expect anything out of it.”

“Yay! That’s all I wanted to hear.” You can hear her relief through the phone.

“Anything else?” You ask, rubbing at your temples, wishing desperately for this day to be over so you can just go home and take a nice, hot bath, and dream about the mystery man in his black masquerade mask. You’re not interested in dating, sure, but for him, you think you'd make an exception. If only you knew who he was.

“That’s it. Love you, honey, congratulations on the new resort!” She hangs up in that same voice that she started with, bubbly and animated, and the moment you hear the line go dead, you throw your dignity to the dogs and groan to yourself.

“God almighty,” you mutter angrily, shaking your head as you rest your head in your hands, fingers massaging at your forehead. Another blind date? How could you possibly have agreed to that? The more you think about the more you wish that this part of your life was the dream instead. Fairytales are overrated but quite frankly, you certainly wouldn’t mind if that man from the party waltzed right into your life and swept you off your feet. He certainly had no trouble doing it last night. You wonder what he’s up to, now—

“Miss Jeon?”

You jump at the voice, scaring both you and Seokjin as you turn, a little cry escaping your lips instinctively. “Oh my God, you frightened me. And please, Y/N is fine. Better, actually.”

Seokjin looks like a deer in headlights, terrified to even talk to you, let alone address you by your first name. You appreciate the professionalism but have never been too fond of the whole ‘Miss’ thing. As if you or your parents need any more reminding that you’re single. Your first name feels much more natural. He flounders twice, opening his mouth to say something before shutting it again, as though whatever he says will suddenly enrage you.

“Do you… need anything, Seokjin?” You ask, prompting him since he doesn’t seem to be taking matters into his own hands.

The sound of his name from your lips snaps him out of his daze. “Oh! Yes, I do, actually. I just wanted to ask if you wanted me to include personal expenses on the part of the hotelier in the Excel sheet.”

“Personal expenses? Did you receive a credit from my father?” You ask, an eyebrow raised in surprise.

“Yes, it was mailed to me just last week. I’ve only used it for a couple of items, though—”

“Like what?” You ask, head tilted.

He blushes red, cheeks rosy like cherries in summer. “The curtains in the lobby.”

You bark out a laugh, amused at how unexpected this whole thing is. The one thing Seokjin spends money on, you instruct him to take down. At the sound of your chortle, Seokjin backs away, like a cat scared of thunder claps. “Of course,” you say, looking up at the sky and exhaling. Fate. “Please include those.” He nods, already making to scurry back to the front desk, but another sentence from your mouth stops him in his tracks. “Oh, and if you think that the curtains look nice, then leave them. I was never good at interior design anyway.”

You crack a smile, hoping that Seokjin will at least recognize that you’re attempting to be funny and grin, validating you and your lacking sense of humor. He doesn’t, but he does nod once more, and you at least feel like the ice between you is beginning to crack.

Seokjin rushes back towards the front desk, taking on the enormous list of tasks you’ve assigned him without so much blinking an eye. You watch as his eyebrows furrow in concentration, knitting themselves together above the scrunch of his nose, as his eyes zero in on his computer screen. It’s obvious that he knows exactly what he’s doing and has no issues regarding his work whatsoever. Good thing he’s the hotelier.

From here, you can use supervision as a cover for the way that you are blatantly ogling him, his figure and his face, finding yourself rather impressed at the sight in front of you. Here, in this lavish, modern hotel, he looks like a prince rather than a manager, clean button-down shirt and fitted slacks, tailored to fit his short torso and long legs. His hair hangs in front of his face in strands, the same sort of hairstyle that the attractive male love interests get, messy and tousled but still fresh. It looks good on him. He certainly wears it well.

You don’t think being here will be too bad, so long as you have him.

“Hey.” You feel Hoseok wrap his arm around you, joining you as you stand by the windows. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” you promise. “I am.”

Hoseok motions back towards them, where they work diligently behind the front desk as they wait for the next guests to arrive. Seokjin, thinking you aren’t looking, steps back from his computer for just a moment to take some breaths, catch some air. He stretches, arms above his head as his shirt is pulled out from where it’s tucked into his pants. Even from here, you can see the toned lines of his torso, his healthy, slim figure.

Something about him is so familiar. Maybe you met him in a past life.

“I think you’ll be fine, Y/N,” he promises, bright white smile gazing back at you, happy as always. “You don’t have anything to worry about. They all look like they know what they’re doing. Especially that Seokjin guy.”

Being here wasn’t your first choice. It wasn’t even your second. But you have people that you can’t let down, and responsibilities to uphold. Besides, you don’t think it’ll be that bad. At least, not with someone like Seokjin around. Perhaps there is always a silver lining.

“Yeah,” you repeat again, exhaling. Hoseok turns to look at you, fondness lacing his features, and you smile to yourself. “I know.”

Very seldom are you shouted at by people that your family has employed. The fear of being fired due to disagreeing with your boss is enough to keep many people quiet. Submissive, even.

But not Hoseok.

“What is with these eye bags, Y/N?” He exclaims at you, exasperated as he picks up the color-correcting pot from his kit and turns around to face you. “I thought we agreed on eight hours of sleep per night. Getting less than that is a death sentence!”

“I’m fine, Hoseok,” you insist, even though the bags underneath your eyes are deeper than the Grand Canyon. You, admittedly, have not been sleeping as much as Hoseok has insisted upon.

“No, you’re not, look at you! Earlier today you shoved your toothbrush into your ear when I called you while you were about to start brushing your teeth,” Hoseok reminds you, an embarrassing moment in your life that you would prefer to keep just between the two of you. Sometimes you just mix up what’s in your hands. It happens.

You frown. “I thought we agreed not to mention that.”

“Your skin is looking dry, too,” Hoseok says, dabbing on the product underneath your eyes. “These are all signs that your body isn’t doing well.”

“Okay, Dr. Jung,” you say with a roll of your eyes, making Hoseok scowl playfully at you. “But I’m fine. I’m just working a little bit harder right now. That’s all.”

“That’s what you always say,” Hoseok points out, unimpressed with your measly excuse. “Every time I talk to you about how you aren’t taking care of yourself, you always go, ‘It’s because of work, I’m fine,’ or ‘Don’t worry about me, I just have a lot to do right now.’ It’s not healthy.”

“I don’t sound like that!” You object, offended at his mocking high-pitched impression of you. You don’t sound like Hoseok on helium. You refuse to accept that.

“Yeah, yeah,” Hoseok says, shrugging you off as he pulls out the concealer. “I’m serious, Y/N. You work yourself way too hard. This event is supposed to be a fun business gala and you’re probably going to spend the whole time checking your email.”

“I will not!” You will.

Hoseok frowns, seeing right through you. One of the many benefits of being your personal assistant is the fact that he can read you like a children’s book. He also knows that he can say whatever he wants to you without fear of getting fired—not that he cares about that, either, because he’s probably got enough money in his bank account to put three kids through college. If he ever wanted to have kids, that is. So this is how conversations like these usually go.

“If I didn’t like your live text updates on the stupid things people wear to these things so much, I would make you leave your phone at home,” Hoseok tells you. “You really do need to take time for yourself.”

“I do take time for myself,” you rebuke with a pout, thinking about how you’ve started waking up five minutes later so you have more time to sleep in. It means that you don’t get to read the morning news like you used to, but sometimes putting off politics until after you’ve had coffee is a good thing.

“A once-a-month ten-minute bath while you put on a rose face mask doesn’t count,” Hoseok tells you pointedly. “You need to be incorporating this sort of thing into your everyday life. By taking time off. All you ever do is work.”

“It’s not my fault,” you huff, closing your eyes so Hoseok can do some eyeshadow. “I have a whole hotel to oversee after my dad assigned it to me. There’s a lot that I have to manage. Plus, my mom is making me go on these stupid blind dates with their associates’ snobby sons who still think that the pay gap isn’t real.”

Hoseok tuts to himself, shaking his head as he brushes color onto your eyelids. “Your parents have such bad taste in men for you.”

“I know!”

“This is even further proof that you need to relax more,” Hoseok says economically, brain immediately connecting your predicament to his agenda to get you to take more time off, as always. “Because men stress you out.”

“Just them, but yes,” you correct.

“What do you mean ‘Just them’? Is there someone you’re interested in that doesn’t stress you out?” Hoseok demands, tapping your cheek to get you to open your eyes. You do and the first thing you see is Hoseok’s face, two inches from yours, staring at you as he waits for an answer.

You sigh. You might as well tell him about the mystery man. Clearly, you underestimated his power, because it’s been a week and you’re still thinking about him. “Yes, but—”

“‘Yes’?” Hoseok asks, shocked. “What the fuck, when did you meet him? What does he look like? What’s his name? Job? Is he rich?”

“At my birthday party,” you say. You can picture the scene perfectly in your mind. The balcony, the stars, the mask. The feeling of his hands on your waist, his lips on yours. They’ve been etched into your brain. “We talked on the balcony for a little while and then we kissed.”

“You what?”

“Don’t overreact, it’s not that big of a deal,” you order. The mere recollection of it is already making your body restless and your cheeks burn.

“What do you mean? It’s a huge deal!”

“Well, it doesn’t matter,” you interrupt, sighing to yourself, “because he ran off at midnight Cinderella-style and I don’t know his name, or his job, or even what he really looks like because he was wearing a mask the whole time.”

Hoseok stops dead in his tracks, the loose power leaving a puff of smoke in between the two of you as his words sink in. Yeah. That’s how you feel too. You finally develop an interest in somebody after years of going it solo and you don’t know a damn thing about him. Other than the fact that he is a fantastic kisser. Which is not an appropriate identifier. You suppose that you could use the mask, but you don’t even know half of the people your mother invited. How are you supposed to narrow down who was wearing a black mask and who wasn’t?

The fact is that unless a miracle happens, you don’t have any way of figuring out who that man is. Yet another thing that you have to dwell on while you worry about everything else going on in your life.

Hoseok sits on his words for a few more moments, trying to figure out the right thing to say. Eventually, he settles on, “Damn. That sucks.”

“Yeah.”

“Can you do anything to find him?”

You shake your head, resigning yourself to a life where the mystery man will forever remain a mystery. “No. I don’t even know who was on the guest list.”

“What if you ask Jungkook?” Hoseok poses. “Maybe he knows him.”

“Jungkook does not need to know about my barely-there love life,” you say with a self-deprecating chuckle. You and your brother typically keep your conversations far away from that realm of topics, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Jungkook is rather flush with admirers. Many of whom have gotten to know him a little bit… closer. “It’s no big deal, ‘Seok. I’m not really desperate to find love. I just need to focus on work, right now.”

“I wish you wouldn’t work yourself so hard, Y/N,” Hoseok says with a melancholic smile, knowing that no matter what he tells you, you’ll always be too determined for your own good. At least he tries.

You purse your lips in understanding. Hoseok just wants what’s best for you, but what’s best for you right now is being ready for your father’s impending retirement. “There’s just too much that I have to do.”

“At least you’ll have help with the resort,” Hoseok offers, always looking on the bright side. “That Seokjin fellow seems like he really knows what he’s doing.”

You think back to your visits to the resort. Your longest stay was the first day you arrived, but you’ve been making frequent trips back to check in. And every time you arrive, Seokjin is waiting dutifully for your next orders, always getting your completed requests back to you on time, formatted perfectly. He listens to your every word and asks the right questions. He knows exactly what to do and he has no problems admitting when he doesn’t. He’s even started bringing you the occasional coffee.

He’s also terribly handsome, but you try to think about other things when you look at him.

Hoseok’s right. At least you have Seokjin. His impeccable work ethic is half the reason you aren’t wearing yourself thin worrying about the resort. He was definitely meant to be a hotelier.

“I guess you’re right.” You nod, letting Hoseok brush a deep maroon lipstick onto you as he finishes up with your makeup. “It could be worse.”

Hoseok mumbles in agreement, stepping back. “Let me look at you.”

You stand up, gown, heels, makeup, and all, letting Hoseok gaze at you to make sure that everything is flawless. You’ve never liked the events you have to attend, but getting dressed up is always something you rather enjoy. Especially when Hoseok is the one doing it.

The dress drapes down your figure perfectly, hugging your sides as it gathers on the floor, leaving just enough space for the tips of your heels to peek out. Your necklace hangs low on your torso and your earrings dangle, soft golden strings with gems at the base. Your eyes sparkle with the help of the glitter that Hoseok has added, touches of shimmer on the high points of your face. You look into the mirror and for once, you feel satisfied.

“Wow,” Hoseok says, proud and beaming. “Look at you.”

There you are.

Days at the resort hotel pass by faster now.

Granted, no work day could ever top the speed at which the days passed when you were younger, playing outside with friends or running around in the yard during recess. But being here isn’t as terrible as you had first made it out to be. At least you don’t have your father constantly looking over your shoulder, even if he does call you every day to ask for updates. And at least the people here have integrity, more so than any of the usual executives you work with up in the central building in town. The people here aren’t brown-nosing you every minute of every day.

And yes, getting to see Seokjin every day is also rather enjoyable. From a professional perspective.

Hoseok says you need to take more time for yourself and relax more but quite frankly, being at the resort hotel is a vacation. It’s a respite from the hustle-and-bustle culture that your father has cultivated in his office building. It’s a break from the neverending business deals, the meetings, the agreements and bargains and contracts. And most importantly, it’s something that you can do without your father’s help.

For once, it almost feels like a little taste of freedom.

Of course, Hoseok would also tease you terribly about the fact that you consider overseeing a resort hotel a break, as opposed to an actual holiday where you take real time off. But he must know that that’s never going to happen. At least, not anytime soon.

You hadn’t realized your father’s retirement was so close. The years pass by in a blur but you have always thought that your father has much too much to finish, tasks and projects, and events that will take another few years to come to fruition. Too many loose ends that he needs to tie up, deals he must close and finances he must track. You’ve been groomed to take over for him since you were young, even before you graduated, but retirement has always felt like a distant future.

Not an imminent happening.

Jungkook hadn’t even sounded surprised when you told him that you would be overseeing the new resort.

You wonder if you’re the only one in your family who hadn’t expected your father to be planning his retirement so soon. The money and savings isn’t an issue—he will continue to invest long after he leaves his office—but the time is. Perhaps he has finished more than you thought he would. Accomplished more goals than you expected he’d do.

Or perhaps, you just grew up too quickly.

Time has always gone by much too fast for your liking. When you were little, when you were in school, when you graduated. You closed your eyes and suddenly all of your youth had whizzed by. You woke up and suddenly you were in and out of four years of college and two years of a Master’s in business. You blinked and suddenly you are about to inherit a company you thought you never would.

The fear of everything ending is enough to keep you away. Away from that skyscraper in the center of the city, where your father’s office sits at the top floor, where he works nonstop to make sure that everything is ready for your arrival. Away from a future you thought you could avoid, until it reached you.

Having this resort hotel, a brand new building in the beachy part of town, with efficient, competent staff and a gorgeous view, is enough to make you want to live in the past forever.

Your phone screen lights up with your father’s contact for the third time today, the green ‘answer’ button and the red ‘decline’ button waiting patiently for your decision. Staring down at it, you frown. You normally aren’t one to purposely miss your father’s calls, but today is the day that the deal with the Ohs is finalized, something that you have zero desire to celebrate.

After a few more moments, your phone stops vibrating in your hand, the screen going back. You roll your eyes and stuff it into the pocket of your pants, not wanting to wait for it to light up once more. You have a feeling that your mother will be phoning shortly to berate you for not answering your father’s calls, a call that you have every intention of ignoring just like the previous ones. You aren’t sure how to make clearer the fact that you think the deal is a bad idea. A terrible one, even. Mostly because the Ohs are horrible people.

Still, you cannot resist pulling your phone out when you feel it buzz against your side.

[Today, 12:27PM]

Jungkook: dude dad’s flipping out because you aren’t answering his calls

Ugh. Not Jungkook, too.

You: Tell him that I will congratulate him on the deal in person later. You: I’m busy right now.

Jungkook: he’s calling just to check in on the resort

You: I give him weekly updates and forward him any pressing news. He’ll manage.

Jungkook: just call him or mom’s gonna call you

You: Tell her that I will congratulate him on the deal in person. You: Later.

Jungkook: are you gonna be like this until dad retires?

You: Like what?

Jungkook: -_- Jungkook: don’t play stupid Jungkook: you’re being stubborn and you know it.

You: Dad already knows that I didn’t approve of him going through with the deal. I don’t imagine he’s expecting a party from me.

Jungkook: you can’t keep ignoring him just because you didn’t approve of one thing Jungkook: how is that professional???? Jungkook: you’re inheriting the business soon Y/N Jungkook: you need to start acting like it

You: Don’t tell me how to act when you aren’t the one busting your ass trying to make sure the business is ready for when he retires. You: You have your own life to lead and your own things to do. It’s not your place.

Jungkook: as a businessman, it isn’t Jungkook: as your brother, it is

You scowl at your screen. The brother card. Jungkook pulls it whenever he and you both know that you’re being unreasonable, and the worst part is that it always works. It always works because Jungkook only ever wants the best for you, wants to see you succeed as a businesswoman, as a future CEO, and as his sister. And who are you to deny him such a simple pleasure?

You: I just have a lot on my plate right now. Dad and I can talk later.

Jungkook: yknow Jungkook: like, occupationally, you are more than ready to inherit the company and you know it. Jungkook: you work so hard 24/7 and you never take breaks, you know exactly what you’re doing and you can command a room better than anyone i’ve ever met Jungkook: but Jungkook: oh idk

You: What?

An impromptu psychoanalysis from your wise-beyond-years younger brother is certainly not something you had been expecting today. But Jungkook always has and always will know you better than anyone else, something that is both a blessing and a curse.

Jungkook: you are so fucking ready to inherit the business Jungkook: i just wish you would realize it

Silence. You pause, watching the three dots appear and disappear over and over again, Jungkook typing and deleting what next he wants to say. Chuckling to yourself, you read his message over and over again.

What’s Jungkook on about? Doesn’t he know what you do? The position you have? Just because you’ll eventually take over the business doesn’t mean you’re ready for it. Isn’t Jungkook aware of how much work you have to do? About how your father assigned you this resort hotel as punishment for disagreeing with him?

You aren’t ready.

You’re barely halfway.

You: Yeah, right.

Jungkook: i’m serious Y/N Jungkook: can’t you see how prepared you are

You: I still have lots to do, Jungkook. Just because I’ve been given more responsibility doesn’t suddenly mean Dad’s going to retire tomorrow and that I’m ready to take over.

Jungkook: that’s not what i meant and you know it

You: I don’t feel like talking about this anymore. Tell Dad that I’ll talk to him about the deal later.

Jungkook: … Jungkook: fine Jungkook: but don’t say i didn’t try to tell you

You angrily switch your phone off, fuming at the fact that the deal’s gone through, fuming at how Jungkook thinks that suddenly because you were given a resort hotel to oversee it means that you’re ready to take over from your father, and fuming at how, above all, there’s a part of you and a part of Jungkook that both know that he is, as usual, right.

There’s a knock on the door to your makeshift office at the hotel and you lose it.

“What?”

You look up just in time to see Seokjin jump slightly at your shout, coffee sloshing around in the cups in his hand. Ah. You hadn’t meant to scare him like that.

Exhaling, you rub at your temples as you set your phone down on the desk, shaking your head. “I’m sorry, Seokjin. I didn’t mean to snap at you. Please, come in.”

“Coffee?” He offers, a small smile on his face as he holds it out.

“You are a lifesaver,” you declare, taking the cup from him happily and having a sip. Perfectly scalding. Seokjin waits patiently behind your desk until you’re finished, swaying slightly. “Can I help you with anything?”

“Oh, no,” he says, shaking his head. “Just thought that I’d let you know that I’ve just got more files on the finances.”

“Oh, excellent,” you declare happily, accepting the small manila folder from underneath Seokjin’s arm. You open it just to browse, and everything seems to be in order. An easy thing to file away for future reference if necessary. And there’s no doubt in your mind that Seokjin’s already faxed you an electronic copy as well. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Seokjin nods. He turns to leave but seems to linger, noticing the tension in your shoulders and the irritation on your face, the way you drink up the boiling coffee like it’s nothing, relishing in the burn down your throat. He almost stops himself, opening his mouth slightly and then closing it, but then he just sighs, and he asks, “Are you alright?”

You sputter out the coffee all over the manila folder in front of you. “I’m sorry,” you say over coughs, the beverage going down the wrong pipe in all of the chaos. “What—what did you say?”

“You just seem more stressed than usual, is all,” Seokjin says, rocking back and forth on his feet with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his ink black slacks.

“I’m sorry if I’ve been snappy recently,” you say, admitting it. “There’s just a lot I’m dealing with right now. Mostly to do with work.”

“I hope I’m helping, then?” He says hopefully, a hesitant grin on his face.

You nod in agreement. Without him, you definitely wouldn’t be sleeping half as much as you do now (which is apparently still not enough, according to Hoseok). At least Seokjin’s there. “You definitely are. I don’t think I’d have made it without you,” you chuckle.

Seokjin smiles. “If you need me to do more, I’d be happy to. Just ask.”

“Thank you, Seokjin. I really appreciate that,” you tell him. In the short time you’ve known him, Seokjin’s kindness has outshone even his stellar work ethic, a trait that you’ve come to admire in him, mostly because you know you can only dream of being as generous as he. “It means a lot.”

“Anytime,” he says, and he means it, too. “I’ll always be here for you.”

And standing here, in your makeshift office, with a matching cup of coffee in his hand, and a gorgeous, toothy smile on his face, you know that he means that, too.

Sometimes, you can’t even believe a man like Seokjin exists. He’s practically flawless.

“I will bear that in mind,” you promise. “You really are a wonderful person, Seokjin. Really.”

Seokjin grins, the compliment going straight to him, blushing furiously as he exits your office, waving a tiny goodbye on his way out. You return it, watching fondly as he nearly crashes into the door frame, hand slamming onto it before he realizes. He laughs at his clumsiness and even from here you can see his cheeks get redder, heating up like the coffee in his hand.

Work is hard. Being the unprepared heir to an enormous conglomerate even harder. But Seokjin’s right.

At least you’ll always have him.

You’ve never been one to develop friendships with your employees, but there is something about Seokjin that’s different. Something about him that makes him a confidant first and a hotelier second. Something about him that pulls you in, an electric, magnetic touch.

You feel like you’ve known him longer than you feel. Feel like you’re closer than you really are.

Some people are just like that, you suppose. Some people just make you wish that you had known them forever.

Quite frankly, you don’t think you could name a single thing wrong about Seokjin even if you tried. He gets your coffee order perfect (not that it’s hard, it’s just that you’ve never told him what it is), he does all of his work before you’ve even asked, and he runs the damn resort hotel better than you do. He’s obviously a people-person and can make others laugh without trying. He’s even figured out how to compliment you, a trait that not even grown businessmen have learned.

The days pass in a blur, made quicker by the ease of working with him. Of being around him. Seokjin lifts up your spirit and he doesn’t even have to try. His competence in the workplace is enough to have you coming by the resort daily instead of weekly, hourly instead of daily, just so you can spend time in a place that, for once, makes you feel relaxed.

Hoseok would say that Seokjin is a miracle-worker.

You would say that he’s just brilliant.

Honestly, sometimes you think that even Seokjin is more well-equipped to run your family’s business than you are. And you’re the heiress.

The differences between Seokjin and all other men you’ve had the displeasure of interacting with (besides Jungkook, because he’s your brother, and Hoseok, because he’s the best) become abundantly clear after your second mother-mandated blind date.

The first one that you went on a couple of weeks ago was alright. He wasn’t an asshole, but also he had the same amount of flavor as the plain white bread that you were served prior to the meal. But no points is better than negative points, right?

You mentioned to your mother that you probably wouldn’t be interested in a second date with him. She didn’t sound surprised.

Unfortunately for you, your second blind date was not nearly as uneventful.

The good part about your date was that it was a brunch arrangement, which is unabashedly your favorite meal of the day and also saves you the trouble of having to get all dressed up for a fancy dinner in the center of the city. But that is where the good parts end.

You don’t know what your parents were thinking, setting you up with a man like Sangmin. Every single thing that you have ever complained to them about a man, Sangmin either did or was. The first red flag was how he showed up to your brunch meeting wearing a navy blue suit. It didn’t get any better from there.

You know that your parents just want you to find someone and settle down, someone who can take the weight off of your shoulders and get you to stop working so hard, someone who will make you happy and who can keep you comfortable, someone who is something that you genuinely will want to spend time with, but you can’t explain why, with this knowledge of your preferences and dislikes, they still send you on dates with men like Sangmin.

Men who boast about their money with every chance they get, checking the time just so they can flash their Rolex watch even though their phone is right there, telling you how many fancy cars they own that deserve a woman like you in the passenger seat. Men who try to explain economic practices that your family pioneered to you. Men whose eyes flash with dollar signs when they hear that you’re going to be inheriting your family’s company.

Your parents want you to find someone who can take the weight off of your shoulders and keep you comfortable? They should let you pick.

At one in the afternoon and not a moment later, you storm into your office, flinging your bag onto your chair as you groan aloud, staring out the window and fighting the urge to punch right through the Plexiglass. There’s no word for the way you’re feeling, the unintelligible growl that you let out. You just aren’t having a very good day.

Your desire to interact with men is at an all time low, and yet, you can’t help but turn around when you hear his voice.

“Knock, knock,” Seokjin says from the doorway, two cups of steaming coffee in his hand. He strolls up happily to you, placing the plastic cup in your outstretched hand. “How’d it go?”

“Bad,” you spit, not wanting to say anything else.

“Oh, no, really?” Seokjin asks, genuinely disappointed. At least someone was rooting for you. You don’t even think you had been rooting for yourself. “Worse than the first guy?”

“Say the first guy was just… slightly stale white bread, okay?” You begin to explain, because Seokjin doesn’t need the details and you don’t need to relive the experience. “Then this guy would be… how would you put it—?”

“Really stale white bread?” Seokjin offers.

“A rotten egg mayonnaise sandwich that’s been sitting in a dumpster for two weeks,” you correct.

Seokjin winces. A perfect reaction, as always.

“It was just bad. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” You decide once and for all, moving to your desk and slamming the coffee cup onto the wood. It sloshes over the edge and splashes around the side, leaving behind a ring that you know you’ll have to clean up later.

Seokjin goes to stand by the window, looking out into the back gardens of the resort, all tropical red flowers and vibrant green leaves. “You have a third one, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” you groan, the mere thought sending shivers down your spine. And not the good kind. The fact that the dates aren’t even over yet is enough to send you into a tailspin. “God, my parents are just desperate, at this point.”

“Why?” He asks, turning to face you, brown eyes wide and curious. “Are they worried about something?”

“Ugh,” you begin, on the verge of slamming your head onto the mahogany. The problem isn’t that your parents are worried you won’t find someone. It’s that your parents think that it’s their job to find someone for you. “I think they’re scared that I’m never going to marry, or that I work myself too hard and need someone to spend time with to calm down. I don’t understand. Even if I were to never marry, that’s not a bad thing. I can do what I want. I’m perfectly capable of running my family’s group without someone else.”

“Do you not want to get married?” Seokjin asks. The reason, you realize, that Seokjin is so refreshing, a respite from the rest of the executives that constantly surround you, is because he doesn’t expect anything of you. He doesn’t assume that you’ll eventually marry and become disparaging when you suggest otherwise. He doesn’t assume that you constantly need guidance on official matters that you alone have been tasked to handle. He doesn’t assume that you aren’t capable.

(He did assume your preferred coffee order. And he is an excellent judge.)

“I mean,” you begin, rubbing at your temples in a desperate attempt to relieve your body of the stress that sits upon it, “I suppose that eventually, it would be nice. But I’m in no rush if I haven’t met the right person, you know? Like, I’m not going to force myself to if the time isn’t right. There’s no deadline to get married.”

Seokjin nods in agreement, mouth shut. One of your favorite things about Seokjin is how, whenever you begin to speak, he begins to listen.

“My parents are just putting all of this pressure on me to get married because they think that I’ll need someone’s help when I take over after my father retires. Or they just think that I’m sad and lonely. Which, maybe they’re right about the second part, but I just hate how they’re putting all of this pressure on me to go on dates and get married and work hard when there isn’t even a timeline for me to take over yet. I don’t even have real confirmation that my father is planning on retiring anytime soon. I just—ugh!” There really is no better way to put it than to just shriek and throw your hands up in the air. You sigh, dragging your hand down the side of your face. “Do you ever wish that you could just… I don’t know. Disappear?”

Seokjin’s eyes widen when he hears your words, like they’ve set something off in his brain. Even sitting on your tongue, they feel familiar to you. Where have you heard those before?

He seems to wait for another few moments, contemplating what he’s next going to say, like if he just opens his mouth and lets the words flow out he’ll say something wrong. Little does Seokjin know, in your eyes, nothing he could ever say would be wrong to you.

“You aren’t sad and lonely,” he begins, a nice, comforting pep talk even though you sort of are both sad and lonely. You work nonstop and have three friends, two of which are employed by your family, the other one being your brother. “And you don’t need to rush into getting married if you don’t feel like it, no matter what your parents say. I mean, at least I think you don’t. You’re obviously much more focused on your career and how you want to succeed in the future, and that’s good. It’s something that means a lot to you.”

He takes a few steps towards you, setting his coffee cup on your desk. You look up to him from where you’re sitting in your office chair, letting his words carve themselves deep into your heart, rest within your soul.

Sometimes, you don’t realize you’ve gotten yourself down until someone is trying to pick you back up.

“You do have control over your life,” he tells you, and for once in your life you actually feel yourself believing it. “What you are doing, what you have been doing, is right. Things will come with time. You’ll learn and grow more as you keep living. And even if you aren’t looking for them right now—” he says, eyes wide and knowing and promising, looking at you so desperately because God, he just wants you to listen to him. To let his words mean something. “—there is someone out there who will love you.”

The sound of his voice dissipates into the air, sinking into the floor, dust after a storm.

“You really think so?” You ask, hopeful. You never believed in soulmates but you have always believed in love. Believed that when the feeling was right, you would know.

(That kiss still lingers in your mind, like morning dew after a rainy night. Like frost settling over the grass. Is it possible that you can feel like that again?)

Seokjin nods, firm and true. He does think that. He does. “I do,” he says. “I really do.”

The third date is forgettable.

Or perhaps Seokjin has just enchanted you. So much so that your brain doesn’t even choose to remember interactions with other men. They just aren’t as memorable.

You finish up this round of parent-mandated rich boy blind dates and get back to work, knowing that you might as well make the most of your now-unoccupied time before your mother decides once again that it’s time for you to go on dates again with men you have no interest in. Work, unlike so many other things in your life, will always be a constant. For better or for worse.

Today, it’s barely even dawn before you arrive at the hotel. In recent days, the resort has become your hub for all of your work, even the work that doesn’t have anything to do with it. There’s just something calming about being here. Something that makes you feel more productive. That makes you want to work more.

You slide into your office with ease, coffee in one hand and messenger bag in the other, surprisingly awake considering the sun is hardly over the horizon, soft orange rays peeking out from between the trees and skyscrapers. You don’t imagine there’s a lot of tasks of immediate priority waiting for you on your desk, but there’s always other work to be done. Administrative orders, emails to send, requests to be made. Even here, there’s no shortage of items on your never-ending to-do list.

Seokjin’s not due to clock in for another several hours, at least. But he works long days and longer nights, and he deserves at least the morning off. He should at least be afforded that small luxury.

Sitting down in your office chair, you pull yourself into the desk, elbows resting on the hardwood, head in your palms. The smell of coffee wafts through the air, thick and potent, waking up your nerves, one by one, sending small waves through your brain. You close your eyes, almost drifting back to sleep, sighing happily.

Today feels like a good day.

The hours pass quickly when you’re here, the sun rising slowly in the sky as it always does, day in and day out. You rely on it as much as it relies on you, wakes up this little corner of the world, says hello to the people stepping out of their doors and onto the street. No matter what, you know that the sun will always be there to greet you when you wake and say goodbye before you sleep. Within thirty minutes your coffee is finished, within the hour your emails are answered.

One by one, you check the tasks off your list, responding to a phone call or two, forwarding some files to your father, rejecting a business proposal and requesting changes to another. You don’t even notice the minutes blowing past you until the sun is high in the sky, and the clock is chiming twelve. Noon, already?

“Knock knock,” a voice from the doorway calls.

You feel your body relax when you see Seokjin standing there, peeking his head into your office like he always does. He looks much more casual today, a sweater vest over a button-down shirt, looser beige pants in place of his usual tailored slacks, hair sitting in a tousled mess atop his head, forehead peeking through the strands that hang low over his face, brushing his eyelashes. Instinctively, you glance down to your usual pantsuit attire. Did you miss a memo?

“What, no coffee for me today?” You tease, an eyebrow raised as Seokjin enters, coffee cup-less.

“Not today, sorry,” he says with a guilty smile. “I thought that maybe we could get something else to eat.”

“Oh!” You exclaim happily. “Sure, we can order some delivery. What are you feeling? Sushi? A burger? Oh, I know this wonderful brunch place that’s just a few blocks away—”

Seokjin laughs, a hand reaching out to push your phone done. The mere sensation of his fingertips upon your skin are enough to have you looking back up at him, shellshocked, heart frozen in place. “I was thinking something a little different.”

“Like what?” There are plenty of options for the two of you to pick from.

“How about you and I take a break this afternoon?” He asks, eyes wide with ambition.

You frown, nose scrunched up at the notion. “A break? You mean… leave?”

Seokjin nods. Oh, so you did hear him correctly. “You’re always working so hard. You should take some time off.”

“Ugh,” you respond, rolling your eyes, having had this conversation thousands of times before. “You sound like Hoseok.”

“Hoseok’s right, Miss Y/N,” Seokjin points out, much to your chagrin. “You’ve been working so much lately. Just a little break, alright? We can get out of here and do something fun.”

“Nice try, Seokjin,” you say with a scoff, turning back to the work in front of you. “Maybe some other time.” Which means never, so long as you can help it.

“Oh, come on,” Seokjin says, a pleading lilt to his voice. He’s beginning to pout in front of you, lower lip turned outwards. “Just a couple of hours, please? We can go into the city and walk around for a little bit. Eat some food in the park, or something.”

You look up to him, eyes narrowed in suspicion. That does sound good… but you have work to do, items to cross off your list. This hotel isn’t going to manage itself, and neither is your life. “A couple of hours?” You clarify, interest piqued.

“Just a couple,” Seokjin promises, fighting off the grin that’s etching its way across his face. “Please?”

You sigh.

Twenty minutes and a Lyft ride later, you and Seokjin are standing in the middle of the city, along the streets known for their high-class fashion boutiques and expensive restaurants with afternoon tea. There’s a park a couple of blocks to the north. It’s a part of the city that you rarely get to spend time in, usually trapped in the business skyscraper sector a ten-minute subway ride away, but for that reason alone, it feels brand new.

Seokjin buys you both a cup of expensive coffee despite your objections, and the two of you walk along the sidewalks side by side, sipping from your paper cups with plastic lids, letting the warmth wash down your throats.

It’s nice, being out here. Away from anything that reminds you of work. With someone you’ve wanted to spend more time with for a while, now.

Out here, you can almost pretend. Pretend that you aren’t the heiress to a major global conglomerate, pretend that you aren’t being groomed to marry up, pretend that life is just a little more normal.

Out here, you can almost pretend that you and Seokjin are more than just friends.

“Oh my God, Y/N, look at this shirt!” Seokjin gasps, stopping in his tracks in front of the window of one of the most expensive luxury boutiques you can name. You’re pretty sure that Jungkook shops here sometimes.

The shirt in question is a satin white button-down with hand-stitched birds decorating the fabric, wispy little designs that seem to be fluttering off of the material itself. It stands front and center in the window, a masterpiece meant to have people stopping in the streets just to gaze up at it in awe. It’s doing its job rather well.

“You wanna try it on?” You offer, motioning towards the door of the shop, a sleek, black one with metallic silver accents.

“What?” He asks, turning to you with an eyebrow raised.

You smile, pointing up at the shirt, eyes tracing the drape of the fabric. “Come on, just for fun.”

It doesn’t take much more convincing to have Seokjin marching up to the door and pulling it open, giddy like a child walking into a toy store. He spots what he’s looking for immediately, a single shirt on a silver rack, hanging from a simple wire hanger. Other than the one on the mannequin in the window, there seems to be no other option.

“It even feels expensive,” Seokjin sighs happily, hand brushing over the satin fabric. He holds it out to you, and it’s so light and pliable that you can barely feel your fingertips touching the material.

“There’s the fitting room,” you say, pointing to the back corner, black velvet held up by a rod, muted gray paint lining the walls. Seokjin grins excitedly at you before rushing off, disappearing behind the curtain with a flourish.

Instinctively, your eyes trace the interior, jumping from the hangings on the walls to the decorative shelves, the pastel cashmere sweaters and shiny leather loafers, the silken white button downs and navy striped ties. Every item in this room practically screams Seokjin’s name, and even when he isn’t in front of you can you picture him wearing each piece, picture him in an oversized light pink sweater or a sleek white suit.

It’s weird. You’ve never been able to imagine things like that. Not even on you.

The clothes in here are some of the most gorgeous garments you’ve ever had the pleasure of laying your eyes on and yet there is something else in this room that outshines them all.

“Ready?”

You turn back to the fitting room, watch as the curtain shifts slightly. “Ready,” you say.

A hand comes out to push the curtain to the side, satin sleeves covering his wrist, but not even that glimpse of skin could really prepare you for the sight before your eyes.

Seokjin steps out of the fitting room and you almost gasp aloud at the sight.

The funny part is that he isn’t wearing anything else designed to complete the look. His hair is loose and floppy, like he had brushed through it with his fingers once or twice before deciding it was good enough. His pants are a roomy beige, hardly even complimenting the monochromatic shirt, white with black accents. He’s wearing sneakers.

And yet, he looks stunning.

Standing in front of you, Seokjin looks like the kind of person that your parents would want to set you up with. Rich, well-dressed (not that he isn’t already), powerful, educated. But he looks like more than that, too. He looks like someone straight out of a painting, like a sculpture that belongs in a museum. He stands tall and mighty, the hero after defeating a villain, the love interest in an old-timey film.

God, he looks amazing. Looks like he belongs in those clothes, belongs in this store. Belongs in the kind of life that the usual clientele of this store live in. Something about him is just so familiar. Like he has always fit into the crowd that your parents want you to associate with. Like you’ve seen him before, once upon a dream.

“So,” he says, interrupting your thoughts with a smug smile. “How do I look?”

He must already know the answer to that.

You’re speechless. “I—Wow, Seokjin. You look great.”

A hand comes up to rub at the nape of his neck. “You think so?”

“I know so,” you correct. “It fits you perfectly.”

The fabric shapes his shoulders but drapes over the rest of his torso, including his ridiculously small waist. It both hangs loosely and hugs all of the right places. Your family regularly gets clothing tailored and yet you still don’t think you’ve ever seen any item of clothing fitting someone as well as this one does him. It’s as if the damn thing was made for him.

“It feels like I’m wearing a cloud and a blanket all at once,” he says dreamily, relishing in the feeling. “If only the price tag made me feel this way too.”

“How much is it?”

Seokjin holds out the sleeve to which the tag is attached for you to inspect, and the moment you see a comma in the cost, you understand why. No wonder Jungkook’s fine with shopping here. To your family, that amount is pocket change.

“But you really like it, don’t you?” You ask, looking back up at him, closer now. Seokjin nods, lips pressed together in a thin line, wanting something that he knows he can’t have. You know that feeling, too.

“I would get it if I didn’t mind taking out a loan for it,” he jokes, admiring the detail at the cuffs, the way it cinches in towards his wrist.

“Then let me buy it for you,” you say before thinking twice, because you have more money than you realistically know what to do with and Seokjin deserves it. He looks gorgeous in it and more importantly, he feels gorgeous in it. He emerged from the fitting room and it was almost like there was this white glow surrounding him, this fluorescent halo that made it seem like the shirt was melting into his body.

Seokjin’s eyes widen. “What? No, I can’t let you.”

“Please?” You plead, eyes gazing up to him. “You deserve it. Plus, you look amazing.”

“It’s so much money,” Seokjin reminds you, shaking his head. “I can’t. No.”

“Seokjin, do you even know who I am? I can afford it, don’t worry,” you assure him, already pulling him towards the register, his old sweater vest and button down still hanging on the rack inside the fitting room.

“No, I can’t let you. It might not be a lot of money to you, but it is to me,” insists Seokjin, refusing to back down.

You roll your eyes, figuring out the game that he’s playing. “Then consider it a thank you. For all of the things that you do for me. The least of which is bringing me coffee every day.”

“That’s just my job, Y/N—” He reaches out a hand to stop you from getting out your wallet, his enormous palm cupping yours as you stare at him, fighting over the shirt like two friends with a restaurant bill.

“No,” you tell Seokjin, because his job is to be a hotelier but he became a friend instead. And he didn’t do it just because he was told to. “You deserve it,” you say, placing your free hand on top of his. It makes him look at you, eyes glossy and big and beautiful. “You really do, Seokjin. This is the least I can do to say thank you for being there for me.”

“Ma’am?”

The lady behind the counter catches you both off guard. “Will you be buying this shirt?”

Seokjin looks down at you in disbelief, almost like he doesn’t expect you to say yes. Like he doesn’t think he’s worthy of a shirt with such a high price tag.

But little does Seokjin know, if you could buy the whole universe for him, you would do it in a heartbeat.

You walk out of the boutique with a light heart and a lighter credit card, with Seokjin by your side and his old clothes in a cardstock bag with ribbons for handles. Even if he had resisted at first, you’re happy that he caved. He looks stupidly handsome. You’re actually somewhat regretting agreeing that he should wear the shirt out instead.

A block away from the park is a little macaron store with more available flavors than you can count on both of your hands and toes. Feeling insatiable, you buy a box of twenty-four and decide on the spot that you won’t be leaving the center of the city without having finished them all. The mere scent of the shop as you walked in was enough to send you into a tizzy.

Seokjin scopes out an open spot on the grass, in the shade of a big Japanese maple tree, and the two of you immediately settle down in the park, the blades tickling your ankles as you set the box of macarons in between the two of you and get to work filling your stomachs.

“All of my friends are going to think that you’re like, my sugar mommy for buying me this,” Seokjin says, taking a bite out of the lavender one.

“If you’re really that embarrassed, you could always say that I just gave you a raise,” you offer, peering over into the box to pick your poison. The problem is that you just want to shove all twenty-three into your mouth.

“No way,” says Seokjin over a mouthful of macaron. “A sugar mommy is way more exciting. I’m just lucky I have a boss with a bank account.”

“Well, unlike all of the other men that my parents have sent me on dates with, you actually deserve to have someone treat you once in a while,” you say happily, eventually deciding on a lemon flavored macaron and popping the entire thing into your mouth. “I’ve met very few men who are as charming as you, Seokjin. Charming and kind.”

“‘Very few’?” Seokjin repeats, interest piqued. “Who dares upstage me?”

You laugh at his brazenness, his attractive confidence. “Oh, no one,” you say with a shrug of your hand. “There was this one guy I met at my birthday party, but I didn’t even catch his name.”

“Too busy mingling to ask?” Seokjin teases, looking sufficiently less confident than he did ten seconds ago. Like someone you had just said caught him off guard.

“Yes, actually. And you don’t really need to know this, but he was an excellent kisser, too. Really sent me into a tailspin,” you say, feeling the faint sensation dance across your lips, the ghost of his mouth on yours. “But he ran off at midnight like Cinderella and left only a mask behind to remind me that I didn’t dream up the whole thing.”

“Ah,” Seokjin says with a nod, a strangely succinct answer for a man as wordy as he. A silence settles over the two of you as you continue to eat, slowly emptying out the box of macarons between the two of you, a light snack to keep you occupied when your mouths aren’t running circles around each other. “My dog gave birth a few weeks ago,” he says randomly. “Want to see some photos?”

At your enthusiastic reply, Seokjin pulls his phone from his pocket and opens up his camera roll to reveal a gorgeous terrier with four equally adorable puppies nursing from her, and your heart nearly melts. Nearly all of his most recent photos are pictures of them as they’ve grown older, opened their eyes and learned how to walk, started play-fighting with each other and eventually tracking into new territory (the living room), but you don’t miss the couple of selfies you see here and there. Even with the warped iPhone camera does Seokjin still look positively flawless.

“They’re adorable, Seokjin,” you tell him, heart soft. “I’m in love.”

“Me, too,” Seokjin says happily. “Two of the puppies have future homes but I think I want to keep one of them. I just love them too much to let them all go.”

“You’ll make a great dog dad,” you assure him, sighing contentedly. “God, don’t you even know how perfect you are, Seokjin?”

He is silent.

“Like, you bring me coffee every day and do all of your work and never talk down to me or assume that I don’t know what I’m doing. You’ve raised a family of dogs and have shown them more love than anything else. You even got me to leave the office for once even though you knew that I’d be really annoying about it,” you declare, partially to him, partially to you, and partially to the world, who deserves to know that there is someone out there like Seokjin that is equal parts wonderful and generous and kind and handsome and funny and lovable.

It’s not just the fact that most of your interactions with men your age go sour. It’s the fact that Seokjin is good just because he is, not because he tries to be. It’s the fact that he cares so deeply and loves so much. It’s the fact that for once, there is someone out there who really does understand you.

“You deserve a break,” Seokjin points out. “You work too hard.”

“Hoseok will be so angry that you accomplished what he’s been trying to get me to do for months, now,” you say. You’ve already missed three phone calls and seven texts from him within the last couple of hours.

“It’s my charm,” Seokjin teases, a soft watermelon macaron grin on his face.

“It really is,” you agree, feeling the gap between you close, inch by inch. “There’s just something about you, Kim Seokjin.”

“Mmm, do tell,” Seokjin murmurs, beginning to lean in, your bodies moving of their own accord. Your mouth tastes like lemon and sugar and coffee, but you can’t find it in yourself to care any less. “Because there’s something about you too, Miss Y/N.”

Slowly, you feel your eyes begin to drift shut, craving more than what you already have, itching to feel his lips press against yours, to feel that same fire in your feins. Of course, the next time you kiss someone would be here, underneath a giant Japanese maple in the middle of a city park, the furthest cry from a hotel balcony beneath a starry sky. But something about this is distinctly familiar in a way that you can taste, in a way that you will know once his lips press against yours. Beside you, Seokjin is barely an inch apart from you, pink lips with macaron crumbs hovering over yours. God, he’s so close.

You want him to be closer.

And then—

“Aw, what the—?”

The two of you jerk apart to find a giant stain on Seokjin’s shoulder, courtesy of an unknown flying park visitor who has long disguised themselves amongst the leaves of the maple, waiting for the right time to do its business.

“Seriously?” Seokjin groans, looking down at the white and brown stain that now rests squarely on the fabric of his brand new shirt, an unpleasant splat front and center. “Thank you, bird,” he declares, throwing his hands up in the air.

You fight the urge to laugh at how uncanny all of this is. “I’ll pay for dry cleaning.”

“No, it’s alright,” Seokjin says, grabbing a couple of the napkins from the macaron shop to dab on the stain. “A little soap and laundry detergent will be enough. No big deal.”

“I just feel bad,” you tell him.

“Me, too,” Seokjin agrees, pressing gently against the fabric. “Great timing, too.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, dejected.

Perhaps, if you were a little bit bolder or a little less fearful, you would try again. You would throw caution to the wind and press his lips against his, bird business and all, and never look back. You would relish in the sensation of his mouth on yours, of his hands on your waist, itching to feel that same feeling again. Itching to know that there really is someone out there who will love you.

But you aren’t, and the moment is over. And you can’t, because you just don’t know how to. And you ponder if you will forever wonder what he tastes like, what he feels like.

The clock strikes three.

Some days you come in early, and some days you stay in late.

Later than usual, that is, because you regularly stay past eight in the evening without blinking an eye.

But some nights, you just don’t feel like going home. At least, not yet, you do. Some nights, you would rather stay here.

Home is where you’re supposed to feel at ease, where you’re supposed to relax and unwind, take off your heels and jacket, pour yourself a cup of tea. And that is what your home is to you, a place that you try to keep as free of your work life as possible.

But sometimes, you would rather just work.

Rather work and feel productive and get home a little bit later than go home and feel like you still have so much to do. Rather work than dwell on all of the other parts of your life that don’t involve work, things like marriage and retirement and your family. Things that you feel like you have no say in, no control over. You go home and waiting for you is another phone call from your mother telling you that you need to find someone. You go home and your father drops by to hand you a pile of late-night tasks reminiscent of how hard he’s been working lately. You go home and even if you’re all by yourself, your thoughts take control over your mind. Your worries and fears are magnified.

So some nights, you would rather just work.

Peering out the window of your office, you notice that the stars are just a little bit brighter out here, away from the hustle and bustle of the city. Not nearly as clear as they were on your birthday, at a hotel overlooking the town from afar, but clearer. There isn’t a cloud in the sky as the stars twinkle above you, waving hello from millions of light years away.

Nights like these are too rare to spend indoors, huddled over your computer as you draft another email. Just because you’re still at work doesn’t mean you still have work to do. Well, you do, but you’re trying to be kinder to yourself. Trying to cut yourself a few more corners of slack.

The rooftop is not off limits to guests. But you know a couple of secret places that can afford you the privacy you want, the space to lie back against the cement and feel the breeze tickle your skin.

When you arrive, there’s already someone there. A familiar tuft of brown hair, an oversized pink sweater. You wonder how long he’s been out here.

“Knock knock.” Your sounds like a whisper but feels like a shout, the wind carrying the words from your lips to his ears as he turns around, hardly surprised to see you here.

Seokjin laughs when he sees you, this fond, wonderful smile as you stroll up beside him, where he’s sat with his legs crossed on the rooftop’s edge, looking out over the distant city, the waterfront. “Didn’t think you’d still be here,” he says.

“I could say the same for you,” you retort easily, setting down beside him. If you were any braver, you’d rest your head on his shoulder.

You’re not.

“You must know by now that I practically live here,” Seokjin jokes.

“Well, I’m starting to pay rent as well, so you better get used to it, don’t you think?” You tease back, looking out into the same city, illuminated by the same moon.

Seokjin narrows his eyes. “I thought that you were going to start taking it easy on yourself,” he reminds you pointedly, one of the lasting lessons you had learned from the day out on the town. The other being not to sit underneath Japanese maple trees.

“What can I say, I just love to work,” you say, and even though you try to make it sound like a joke both you and Seokjin know you’re not kidding. Work always has and always will be your biggest priority. Never have you lived in a world where anything else comes first. Never have you cultivated that sort of life for yourself.

“How’s your family?” He asks, a broad question with a loaded answer.

You don’t even feel yourself letting out a sigh until the groan leaves your lips, settling like dust. “The same as always,” you say, not even attempting to sound cheerful or happy about it. “They work me hard because they want me to succeed. And I want that, too.”

“But don't you ever want something more?” Seokjin asks, but it’s not the sort of question where he wants you to give him a yes or a no. It’s the sort of question where he already knows that you want to say yes, that there is a whisper deep inside of you that wants to have a life outside of your job, your workaholic family. But you can’t. Because your family is counting on you.

“I just can’t let them down,” you say instead, because you and Seokjin both already knew how you were going to respond anyway. “There’s so much that they expect of me. What kind of heiress��no, what kind of daughter am I if I don’t at least try?”

“It sounds like you’ve thought about this a lot,” Seokjin muses.

You force a chuckle. Obviously you have. Whenever you aren’t working, you’re thinking about what next you must do, what next is on your list. You’re thinking about how your family is counting on you to succeed. And how you want to do it for them. “I’ve had my moments.”

“Do a lot of people know how you feel?” He poses, looking at you curiously.

You shrug. “Not really. My parents, no. Jungkook, sort of. Hoseok, yes. And I suppose you, now, too.”

Seokjin cracks a small smile, this lopsided grin that makes you feel like you’re missing something. “So I guess they’re secrets, aren’t they?”

“Secrets?” You respond naively, an eyebrow raised in bewilderment.

“Secrets, huh?” He asks, sliding another inch closer, daringly so, teetering on the edge of territory that you haven’t touched in years. “I like the sound of that. Got any more for me?”

You smirk up at him, a grin playing on your lips. “Only if you have one for me in return. No freebies.”

He laughs, loud and clear, the sound ringing out in the nighttime air. “Alright,” he says, obliging. He leans in close, lips hovering above your ear. “I think you’re gorgeous.”

“Oh my God,” you say aloud, dumbfounded. “Oh my fucking God. It’s you?”

Seokjin laughs out loud at that, clapping his hands together at your positively shocked face, mouth agape like a fish out of water. He seems very amused by this, for some reason. A reason you can’t ascertain, mostly because you had no idea. “Honestly, I’m surprised you even figured it out from that. It took you forever to realize.”

You’re so scandalized you don’t even have the right words to respond. “What do you mean, ‘it took forever for me to realize’? Why didn’t you say something?” You demand.

Seokjin’s still fighting off the remnants of his laughter, hiccups escaping from his parted lips every few seconds. “Because it was obvious you didn’t recognize me at first! And I had no idea it was you until you showed up at the hotel that first day anyway. And I didn’t want to bring it up, because I was worried it would have made things weird.”

“Look at us now!” You cry, positively mortified. Seokjin knew it was you the moment you stepped through the sliding glass doors and you still hadn’t figured it out, not even after weeks of knowing him, of getting to spend time with him. “God, I just—I can’t believe this.”

“The funny part is how I knew you had no idea who I was and yet I fell for you anyway,” Seokjin says, but his words aren’t making you laugh whatsoever.

Your heart freezes in place as they sink in, etching themselves into your thoughts. “You—you what?”

“You befriended me without knowing that I was the man you kissed on the balcony that night, let me bring you coffee and confided in me and bought me the most expensive item of clothing that I currently own,” Seokjin says, a list of things that you loved him for all the same, “and I realized that it didn’t take that kiss to get me to fall for you. It took knowing you. Learning who you are. Who you want to be.”

You feel your heart getting lighter with every syllable that leaves his mouth, every breath that he takes.

The truth is that no man had ever made you feel the way that the mystery man did when you kissed that night. But no man had ever loved you the way that Seokjin did. Treated you the way that Seokjin did. The kiss was a spark.

The friendship was the fire.

“All this time you were right here,” you muse, looking at him. Here in the moonlight you finally understand why he looked so familiar, why the light hit his skin in all the right places, why the sound of his voice had always struck a chord within you. He glows silver in the moonlight and yellow from the halo above his head, he sits beneath the navy sky and lets the starlight decorate his irises, sparkles in a deep brown ocean. “All this time, and I had no idea.”

“I’m sort of glad you didn’t know,” Seokjin admins sheepishly. “We got to fall in love another way.”

Love?

Could it be?

You’ve never truly been in love. Not the way that your parents are, or the sneaky way you see Yoongi looking at Jungkook sometimes when he’s not looking. But if it feels anything like this, anything like electricity beneath your skin and embers inside your chest, then you think you might be on your way.

“You’re in love with me?” You ask.

“Kinda, yeah,” Seokjin admits crudely.

You feel your cheeks heating up, your heart bubbling within you. You lean in close, watching faintly as he does the same, eyes trained on your lips. “Do you have any other secrets for me?” You murmur, the words hot and heavy on your tongue.

He inches closer to you, lips hovering above your own, this soft, contented smile on his face as he gazes down at you, at the way that you are beginning to love him back, at the way that you already do.

“This.”

The words barely leave his lips before he’s pressing them against yours, and the moment you touch him you know, you know that it’s him, that it’s Seokjin, that he is the man that you have been waiting for. Immediately your body lights up, electric shocks tearing through your veins, blood set alight. He is so familiar, smells and tastes and feels so familiar, like you have known him for a thousand years and you’ll know him for a thousand more. You get the same sensation you had when you last kissed him, all those nights ago, your body going weak, your skin turning to flames, but there’s something else, too.

A burst in your chest. A puff of smoke in your heart.

A fireplace. A little room in your heart, just for the two of you. For you. For your love.

You think you could get used to this.

He pulls away after a few moments and immediately you feel dizzy, like his lips were the only thing keeping you stable, closing your eyes as you burn the feeling into your brain, memorize how his mouth presses against yours.

When you finally open them, there Seokjin sits, kiss-drunk and in love, this goofy, wonderful smile on his face.

“I’m still angry at you for not telling me. You could have saved us so much time,” you declare, not wanting the moment to last too long for fear that you’ll become obsessed.

Seokjin laughs, pressing a quick kiss to your nose. “Even if you forgot who I was tomorrow, I wouldn’t tell you,” he says, this stupid perfect grin on his face, this gorgeous, brilliant grin, “because I would happily fall in love with you all over again.”

God, he is so beautiful. A dream come true. A happy ever after.

The following morning your father saves you the trouble of having to awkwardly explain why you don’t feel comfortable continuing to oversee the resort hotel by letting you know that you’re welcome back in the central building in town and that he’ll have another executive replace you. Thank God, because that would have been one strange phone call.

Luckily, when your parents do eventually meet Seokjin, they are pleased to see that he’s been a loyal hotelier to your family’s conglomerate for several years now, and that he excels at his job. You also think that your mother’s just gotten softer over the years, wishing more for you to be happy than for you to be married to someone you hate.

It’s a good thing Seokjin’s charming. Otherwise, you have no idea what could have happened. But he’s here, and he’s with you, and your parents are happy and so are you. What more could you ask for?

“Your mom really didn’t have to throw this whole party just for me,” Seokjin whispers into your ear as the music plays on inside, this soft classical sound that Yoongi had composed not too long ago.

You turn around to look back in through the window, watching all of the guests waltzing along to the song. Jungkook’s in the back corner, behind the grand piano, and you can see him throwing winks Yoongi’s way every now and then. The sound of the party is barely audible from out here, in the stars’ silence, in the faint way the night whispers, this distant white noise.

“Throwing parties is her thing,” you explain helplessly. “Besides, you’re part of the family now, aren’t you?”

“Hey now, we aren’t married just yet,” he reminds you pointedly. “Unless you—?”

“Only after my father’s retirement next month,” you tell him for the umpteenth time. It’s not that you don’t want to be married. It’s that you don’t have time. You’re about to inherit an entire empire. You would prefer not to be juggling two major life events at once, if you can help it. “Besides, you don’t even have a ring.”

“How do you know that?” He asks innocently.

You smack him in the torso with your satin-gloved hand, shocked. “What?”

“I never said anything,” he teases, looking off to the side far too guiltily for your liking.

You place your hands on your hips and turn firmly to face him. “Kim Seokjin, do you want to marry me?” You demand.

Seokjin laughs, twirling you around before pressing a kiss to your lips, the two of you giggling. “Always!” He declares to the world. “I think about marrying you every day of my life.”

You grin. “Then we will. Then let’s get married. After my father’s retirement, of course.”

“Of course,” Seokjin agrees.

“What do you think the theme should be?” You ask, racking your brain for potential options. You like the idea of a rustic, cottage-y wedding. Or perhaps a more celestial one. Or maybe, if you wanted to go full circle, a masquerade.

Seokjin smiles. It’s clear he already has his answer.

“How about Cinderella?”

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback!

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xhisokas-harleyx · 3 years

Note

Your Hisoka headcanons were so good😭 and i completely agree with all of them- I wanted request something, u can ignore if u want. 🏃

I am just thinking of a scenario where Hisoka got hurt, by someone who 'cheated' in the fight maybe, and his first instinct was to go to his 'friend's place. And Reader helps him without hesitation, they're even worried and stuff. And he is just like "are they just so naive or dumb? Kind? What do they get from this? And tf is this feeling in my chest? A poison maybe-" Maybe hcs? Or an oneshot? Whatever you like to do. Have a good day or night!:)💛 damn i wrote too much lol sorry

This warms my heart. Thank you SO MUCH for your support!!! And no, you did not write too much! I love having my ego stroked ;) 😂 seriously tho I love hearing from you guys!

I love this prompt. I hope that I was able to bring this to life for you, please feel free to request more!

To be honest, I’m not really happy with how this turned out, but I haven’t written in a long time and feel really rusty. I may rewrite it at some point, because I thought of a different way this could also go! At any rate, I hope you enjoy it.

Word Count: 2880 (yeh, it’s a long one :o)

A little song inspiration I had:

As The World Caves In: Matt Maltese

Hisoka x Reader One-Shot: The Man Beneath the Monster

...

Well... this wasn't supposed to happen.

Currently, the jester of everyone's nightmares lay on the ground, golden eyes staring up at the dull night sky while shrapnel and debris etched patterns into his back, remnants of the attack he'd just barely survived. Hisoka didn't normally have much of a problem mowing through his opponents- but then again, they usually didn't possess the ability to play with their enemy's mind. It was insanely unfair, the way he'd been attacked, and while it had been an interesting battle to say the least, Hisoka had barely pulled through.

Admittedly, he was invigorated by the feeling of almost being beaten- save for the searing pain that inched its way through every nerve in his body. Hisoka wasn't usually so affected by pain in general- in fact, more often than not, it gave him a certain indescribable gratification. He tended to brush off the feeling of most wounds he obtained during battle, distracting himself with shuffling his cards or fantasizing about the next battle he'd be facing. Only this time, if he didn't get help, he wasn’t sure there would BE another battle.

Hisoka strained himself to sit up, and looked down at his body, analyzing just how much damage he'd sustained. A deep gash opened up his chest, revealing glimpses of the muscular content underneath, and it was oozing a lot of blood. His arms and legs were burned, and some of the skin was a little charred, which smelled just lovely against the night breeze.

This is going to be difficult to cover with Texture Surprise... he thought, forcing himself a bit angrily to his feet, when he heard the cracking of the joints in his left ankle, indications of a break. He needed medical attention, badly. His gash wasn't going to heal itself, and he would bleed to death within hours if it didn’t get bandaged.

But where could he go? Hospitals wouldn't dare take him- even though he was a hunter, most people wouldn't be caught within miles of him, let alone would provide him any remedy. In fact, most people thought the world would be better off if he were dead anyway.

Maybe they were right.

He chuckled a little at the thought, but as he tried to brush those creeping inner fears off, he soon realized that his normal detached approach wasn't going to work this time. Already, his legs were getting weaker, and his vision was getting a little darker by the second. In that moment of weakness, when he felt the most vulnerable, the magician was puzzled by the singular thought that came to his mind.

Y/N.

She was a girl he’d encountered more than a few times in his travels; not by accident, but through carefully orchestrated meetings he initiated himself. She was strong in his eyes, which was not a compliment that he offered freely, especially to someone who didn’t regularly seek out altercations to smash their enemies. She was strong in a different way- not because of her nen or battle tactics- but because of her resolve. He found it intriguing that she didn’t run at the sight of him (even when he popped up behind her in the park), and he liked that she wasn't afraid to tell him exactly where he could shove his cards, if warranted. Y/N was appealing to him in an indescribable way that made him continue to think up excuses to meet her ‘randomly’- but he could never put his finger on what it was that made her unique. However, through brief conversations and what he considered to be highlights of his travels, he’d gotten to know her only a little, but he hardly had enough contact with her to call her a ‘friend’.

It wasn't like she had any special sort of healing nen. She probably couldn't help him anyway. But if he did bleed out, and his last thought had to be of something...l it might as well be of her.

The pink-haired clown looked to the city up ahead in the distance- he was close to her house already. It didn't take him long to get there; Y/N lived on the outskirts of town in a small place away from most other homes.

It was a place he knew well, although he'd never been inside. He'd spent more than a few long nights watching the residence from the rooftop of a distant neighboring home as he denied his human emotions. He often watched her pack groceries, or try to figure out why her porch light wasn't working (which he certainly had nothing to do with), or watch TV on the couch all alone.

Hisoka quite liked those stupid romantic comedies that played late at night on the local channel. His only opportunity to watch them was through her window- and in his mind, he was sure that she left the subtitles on because she can somehow sense his presence. She usually fell asleep watching those, and missed the part where the hero gets the girl. He always watched that part with particular interest, but he can't figure out what makes the protagonists so special to each other. If there was a feeling that caused them to sacrifice so much for one another… he sure didn’t know what it could be.

But he's not a hero, so why would he know what that feels like?

As Hisoka reached her door and lifted his hand to the doorknob, not bothering to knock, a pang of what could only be anxiety ripped through him. It was well past 2 AM, and he knew she had things to do early in the morning. Their previous encounters had been abnormal, to say the least, complete with him teasing her and being a douchebag. He's been nothing but an annoyance to Y/N, so why would she help him?

As soon as he was about to pull his hand away, the door swung open, revealing a disheveled looking y/n in its place. Hisoka was bent over in pain, holding his chest, but as she startled him a little, he straightened up and put on his mask, acting complacent and confident. He wanted to say something smart and witty like he always does- that always helped to bat the pain away. But his lips wouldn't move- his tongue wouldn't function as he stared at her, unable to reach out in a way that normal humans seem to find so easy.

He felt frozen in that moment. He was normally so deliberately irreverent, but seeing the look on her face made his blood run cold.

Don’t let her see this weakness. It was a plea to himself.

But Hisoka had no choice. He was broken, and he needed her to fix him. He wasn’t used to depending on someone else to save his life, but now his life rested in the hands of someone who most likely despised him.

"...Hisoka." Y/N breathed, her eyes widening as she placed a hand over her open mouth. Only seconds passed before her delicate hands were pulling him inside the door without hesitation. She didn't bother to ask what happened, what kind of trouble he'd gotten into, or whether she would also be in danger. Instead, she sat him down on the couch, laying a pillow under his head for comfort, which he annoyingly refused to use until he absolutely couldn’t hold his head up any longer.

Hisoka was a bit dazed from the loss of blood, and the crimson river was flowing all over y/n's lightly colored couch. He was puzzled by the swiftness of her reaction, and he watched tepidly as she shuffled frantically through the drawers in the bathroom for something to heal him. Though he was on the brink of death, his default deflection of emotions still shone through, a reflex that he didn’t even mean to activate.

“I don’t need your help, you know.” He said with an impudent grin, watching as she began to work on his wounds. “It’s just a scratch. But I can see how badly you want to touch me…” Why was he like this? Here she was, giving up everything to help him (a criminal and the scum of the Earth),yet he can’t so much as even show her an iota of gratitude. He knows, but will never admit that it comes from his inner vulnerability; that fear of getting hurt by these things called emotions. She could just as easily let him bleed to death in front of her; he knows she has the capability to be stone cold. But she won’t… why?

Why?

Y/N could have easily let Hisoka’s false complacency hurt her. But she knows that what he cannot express in his words, his heart cannot truly hide. It was the way he was built, she told herself, and she pushed on through his antics because she wanted to see him safe again. Through the laceration in his tough exterior, she could not only see the flesh beneath, but a glimpse of the man he tried to hide using the monster that he assumed everyone saw.

But she was different.

The jester was confused by her silence. Normally, she would have retorted at his smugness, but right now, she didn’t even seem concerned with it as she began to fumble with cleaning his wounds. The alcohol seared his flesh just as the emotions boiling within him burned his heart. Why would she ever care to help him when he’s been nothing but rude and degrading to her? Could it be that she really can see through the detached front and overbearing persona? Impossible, he’s spent years building that reputation!

Suddenly, he became enthralled with the way Y/N’s eyes focused on threading the needle to sew up his gash. The way that those fingertips danced over his pale skin made him jolt unexpectedly at her touch, exhibiting a softness that Hisoka has never known before. In fact, he can’t even fathom someone wanting to touch him without the intention to hurt him in some way.

The details slowly became a blur in his depressed mental state- but he still analyzed every motion Y/N made.

Oddly, the promised sting of death had never scared Hisoka before; he did as he pleased, without care for his own life nor anyone else’s. But as his vision faded, and he watched her through the gaze of someone nearing death, he realized that he did not want to leave this world yet. He wanted to live- and maybe he wanted to discover and experience what he’d been missing in those movies he’d watched through her window.

With that, Hisoka’s heart began to beat faster.

Blood loss. That’s what it is… Hisoka thought; but he wasn’t stupid; only unwilling to admit that he was beginning to exhibit the same qualities he saw in the protagonists of those hopeless romantic flicks. He was unable to accept that the tightening in his chest was not just because of her stitches pulling his lacerated skin together.

“Are they dead? Did you kill them?” Her voice brought him out of the trance-like state he was in, and his golden eyes focused on her face. Her hands were covered in his blood (which in itself made him feel delightfully feverish), but his gash had been mended, the bleeding stopped for now. Once again, he didn’t say anything. It was unusual for the smug magician to keep his mouth shut.

“Because if you didn’t kill them, I’m going to.” A protective tone dripped into her voice, bewildering Hisoka again. That quality in her voice was both threatening and comforting, and the duality sent a chill up his spine. It inspired him to use his voice, though it had lost some of its signature modulation.

“You have that little faith in me…” A cough escaped his lips before he could smile as if nothing was bothering him at all. “Of course I killed them, my dear.” Somehow, calling her ‘dear’ no longer felt right; that was typically a placeholder, a default name to use for someone he had no connection with, and she seemed to be worthy of more than that now.

As Y/N suddenly dipped to her knees, Hisoka refrained from any lewd thoughts that he normally might have had in such a situation. That sensation in his chest was too distracting to allow this memory to be defiled with something he often indulged in fantasies of. She began to slide the high-heeled shoe off of his swollen foot to wrap it. She began to struggle with ripping the fabric she’d gathered to act as a cast for the bone.

Surely, she knows who I am. Why would she bother to help someone like me? What is she gaining? She knows that with the flip of a card, I could end her life. She’s not even protecting herself in any way. She’s leaving her guard down right in front of me.

Perhaps it was his dark desire to set fear into everyone he came across, or his distorted need to drive away anyone who might care for him, but his body suddenly acted on its own. By instinct, almost as if it were a test of her intention, a card spawned between his middle and index finger, which was right against her neck. With just a slight movement of his knuckles, he could spill her blood. His golden eyes analyzed the way she froze for a moment, and he believed that to be the end of this fragile trust between them. That was until she lifted the fabric she was holding, sliding it along the edge of the card, and cutting it to the perfect length.

“Thanks.” She spoke, beginning to wrap and set the ankle in place.

At that small motion, Hisoka’s discretionary eyes widened, and his lips fell open in surprise. Rather than interpreting his advance as an attack, she’d innocently taken it as an offer of his help. Was this a joke? Was she stupid enough to trust him, or was she bold enough to outsmart his games? Was Y/N this confident that he wouldn’t just kill her? This naive girl at his feet seemed to be the only person in this convoluted world who didn’t see him as a disgusting, heartless monster… and that warmed his icy heart.

“I’m surprised this hasn’t happened before. I know you’re graceful, but high heels are always a recipe for a broken ankle.” She offset the pain of wrapping those bones by talking to him all through the procedure, and it worked wonders. He scoffed, but by that time, Hisoka’s snide comments and emotion-killing thoughts had been expended. Somehow, she’d broken through the barrier that he’d spent so long building around himself.

Unable to ignore his whims anymore, Hisoka reached out to touch Y/N’s hair, the soft delicate strands pleasing his senses. It’s the only movement he can make now, his body weakened from the loss of blood. His gilded eyes were barely open, but they looked directly into hers with an unfamiliar realization. His hand travelled weakly down her face, caressing her cheek with the most delicate touch he could muster, and held her head in his large hand as she froze there. He wondered for a moment if she was afraid, or if something deeper that he cannot see calms her.

A small, genuine smile is all he could muster for her before his hand dropped to the side of the couch, the same couch he watched her curl up on most nights. For once, it’s not a smirk, and it’s not a smug smile- but something she has never seen before- a true smile with good intention behind it. His eyes closed, with uncertainty that they would open in the morning.

After she’d finished her work, she stood up, and looked down at him. The only remaining light in the room was the silent flicker of the television set in the background, which illuminated both of their faces.

“I need you to be alright, Hisoka,” She cooed, unable to know if he could still hear her. He didn’t know if she even realized how much he wanted to kill her right now, because the way her kindness was attacking his heart while his chest was already sliced open was something he should not excuse.

As Y/N’s final healing gesture, she bent over his body gracefully. He was taken off guard when he felt the feathery soft sensation of her lips on his forehead, the kiss of an angel on his clammy skin. As she went to pull away, however, she was startled by the lunge of Hisoka’s hand initiating a death grip on her wrist. He used the last bit of his strength to pull her lips into his, causing her to lose balance and be forced to brace on either side of the couch cushion below him. His lips were cold, but Y/N graciously returned the sensation, and boldly moved to embrace both sides of his face with her mending hands. Before she pulled away, and he passed out, she felt that same smile against her lips.

And in that moment, before he fades away, Hisoka realizes what he’s been missing.

Y/N.

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

Hmm... part two? I KNOW, it’s super freakin’ sappy. I could have taken a lighthearted approach to this (and maybe I will later), but I wanted to kind of challenge myself to write a more depth-driven version of Hisoka. Maybe I bit off a little more than I can chew :0.

Anyway, let me know what you think, and once again thanks to anon for the request! Hope you all enjoyed!

Mac

#hisoka morow #hisoka x reader #x reader #reader insert #hxh #hunterxhunter #feeling sappy #love #lovelorn #ooc? probably #hxh 2011 #hisoka

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1dfangirls35 · 5 years

Text

Voir Dire- N.H.

A fake dating OU about contracts, soulmates, and risking it all for love.

Story Masterlist // Talk to me

nine

Niall's way of proving his innocence came in the form of a large white envelope with two tickets to his performance at The Late Late Show with James Corden and a handwritten note inside.

Kelsey didn't open it at first, instead letting the white parchment sit burning a hole on the kitchen counter for twenty-four hours. She was still angry, she was still hurt, and she doubted anything could make the pain she was feeling disappear.

Becca had told Kelsey about Niall's proclamation. And of course Kelsey wanted to believe it. Of course she wanted to think that this had all been a misunderstanding, and that maybe she hadn't been screwed over by a guy yet again. But the thing of it was, Niall's story seemed eerily similar to the plot of a poorly written romantic comedy. Even the weakest of skeptics would have a hard time believing Niall- and Kelsey was far from a weak skeptic.

But against all odds, something kept drawing Kelsey back to that piece of paper and its scribbled black script that was smeared slightly from Niall's left-handed strokes. She was once again holding it as Becca returned from work, chewing the nails of her free hand nervously.

"Have you made a decision yet?" Becca asked, sliding onto the loveseat across from Kelsey.

Kelsey shook her head, "It's probably not a good idea."

"Maybe not," Becca sighed, flicking her legs over the armrest of the couch. "But you have to admit you are curious. I mean you wouldn't be staring at that piece of paper if a part of you didn't want to hear his side of the story."

Kelsey let out a deep guttural sigh. "Why am I even considering it? We both know I have somewhat of a track record of getting screwed over."

"But in your track record of getting screwed over has a guy ever made the gestures Niall has to try and explain himself?" Becca argued. "Listen, Kels," she began again, sitting up and leaning forward so her eyes meet Kelsey's. "Staring at this piece of paper isn't going to make a decision for you, and quite honestly, the fact that you've been staring at that for two days straight goes to show me that you aren't quite ready to write Niall out of your life just yet. So what about this? You and I have been dying to go to a filming of The Late Late Show anyways. So we dress to the nines, we use those damn tickets, and then when we are there and you see him, you make the decision if you want to talk to him or not. If you do, that's great and if not, and you think he deserves a big old tomato on the stage instead, I'll be practicing my aim."

Kelsey let out a small chuckle at her friends comment. Becca was right though. Because as much as Kelsey tried to convince herself that this was just another man ripping apart her heart, a piece of her believed that Niall was telling the truth. She glanced down at Niall's scribbles again, running her fingers across the ink as if it would give her one final piece of information. Then, Kelsey set the envelope down on the coffee table in front of her and looked at Becca.

"Okay, we'll go."

********************

The second Kelsey stepped into the studio for the filming of The Late Late Show with James Corden, she began to wonder if this had been a huge mistake. Becca seemingly read her mind, putting a hand on her shoulder and guiding her towards their seats.

"Just say the words and we are gone," Becca whispered into Kelsey's ear as they took their seats.

Niall's tickets came with very specific instructions. After the show they were to make their way to the backstage manager and say that they were guests of Krystal. The idea of using the very person that may have ruined her relationship with Niall gave Kelsey a vile taste in the back of her throat, but if she wanted to talk to Niall, that would have to be her way in.

When Niall first appeared on stage, the crowd went wild. Well, the crowd went wild except for two girls sitting in the middle, politely clapping with a scowl on their faces. Becca had wanted to let out a dramatic boo, just to shake things up, but Kelsey had urged her not to. Mostly because she didn't want to draw attention to themselves and not because she didn't think Niall deserved it.

Kelsey nearly forgot how captivating Niall could be at first glance. With tight navy pants and a white fitted T-shirt and navy blazer, her heart took a few more beats. Even from a distance she watched as his smile lit up the room. But then she'd think about the girl that was likely standing backstage, the girl that he never even mentioned, and the small fire inside of her would be reignited.

The show goes by quickly. Niall was his usually charming self, sending even more doubts through Kelsey's mind that maybe she simply had fallen under his spell. But, no matter how strong the urge to get out of her seats and make a run for it was, Kelsey somehow stays seated.

It's during his musical performance that she noticed that he was scanning the crowd. But with the bright lights for filming and the lack of lighting elsewhere, Kelsey doubted that Niall could even pick out her face.

Becca noticed too. "Well, someone's looking for you."

Kelsey doesn't stay anything, instead she watched as Niall's energy filled the room. The sound of his deep brooding voice entering her ears and sending shivers down her spine. She didn't want to move her body to the beat of his music, but she couldn't help it, the rhythm was hypnotic. When Niall finished his performance, the crowd cheered and Kelsey knew she had a decision to make; go backstage and find out what all this fake girlfriend business was all about or leave now and only see Niall on the TV screen from now on. Becca didn't say anything, instead staring at her best friend's face as if she was trying to read her mind. Kelsey brought her index finger up to her teeth, gnawing on the edges of her fingernails as if somehow that was going to help her come to a decision. But Kelsey knew what decision she wanted to make already. The decision had been made the second she laid eyes on Niall again tonight. The question really was did she want to go through with it?

"Okay," Kelsey said softly. The crowds from the show beginning to make their way to the exit. "Let's hear him out."

Kelsey and Becca are surprised at the ease of which they get backstage. They showed the backstage manager their passes, told them they are with Krystal and are quickly led back towards a dressing room.

It's her they see first. Kelsey can tell it's her even from a yard away. Her long blonde hair was stick straight behind her back. Her long legs accentuated by the tight black mini dress she wears. Kelsey wondered what she knows.

"Your guests," the man said, grabbing Krystal's attention. Kelsey watched as Krystal's eyes followed Kelsey from head to toe, no doubt examining her competition. She gives Kelsey a half-baked smile, the kind you give when you feel obligated to but don't really want to. The kind you can see right through.

Then he appeared, coming around the corner with his band. His conversation loud and rambunctious until he sees her. He instantly fell quiet.

Niall was surprised to see her. He didn't think she'd show. He'd hoped she would but he didn't think she would. He didn't deserve for her to show. Not when he had let her find out about Krystal from a tabloid.

The tickets were his Hail Mary. A last ditch effort in trying to mend a relationship that in just a short amount of time had come to mean a lot to him. He'd even begrudgingly involved Krystal in the whole scheme, trying to avoid any possible slip-ups of his secret.

He couldn't read her face as he approached. Her usual smile was gone, but it wasn't replaced with a face of anger. Instead, her lips formed a straight, emotionless line. He wasn't sure where he was going to start. He didn't know how he was going to explain this.

"You came," he said as she approached him, their eyes meeting for the first time in weeks. Niall's heart fluttered at the sight of her, and though he knew she likely wasn't happy with him the fact that she was even here in the first place gave him some glimmer of hope.

"I did," Kelsey replied, keeping her face neutral.

They stared at each other for a moment, locked in a stand off. Neither wanting to start the conversation or sure of what words to say.

Niall broke the silence first, his voice laced with a hint of nervousness. "Will you come with me? I have some explaining to do."

Kelsey nodded and followed Niall's lead. He brought her to his dressing room, his name printed boldly on the door. Inside, Niall took a seat on a long black leather couch. Kelsey awkwardly seated herself opposite of him, careful to leave a safe amount of distance between them lest she be tempted by his irresistible smell.

"I'm glad you came. To hear me out." Niall said slowly, wringing his hands in his lap. He was careful not to let his eyes linger on her face for too long, lest she might disappear in front of his eyes.

When Kelsey doesn't reply right away Niall continued. "I'm sure it wasn't an easy decision for you to make."

Kelsey sighed, her face breaking from its neutral mask for a moment. "No, it wasn't."

Niall saw the pain flash across Kelsey's face. He knew he hurt her, and he wasn't the first to do so. He couldn't undo the hurt, he couldn't take away that pain or that broken trust. But he could try to make it right. He took a deep breath. "I never wanted you to find out like that, from the paps. I should have told you the second we took things further than friends. And Kelsey, you've got to believe me I wanted to tell you, but things were so good and uncomplicated And well- my life is complicated."

"So the girl from the music video?" Kelsey asked, her mind picturing the girl standing just a few feet outside the dressing room door, the one that Becca is likely having to make painful small talk with right now.

"That's Krystal. And in the eyes of the public and the media, she's my..." Niall hesitated, because saying the words outloud to Kelsey somehow made him feel more ashamed of the plot he was part of. "She's my girlfriend."

"But she's not really your girlfriend?" Kelsey's voice grows slightly more interrogative. Niall can see the distaste in her mouth as she says the word girlfriend, as if the word is poison to her lips.

"No...she's an actress, hired by my management....it's..Do you want a drink?" Niall stood suddenly, running his now sweaty palms down the front of his trousers. He bounced around the room in an effort to combat the awkwardness that had befallen them. He needed something, anything to make this go down smoother.

"I think that'd be good," Kelsey replied, and for the first time since he's laid eyes on her tonight, Niall swore he can see the beginnings of a smile.

The only thing stocked in the dressing room mini fridge is a bottle of Jameson whiskey. Niall finds two glasses and sets them on the coffee table in front of them. Pouring out two large glasses, before bringing the stiff liquid to his lips and down his throat.

"The thing about the entertainment industry, is it's all about appearances. Who you are seen with, who you are wearing, who you are marketing yourself as. Before each album release, the record label sits down and tells me what kind of promo I will have to do, and what kind of image they want to sell. And so this year when I sat down they told me, 'Niall, this album is all about love, so this year you are going to be a man in love.' " Niall laughed to himself at the memory, at the pure irony that in assigning him someone to love he may have just ruined his chances with someone who he actually could love.

"I didn't want it. I've always prided myself on being honest and open with my fans, and everyone in my life. I'm a what you see is what you get kinda man. But then they sat my contract in front of me, and I didn't have a choice."

"But it's your music Niall, how can you not have a choice?" Kelsey interrupted. She sees where his going with this. That this was all some plot to promote his music. But was he really just a puppet to the record label?

Niall could tell Kelsey still didn't understand the gravity of the situation. The consequences it would have had on his career had he say no. He looked her straight in the eyes. "These are powerful people Kelsey. You can't just screw off one part of the music industry, they're all connected in someway or another. And I love my music, I love making music. And so I figured this one small sacrifice in my character wouldn't matter in the long run. And so they hired Krystal."

Kelsey didn't say anything, instead swirling the whiskey in her glass and watching it stick to the edges.

"What I didn't expect to do was meet you Kelsey." Niall's voice softened.

Kelsey sets down her glass on the table. "But why didn't you tell me Niall. If this is all for show why didn't you just warn me?" Her voice raised. Because this is really all what it came down to wasn't it. It wasn't that it mattered if Niall was in some PR relationship, it wasn't that he had not stood up to his label, it was the fact that he didn't even given her the smallest of warnings that there was something more complicated going on.

"I wanted to tell you. I just didn't know how." Niall trailed off. He thinks of all the times the words almost slipped off of his tongue, all the excuses that he'd given himself as to why it hadn't been the right time. And look where it had gotten him.

"And I guess a part of me was worried that when I told you you'd bolt. These people, my management, they aren't people to mess with. Make them angry and they can do some damage. I wanted to protect you from that. I didn't want to drag you into my lifestyle anymore than I already have."

"That wasn't for you to decide Niall."

"I see that now and I'm sorry." Niall's eyes pleaded with Kelsey, regret entwined within the blue irises. Niall looked at Kelsey, the girl who somehow captivated him in every way. The girl who he couldn't keep his mind off of. The girl who he may have slowly been falling for. He didn't want to lose her. He didn't want to give this up.

"Can we start this over maybe? This time without all the secrets?"

Kelsey bit her lip. She believed Niall she really did. And she liked him, oh man did she like him. But was it worth all the stress? All the sneaking around? All the possible consequences should someone find out?

"I know I've broken your trust. And I know you've been hurt in the past. So it doesn't have to be today, or tomorrow or even next week. But I'd like to start fresh," Niall continued.

Kelsey took a deep breath in. Maybe starting from the beginning wouldn't be such a bad thing. Maybe that's what they needed. No clubs and taxis and one night stands. A new beginning where everything was on the table. "Okay."

Kelsey watched as relief flooded Niall's face.

"I'm Niall," he said suddenly, holding out a hand for her to shake. She laughs at the formality of it, because even on that first night in the bar she wasn't sure they'd been formally introduced.

"Kelsey," her hand met Niall's and she felt that familiar spark from his touch.

"Nice to meet ya Kelsey. Can I treat ya to a drink?" Niall asked with a wink.

Tags: @awomanindeniall @ihearthemcallingforyou @niall-is-my-dream

*********************************

A/N:Thank you so much for reading Voir Dire! I know its been a while since I've updated and I'm just going to warn you that from now on I'm not sure how regular my updates will be, as I'm about to start clinical rotations...eek. I appreciate your patience, and hope I can continue telling Niall and Kelsey's story soon!

#voir dire #nh #writingby1dfangirls35 #niall horan #1dff #niallff #fake dating #secret relationship #niall x ofc #ntmy

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alphawave-writes · 5 years

Text

Evil actions and good intentions Chapter 2: Phoenix Down

Synopsis: In this chapter, find out the sequences of events that left Dr. Harold Winston stranded in space. Meanwhile in the present, watch as Harold and Sigma make a fool of themselves at breakfast.

It’s a classic Alphawave chapter in which I mix a completely different genre with comedy. You’re welcome.

Read it on AO3. Read my Sigma fanfic series ‘The Universe sings’ here. If you like my writing, please do reblog or send me a comment.

He was so blind. Blind to his colleague’s treatment of the animals. Blind to the growing dissatisfaction amongst the gorillas. Blind to the rebellion growing in everyone’s eyes. A war was brewing, but he was distracted. In a few weeks time, he would be back on Earth. In a few weeks time, he would see Siebren again. They already had so much planned. He’d tell Siebren about all the specimens and their wonderful progress, the fulfillment in their life. Siebren would finally introduce Harold to his mother for coffee. They’d chat and laugh, and then when Siebren least expects it, Harold would go down on one knee and propose. It would be like the fairy tales he’s told to the animals. It would be magical, beautiful, perfect.

But that day never arrived. In his quarters, he heard the slide of a card on the card reader.

“Sport?” He mumbled. Sleep was an elusive beast and time was no longer linear in space, but he checked his clock anyway. He had been sleeping for two hours. Only Specimen 28 would approach him at this time of night. After all, he was the only other being to have the card to his door.

He stifled a yawn as he walked up to the door. It swung open, revealing the imposing figure of a gorilla. The light didn’t turn on. “A bit late, isn’t it, champ?” He smiled sleepily. “Come over to the bed. I've got just the bedtime book for you.”

Before he can react, the gorilla grabbed him by the neck and shoved him to the wall, their free hand covering his mouth. Two more gorillas walked into the room. As the light filtered in from the hallway, Harold realized it wasn’t Specimen 28 in front of him but Simon. Hypatia was busy going through Harold's computer while Specimen 28 stood near the doorway, mutters of discomfort escaping his throat. Harold couldn’t stop staring at him.

“For years you have pushed us aside and locked us in cages, my brothers and sisters and I,” Simon growled. “For years you take us away from our home and experiment with us, injecting us with foul poisons that curse our bloodstream. But we are animals. We are better than you lowly humans.”

Simon shoved him to the wall, the grip on his neck tightening. Harold gasped, wincing in the pain, trying to pat Simon to let him down.

“Let him go, Simon!” Specimen 28 screamed. “Dr. Winston hasn’t done anything to us. He’s only been kind, and caring.”

Simon swiveled his head. “He’s one of them.”

“He's our father!” The fur and skin on Specimen 28's body seemed to be turning red.

Simon glanced between Harold and Specimen 28. He let out an animalistic huff and dropped Harold on the floor. He breathed deeply, gasping for air with desperate breaths. Simon approached him while he was down and ripped the glasses off his face, throwing them over his shoulder. Specimen 28 scrambled to catch them, letting out a quiet sigh of relief. His skin seemed to be returning back to normal.

“You’re going to do what we tell you to do," Simon sneered. "You’re going to tell the scientists that there was an emergency malfunction at airlock E-35. Bring them all there.”

Hypatia grabbed him by the shirt and flung him to the lone computer terminal in his room. She gestured at it. “Type.”

Harold stared at Specimen 28, who turned his head away. Bruises were forming at his neck, and it still hurt to breathe, but he knew he had no choice. Standing up against the gorillas will just make him their enemy. Bloodlust filled their eyes, making them see red. They itch for battle and bloodshed and death. Everyone was going to die anyway. It was just a matter of time.

He turned on the computer and typed his final message to the other scientists. He could only hope they realized something was wrong by his incorrect use of grammar. He leaned back in his chair and covered his face with his hands. He sobbed quietly, his body shaking as he desperately tried to calm his mind in this dark, claustrophobic room.

It’s his first morning in Talon’s HQ, but already he’s made himself comfortable. Siebren—or Sigma, as he now calls himself—has showed him around the base so thoroughly that he already knew the way to the common break room. It’s no different to the break rooms up in Horizon and the universities he’s worked at in the past. There’s a fridge with groceries, a coffee machine, a kettle, and a variety of tea types. Harold makes himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with some coffee, sitting down next to Siebren. He glances at Siebren’s breakfast food of choice: a single stroopwafel over a mug of earl grey tea. He’s tempted to remind Siebren about his unhealthy breakfast habits, but decides against it. His own breakfast isn’t that healthy either, but after eating space food for decades, he will kill for anything that's remotely solid.

Siebren has his phone out, eyes closed, headphones placed over his ears. Harold is tempted to ask Siebren what he’s listening to, but he stops himself before the question can escape his lips. Siebren seems to be enjoying his music, his right hand conducting silently. Many years ago, this was a common enough sight in Harold's life. A smile escapes Harold’s lips as he turns on the tablet in front of him and continues reading the book he’d chosen for himself.

Not long after he’s finished eating his sandwich, a boisterous young woman skips past. She heads for the fridge, stops, then turns to him. Harold does not notice the sly smirk that creeps up her face. Quietly she approaches him, tilting her head over his shoulder. Harold barely pays any attention to her. He’s too engrossed in his story.

“You the new guy, huh?” She pokes at one of the tubes near Harold’s neck. “Anyone ever tell you you look like a cyborg?”

“His name is Harold Winston, and at the moment he’s our guest here,” Sigma says for Harold. His brows crease as he pauses his music. “Please don’t prank him, Sombra.”

“I’m hurt you’d think I’d do that, Sigma. Not to my new friend.”

Sigma stares at her, unamused. Her eyes glance down at Harold’s tablet, still smiling. “Whatcha reading?”

Harold doesn’t look up from his book. He turns to the next page and says, in a serious tone, “Gay erotica.”

Coffee ejects violently from Siebren’s face, a crimson blush caressing his face. Sombra cackles loudly in his ear. “Oh, good one. You really got him,” she sniggers.

“I’m not joking,” Harold says. “When you’re stuck in a space station run by a Chinese space corporation, your options of entertainment are quite limited.” He flips to the next page and frowns. “I’ve forgotten how bad erotica can be.”

“Oh my god, you’re serious,” Sombra laughs in disbelief. Before Harold can protest, Sombra rips the tablet out of his hands. “Hands caress his inner thigh, drawing soft moans. ‘Yes, yes’, he cries. ‘Give it to me’.” She slowly hands it back to Harold, blinking rapidly in disbelief. “You get off on this stuff?”

“Not when it’s this badly written, no.”

“So you can get off on smut like this?”

Harold glances at Siebren beside him, who’s staring very intently at his mug. He suppresses a laugh. “Well, let’s just say I’ve gotten some interesting ideas from books of this genre.”

Siebren’s eyes balloon in size. Harold smirks as he watches Siebren adjust his collar nervously, relishing in the small victory. Siebren coughs loudly in a futile effort of masking his embarrassment. “You…you shouldn’t say that, Harold. What will everyone think?”

“It doesn’t matter what people think about me anymore,” Harold says with a hint of melancholy. “Everybody thinks I’m dead anyway.”

An awkward silence sits in the air. Harold feels Sombra’s eyes burrow into his backside, a thousand possibilities filtering through her head, but he does nothing to stop them. He turns his attention back to his book, letting himself get swept up in the poorly-written fantasy.

Reality didn’t settle in until he’s suddenly being carried roughly by the gorillas. They throw him over their shoulder like he weighed nothing, parading his dangling body like a hunter would display a trophy. The subjects hooted and hollered, vicious screams of delight released into the air. He didn’t fight back. He thought that if he played along then maybe they will show him mercy. But they flung him into airlock E-35 and locked it from the outside without so much as a second glance. He banged helplessly on the door.

“Please don’t do this. I know you are equals." He tried to think of something that will help him. "I’ll stop the treatments. I've been meaning to stop the treatments. You've read my e-mails, you know it's true. Please, help me!”

“Dr. Winston!” He hears Specimen 28 shout from the ruckus. “Dr. Winston! Dr. Win—” There was a grunt, and then the sound of a struggle. He heard someone approach the controls from the other side of the door. It slid open to reveal Specimen 28 , bloodied and bruised and red all over. Quickly, he chucked something at Harold’s feet; an orange space suit and helmet. Specifically it was Harold’s space suit and helmet, never worn. He’d never had the need to venture out of Horizon One.

“Sport,” Harold gasped.

Specimen 28 frowned. “Get to Horizon Two.”

“Champ!" He pleaded.

“Hurry!”

The door shut again. Harold scrambled to pick up the suit and slip it on. It was a tiring, laborious process that normally required multiple people, but he had to do it. He barely secured his helmet on his head before he heard Simon’s menacing chuckle from the other side. There was a beep, then a warning siren, and suddenly his body was pulled out of the base and onto the surface of the moon.

Out in the dark reaches of space, Harold saw the bodies of his colleagues scattered across the ground. Their bodies have expanded to twice their size, making them look like human-shaped balloons. They had no spacesuits to save them, their skin sunburnt and blistering and pale. All his friends were here. Yoshida, Nevsky, they were all dead.

And he led them to their doom. He killed them.

Harold spared one final glance at the Horizon One lunar base, his home for years. The gorillas were his family in every sense of the word, and he loved them like they were his children, and they were betrayed by the humans that were supposed to nurture and support them. It was no wonder they seek revenge, leaving him and all the other humans to die by the hand of the cold and merciless moon. He couldn’t feel anger, or rage, or even sadness for the trail of events that led to this very moment. All he could feel were the haggard breaths that squeezed his lungs and the crushing guilt that threatened to break his ribs.

He checked the coms on the spacesuit, but there was nothing. It was broken. He couldn’t contact Horizon Two to let them know what happened. He couldn’t contact anyone to let him know he was possibly the only survivor.

Assuming he survived the journey, that is.

With a heavy heart, Harold said his goodbyes to the base and walked the surface of the moon, leaving behind his family, his home, and his life.

His new life in Talon is rather peaceful, which is a bit of a relief. Adventure usually meant danger, and danger is something that Harold has to avoid now, especially given his current physical condition. It’s late in the afternoon and he’s just finished reading the original Grimm Brothers version of ‘The Little Mermaid’ when Moira arrives unannounced. She has come to escort him to the medical bay, where her team will perform a number of medical checks on him. He expects as much. Any sensible organization would have reason for concern when they see him and the tubes that stab into his skin. He’s a dead man walking. They just don’t know it yet.

He follows Moira to a small clinic room all set out for him. It’s been recently sterilized, the scent of the detergent still lingering in the air. Various medical machines and equipment stand beside a standard hospital bed. Another doctor takes Moira’s place and gestures for him to lie down on the examination table in the centre of the room. He complies, his eyes squinting at the bright lamp above his head. He almost expects a nurse to come in to take his dental records, but he does not get the luxury of familiarity. They strap him in snugly, a blanket covering his body.

“We are going to perform a full medical examination on you, Dr. Winston,” the doctor smiles tightly. In the past, Harold might have found the young doctor attractive, but fear fills his lungs and he lies paralysed. The doctor notices his hesitation. “Do we have your consent?”

Harold wills himself to calm. He tells him the story of Jack and Jill in his head and lets out a quiet breath. “Sorry. I’ve just had some bad experience with medical examinations in the past.”

“Oh? If it’s not too much trouble, may I ask about your previous experiences?” Harold’s lips twist into an ugly expression. The doctor frowned slightly. “It’s fine, you don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.”

Harold doesn't want to say anything lest the horrible memories resurface, but he knows that silence is not an option. “I…it’s fine, I just…the last time I had a proper medical examination, I nearly lost function of my lungs.”

“Your lungs?!"

He slowly pulls the blanket back and gestures at a mechanical ventilator on his person. The doctor takes it in stride, but he can see the nervous glint in their eyes. Harold’s used to people walking around eggshells around him.

“I’m not going to stop breathing if you disconnect it,” he explains. “It just takes a lot more effort if I don’t have this on.”

The doctor nods shallowly, making a note on his pad. “I’m going to ask some questions about your health, and then I’m going to perform some tests. You might experience some discomfort when I draw the blood but otherwise it should be painless. If you feel uncomfortable, do let me know. Depending on what I might find, I might also ask for some additional screenings.”

Much as he would like to skip this step, Harold has no choice but to comply. He submits himself to the tests, trying his hardest to forget the last time he went through this ordeal, barely a month ago. The Talon medical team are professionals, but they treat him with the same callous disregard as did the Horizon medical team. He’s a patient first, and a human being second. It's familiar in all the worst ways.

He closes his eyes as he’s hooked up to a machine. The splutter of the electronics do little to ease his discomfort.

A full medical examination from Harold’s experience is long and tiring. It’s no surprise when, after the first set of tests have been completed, the doctor asks for permission to perform additional screenings. He gets X-rays, and MRI scans, and probing, invasive questions about his medical history. The only good thing about the ordeal is that Harold himself tends to become familiar with the doctor performing the tests. Dr. Irvin Laszlo is a kind if emotionless man, with pale skin and steady hands and a zero-tolerance policy for jokes and jests of any kind.

It’s while they’re waiting for the results of the final test—a gene marker that will determine his susceptibility to an array of common diseases—that he notices Irvin sigh deeply. Their fingers rub circles around their temple. Harold has to stop himself from coming over and doing something about it. It was small things like this that caused the gorilla rebellion in Horizon One so many years ago. A sigh of annoyance here, an overreaction there. It all adds up. He feels the power drift into his fingertips but does not dare release it. A memory of the last time he used this power plays in his memory. He remembers that betrayal well, and it's that betrayal alone that makes his blood boil. He vows never to make that mistake again.

The final test results of the day are finished. The rest require a few more days to be processed. Harold doesn’t need to see the final paper of the day to know it’s bad; all he has to do is look at Irvin’s even-paler-than-normal face.

“How are you alive?” Irvin gasps.

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s just…well…” Irvin’s brows furrow. “In the condition you are in, you’d be comatose in the ICU ward of a hospital, but here you are.” They scratch their head. “Shouldn’t you be in constant pain?”

“Of course I am. But after a decade, you learn to live with it.” Harold chuckles. “Of course, I’ve got a little bit of help to deal with everything.”

“The serum in your systems,” Irvin surmises. “I wonder how it works.”

The serum that saved his life, the serum that’s ruined his life, that’s all that people cared about. Not about him and the constant pain of living and the utter loneliness of being stuck on the moon. He sees now how Irvin looks at him, like a curious experiment that needs to be dissected. All the other scientists on Horizon looked at the gorillas like that too.

“You wouldn't believe me if I told you,” Harold mutters, too quiet for Irvin to hear.

The lunar buggy had run out of fuel a long time ago, his oxygen supplies were dwindling, and he was absolutely alone. He didn’t have the proper underclothes and thus his EVA spacesuit scratched at his arms and legs. He’d been walking for hours, but he still couldn't find Horizon Two base. Polaris shone above his head, achingly familiar and hauntingly beautiful. It wasn't true north like it was on Earth, he knew that, but it was his only guide for direction.

It was almost ironic, his fate. He’d spent all his childhood watching the moon with utter fascination and love, wondering what it would be like to live there. Now, he would die on the moon, his home away from home, the one place he felt accepted and respected. The one place he had finally found love.

His hand bumped against the syringe he kept in his underclothes, light in weight but heavy in depth. The last genetic therapy treatment meant for Specimen 28. A genetic treatment specifically designed to reduce the burdens of space travel.

He hesitated to use it, even though it was his lifeline. Taking aside the dangers of removing his spacesuit for even a second, the treatment was designed for gorillas in mind, not humans. If he injected it into himself, he had no idea what would happen. Perhaps it will do what it’s supposed to do and keep him alive for longer—maybe long enough to reach Horizon Two—but there was also a huge risk involved. Many of the gorillas became aggressive. Some subjects rejected the serum altogether, with devastating consequences. There was every chance that could happen to him as well.

Wasthe risk really worth it? Wouldn’t be better to just let go and succumb? Forget it all and die on the surface of the moon? No one would miss him. Not his sister, living her life in Lijiang without a care or thought about him. Not his colleagues, who would forget about him with the spin of the Earth. The only ones who's miss him were Specimen 28 and Siebren.

Harold stared up at the big, blue Earth. God, what would Siebren say? Would Siebren mourn for him? No, that was a stupid question, of course he would. Siebren might pretend to be a proud man too intelligent for emotions, but in private he cared. Harold could not recall the countless amount of times he’d caught Siebren, teary eyed after he read him a particularly sad story. Harold could not recall the times Siebren hugged him tightly and hummed the nursery songs of his childhood. This was the man Harold was going to propose to. This was the man he was going to leave behind if he died.

"No," he said, his face solemn and resolute. "I have to get back to him."

He fished out the syringe and held it tightly in his hands. His arms shook in fear and purpose. He held his breath and ripped the front of his spacesuit off for just a second, the syringe’s needle pressing into his left arm. Golden liquid sank into his skin, making his arm glow faintly with unnatural light. He secured his spacesuit once more just as he felt a strange warmth flow through his veins. The pain from the injection went away almost in an instant. His short sightedness was gone, the world in perfect clarity, and it's barren and beautiful and so, so empty. In the far distance, he could barely see the top of the Horizon Two lunar base. He felt stronger, like nothing was the limit anymore, like he could climb every mountain and swim ever river. He felt invincible.

And then, all too suddenly, a terrible pain seized his head. Pain and terror wrapped around his body, the cobra's embrace tightening, tightening. He could feel his life disappear in his breath. He closed his eyes for a second, and succumbed to the darkness, repeating the words he'd never get to say to Siebren ever again.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

When he opened them again, he was in another room altogether.

A medical bay was before him, similar in appearance and construction to Horizon One's medical bay. His eyesight was still clear, but even if he was still shortsighted, he could see the thick black straps that pinned him down to the bed, the wires connected to every open surface of skin.

“He’s awake,” a person said. “Subject: 31 is awake.”

Harold tried to concentrate on the figure, but the world was beginning to spin. He was faintly aware of liquid rushing faster into his blood. All he could see was a mop of dark curly hair before he collapsed.

The sound of a dissatisfied hum filled the room. “Dr. Williams, shouldn’t he be asleep already?”

Someone else in the room huffed. It’s low, but vaguely feminine. “He should be dead by now, no thanks to you. We’ve already taken a litre of his blood.”

“But you haven’t extracted the serum, have you? We need it. Look what it’s done to his body. Accelerated growth and regeneration. Muscle mass has increased, and has been maintained for months! RBC and WBC production is through the chart, and yet he’s shown no signs of developing cancer. If we only figured out how it works.”

“He’s still just a man. Remember the Soldier Enhancement Program?”

Harold groaned, forcing himself to sit up. The two people in the room stared at him, eyes wide and pupils tiny. He saw his reflection in the machines hooked up to him, pale and thin with hollow cheeks and dark circles under his eyes. The picture of death.

He tried to rise from his bed, but a hand pushed him down with terrifying power. The woman screamed. The man clicked his tongue in dissatisfaction.

“Put him to sleep already!” They growled.

Harold thrashed violently, shouting with the full effort of his lungs until he suddenly stopped. The last thing he heard was the drone of the machines by his bedside.

Harold wakes up from a tireless slumber. He teared the mask off his CPAP machine and gently placed it down on the bedside table next to him. Nightmares fade away into the whispers of the night, leaving behind an empty space in his memory. He doesn’t expect company here in Talon, which is why he’s surprised to find Siebren here, napping in the armchair opposite the bed, a tray full of breakfast food on his lap.

He could feel his breathing stop then and there. It’s been so long since anyone has done this for him. It’s been so long since Siebren has done this for him.

Slowly, he rises up from his bed and approached Siebren, chuckling softly. He taps him lightly on the face, smiling. “Wakey wakey, Sleeping Beauty.”

Siebren stirs, then blinks, rubbing the sandman’s dust away from his eyes. He glances around the room, then at the breakfast tray on his lap, then finally at Harold himself. He smiles sheepishly as he lifts it slightly.

“I, uh…thought you might like breakfast.”

Harold glances down at the smorgasbord of food items on the massive tray; there’s toast and scrambled eggs and ham on a gigantic plate, flanked on either side by two mugs filled with coffee and tea respectively. Stroopwafels lie on top of the mugs.

Harold smiles knowingly at Siebren. “You know I can’t eat this much.”

“I know, I know. I just thought it would be nice to make you feel welcome here.” The corner of Siebren’s lips quirks upward. “And of course, I always offer my help in helping you clean your plate.”

“Ah yes, your famous motto. What was it? ‘Help others by helping yourself’?”

Siebren smiles bashfully, before clearing his throat. “Yes, well…it is the least I can do.”

It’s in moments like these that Harold sees the old Siebren hidden beneath the layers and feels the insurmountable pressure of time. He can only imagine the inevitable dwindling of affection and emotion as the years passed by, imagine the hole in a person’s heart widen to fit another’s love. He can only wonder how Siebren feels now, seeing a phoenix rise from the ashes. A ghost walking on solid ground.

He takes the tray from Siebren’s lap and together they walk over to the common break room, eating the breakfast tray together. From a security camera, Sombra watches in utter silence, waiting to hear the fateful words that will blow the mystery open. Talon wants something from Dr. Harold Winston, and she’ll be damned if they find out before her.

#Overwatch #Sigma #Siebren de Kuiper #Harold Winston #Dr Harold Winston #Somehow I gave Harold Winston an even sadder backstory than Sigma #How the hell did that happen?#Also it turns out astrobiology is hard #and research for this fanfic is enormous #And now I'm pretty sure I can now qualify to work at NASA if I wanted to #If anyone says fanfiction isn't real writing I clearly didn't get the memo #But yeah do reblog or send comments because they really do motivate me!#I'm already writing the next chapter don't worry

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man-i-dont-know · 6 years

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BNHA Chapter 166: Thoughts and Spoilers

Hello again, this was a quality chapter that pulled on the heart strings a bit. So let’s get into it.

Everyone gets right into it. The high schoolers and the elementary kids get ready to throw down while the spectators are thinking, “are they really gonna fight?” One kid nearly hits Bakugou, I think Bakugou dodged it easy since there were no exclamation marks, but it seemed like a close call, ripping his mask off. Then Todoroki and Inasa get swamped with large amounts of dust. Then the rest of the kids tag in and the three of them seem totally overwhelmed. The kids show such a display of power that even Present Mic is impressed with the raw strength, and we get some explanation from meat-grinder dude. Since quirks are becoming more and more common, and blood lines keep mixing, future generations of quirks are going to become stronger and stronger, until the point that some fear, they will hit a “singularity.” This is frightening dude to the potential danger in something like that, but it is not something we will have to worry about in the near future (plus Chisaki managed to find a counter on low funds illegally, so I think if the government needed to, they could figure it out as well).

Back on topic, the high schoolers obviously shook off the attack because they are soon-to-be pros. Bakugou is pissed, Todoroki takes in the situation and Inasa wants them to all be friends. Then the leader (which was who I thought, heck yeah) told the kids to redouble their efforts and the girl that called Camie a “hussy” attacked Todoroki, who in turn spouted the most cheesy, romantic, shoujo (I believe that is the term) line about the girl being beautiful and having already fallen in love with her. She immediately stops the attack and this prince of romance Todoroki turns out to be an illusion by Camie. Comedy reasons aside, I am glad we got to see what her quirk is, because it confirms that she is not Toga, which we already knew but I like getting confirmation. SO back to the present Bakugou is genuinely laughing at this fake Todoroki. Like, genuine, hand-over-the-mouth, snorting, trying not to make a scene laughing, even going as far as telling Camie that she did good. Todoroki, with his minimal social skill, is trying to figure out why that was as funny as it was. (I am also interested in why Camie’s character box it is specifically stated that the illusion quirk is forbidden to be used abusively, Bakugou can literally blow things up with his hands, why does the illusion warrant this caution? Maybe due to its versatility and general subtlety?)

The leader of the kids starts to freak out and the high schoolers start to enact their plan. Which is absolutely amazing. They make a small theme park out of ice with the occasional rings of fire, Inasa is ferrying people to the top with his wind and Camie is bringing the northern lights into the building just for special effect. Inasa is saying that the kids are great and Todoroki is complimenting the kids on their quirks and for helping make the structure. They really did a fantastic job of being really cool while simultaneously are making the kids feel good about helping make this great structure. Not only are the kids stunned, but everyone watching is stunned as well. All Might put his hands together like he was really pleased and even Endeavor went a little wide eyed. We get to see in a minor flashback the process of coming up with the plan, and it is Bakugou that seemed to understand the most that this wouldn’t be something about winning or losing and Todoroki wants to broaden their outlook (which he says with one of the most heartfelt smiles I’ve ever seen him put on).

Bakugou goes straight up to the leader kid and tells him to participate. He tells the kid that “if all you ever do is look down on people, you won’t be able to recognize your own weakness.” He says this with a straight face, I wouldn’t go as far as saying it is vulnerable, but it isn’t his typical face of rage. He tells “Baldy” and Todoroki to take the kid to the top of the slide. These words actually reached the kid, who had seemingly stopped believing that anyone had the right to give him advice anymore. Beyond Bakugou’s interaction with the kid, I was also intrigued by how he has addressed people during this chapter. He called Camie “Ms. Illusion” and Inasa “Baldy.” While I can not read Japanese nor did I see any other translation for “Ms. Illusion,” it struck me as something oddly respectful, which Bakugou is not known for, it could be that her humor is what made Bakugou rank her so highly, but to start off with that level of respect (even though -san is pretty basic I believe) is odd. “Baldy” is about normal, taking a trait from someone and just using that as a name, so that does not surprise me, but what did surprise me is that he straight up calls Todoroki, Todoroki. I could be wrong but I don’t think he has even done that with Kirishima. I am not saying that Todoroki is closer to Bakugou than Kirishima, but I think it is worth noting that Bakugou cares enough to do that (I can’t seem to remember if Bakugou calls Uraraka by her name or not). **Also Camie is in the corner with the young girls dancing with an illusion Todoroki who seems to be jamming too**

Then we come to the last page. Inasa wants to make a bigger and better slide that is more a roller coaster than anything. The elementary teacher is so grateful that she seems ready to cry (though if I had to deal with those kids, crying would probably become real easy). Then the combination of the last three panels really gets me. All Might asks Endeavor a rhetorical question, “for what reason are we equipped with our powers,” or something along those lines. Endeavor has a look on his face that I would describe as open, contemplative thoughtfulness, and this expression comes from All Might’s words while watching his son entertain a girl with fire, keeping her hands warm. In these two panels, we can see some really important stuff on both sides. Starting with Todoroki, his panel is incredibly important because he is using the quirk he associated with hatred, violence and pain to entertain a child, he is using the quirk that he had suppressed out of hate to make someone else happy. He is growing so much and so well, his development is really amazing. Endeavor on the other, we are starting to see the first steps of something good. Endeavor approached All Might to find what he was missing, and received an insufficient answer (in Endeavor’s opinion anyway), but then saw in his own son what he was missing. Whether he puts it all together and acts on it is another thing, as much as we all hate him, he is intelligent, and after this, he will more likely than not try to take baby steps in a new direction.

This chapter was a great example of character development on Todoroki’s, Bakugou’s, Inasa’s and even Endeavor’s part. I am really amazed with how these characters change and adapt to new situations, growing as people in general. I find it greatly comforting, because a lot of stories in books, movies, comics, manga, whatever, the characters always seem to be trapped in what they were and don’t do a whole lot of growing. Seeing angry characters mellow out, seeing ruthless characters empathize, seeing narrow-minded characters take a step back is so reassuring to me. Becoming who you want to be or becoming a better version of yourself can be a hard thing to properly show in characters that are two dimensional without the author pointing at what is happening explicitly. This chapter was rejuvenating after the emotional turmoil that was the last arc, and I am so glad that this arc is happening.

Well, that is about it. Thank you all for reading, and I hope you have a great day.

#bnha #bnha spoilers #bnha thoughts #todoroki shouto #katsuki bakugou #All Might #endeavor #Yoarashi Inasa #camie bnha

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movietvtechgeeks · 6 years

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Latest story from https://movietvtechgeeks.com/supernatural-various-sundry-villains-kill-darlings/

'Supernatural' Various & Sundry Villains: Kill Your Darlings

Okay, I’m going to be upfront, I was ready to be super underwhelmed by last week’s Supernatural episode “Various & Sundry Villains.” All of the promotion focused on the love spell, and frankly, we’ve been there, done that. In fact, I’m shocked that showrunner Andrew Dabb let this pitch go to script given that he wrote the controversial episode “Season 7 Time for a Wedding”, an episode that I can honestly say has only one truly redeeming quality: Leslie Odom, Jr. was in it. While this was arguably derivative of that episode, giving this the go ahead was risky on Dabb’s part. It paid off for writer, Steve Yockey, because this love spell outing was much better than the last. In the opening of this episode we meet the Plum sisters, and I hate to say this, but despite watching this episode three times I don’t actually remember their first names and I could barely tell them apart anyway, so we’ll just call the one Dean “falls in love with” Harley Quinn and the other one we’ll call… Harley Quinn’s little sister? Yeah, sure, why not? Between the cutesy valley girl verbiage and the bloody sledgehammer, I’m sure we were supposed to get an Arkham Asylum vibe off these two. At least, I really hope that was the intention. I’ll be honest, I was not impressed with these characters and I’m not sure if it was off writing, off casting, or off directing, but they felt really forced. From their overly stereotypical Millenial way of speaking to their overtly blatant mirroring of Sam and Dean (yes, we get it, one is younger and brainy, they other is older and protective, they’re obsessed with their dead mom and it could go badly, was that a hammer they were using or an anvil?) the Plum sisters, unlike their Winchester counterparts, came off as grating. Maybe they were supposed to? Again, I hope so. I will say that as a horror buff I enjoyed the return of Rowena’s mad dog spell and the demise of the Plum sisters at each other’s hands. I saw a lot of people say it was too much, too gratuitous, too gory. And perhaps it was, but given the movies I regularly watch and enjoy, well, I embraced it. While I will say I’m glad the love spell portion of the episode was short-lived, it’s always fun to see Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki show off their comedy elbow chops; Ackles with the perfectly timed glibness he brings to Dean Winchester and Padalecki’s Sam Winchester, ever the earnest Abbott to Ackles’ Costello, was subtle, stoic faced gold. Ackles and Padalecki got to play off each other magnificently in this episode; from Dean walking in practically floating on a love cloud, to Sam trying desperately to remind Dean they’ve been down this weird love spell road before, to Ackles’ delivery of “‘cause she’s got a sister”, to their tussle in front of the Impala (though, dang, these boys horseplay hard given the butt dent Sam left on the hood after Dean rushed him) the two actors smoothly show how well they work together no matter the material. But the star of this episode was Rowena. Her entrance was stellar, and she stole every scene. Ruth Connell is delightful in this role and for the most part (we’ll get to that later) I was glad to see her back because I was sorry to lose her last season, especially in such a cheap, off-screen way. I’m hard-pressed to fall for new characters, but Rowena is one that I really enjoy. Connell was able to give us comedy and tragedy in this episode, going from snark to desperation fluidly. I also have to give Steve Yockey heaps of credit for having Rowena not only ask about Crowley but allowing her to have an outburst about his death. Hearing her say that she’d rather have him alive than to have died a hero hit really close to home given that the lack of Mark Sheppard as Crowley has been quite the gaping hole this season. Take a note from Yockey, other writers, because I’m still waiting for Castiel to ask about Meg… Speaking of Castiel, he and Lucifer were locked up. Now they aren’t. And like, they had a whole big penis to penis measurement contest and Castiel for some reason tried to hurt Lucifer by telling him that Jack doesn’t even look like him, which… um, Lucifer is in the image of a seasons dead vessel so, of course, he doesn’t look like him. And also, when did you get to know so much about Jack, Castiel? I think maybe the writer accidentally gave Misha Collins some of Sam’s lines to say. If I sound like I was less than moved by any of these scenes, it’s because I wasn’t. The scenes weren’t objectively bad or anything, and not only has Mark Pellegrino has found his footing as Lucifer again, but he and Collins play extremely well off each other. Unfortunately, their scenes simply didn’t mesh well with the “A” plot and the dichotomy crashed the episode’s momentum. Although, I did enjoy both characters reminding each other what untrustworthy, hypocritical screw-ups both have been. Again, I appreciate it when Supernatural is self-aware like that because fallibility gives depth and interest. Now, you didn’t think I was going to review this episode and not talk about Sam and Rowena sharing their trauma, did you? Because that was a scene that many Supernatural fans have waited years for. In season 11, Sam was forced to not only work with Lucifer, but he had to allow Lucifer into his home, into his room, and wasn’t allowed to voice any grievances about it and while Padalecki did a phenomenal job adding little twitches and moments of tight body language and subtle distance, it was all too obvious that the writers were wary of taking Sam’s trauma seriously because at the time Lucifer was possessing Castiel’s body and the “Cassifer" version of Lucifer was played mostly as a joke throughout that entire arc, nothing but a bratty teenager throwing a tantrum, while Sam Winchester, the boy who had every reason to rip into both Lucifer and God, just stood on the sidelines silently like he was totally fine. But he wasn’t, he hasn’t been, and watching Sam and Rowena both delve into the trauma and abuse they experienced at Lucifer’s hand was fantastically written and acted. Yockey was able to give the characters just enough for them to convey, through their tone, inflections, and facial expressions how much they were, no are, broken by the Devil himself. Having them both admit to seeing Lucifer’s real face, while giving no descriptive details was brilliant. Both Padalecki and Connell were able to communicate to the audience how horrific it was for their characters without any unnecessary detail. Such a great “show, don’t tell” moment; it’s so much more frightening for the viewer to fill in the blanks. And Sam explaining that it isn’t that he’s okay, it’s that he never gets the chance to fully deal with his trauma because the world is always falling apart was both heartbreaking and much needed, not only for Sam to say it but for the audience to hear it. At the end of this episode we got to see the other side of the Ackles/Padalecki chemistry, their ability to rip your heart out, when Sam and Dean have a frank discussion back at the bunker about what to do going forward. Dean knowing that Sam gave Rowena the spell she wanted and instead of yelling and belittling him, he’s simply honest and direct with him and doesn’t question Sam when he says that if Rowena played him again, he’ll personally kill her. It was also good to hear Sam be open with Dean about how defeated he feels, about how he tried to mask that with conviction and hope, but that he can’t fake it til he makes it anymore. And while Dean’s words of encouragement and confidence may seemingly ring hollow to Sam, it’s not because Sam doesn’t have faith in Dean, it’s that right now he can’t see where Dean is coming from. Dean knows, because characters have told him for years, how important he and Sam are, how they keep this world spinning, but Sam has never heard it directly, not from God, not from Amara, not from Death, not from Billie. Those declarations have only been uttered to Dean and then conveyed by Dean to Sam, so Dean knows that they’ll figure out a way, that it’s basically destiny and Sam has no choice but to take Dean’s word for it. I could go on and on about the isolation of Sam Winchester, but that’s an article for a different day. [caption id="attachment_53290" align="aligncenter" width="696"] Photo: Home of the Nutty[/caption] Overall, this was a mytharc episode done well, slightly overstuffed as most mytharc episodes are, but coherent and well paced with a fantastic blend of horror, levity, and angst. That said, the last thing I want to touch on for this episode is something that was absolutely no fault of the writer, Steve Yockey, but I think is an increasing problem on Supernatural; the element of surprise is gone, as are the stakes. Supernatural was once known as a show where rocks fell, and everyone died. It was also a show where Jim Beaver once hid his reprisal of Bobby Singer by trying to convince fandom that he was in Vancouver shooting an abominable snowman movie so that his return to the show wasn’t spoiled Fast forward just a few years and the cast, crew, and network PR are spoiling character reveals weeks, even months in advance. Instead of being shocked by Rowena’s return we all went into this episode waiting for her appearance, and while we saw Castiel stab Lucifer with an angel blade; saw the red light go out of Lucifer’s eyes; it’s all for naught. Lucifer is the focus of the promo that aired right after the episode, and the synopsis for the next episode lays out exactly what he’ll be up to. Even last season finale, no one believed Castiel was actually permanently dead. Hell, it took Mark Sheppard declaring that he refuses to ever reprise his role for fans to believe Crowley was truly dead. No stakes means no emotional payoff. No secrecy means no shock and awe. Take a page from some of the greats, Supernatural, including yourself: what’s dead should stay dead, so kill your darlings and if you must bring them back, stop telegraphing their returns. Check out this week's Supernatural Devil's Bargain trailer above.

Movie TV Tech Geeks News

#Featured #Jared Padalecki #Jensen Ackles #Mark Pellegrino #Misha Collins #Ruth Connell #Supernatural

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serendipei · 7 years

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The Right Time and Place (Yuta x Reader)

Author’s Note: Requested~ This one has about 2.3K words. -Admin L

Genre: Fluff

Member/Group: Yuta/NCT

Concerts weren’t your gig, neither were fan meets. You were a very simple fan, satisfied by seeing your favorite celebrities through the screen rather than live. You couldn’t say you hadn’t thought of seeing your favorites live, but you tended to pass it off as something that would never happen. A thought that never ever crossed your mind was that you’d be in this long waiting line, just for a friend.

This friend had bought her tickets for her other friend, but, turns out, that friend couldn’t come. Therefore, you were the next invite- the last resort. They were tickets to go see NCT, even though you hadn’t even known these guys until she mentioned them. Regardless, you took the tickets and you were on your way to a band you knew nothing about.

The entire way there your friend was fangirling excessively, trying to show you who was who. You responded with a string of the same responses, things like “yeah” and “okay”. She didn’t notice as she continued to drone on about these supposedly “godly” boys.

You were surprised by the factor that when you got there, she had been right. These boys were indeed very talented and gifted with looks. All the time, you just couldn’t take your eyes off a certain purple tinted haired boy. You had no idea what his name was or what position of the group was, but you knew that he was your bias.

Which brings you to now…

“We get to meet them! Oh my god, Y/N, what do you think Jaehyun will do? Will he hug me? I hope I get to talk to him!” Jahyun, the friend, excitedly bounced up and down, the album almost falling from her arms. You scoffed at her, shrugging.

“Who knows what he could do. I guess we’ll find out soon enough,” you hummed, your arms crossed as you both slowly moved towards the table. The line was longer than you thought- you didn’t know these boys had this many fans, but you were sure they certainly earned it.

Time flew by as you both went down the table, talking to people. The one that stood out the most so far was a very tall boy by the name of ‘Johnny’. He was funny, and you had liked his sense of comedy. You two’s conversation didn’t last long though. Sure enough, Jahyun reached Jaehyun and was blushing furiously as she stood in front of him. His dimpled smile must’ve just killed her. He was being polite though, you could see it.

As you turned, you were met with the curious brown eyes and blinding white smile of the boy you were paying attention to earlier. You suddenly felt nervous, but you didn’t know why. Jahyun was taking her sweet time with Jaehyun while you anxiously tried to remember the boy in front of you’s name.

“Hello, how are you?” His voice came out smooth as honey, and it gave you goosebumps momentarily. Why was he effecting you this much? He was someone you couldn’t ever dream about being close with.

“I’m good, it’s a pleasure to meet you…” You trailed off at the mark where his name should’ve been. He let out a slightly amused laughter, and you found it to be the most melodic thing to ever bless your ears. He spoke again soon, snapping you out of your last second gaze.

“Yuta. Not a big fan, hmm?” He said, implying what he thought he knew. You nodded slightly, letting out an awkward laugh as he stared you. It was heating you up somehow, and you just wanted to dart by now.

“Anyway, it was still nice to meet you. Your name is…?” He questioned, and you didn’t think that was normal for a fan meet, but went with it anyway. You tried not to stutter as you replied, Jahyun right behind you, staring at you like you were crazy.

“Y/N. Good luck!” You said slightly, before hurrying down the line and taking selfies with the rest of the band. Jahyun followed you, teasing you about your awkwardness around Yuta all through the rest of the meeting.

When you got home to go to bed, you clenched your phone to your chest. What even was that earlier? You were usually good with talking to strangers, but you had become a total wreck around Yuta. There was just something about him… You had no idea what was coming as you fell asleep.

The next time you saw him, it was somewhere you didn’t expect any idol to go. You were out for a late night snack, and ended up going to the store around the corner from your apartment. Apparently you had got there the right time.

Turning the corner of one of the aisles, you almost squawked at the figure who stood before you. He had a mask on, dressed in a very baggy sweatshirt and ripped jeans as well as his earbuds plugged in and his hood over his head, yet somehow you still recognized him.

You weren’t gonna let him notice you for staring, though. Going down the aisle, you quickly grabbed your ramen (you had decided to restock) and began making your way out. Before you safely made it out though, someone called out. You froze in your tracks, like a deer in headlights.

“Hey! Why’d you take all the ramen? Maybe I wanted some,” a somewhat grumpy voice called, and you could hear his foot shuffling. You slowly turned around, trying to act normal. You glanced to the basket held in your arms, suddenly realizing you had taken all the ramen off the shelf purely in anxiety.

Once your eyes flickered up to his, he tilted his head, and you knew something clicked. Smiling nervously, you held out the basket and snaked one hand around to your neck. A nervous tick you did when you were in an awkward situation, you guessed.

“Aren’t you that girl from…? Y/N?” He asked, curiosity yet again in his chocolate brown eyes. You swallowed your nerves and nodded slightly. Trying your hardest not to stumble over your words, you replied.

“Yep, that’s me! You’re Yuta then… I didn’t think I’d see you again.” You said, not able to look away once you made eye contact. You then realized how clingy that comment sounded, and you quickly became flustered. Whatever your method of keeping your cool was? It wasn’t working.

“I mean- since you’re you and- I’m sorry, just take some ramen,” You quickly said, extending the basket further. He just seemed amused at you, and your face turned bright red. He extended his hand, a pen in hand. You had no idea how he just magically got a pen, but oh well.

“May I borrow some paper?” He said, stifling a laugh. You just cocked an eyebrow before taking a crumpled up receipt and placing it in his hand, the back up. You didn’t know what he wanted, but you knew it wasn’t an autograph he was giving. Once he wrote what looked like some numbers on the paper and tucked it back into your pocket, he began to speak again.

“Keep the ramen, just save some so that you can save me from the rest of the band’s cooking,” He said, and began to walk away. You tilted your head, left in the aisle, as you took the paper out.

What was written on it seemed to be his number, with the words, “let’s eat ramen together sometime, okay?”

You couldn’t lie- your stomach did a backflip and your mind shut off for a few minutes.

You rolled the thin piece of paper between your fingers, trying to think whether you should call him or not. Two packages of unmade ramen were left from the encounter you had with him, which was about a week ago now. It made you anxious each time you picked up the paper. Finally, though, you had swallowed your nerves and dialed the number.

Phone held to your ear, the ring didn’t go away for a long time. It felt like an eternity. You realized how busy he might be, and whether he thought this was some random fan. You had never given his number back.

“Look, if you’re looking for Nakamoto Yuta, you’ve got the wrong number. Thank-” The voice said, and your heart dropped, before you responded.

“Oh, okay. I’ll go, I’m sorry,” you said, your voice small before the voice on the other line sounded frenzied. The first thought that came to your mind was “why?”, this was a stranger…

“No wait, your voice sounds familiar. Y/N? Is that you?” The stranger said, and your heart started racing. Could this guy actually be Yuta? You couldn’t tell at the moment, it was over phone, after all. You were only kind of used to his voice in the first place.

“Um… yeah… how do you know my name?” You asked slightly curiously, wondering if it was true. His voice did sound kind of familiar.

“I’m super sorry. This is actually Yuta, I just say it isn’t me because crazy fans, y’know.” He apologized quickly, awkwardly laughing on the other end. You nearly had heart failure, not only because he actually answered, but because it was actually him.

“Well… I still have some ramen left over…” You said quietly into your phone, and a snicker from the other end ensued.

“I’ll text you the address.”

The couch was unfairly comfortable, and you would’ve fallen asleep if you weren’t surrounded by like, five guys. Yuta was slurping down the ramen you bought while the rest of them complained on how you didn’t bring them some. You protested by saying you didn’t know them, but they wouldn’t have it. They introduced themselves.

“I’m Sicheng, but people know me as Winwin. It’s nice to meet you, Y/N.” He said quietly. You could tell he was usually the quiet and innocent one. He tended to stay close to Yuta.

“I’m Johnny, but you can call me hot.” He winked, before cringing at himself. You laughed slightly, because it sounds like something you would call him- he definitely was the opposite of unattractive. The black hair wasn’t helping either.

“Name’s Ten, nice to meet you~” Another attractive black haired boy told you, and you wondered if every boy in this dorm looked as gorgeous as this group did. Ten stayed close to Johnny, you noticed.

“I’m Jaehyun, and also glad that Yuta called you over…” Jaehyun chuckled and looked at Yuta, who was glaring daggers at Jaehyun. He mouthed, ‘don’t you dare’. You laughed a bit, finding it funny Yuta was already protecting you.

“Nice to meet all of you, I’m guessing I definitely won’t regret it. I’ll bring more ramen next time, though,” you chuckled, and all of them nodded at the same time. It was kinda creepy.

“How’d you meet Yuta?” Came the next question, before Johnny bumped in. He seemed to know.

“I think I saw you at a fanmeet once. You knew like, nothing about NCT and were so polite. It was kinda refreshing.” He said honestly, and you blushed and nodded. You remembered the embarrassing moment. Jaehyun butted in.

“Your friend though… she was something else.“ Jaehyun shivered, like it was a scarring experience. You understood completely- that friend tended to come off a bit strong. Always.

Yuta’s chuckle caught your attention, and you thought before you could make sense with yourself. ‘He looks so beautiful…’ Your mind said. Flushing red, you immediately looked down as he looked up. You were sure the boys who saw it knew what was going on there.

Caughing awkwardly with the reddest face on the face of the earth, you excused yourself.

“Sorry guys, just remembered I had some studying to do. Have a good rest of the day!” You said, flustered. You heard a brief, ‘wait’ in the background, but you didn’t and instead left, probably leaving them confused. Oh well.

By the time you were comfortable around all of NCT, Yuta had become a very close friend. Both of you knew there was something more than friendship, but never mentioned it. You’d always end up talking to your new best friend, who was also in NCT.

At the moment you were waiting for Yuta to come and pick you up. You thought you looked good; some light makeup on and a tight black dress on. It wasnt too formal but not too casual either. You had also put on some light lipstick, to make your lips appear more full.

You were supposed to be going out for dinner, but as soon as Yuta arrived, you knew that wasn’t happening. Maybe another time. His eyes blew wide at your appearance, and he scanned you ever so blatantly. You didnt realize the effect it had on him until he was in the door, kicking so called object closed. He had pulled you closer by then, and by a blink of an eye, he had his lips on yours.

It was rough and needy, like he had been suppressing it for so long. You had known him for a long while now. It was just a surprise… not an unwelcome one, though. You kissed back, arms wrapping around his neck as the surprise faded away.

“I can’t stand it anymore. You’re too perfect. This isn’t the most romantic thing but… Y/N, will you be my girlfriend?” He said, breaking the kiss with a small pant. You could tell he meant every single word he said. Technically he wasnt allowed to date, but secrets could be kept.

“Hell yes.”

#nct #nct 127 #nct yuta #yuta #nakamoto yuta #nct fluff #neo culture technology #yuta fluff #nakamoto yuta fluff #fanfic #kpop fanfiction #kpop fanfic #kpop fluff

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silver-stargazing · 7 years

Text

I just got back from seeing Spider-Man: Homecoming and I’m full of so much love right now! I ran around town for a whole hour to try and burn it off but I’m still doing a happy dance back at home.

I want to incoherently ramble about it so I’ll place that under the cut (spoilers and all that). But TL;DR: In my opinion, this is probably the best Spider-Man movie since Spider-Man 2 and the best overall piece of Spidey media since The Spectacular Spider-Man all the way back in 2008 (got so many vibes from that show in this film!).

Alright, spoilers ahoy!

The intro music was literally an orchestral version of the 60s Spider-Man theme. Just fantastic.

I am in love with how relaxed the tone of the film is, especially near the beginning. The way Spidey was just shooting the breeze at some parts, it was kind of reminding me of my favorite parts of Deadpool (honestly, I would’ve liked Deadpool 100x more if it had just been a film about him just hanging around rather than having an actual plot or whatever).

While I will always defend Spider-Man 2 and personally consider it to be my favorite Spider-Man movie, even I will admit it’s not the most accurate depiction of Spider-Man (although it nailed Peter Parker down perfectly). The Amazing Spider-Man film series, meanwhile, had the reverse problem: got Spider-Man down but didn’t really understand Peter Parker. This film understands both aspects of the character brilliantly and uses it to great effect. Like Pete is kind of a dweeb but overall a pretty nice guy who wouldn’t break promises to dead people (still mad at you about that, ASM!) and Spider-Man’s chatty and way too conversational with dangerous people but can be serious in a heart-beat.

They kept on his mask for the vast majority of the film!!! And they usually had a valid reason for why he would take off the mask too!!!!

The shots recreating classic comic book frames...they were gorgeous. The shot of Spider-Man lifting up the rubble on top of him like in ASM #33 and the half Spider-Man/half Peter Parker imagery especially were well handled.

Again I say, so many Spectacular Spider-Man vibes. The diversity of the cast, the wonderful handling of characters relationships, sneaking in more comic book characters than you can shake a stick at, using Coney Island as part of an action set piece (OK every Spider-Man media uses that place but still)!

They kept up the long and proud tradition of having Spider-Man villains, no matter how odd it may seem, always having some close personal connection with Spider-Man. Ditko would be so mad but I love it!

Adding to that, they averted a trope that needs to die anyway: Superhero movie villains always die. Michael Keaton made it out alive and I am so grateful! I kept eyeing those turbines on the plane and getting Incredibles flashbacks. Like you can’t do this to me, movie. Not after all we’ve been through.

Michael Keaton really needs that Oscar. He was intimidating as heck in some scenes and yet I still cared so much that his character made it out alive. And he didn’t even need to be too over-the-top like William Dafoe or Topher Grace when playing the villain. It all felt very natural and thus way more creepy.

The use of lighting and sound during those scenes right before homecoming. That was like something out of an indie gang movie or something. One wrong move and Pete would’ve gotten his face smashed in by Ryan Gosling from Drive!

The comedy. oh my lord the comedy was amazing! Spider-Man running through a golf course at night and subverting the normal trope of Spidey running in an alley and ripping open his shirt to reveal the Spidey suit by having Peter very awkwardly strip down. The line deliveries by Tom Holland especially made some jokes that would’ve otherwise been duds work so well.

Tony Stark ends this film way too happy. I’m very worried about his future in Infinity War.

Chris Evans gives a beautiful send-up to phoning it in with those PSAs (even more hilarious as at one point RDJ literally phones in his performance). You can tell everyone involved had a blast making those PSAs and this whole film in general.

The gym teacher who has stopped giving any cares about everything. “I guess he’s a war criminal now but the state requires I show you this video anyway”. Where is this man’s spin-off? I want to follow this teacher around on his misadventures.

Only 3 complaints: 1) music wasn’t incredibly memorable. Not bad, just kind of forgettable 2) I really did like the character of Michelle. She had funny quips, was pretty charming and the reveal of who her character was is handled nicely. But at the end of the day, what did she contribute to the plot? She was just kind of there at every bad situation, made a quip about Peter and Ned being losers and then would disappear until further quipping was required. Sure, she helped win the decathlon but that ended up not mattering too much at the end of the day. And to be fair, making jokes and doing art and generally not doing much else isn’t too far off from original MJ’s characterization but still I hope they involve her more with the plot next time. and 3) Is there a specific reason why they can’t mention Uncle Ben? Is he banned from canon? Are they afraid people will say this is an origin story again if they so much as say the word “Uncle”? Because you can mention him movie. We all remember Spider-Man’s origins. It’s OK to mention Ben Parker in passing.

I’m just so grateful for how overall light this movie was. While it did a lot to recreate some of the darker themes from the earlier Lee/Ditko era of Spider-Man, I felt like I was also getting a more lighter and fluffier Lee/Romita comic as well (I love the Silver Age of Comics! Can you tell?) and I loved the great mix of the light and dark parts of Spider-Man’s history.

Hey I just realized they used The Ramones a lot through out the movie and Joey Ramone did the theme song to the 1990′s animated show! Coincidence???? Probably

I love being reminded of why I love this character and his world so much and I need to stop rambling but this is a really great film and a wonderful Spider-Man movie!

#stargazer rambles #like waaaayy too much #sorry it's been too long since I've seen a good solo Spider-Man movie and everytime I see one my heart grows three sizes #and I ramble like an incoherent person about why I love the Spider-Man comics and media so much! because I do! So much!#Spider-Man was probably my first hyper-fixation on a franchise. Where I had to know everything about the backstories #why certain characters were written in this way and the history of the publications and all that crazy jazz #so it feels good to remember why I got obsessed with Spider-Man to begin with #stargazer won't shut up about comics!#spider-man #spider-man: homecoming #spider-man spoilers

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