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seraphimguks · 4 years ago

Text

roses, poetry and jeon.

☾ pairing: bookstore employee!jungkook x reader

★ summary: Between the pieces of sappy poetry and dried rose petals hidden in every book you buy from the local bookstore; you fall in love with the anonymously enigmatic writer.

➳ genre: bookstore au, enemies to lovers-ish?, fluff, slight angst

☂ words: 12k

♡ a/n: hellooo! So, after countless days and nights working on this, I’m VERY proud as to how it came out to be. I don’t have any experience as a bookstore employee so please forgive me if I made some mistakes! Also, all the poetry compositions have been written by yours truly hehe. I really hope you guys enjoy this story as much I enjoyed writing it! Let me know how you felt (reblogs and comments go a long way!) c:

~*~

The sunlight filtering through your window was a familiar feeling. As it warmed your covers, you lazily turned to the other side of your bed hoping to find a cooler spot to resume your slumber. When not even cocooning yourself helped, you angrily pulled your blanket over your frame and let the heat take the win for this one.

You opened your eyes and took a minute to take in your surroundings. You felt like your party-hungry college student-self waking up one morning on someone else’s bathroom floor that wasn’t yours. In that reverie, you winced as you could almost taste the vodka at the back of your throat and the puke roiling up in your stomach.

A half open book lay face down on your nightstand and dried up drool pooled near the top of your pillow, possibly because you dozed off in between. You checked your phone, and was relieved that it was the weekend. There were no messages from work, you wanted to jump up in joy like you were a child on sugar rush.

Your job as a market assistant was good, and although you enjoyed the work, sometimes it felt dry and you lost all enthusiasm to continue. Your boss was an asshole, you really wanted to smack him. Your colleagues were no less either, but in all speaking you didn’t want to change your job yet because it paid well to give you a good apartment room and four-square meals a day.

Even thinking about work made you upset. You hugged your knees to your chest, resting your head on them because you were just too tired. Deep down in your conscious, you knew you couldn’t pursue your true passion for financial reasons and because it was just a dying profession.

Thoughts aside, you decided to treat yourself to the weekend by going to the bookstore just around your block. You loved bookstores, it was your favourite retreat growing up when your father would come and pick out the books you wanted to borrow. You were a very avid reader as a child, however as the homework started piling up as you went up a grade, there was no time to wiggle some reading time in between the cracks of your heavy schedule. Until now.

The bookstore opened five years ago, a cozy place that usually met a lukewarm crowd on weekends. You were a regular there. The owner, Kim Namjoon, was few years elder to you but was polite, handsome and very well read despite having a demanding position at his accounting job. Namjoon had opened the bookstore as a part-time thing to stay rooted to his love for literature, and since his profession earned well, he was able to recruit two or three employees to help him out when he was at work.

Ji Changmin was the cutest employee there, and honestly you couldn’t deny that part of the reason why you headed up to the cozy establishment was to see him. He had an ebullient disposition with lovely dimples that you couldn’t help but think was cute. He always greeted new customers with a wide smile and you stifled a laugh when you remembered his extremely loud shriek when one of the customers accidentally dropped a book. The poor boy almost fell from the ladder when he was trying to sort out the books on the highest shelf.

He was a dance major at the nearby University and his shifts were on the weekends, the two days when he was free. He often came to the store disheveled from practicing on his own, but he still managed to clean up and look flawless in a simple apron uniform.

You also knew that the first weekend of the new month meant fresh arrivals – so not only were you going to see your favourite employee (you would never tell Changmin, of course) and get some eye-candy, but also browse through the new novels waiting to be read by fellow bookworms like yourself. Maybe even eye Changmin over the top of the pages you read, and knowing him long enough he would probably be practicing few steps of his dance routine, and oh didn’t he look sexy.

And with that said, you were ready in flat 15 minutes.

~*~

The conundrum of living in cities was known to you – the whizz of scooters going by in the morning, the delightful screams of school children returning from class in the afternoon and the shutters of karaoke bars and clubs opening up for the evening.

That’s why you were so relieved that the apartment you were housing in was located in a sleepy neighbourhood, where the hustle-bustle was less pronounced. It was also near a subway that took you effortlessly to work. The street which you lived in mostly had all the necessities you could ask for, from grocery markets, a hospital, small cafes, retail stores, and of course, a medium-sized bookstore.

Fact and Fiction Bookstore was a store squeezed in between a medical shop and an apartment, just a couple of blocks from your place. It always had a wooden signboard that had “Open” and “Closed” in hand drawn letters and the interiors were festooned with decorative pendant lamps that lit the room in a golden halo. Walnut coloured, skyscraper height bookshelves lined the walls in even spaces, from classics to children’s books to study materials. There were few wooden stools scattered hither and tither and a small cash register at the extreme center, that led to the store room in the back. Overall, the shop had a modern yet minimalistic look that was to your liking.

As you walked inside of Fact and Fiction, you heard the familiar bell chime as you pushed open the doors. You made it just in time, and of course there were no customers there. You smiled a bit, knowing that Changmin might just be around and you could have some quality time with him for a bit. But instead of seeing Changmin usually wiping the bookshelves carefully, you were surprised to see Namjoon in his place.

“Oh Y/N! So nice to see you this morning,” Namjoon smiled, walking up to you. Namjoon never came on weekends, and if he did, it was when one of the employees were unable to work anymore. But that was very rare. Could that mean-

“Hey Namjoon,” You said, trying to mask the slight disappointment. “I thought you didn’t come on weekends?”

“I don’t, but now I guess I have to,” He laughed, returning to clean the bookshelves at the far right of the room.

“Why, what happened to Changmin?” You faked playing it cool by taking a book off the Bestseller’s shelf.

“He had to leave, he got scouted by an entertainment agency couple days ago. He’s going to be a trainee,” Namjoon shouted from the opposite side of the room.

As much as your heart felt like it fell from the sky, that you were no longer going to be ogling over the button eyed boy now, you felt a surge of happiness at Changmin finally achieving his lifelong dream to be an idol. It would take some years, but seeing him on the big screen – possibly even cuter – made your heart flutter. Of course, Namjoon was handsome too, so you didn’t mind stealing glances at him now that you no other choice.

“So, what are you going to do, now that he’s gone?” You asked. Surely the other two employees would be a replacement, you thought.

“I already hired a new employee; he’s going to be in charge in weekends now,” Namjoon wiped his hands on the cloth and disappeared into the storeroom.”

You silently nodded to yourself. It was silence now, just you and the books. Evidently you moved to the New Arrivals section, picking an interesting book cover and started reading the first chapter.

As soon as you ensconced in the setting, you heard the door open with the low chatter of what you assumed were female college students.

You heard footsteps. Someone from the other end of the store, presumably the new employee, greeted them in the conventional fashion bookstore employees usually do.

"What may I help you ladies with?"

The hair on the back of your neck stood. Your ears perked up out of its own volition. The vibrations in your heart quickened. Your knees suddenly felt weak, goosebumps erupting on every inch of your skin. You felt the air shifting, as if the coffee toned floorboard beneath you was angled and moved on its own accord.

You've heard that voice before. No, you knew that voice. You started to panic, leaving the book you were reading on the wrong shelf and scurrying past the aisles to the center of the room, where the voice seemingly came from.

You tried to recall where and whom the voice belonged to. The vestiges of your brain that locked out certain memories of your high school unlocked. Your mind worked like a tape recorder left on fast forward. If what you thought was right, it seemed as if that voice belonged to a certain five foot something, a mean, nitpicking, lanky teenager that went by the name –

Jeon Jungkook.

Your eyes widened immediately. The second you laid eyes on your high school enemy, your legs went cold. You stood there gawking at the boy – now a man – and couldn't for a second fathom why, in all places, he just had to work here in the same neighborhood you lived in. For a second you were cursing Namjoon, but honestly how could that innocent and charming aficionado, unalike Jungkook, know who your high school nemesis was?

Jungkook too, seemed flustered by your appearance, hand straight away behind his neck as he looked at you sheepishly. He aged well, you thought for a moment. He was no longer the gangly teenager that he was; he was bulky, with budding muscles on his arms if you strained your eyes just a bit. He grew out of his ridiculous mushroom haircut, settling for a fringe that slightly kissed the top of his eyes. He grew taller, no doubt, and this time he grew into his features, a square face with a visible jawline that could, quite literally cut glass.

Your history with Jungkook was clear as day. You guys were classmates in high school for four years. The then 15-year-old used to tease you every chance he got. He used to make fun of what you wore, the pieces of writing you wrote and why you always received the highest scores in literature class. Even when he asked for your help in getting better scores in English, he would always speak with a hint of sarcasm and impatience. You left high school cursing him through and through, but was happy you'd never get to see or run into him ever again. Until today.

"Hi Y/N," he said.

"Jungkook," you took a step forward, crossing your arms. This was habit you did as a form of defensive mechanism. Sure, whatever teenage Jungkook said to you during your high school years were long past, but it did put a dent in your self-esteem even if a bit. Maybe your teenage self still feels that the grown up Jungkook would once again sputter mean words to you even though high school was a good while back. “Been long.”

"Yeah, you're right. It's so good to see you again, I mean, I never expected," his voice soft, kind. Of all things, this was the most surprising. You tried to forget how shockingly attractive he turned out to be.

"Ditto," You said, unsure of what else to say. You looked down at your shoes, circling one foot around the other. "So how do you know Namjoon?"

"Oh, Hyung and I go way back. He used to tutor me in high school. Maths, geography, literature, you name it. I owe it to him, for making me pass. I heard he was looking for work so I decided to step in."

Oh, so that's why. The pieces were falling in place now. It did feel nice to catch up with an old high school ‘acquaintance’ of sorts, so you kept aside the qualms of your bullying experiences aside.

"Hey, now that you're here, I never got to say that I'm sorry for all the trouble I caused you in high school. I was dumb, stupid really, I mean, dumb and stupid are the same thing, but what I mean is-"

"It's okay, Jungkook. I'm long past it, to be honest. You're forgiven." You manage a small smile, your insides warming with his thoughtfulness. What was even sweet was that he appeared a bit nervous, even though the line seemed rehearsed - it made you think as if he'd been saying this apology to himself so many times as if he would meet you again one day and say it.

Now that the mood was lighter, few more customers began pouring in. You let Jungkook continue with his work even though you wanted to know details about his life now. You resumed reading the book, considered even making this the first purchase in a long time, before Jungkook waddled up to you suggesting that he was free to talk.

"So," Jungkook began slowly, leaning over the wall opposite the bookshelf. “You live here?

“Just a couple of blocks from here. What about you?”

“Oh no, I took the subway here. It’s bit far from my boxing center at home,” he smiles, bowing at new customers who already seemed to know what to look for. You noticed when he smiled that the one thing that didn’t change about Jungkook was his doe eyes. God, they were so misleading to anyone else who didn’t know him well.

And wow, that explained the muscles. Jeon Jungkook having his own boxing center? You pegged Jungkook as being unemployed after high school because if you recall correctly, his grades were dismal. But you can’t judge a book by its cover, right?

“Wow, boxing center huh? How’s that going?” You kind of feigned interest, nodding your head more than usual whereas you just wanted to read.

“Great actually. I took business in college, and it really got me thinking. So, I pulled some strings and opened a center, that way I could practice and so can everyone else. It’s going pretty good,” he nodded satisfyingly.

You give him a sad smile. He was doing something he liked. You were too, but not exactly.

“So, do you still write poetry?” He asks, knowing he’d been talking too much about himself.

Ah, that was your sour spot. Your true passion. Writing poetry. Those years in high school you realized nothing gave you true happiness than what the joy of words did. You never wanted to make a career out of anything if it didn’t happen to include writing. However, prospects in becoming a writer were perilously low and by the time you finished your first year in college, you realized you had a take different direction if you wanted to lead a financially stable life to pay off your loans.

“Oh, that.” You shrugged, another one of your defense mechanisms. Jungkook’s eyebrow lifted questioningly. You weren’t one to call poetry as ‘that’.

“Well, I learnt poetry can get you far enough as someone with a dying YouTube career, sadly as it is. It's a beautiful profession, but I needed to make ends meet. So currently I'm working as assistant marketing manager at this company an hour away.” You tried to seem as content as possible.

“How is it?” Jungkook now had to go and take to some customers but he was still listening to you.

“It's great!”

It's fucking tedious. Sometimes I want to scream, tear some papers and run around like a maniac.

“I love my boss and my teammates.”

My boss is a sexist, misogynistic prick and my teammates love to kiss his ass.

“There are days when I don't even think about poetry.”

I think about it every single second that I'm at work. I can’t even write cause I’m so packed with stuff to do.

Jungkook laughs as he aligns some books in the correct angles. "You were a good student in high school. With those grades, getting that job must have been piece of cake for you. Although, it must suck not to write because of your work.”

You’re telling me.

The book you were previously reading wasn’t that interesting as you thought. You moved over to the Poetry section, skimming your fingers over the covers of books. You saw a familiar title and took it out. It was the same book of poems that your school had given as part of your Literature syllabus. This book made you fall in love with words and what they mean. You looked inside and to your relief, it had all the poems of love, tragedy and loss that you came to love when you studied them meticulously when you were still a student.

Your favourite poems were I Dream of You by Christina Rossetti and Rooms by Charlotte Mew. You longed for a romance like the ones they described in stanzas, but only seldom in your life did you come across someone who shared the love of sappy poetry like you did.

“Rooms, huh? I love that poem,” Your head sharply whipped towards Jungkook’s direction, who was now curiously studying the book you had in hand.

Jungkook, liking poetry? The same lad who made fun of all the writers for being over-dramatic over love, was now saying he liked poetry?

“Surprising, I know. But like, if anyone found out the guy on the football team shared a secret love for prose and poetry, I would’ve been thrown out,” He shrugs lightly. You understood, your school solely ran on conservative values of toxic masculinity and favouritism. You managed to survive all of that, thankfully.

You and Jungkook then engaged in a discussion on the best poems and writing you guys read, surprised at his wide knowledge and the opinions he had to share. You agreed on many, disagreed with a few. But one thing you realized was that maybe meeting Jungkook wasn’t such a bad thing at all, you guys could finally be friends.

You decided to buy your book of poems. You haven’t seen this book in ages and it would be nice to add to your collection anyway.

As you handed over the book to Jungkook to check out, your hands touched only slightly. Jungkook gave you a small, shy smile, and you returned it. Right before he was going to give you the bill, his hands awkwardly hovered over the register for a moment.

“Wait,” he quickly remembered. “I have to put a stamp inside of this. It’s a way of checking what books are purchased. Work regulations. Give me a sec?”

You nodded and he disappeared into the store room for a good 10 minutes. You waited as you looked around the store for the nth time and wondering when you’d be back again. Jungkook suddenly returned, looking a little sweaty even though the air-conditioner was still on. He wiped his sweat using a towel next to the register and handed over the book to you with both hands.

You smiled at your purchase, tucking it in your bag and respectfully bowing to Jungkook before you decided to make your leave. As soon as you turned your heel towards the door, Jungkook awkwardly extended a hand to you.

“So, what do you say, friends?” His eyes were looking down, to hide his embarrassment. You thought it was cute. You extended your hand too.

“Friends.”

~*~

The sky had enveloped the sun the same way it always did during sundown. You settled comfortably in your duvet, taking out the book inside the paper bag that had the initials F.F. printed in large colourful letters. You placed the book gingerly between your legs as you scanned the hard cover.

You inhaled the pages, the smell settling somewhere in your bones. Then you began reading. It was sunset when you started and then midnight when you got to the middle. You held back a yawn as you decided to call it a day and then get to work from tomorrow. You were putting a bookmark inside the page you stopped at when something like a scrap of paper fell out of the book.

Carefully, you kept your book on the night stand and picked up the fragment and turned it over.

The paper looked as if it were torn from a notebook. What looked like a poem was written in the childish scrawl of a 10-year old, but it didn’t seem reasonable that a child would write something with such thought and maturity.

Thousands of libraries will never exhaust

How you wander in the loveliest recesses of my thoughts,

An angel fallen from heaven,

Am I merely just a spectre in your presence?

Your fingers possess secrets in every page that you write

But how would it feel my dear,

if the hands that touched your skin, were I?

Books may command your attention

But I mean no harm,

But beyond the classroom walls, here is my confession

That it fatigues me that to remain a boy who will love you from afar.

You stared at the paper for a while.

The poem was no doubt very beautiful, suggestive even. Unrequited love always made the best poems, you knew. You imagined a love-struck young boy penning down this very poem for his classmate in the back of his Algebra book, thinking it would never be seen by anyone else except him. What you loved most was that in each verse, the writer made his best effort to form an analogy between his lover’s passion for books and his passion for her. And to top it all, you and this girl shared your love for books.

But how did such a sensitive piece of writing wind up in your poetry book?

The paper didn’t match the quality of the paper of your recent buy, obviously. Namjoon was also not one to keep second-hand or used books in his store either. Was someone else reading the book and somehow slipped this inside? But the writing seemed very personal and it would be irresponsible for someone to misplace something like this.

You shrugged it off later, safely keeping the piece in one of your night stand drawers. Just when you were about to place your treasured book of poems in your book case, rose petals from the book fell to the floor.

Gasping, you picked the bunch in your hands, the petals bearing an angry crimson shade. Roses were your favourite flower, so you couldn’t but smell the petals that lay within your reach.

But if anything, it only multiplied the questions in your head as to how, when and why both the love poem and the petals were in the book in the first place.

~*~

You forgot about the poem and the rose petals until you found yourself going back to Fact and Fiction the next week. Surprisingly, work load was less but you didn’t want to be one to ask why.

It was a sunny afternoon. You got the news that a sequel to one of your favourite series released few days ago. You were sure that Namjoon would keep a neat pile of the sequel somewhere in his bookstore.

Jungkook was already at the register handing a customer his receipt when he noticed you entering through the glass door. He gave a small wave as you scuttered to the New Arrival’s section. Anxiously, you browsed through the section until you finally saw the familiar title.

“Yes, yes, yes,” you muttered, the pads of your fingertips feeling the glossy hardcover. You had only turned to the front page when a dark-haired someone appeared by your side.

“Seriously, The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes? Heard it didn’t get good reviews,” Jungkook smirks at you.

“Didn’t get good reviews my ass,” you mock him, going back to reading. The boy shakes his head and lets you read as he helps a customer find a certain book. More customers started to pour in, and soon Jungkook is up and running across the store every five minutes. You felt sorry for him, but then you realised with all his working out, running across a five thousand feet store was practically nothing.

It was just you in the store when it was evening. Jungkook leaned on the wall, resting his head on the counter in respite. You smiled dejectedly at him, wanting to say something to light the mood.

“So, how is Taehyung and Jimin? We couldn’t really catch up properly,” you said, sitting on one of the tools.

Jungkook sighed, almost happy that he could have one conversation today that wasn’t about foraging book titles of books ceased producing copies anymore.

“Jimin is good,” he said, wiping his sweat with the back of his hand. “He’s working at this law firm in Australia. Taehyung is pursuing his Master’s in Europe, something in cultural studies.’

“Wow,” the jealously in your voice was slightly apparent. You did work at a well-known company, but still, working abroad was a different league altogether.

“Gosh, can you believe how messed up we three were? Always fooling around, teachers said we wouldn’t amount to anything,” Jungkook reminisced, leaning his elbows on the counter now.

“I remember,” you laughed. “Especially when Taehyung pranked Mr. Choi with that whoopie cushion and Mrs. Kang when you drew her face on the board one day.”

“I think even Mrs. Kang laughed at that drawing herself, it was pretty impressive,” he smirks, lips breaking into a cocky grin. “

“And I think everyone remembers how you made Hae-ri cry in front of the whole class when you broke up with her,” you chucked, remembering the incident. Hae-ri and Jungkook sort of were going out in the middle of eleventh grade, but you always heard rumours how Jungkook was just playing around, like boys always did.

“Come on, Hae-ri and I were a joke. Can’t help it if she took us seriously,” Jungkook rolled his eyes. He clearly wasn’t interested in her as much as she was. As much as the others girl were really, even though to you he was what you always thought he was – a stupid, mean and lanky adolescent. “To think of it, I couldn’t help if I was a bit popular.”

“Oh, you were the cynosure of all eyes, Kook,” you smiled, looking down. It was true. Jungkook always carried an aura of confidence was that infectious. The kind of charm that made heads turn when he walked in the room, the type of startling charisma that was unnatural of a fifteen-year-old.

“Everyone’s eyes except yours,” he emphasised, crossing his arms over another.

“I mean, you hated me. We hated each other,” You state matter-of-factly, as you got up from the stool to the counter to make your purchase. “I can’t believe I even tried to be nice with you.”

Jungkook faced you with an expression on his face you couldn’t decipher. “I didn't hate you, not completely.”

That was news. You always thought Jungkook and his little gang were out to torture every weakling in school. Jungkook especially liked to torture you, so it would be an understatement to say you were a bit surprised.

“Which part of your icky teenage self,” you jabbed a finger in his shoulder playfully. “-even tolerated me?”

“The part that tolerated you thought you were special. And you still are, Y/N. Special.” He repeated.

There was a twinkle in his eyes when he spoke that you didn’t miss. Your heart felt like it was floating, warmed by the how Jungkook meant every word he said about you. Your stomach did this thing where it felt like a million bees were swarming around when you felt shy. A blast of warmth shot up your arms. The feeling lingered even when you pushed The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes in his direction.

Jungkook’s smirk didn’t wipe off his face after you had given your payment. The silence seemed unusual, did you just share an intimate, if brief, moment with your high school foe? Why had he called you special? You never stood out even when you were classmates, so why was he saying this now?

“I’ll go stamp this, yeah?” he cuts the silence. You nod, and he vanishes into the storeroom again. He comes back five minutes later this time and hands you the paper bag. You take your leave and silently leave the store.

What you don’t see is Jungkook’s gaze following you intently as you pull the door, walk across the street from the store and disappear into the night.

~*~

You returned home, your laptop greeting you with tons of messages from work. You cursed each of them, especially the one from your boss asking you to revise last week’s updates even though you emailed in a bunch of times saying you did. You pulled an all-nighter as you completed the tasks expected of you. By the time you were done, it was already two-thirty in the night.

You flopped on your bed, your body relaxing as it hit the soft covers. You breathed a sigh of relief as you pulled out your purchase from the paper bag.

You suddenly remembered the poem and the petals. You decided it would be weird, but you turned the book over as if you were expecting the same contents to pool from it. And sure enough, you were right.

Not one, but two pieces of notebook scraps settled onto your lap with some blue coloured rose petals. Your mind did a mental ‘what the fuck?’ before picking up the petals and placing them on your night stand. You picked the scraps and read them, never expecting what you would find.

Help me, for I am surrounded by loquacious ghosts

Yet you stand there, a beauty in flesh and bone

Women would die for me,

yet my mind echoes only your name

Break me from my reverie,

To kiss you in the blue sweater that hugs your delicate frame

You eye me with pure hate, yet is I to blame

I treat you wrongly,

But only to hide my love for you – if you push me away.

You read the second one now.

Blue,

It is the colour of the sweater you wear every first Monday of the month

The pencil you write poems at the top of your chemistry notebook,

The rain as it brushes against your skin when you're late to class

The look on your face when you're happy

The sound of my heart when you walk past my seat at the cafeteria table

The smile you wear when your friends hook their arms around yours

And my love for you that will never be requited.

Cold sweat broke out on your spine. This wasn't some love poem that was mistakenly placed in your book. It felt like the poems were directed at you. Even the first poem made you feel slightly suspicious because you had a resemblance to the girl mentioned in it.

You tried to knit all three poems together, because all those years in poetry class made you an expert at analysing. You found a connection. They were written by someone in high school.

The love for books, the pencil, the sweater, the behaviour traits, all reminded you of your teenage self from years ago. It was so intricate, as if this person had been observing you through a lens in class for years.

It was someone that you hated and he hated you too, but then again, you hated a lot of people in high school, and they too, you felt, disliked you. You had few friends, however good ones, all of which whom you remained in contact today.

Who could this person be? He definitely had outstanding poetry skills, the words worming its way into your heart ever since you had the first poem. You felt shy. Someone, in your class, liked you behind a mask of hatred. Your body contracted as you concluded that you had a mystery writer sending you messages with every book you bought. You wondered why you were living in the dark for a long time.

How had this not happened earlier? Why was it that before buying the book, it didn’t seem to have any individual contents in it, but after taking it home, it did?

You wanted more answers. You wanted to write back, but whom would you be writing to? You didn't know this person or his address. You realised that this was a one-way connection. You could only build your assumption if you had more poems to build them on.

And that could only happen if you happened to go to a certain bookstore couple of blocks from your apartment.

~*~

You went there the next weekend, on a cold Sunday morning. You kept the mystery poet a secret to yourself, although it haunted you for the whole week while you were at work.

As the weeks ensued, work was piling up, but you felt at peace when you were there among the books and Jungkook's company. The weekends went by with Jungkook narrating funny stories of certain customers he encountered, high school memories, work schedules, and of course books.

“No, Dark Places was absolutely not one of Gillian Flynn’s best works,” you commented, one evening.

“But the Satanic vibe was cool, you have to admit,” Jungkook’s voice was lost as he piled books in front of a stand.

Jungkook was a diligent worker for a newbie; he polished the shelves and smoothened out dog-eared books. He always checked the register and counted the cash, aligned the books the correct way, made note of what books were available and those which needed immediate restocking. He lost his callous attitude of high school years, but you berated yourself for always comparing his high school habits to the Jungkook now.

You rolled your eyes. “Have you read Karin Slaughter’s books though?”

You could feel his smirk from behind the stack of books. “Pretty Girls.”

“The Good Daughter.” You argued.

“Pretty Girls was grislier. I like.” God, you wanted to lunge a book at this guy. Everything gory or Satanic amused him, it seemed.

Jungkook was funnier than you imagined with the comedic antics he sometimes pulled off, by failing at twirling a book in his hands to accidentally hitting his head on the storeroom door behind the register. He sometimes flirted here and there, which was mostly harmless. But you couldn’t forget that time in the store when he called you special. The look he gave, the sincerity behind it, how genuine it felt.

You kept buying books and of course the love letters kept emerging along with the roses. You still had no idea who this person was, but as time went by, you kept falling more and more in love. You kept the petals in your journal. They did dry off, but you kept them regardless. You always kept the poems in your drawer, neatly piled into one corner. Sometimes, you pressed them close to your chest as if the words would somehow leap up from the page, dissolve into your rib cages and settle near your heart.

But one stormy morning that you were at the bookstore, you were weighed down by how work was progressing. The company had faced some setbacks, so you were responsible for getting the hearing from your boss. You tried to mask your sadness until you see Jungkook doing something suspicious near the centre of the room.

There was a small stand, where usually books were heaped into a mountain of paperbacks. It looked as if the boy was trying to pile the books in a house of cards fashion. The experiment was bound to fail, and Jungkook was lucky Namjoon was never here on weekends to see what was about to be happen.

But you help him instead.

“Do you like working here, Kook?” you tried to sound nonchalant. You hand him two books at a time, while he dexterously stabilised a book on top of another.

“I do,” he replies. “It’s relaxing. Especially when I’m not sweaty and working out all the time. Why?”

“It’s just, I hate my work environment you know, and I miss writing– “

Jungkook eyes you worriedly as he stops midway through the activity. You don’t notice and hand him some books anyway, but they fall right at the edge of the pile and the whole stack falls down on both of you like dominoes.

Jungkook falls back first on the ground, catching you as you fall on his stomach. Your faces are inches away from each other, but you rest your head on his chest, tears stinging the corners of your eyes.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry! See? I’m such a mess. I can’t do anything right, I’m a failure, I’m-“

Jungkook rests his hand on your back and the other hand gently stroking your forehead. You picked up on his hesitance, as if he was asking your body to relax as a signal that he was comforting you. You did relax, you felt as ease. The weeks when you were around him, you never felt comfortable with anyone in your life. Let alone the fact that he was attractive, erm, cute – but he was probably one of the best people you knew.

“Shut up okay? You're amazing. Those assholes at work don't know how talented you are. You're amazing.” Jungkook whispered, rubbing your back in small circles. “I…I sometimes don’t like working at my centre either. The toxic masculinity over there makes me want to puke. I hate the environment, and sometimes I think I’m the one who sparked it.

He wraps both arms round you now, and you're reminded again literally, that being surrounded by books and Jungkook was what led you to Fact and Fiction every weekend. You two lie there for a good ten seconds, before you realised that a customer may walk in any moment. There was also the mess to sort out.

You help Jungkook up, wiping your tears with the back of your hand.

“I can’t really see you cry, I start crying too,” Jungkook jokes, as he hands you a tissue from the tissue box. Always so concerned, you took note. “Is there something that keeps you happy apart from books? Y-you could try and do that?”

"Actually,” you sniff. “There is something that keeps me happy these days. Someone keeps writing me love letters."

There, your secret finally revealed. Jungkook gaped you, as if he didn’t believe it. Honestly, you didn’t either until you made the connection yourself.

He proceeded to ask you details of the discovery, and was shocked himself when you told him of how you thought the person could be someone from high school. It really got him thinking. He named each classmate you’ve ever had an interaction with, but you couldn’t picture any of them having any interest in you.

How did your mystery writer/(lover?) know so much about you? Little details, little quirks. Was he a stalker? But how did he know exactly which books you bought and when?

"Well, maybe you should write something of your own too. Maybe like, in response to how you feel when you read his poems.” The boy suggested, picking the books from the floor, dusting them before putting it in a box next to him.

You mirrored his actions. You pondered over the thought for a while though. Writing to him would be a way to practice your writing that you thought you lost. It was a great idea; you were doing it for yourself. And then if you ever meet this mystery guy, you would show him too.

“Wait, before you leave,” the doe-eyed boy stops your tracks. The books were successfully placed in the box, and you were helping him put it in the sore room when he asks you to wait.

Jungkook walks you toward the end of the room. He picks out a book and shows you the cover. It’s a limited-edition copy of one of your favourite authors of all time, and signed. You wondered what it was doing at the back, when it should be out in front.

“I saved this copy, just for you,” Jungkook’s cheeks blushed a tinge of pink. “I remembered how much you liked his work in school. And I’m willing to give this to you, half the price.”

You ran and hugged Jungkook the tightest hug you had ever given someone in years. He laughed, returning the hug. You felt like the luckiest girl, customer, (whatever!) and you almost felt bad because you had gotten something exclusive for a discount because you knew the employee, anyone else would have paid fortunes for this. You thought about declining, but Jungkook really insisted.

“Don’t think about refusing. I’ll go stamp this before you make your payment,” he says before you could protest.

Really, where had Jungkook been all this time? So much kindness, this boy was brimming with endless love that you thought you didn’t deserve. After a while, he comes out and you hand him the cash.

As you say your goodbyes and make your leave, Jungkook says “And please don’t cry, wouldn’t want to taint that pretty face, right?”

Something stirred in your heart. You had just started seeing Jungkook as a man, was it now that he started seeing you as a woman? A blush creeps up your neck as you contemplate the thought all the way home.

~*~

You carefully keep the purchase on your bed. Taking out the scraps of love poems from your drawer, you needed to look at your muse before you started writing on your own.

You stretched your hands, pen in hand, ready to recreate wonders when it hit the paper. But you were blank. It’s like your mind had wired out all the imaginations you had kept stored for the last couple of years. You fell flat on your desk, exhaustion over coming you. Had you really lost your touch? Your parents, teachers and friends always praised you for your writing skills, have you let them down? But you weren’t really going to quit this easily.

You looked at your purchase. There must be another poem hidden inside. As if controlled by an entity, you opened the book, flipped the leaves and saw the very page sitting in between the middle pages. You removed the pink rose petals too, your guy never seemed to forget adding them in. You turned the scrap over.

Today I heard your laugh

Setting my heart in a frenzied trance

The purest sound even the sweetest nightingale could not match

Like fireflies bouncing against thin glass

The most beautiful treasure, I can never have.

Your eyes watered. It was a poem tinier from the rest, but this one struck something within you. “Like fireflies bouncing against thin glass”, the words feeling sweeter every time you repeated them. You couldn’t believe someone, who was so far from you, could love you this vehemently.

Suddenly, you had found your strength. You were going to write. You were doing this for him. For you.

You picked up the pen and the words just came to you. It was a struggle, but it was a start, you console yourself. You never imagined you would be writing a love letter to someone you had never seen, touched and spoke to, but you didn’t care. Your hands worked away, filling the page in front of you.

But your mind echoed the same mantra over, and over again: I am doing this for us. I am doing this for us. I am doing this for us.

~*~

It's three weeks later that you decide to do an experiment. It's been quite a while since you've been to the store, and the poems stopped coming as well. Work was driving you crazy. You knew sometime in this week you had to drop by the bookstore, so you decided to see if your mystery lover came on the weekdays.

Another employee whom you didn’t know personally and Namjoon were there. Jungkook, of course, was nowhere in sight like you guessed. Namjoon gives you a wave from the register as he speaks to a customer. You knew that you already had too many books, but today was crucial if you wanted to see if your experiment worked out. You could also return the book after you bought it, granted you brought it in after fifteen days. You could buy a book for someone else; your mystery man would never know you were buying it for yourself. Yeah, that’s what you decided do.

You picked up a random title from the shelf and made your way to the counter. The store was mostly empty, except one or two customers. Everybody was busy on a weekday.

As you made your payment, you noticed Namjoon stamping the inside of the book before handing it over to you. The counter was designed in a way so that a person standing a normal distance away couldn’t see what was inside of it. So naturally, your eyes furrowed in confusion.

“Don’t you have to go inside and stamp?” You asked, wondering if Namjoon made the wrong stamp. Even the brightest minds can forget.

“What do you mean? Namjoon looked at as if you had said the most ridiculous thing ever.

"Like whenever Jungkook checks out a book, he goes into the storeroom and stamps? It’s a rule?" You weren’t being sure of what you were saying right now. You sounded like a poor student explaining the concept of rocket physics to a professor.

"Oh, I don't know why he does that, since there's already a stamp here." He holds up a plastic rubber stamp like someone would hold an antique. "And I mean, you could do that, since there are few spare ones in the storeroom, but that’s like extra effort you have to put in. I'm not sure why he does that."

You nodded, kind of silent.

"Does he do that to you or for every customer?"

You realise you never even noticed this. Usually when the store had customers, you were engrossed in reading or looking at books. You never even wondered if Jungkook went to the storeroom to stamp all the books that were purchased. The bookstore would be very crowded during weekends, and the time taken for Jungkook to go and come back usually takes five or ten minutes. Surely, he would’ve taken one of the stamps to the counter itself cause the journey would be too tiring. But you didn’t know for sure what he did for other customers. You slapped yourself in your head for being so ignorant.

You left the store with an uncertainty heavy on your chest.

You return home. Billions of questions bounced from one corner of your mind to another in an intense ping-pong battle. What was worse, when you looked inside the book you bought, there was no poem. No rose petals either.

Could it be that Jungkook knew your mystery guy? Was he the one slipping in the poems when you made your purchase? Did your guy come in the middle of the week and hand Jungkook his writing and leave it up to him to do the favour? Is that why there were no poems or roses today, cause Jungkook wasn’t at work?

You didn’t know. All you knew was that the best way to handle your doubts was to confront Jungkook.

You noticed that you needed to buy groceries for the night. You just had take-out for three days in a row and now the thought of Chinese food made you feel icky. You hit yourself on the head for not buying groceries earlier after you were at at the store. You took your purse and made it in time at the grocery before closing.

Once you were done, you stepped out with your heavy paper bag and saw it was pouring heavily. Pedestrians were already waiting outside the store, hoping the rain would subside soon. Nobody suspected today that it would rain and neither did you.

“Fuck,” you muttered, you didn’t bring an umbrella. The bookstore was just across the grocery. It had a bigger shade, enough to cover seven people from the rain. You silently thanked Namjoon’s choice of constructing the store as you launched yourself across the street.

Jungkook was standing under the shed, looking for something in his bag. You didn’t notice he was there until he called your name.

“Y/N!” his eyes lit up. Desperate, your eyes searched his hands. He was carrying an umbrella. You breathed easier.

“Oh hey,” you say, the rain making it hard for you to be audible. Raindrops pounded against the shed like fists banging a door. “I thought you didn’t work on weekdays?”

“I don’t,” he said. “I was meeting someone here for work.” You nodded, wondering how would bring up the topic of the poems. Maybe you would ask him on Saturday, two days from now. Right at this moment, didn’t seem like the best time.

“Would you mind dropping me off at the subway, though? It’s just near my place,” you knew you sounded desperate, but you needed to get back home. You remembered he had to take the subway to get home too. Jungkook violently nodded his head as he opened his umbrella. You both started walking, shivering slightly at the cold.

"Hey, come closer. Don't want to get your pretty outfit wet," Jungkook huddled you closer to his side, wrapping a hand around your waist for purchase. Your cheeks reddened, maybe at the way the wind whipped your skin or the fact that no one's ever been this near you.

As the space between you and Jungkook closed, you looked at the boy who was always so concerned with your well-being. He had been occupying your thoughts lately. Maybe because of his dorky personality or because he was very smouldering in person, but either ways, your experience of crushes told you that this was the beginning of another infatuation. But you, liking your high school classmate? As much you fantasised him from time to time, you had to resist thinking about it. He maybe had a girlfriend, who knew? Someone as wonderful as him deserved one.

But in this moment, under the incessant rain where both of you trying to turn his upturned umbrella, Jungkook breaking into bouts of laughter as a car splashed water on your clothes, and you complaining of your matted hair – you felt so happy. The puzzle of the poems was longer a worry to you. All you wanted was to be happy in the moment, with Jungkook.

“So, are you going to give this mystery guy a chance?” Jungkook's voice strained to speak over the rain. Ah, coming to the point. You had been so sure you wouldn’t bring up the topic, but destiny had other plans.

“How am I supposed to give him a chance when I don't know who he is or how he looks like?” You say, uncomfortable at how wet the hem of your jeans was. You were walking at an uncomfortable speed, trying to avoid the puddles in your path but in vain.

“He surely knew what he had to do to get you swoon over him,” Jungkook laughed, as if he was so sure. He was right though, strangely.

“He does have a way with words,” you agreed. The wind was horrible now, pulling your top over your midriff. "I'm scared cause maybe the day he'll come up to me, I'll look like trash."

"No, you never look like trash. You look pretty in whatever you wear, Y/N." Jungkook scoffed. You blushed again. God, why was it so hard not to blush in front of him? “But you do know what's coming.

“What is?” Honestly your mind had been occupied so much about work, and your anonymous lover than you had no time to think the next Jungkook wanted to say.

“Valentine's Day.”

As soon as you heard it, something in you jolted. Two days from now was Valentine’s Day.

"Do you think he might make his appearance that day?" you asked, your voice high as a sparrow’s chirp. Jungkook offered to hold your grocery bag in return for holding his umbrella. You obliged.

"Can't really say that, but would it make your day if he did?" he continued.

“Oh my god, yes,” you stressed on the word, even slightly a little bit anxious because you wouldn’t know what you did if he came out of nowhere.

“Does someone have butterflies in their stomach now?”

"Stop it.” You nudged an elbow at him. You have no idea what he does to me."

"I do know." He holds his gaze longer this time. The rain finally subdued. You saw something in Jungkook's eyes then, you're not sure what – sadness, hope, expectation? But whatever it was, you felt something reverberate in your ribs long after he tears his gaze away.

"I think this is where we part." You say, brushing the hair from your eyes. You were still holding his umbrella, waiting for the right moment to give it to him.

Jungkook suddenly takes your free hand and squeezes it in his own. "Whatever you do, Y/N, please give that guy a chance. He does seem to really like you." He tucked a hair beside your ear, you shuddered a bit at the cold touch.

Why was Jungkook being so persistent about it? Why was he so serious when it came to you and your mystery lover? Whatever the deal was, Jungkook's expression didn't waver. He was right too, and that strengthened your resolve to accept this stranger no matter who he was. You nodded, which made Jungkook only happier.

"I wish I can see him." You sighed, wondering if Jungkook was thinking what you were thinking.

"Y/N," Jungkook leaned over to whisper in your ear. "Maybe you just need to keep looking around you, because he could be so near to you, but you just don't know it yet."

You still don't understand what the raven-haired stunner meant by his words when he hands you the groceries, leaves without his umbrella and descends the subway stairs.

~*~

It was Saturday. Valentine’s Day.

Jungkook woke up in his one-bedroom apartment, a little shaky. Today was the day.

As he reached over to pick up the backpack he took to work, he unzipped the tiny front pocket. Scraps of paper fell out from the seams, like snowflakes on a wintry morning. The twenty-three-year-old looked at each piece, running his fingers over the love poems his high school-self had written to you. If Jungkook had told his angsty teenage self that someday the poems he had written at the top of his history notebook would be read by you, he would have never believed himself.

Jungkook always liked you.

It wasn’t love at first sight, heck, he didn’t believe in that. He didn’t mind you at first, but he realised what made you so special than the rest. You were strong, maybe not in the vocal way, but in the way you saw the world around you. When the teacher complimented how well you would write your answers, you evocative your poetry was – Jungkook could never imagine how a shy girl, her nose so lost in a book at the corner of class would do that.

So when Jungkook read your answers one day, or when he would sneak a glance at your writing, he felt insecure. The real reason why Jungkook always teased you was that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t write as well you did, put his mind to something that you did so well, to be so intelligent, strong and soft. From you, he understood that strength doesn’t equate to being aggressive, or overly vocal. It can be in the way you can showed kindness as well.

So that’s why started pestering you, to hide his own feelings he could never reveal to anyone.

Jungkook never forgot how even after he teased you repeatedly in class, you would always give him an extra pencil when he wanted one, or a reassuring smile when he was anxious before a test. That was the only limit of his interactions with you, but it was more than enough.

He quickly took notice of you in the most subtle ways. The pencil you wrote with, the way your hair was styled one morning, that blue sweater that was apparently your favourite. How you passed by his seat at the cafeteria every morning to sit with your friends. How opinionated you were about certain authors and their writing styles. Even when Jungkook had to put up his ‘popular boy’ persona, sometimes he would tune out all the meaningless conversations he had just to hear how soft your laugh sounded when your friends showed you something funny.

You quickly became his muse. Jungkook was good at physical activities. He was popular, everyone had expectations from him to go on to college with a football scholarship. Everyone looked up to Jungkook cause made himself look like an idol. But in reality, Jungkook had nothing to show except for a fleeting charisma. Jungkook was good at physical activities, but not at words.

But you made him fall in love with words. Like everyone else, he was at first impatient at why poets and writers took so long to get to the point. But he learnt from you that art was patience. Love was patience.

He struggled, for weeks, months, trying to get the right words out of him. How he felt for you, how you made him feel. He now realised how hard it was express your feelings in few words. But with some practice, Jungkook eventually got there. He had begun to read more, surprising his parents too, but he eventually loved the activity. It calmed him. Soothed his nerves. Staying up late at night just reading, Jungkook noticed his English answers were improving. When he received the final grade, it wasn’t great. But he was satisfied. His whole gang slapped high-fives with him asking how he cheated his way through the exam successfully. He bit his lower lip, a habit of his, as he shrugged at them in response. The real reason was a pretty girl who always sat in the corner of class.

He kept his proudest pieces of poetry hidden in his bag for so long, secretly thanking you for realising a part of him he never knew existed. He took the bag everywhere with him, serving as his strength. His true, strength. Not the kind that had him running 20 laps around school and bench press 30 kilos to impress his coach.

He always regarded you as his first love, not Hae-ri, not any of the girls he went out with as a joke. He was sad when he graduated high school, but was too shy to come up and thank you. He regretted not saying anything to you then, knowing life is not one to give second chances.

But when Jungkook saw you in the bookstore for the first time, part of him thought this was fate. His feelings resurfaced, stronger than ever. He still had the scraps of poetry in his bag in the storeroom, he could just retrieve them and slip them into the book you would purchase. Maybe even some roses Namjoon liked to decorate on the inside.

When you slid your book the counter, Jungkook had deliberated the idea. But he knew that everything happens for a reason, so he decided to do it anyway. You would never know who it was, but at least he could tell you how he felt for you in one way. He kept repeating this as many times as you bought something from the store. He loved your company, he felt like the luckiest man in the world. Never had he felt happier when he was talking to you, getting to know the real you.

So that’s why he wanted to reveal himself to you, behold! I’m the writer behind all those poems!

Valentine’s Day would be the perfect opportunity to do so. He just hoped, wished, that you wouldn’t push him away. Or, be disappointed. That was Jungkook’s fear that kept him wide awake at night. Could you have been hoping for someone else? Did you not look at Jungkook the way he looked at you?

He would only know today. He was bracing himself, when he got changed, when he showered, when he raced to the subway and made it sharp at ten am.

Namjoon was already there, smiling at the young boy wondering why his cheeks were so red. Jungkook’s heart never beat that fast. His heart felt like it would be sliced open by a hundred bullets. He quickly put on his apron and pretended to be busy arranging the books on the middle shelves in proper order. It was already an hour when he heard the door open.

Jungkook’s feet almost leapt up when he saw you coming inside. He waved, a bit too much he thought, and took few seconds to gather himself together. He was ready to approach you any moment now. He would take your hands, press them against his chest and say: “Its me, Y/N. I’m the anonymous writer you’re looking for.”

Jungkook edged himself forward. All this time he’d been waiting for this.

Until he sees Namjoon walking up to you first.

~*~

“Y/N,” Namjoon approaches you. You didn’t expect him to be talk to you, since he was always so busy on weekends. He cleared his throat. “I just wanted to say…that you look pretty today.”

“What?” you laugh, nervously. Namjoon calling you pretty? All of a sudden? You never even thought he even looked at you beyond a friend. Yes, he was very good looking, Jungkook must have talked about you to him, hadn’t he? The former always complimented on your appearance, making you smile inwardly.

“Gosh,” he chuckles in return. “Your laugh really does sound like fireflies bouncing against thin glass.”

You blink twice, hand going right up to your mouth. Namjoon. Wait, Namjoon? So, it had been him all this time? Yes, it all made sense! Only someone as charming, educated and well-mannered as Namjoon fit in all the right pieces of the mystery man you pictured. No wonder the poems had a very loving touch, it was written by someone like him. But how he had he known so much about you? Was it Jungkook who told him all those teeny, insignificant details that you were made of?

At that moment, you didn't care. All you knew was that Kim Namjoon noticed you. He had noticed you.

You smile at him.

You looked over your shoulder, Jungkook’s face turning to a shade of grey. His seemed frozen in position. You wondered why. You just wanted to jump up and shake him and scream into his face: Jungkook! Namjoon is the one! He’s been the one writing to me!

“I've been meaning to ask, would you like to go out to coffee with me today? It is Valentine’s Day,” he scratches the back of his neck. You take his hands in yours. You nod willingly. You were too excited that all you had was time to point at Namjoon to Jungkook when Namjoon had his back turned to remove his apron.

Jungkook got the message you tried to tell him. He only smiled, but you wondered why it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

~*~

The café shop that you and Namjoon decided on was already swarming with customers, couples mostly. You guys decided to sit outside, a table for two. You were so excited, you were ready to bombard Namjoon with a series of questions, hoping it would give you the insight it needed. You both ordered two lattes and brownies with ice-cream topping.

“I can’t believe you readily agreed to go out with me,” the man before you shrugs modestly. “I mean, I could pass on as your elder brother, right?”

“Um, no, I was so happy that you asked, I…I never imagined, really. I’m really happy you did,” you stuttered, reaching out your arms to touch his. He appreciated the compliment.

“That’s so sweet, Y/N,” Namjoon smiled again, resting the palm of his hand on his cheek, giving you a longing gaze.

“Sweet, just like the poems you wrote for me,” you giggled, waiting to hear just what he would say. You almost choked on the next words.

“The what?” He blinked. Immediately, you knew you looked stupid. You tried to find your words.

“I said, just the like the poems you wrote for me.”

“I never wrote poems for you, heck, I can't even write poetry, Y/N.” Namjoon sipped on his latte that arrived. Your knees turned rubbery. He was joking right? You continued to insist, but Namjoon just shook his head firmly.

“I'm serious, I never wrote anything for anyone. Ask all my exes.” He was looking at your curiously now. You did too. Your hands were getting sweaty with nervousness.

“Then why did you say that my laugh sounded like fireflies tinkling against glass?” Exactly your question.

“Cause, I heard Jungkook saying it was.”

Your heart again did a little flip at his name. He was talking about you to Namjoon. But Jungkook was narrating the same line from the last poem you received, how is that possible, granted if he didn’t know the content? Or if, someone had given him the poem in the first place and he just happened to see it? A streak of anger went up your body when you thought of Jungkook intruding on your privacy.

“If...if, you didn't write these poems, then who did?” You searched your bag, taking out the poems that you kept in your wallet. You laid them out, one by one, on the table. There were many of them, but Namjoon scrutinised each piece closely. His eyes darted from one end to another, eyebrows furrowed in confusion suggesting he was in deep thought. Namjoon squinted at the scribbly, childish scrawls on the scraps and suddenly his brain clicked.

“This seems a lot like the poems Jungkook showed me, you know.”

You looked up shocked, your heart feeling like it was dropped from a height. Jungkook writes poems? You knew he read often; you didn’t know he wrote too. Did he have the time to? When did he start writing? All these questions made your head feel like it was stuffed with cotton.

Namjoon noticed your silence. “I know,” he laughs. “Seems weird right? He doesn’t seem like it, but that boy does have some talent in the writing department. He says it calms him somehow.”

“Do you keep roses in the store room, Namjoon?” You said, not looking at him. Your voice almost sounded robotic.

“I do, to brighten up the space there. Although I realised on the days you would come, there would always be one rose less the last time I counted them.”

Do you think...?

Suddenly, your brain had connected the dots. You shouldn't have judged Namjoon so quickly. All the times you remembered, Jungkook mentioned going to the storeroom to stamp the books you purchased. There was actually a stamp right there in the counter, but he never failed to go inside the storeroom instead. Maybe he slipped in the poems and the roses then?

And the handwriting. You remember going through Jungkook's essays in high school when you tried to help him out, even a bit. You remembered how bad his handwriting was.

But Jungkook, writing poems for you? You admit you did feel a soft spot for Jungkook albeit your sour history with him in high school, but soon you realised he's so much more than his shy demeanour. Yes, your assumption on Namjoon being your mystery writer overlooked all the clues, and you wished you thought more thoroughly. Now, because of your impulsive decision-making skills, you landed up in this awkward situation with Namjoon.

Jungkook was the one writing poems for you. Only he could notice those habits you had possessed in school, he was your classmate for fuck’s sake! All those years that you hated him for being mean to you, he was crushing on you instead? How, why?

But then you understood. You liked Jungkook. Ever since the first poem. He became such a beautiful writer, with all the delicate details he noticed about you. So, there was meaning behind him calling you special. There was meaning when he looked at you for a few seconds longer. There was meaning in his smile, in his actions, in his concern. There was meaning in every little thing he did because he liked you, and still likes you. And you liked him too.

Why had he resisted the ache in his heart to come forward and tell you the truth about who the person behind the poems was?

You put back the poems and muttered several apologies to Namjoon before you fled the scene, your mind rehearsing exactly what to tell Jungkook the first thing you meet him.

~*~

You barged inside the familiar bookstore, the cold air from the air-conditioner hitting you smack in the face. There were no customers, it was Valentine’s Day you remind yourself. Jungkook was busy cleaning up the bar, a solemn look colouring his usually bright face.

He looked a bit startled when he saw you open the door, as if he didn't expect you to enter at this hour.

“Y/N! How was your date?” He faked enthusiasm. You marched up to him and slammed the poems down on the counter.

“You could have told me, you know. The worst I could do was to storm off,” You crossed your arms, this time not as a defence mechanism.

“What are you talking about?” He wasn’t looking at you, he was looking at the poems now. How long was he going to keep up this act?

“Disappearing to stamp my book? The horrible handwriting? The intricate details about how I was in school? Sounds like only someone who knew me, or observed me very well, would know.” You said, tone a bit lighter. “I'm not dumb, Kook.”

There was a slight pause on Jungkook’s end before he speaks. “Took you this long to find out, though.”

You grinned. “You’re a coward.” You leaned forward, slightly kissing him on the lips. He responds, smiling, taking his hand to cup you on the cheek. It’s awkward at first, but his lips were just the right amount of soft and yours. Suddenly, Namjoon, your temporary crush on Changmin, disappear. The moment is magical as you lock both arms around Jungkook’s neck as he kisses you excitedly. Sparks fly between both your bodies.

You break away from the kiss. “You say big words in your poems, yet you can't muster up the courage to confess to the girl you like?”

“I thought…you and Namjoon hyung...” Jungkook’s cheeks are flushed crimson, as he eyes the floor in attempt to hide his evident embarrassment.

“Which wouldn't have happened if you confessed to me earlier.” You rolled your eyes, baffled that he didn’t speak up when he should have. “Do you know how awkward it was, realising you were the one behind the poems and not Namjoon?”

��Oh my god, did you leave him there all alone?” He tried to suppress a small laugh. “So, do you like me now?”

“We just kissed, Jungkook.” You punched him. “But yes, I have liked you ever since I read your poem the first time. And your writing is just…wow.”

“I try,” He did that thing again where he rubbed the back of his neck when he got shy. “Only for the girl I always had a crush on.”

“And you succeeded.” Throwing your hands over his neck again, nuzzling your nose against his, you felt the comfort, the same one whenever you were around Jungkook, slowly making it way from your legs to your arms.

“Valentine's Day is not over yet, shall we go out?” You nodded at Jungkook’s suggestion as you both made your way out the store, no customers projected to come anyway.

Hand in hand, you realised that fairy tales with happy endings did exist. Except for princes, dragons and villains – your story had roses, poetry and Jeon Jungkook, your enigmatic writer in hidden notebook scraps, whom you loved with all your heart.

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zoomsbatty · 4 years ago

Text

(Repost because I had to delete my old account)

Adventures Of The Terrible Bird

Marco had overworked himself again. Hunched over his desk as he completed another stack of paperwork, and maps that needed to be done. Yet, no matter how many hours he poured in it always seemed to just increase in size. Witchcraft, he swore.

At the late hours of the night he finally decides to turn it in. Sluggishly making his way down the quiet halls, and stretching his poor sore muscles. Stiff limbs popping loudly as the noise bounced across the wooden walls. He needed a chiropractor, but that would have to wait until morning. He fell asleep the moment his head hit the pillow, but it wasn't Marco who had woken up.

It was the phoenix.

The moment the sunlight shone through the small window the phoenix had awoken. Moving his small head from where it was sitting snugly inside his wing, and gracefully stretching his long neck. With a ruffle of his blue feathers he had realized something incredibly wrong. He was in a place he did not like. The phoenix was angry, and he was going to make it everyone’s problem.

“YOI!” With a screech, and a flap of his wings he had declared war! He burst from his spot on the bed, and flew right to where the light was coming from. The sun was there, so that must mean it was a way outside. Yes! He will get to sun, and find his captors. Evil humans will pay! Except, that didn't happen. As he just flew face first into the window at full speed. He stopped, and hopped back to his feet like a blue feathery tornado.

What was that? He craned his long neck to the one that hurt him. Staring at the strange, invisible, barrier that had dared to stop his escape. One peck spooking the bird as he screamed, and flapped his feathers in anger. It was magic! He sent a hiss its way.

“What in the world? Marco, what are you doing in here?” His neck straightened up when he heard the voice. A human! Or in other terms, the phoenix’s next victim. The door slowly opened, and the poor soul then peaked in. Confused eyes scanning the room for any sign of the first commander. Instead, they sadly were met with a face full of blue feathers.

“YOI! YOI!” He cried in victory as he knocked puny human down. He stood on their (not actually) dead body as he flapped his wings as a show of dominance! No one can stop the phoenix! He was unstoppable! With his new found freedom he made a run for it. Talons hitting wood as he ran across the halls at top speed. Top speed being however fast a waddling goose could go at a given time. He was free, and now he may smite all the fools who had dared try to contain him!

“YYYOOOIII!” The moment he had found himself on deck he yelled. Wings flapping, and talons stomping on the wooden floor as all eyes turned to his form. A few faces growing pale at the sight of the blue monstrosity in their presence.

“Oh god, please no.”

“Not again. Did Marco overwork himself last night?”

“I hope he’s just messing with us here.”

Yes! They were trembling beneath his mighty form! Shake in fear tiny humans! He will show no mercy, and shall get his revenge!

“Ok funky goose get your ass over here.” He squawked in shock when all of the sudden he was lifted from the ground. Long neck swinging back, and forth as he tried to find the source of this preposterous situation. Who dared remove him from his war path!?

“Geez, I told you to get some rest earlier! When will you learn Marco?” Finally the phoenix’s head moved so he could stare his captor eye to eye. There was a man with strange brown hair styled up like a balloon, and the phoenix had the urge to nest within it as he stared. The human sighed, and then shook his head in disappointment. Hey! He should be pleased to be touching him! If anyone was supposed to be disappointed it should be the phoenix! He was just an ugly human after all!

He screamed, and then began to nip at the offending hands. He will murder this human for his treason against the mighty phoenix! Hissing in joy when he saw a little blood come off the terrible human’s finger!

“Geez Marco! Calm down. You're such a little shit when you go full bird.” Once the pain got too bad he released the furious ball of blue feathers. Watching with distaste as he strutted and screamed at all the watching eyes of their brothers. Though the phoenix had no idea these were his brothers at the moment in time.

“Ok, where's the bird time out bag!?” Now the human had made a mistake at this point. He had turned his back to the phoenix! He shall enact his punishment for the human’s mistreatment of him! He slowly inched forward, neck elongated as he prepared himself for his attack. And then, he pounced. Nipping the man right on his butt before running in the opposite direction, and away from the angry yells of the strange balloon man. The man has felt his wrath, and he had no plans in stopping! Chirping happily as a few pirates flinched the moment he ran past them. Yes! He was god!

“You should have seen me Deuce! The way I blasted that guy away!” The phoenix was pulled away by the sound of a new voice. Who was that? Now the phoenix normally could care less, but the moment he saw something shiny he decided it was all his business.

He hissed, and then crouched down so he could expertly make his way to where the man was standing. Orange hat perched on his head that acted like a beacon for the bird. Then, in a blink of an eye he bursted forth. Grabbing a hold of the shiny dagger, and pulling with all his might. This was his dagger! HIS! The human should just give it up right now!

“M-Marco!? What are you doing!? Hey! Let go!” No! Human should let go! Not the phoenix! This was his shiny now! With one last tug he pulled it off the guy’s hip, and ran with his treasure to a special secret spot. Or, better known as, behind a cluster of barrels that the phoenix now claimed as his nest.

“Thatch! What's wrong with him!?” Nothing was wrong with phoenix! Phoenix was king!

“Sometimes when he overworks himself he defaults to the natural bird brain of the phoenix. We don't know how that works, it just happens. He’ll be back to normal tomorrow at least.” Phoenix was normal! How dare this Thatch say otherwise! He sent a hiss in their direction, and glared as they just stared at him with tired eyes. “Well, hopefully he's his normal self tomorrow.”

Everything seemed to have returned to some normalcy. Pirates running about, and the bright blue ball of feathers enjoying his spot away from it all. Beak chewing happily on the little diamonds as he basked in his new treasure. Yes, his shiny. He liked this shiny. Though now he wants more shinies. Enough shinies to populate his nest like a treasure wonderland.

“Yoi!” He peeked his head out. Neck working like a telescope as he tried to spot his next victim. A few seemed to have noticed, and scurried away quickly to avoid the gaze of the terrible bird. Everyone knew to avoid Marco when he was like. All but the bird himself of course.

That's when he saw him, Deuce. The blue haired man leaning against a nearby railing and trying to scribble something within his tiny journal. To the Whitebeards it was a normal sight, but to the phoenix it was an opening.

He flew up to the top of the barrels, and glared down the unsuspecting victim. The blue man had a shiny pen, and he wanted the shiny pen. With the confidence of a king he strutted across the deck. Eyes trained onto the only thing going through his tiny little walnut brain. He stopped, and stared up at the man. Not thinking for a second of what will even happen if he tried to take such a thing.

“Yoi!” Quickly he jumped up, and grabbed the pen in between his beak. Wings flapping, and feathers flying all over the place as he secured his newest treasure. Yes! His shiny! His pen! His his his!

“H-Hey! Give that back!” No! Give to him! He flapped his wings at him in a threatening way, and stomped his feet as a sign for the dumb human to back off! No one touches treasure once the phoenix has it! No siree! He claimed it!

“Give it up. He isn't ever going to let that go now.” With a huff the bird made a run for it. Feet hitting the hard wood like a jackhammer as he made his way to hide the new wonder in his nest. Carefully tucking it next to the dagger with care, and practice. Cozy pen! Good pen! He liked this pen! He scratched the floor happily, and marked his territory so no other bird will dare to land in his vicinity.

Now he just needed some nesting material.

He left his cave. Neck swinging from side to side as he searched for precious soft materials to build upon. Only the best! Though he did not see any soft things. No fuzzies? He wanted fuzzies for nest! With an annoyed chortle he began to move deeper across the deck. Eyes on the lookout for the perfect piece, and wanting more than anything to build the best nest he possibly could. Bird was king! And king needed the best!

While he was walking he had found himself within the dining hall. Its wooden walls, and floors giving it a monochromatic look that the bird did not care about whatsoever. Instead, he zoned completely on a nice sound that was wafting through the room. Singing? Not bird singing. Bird singing was better! Phoenix sang much better than human!

He waddled to where the noise was, and peeked through a pair of double doors to see the weird hair human dancing about the kitchen. Singing a sea shanty, and preparing something on the stove that the phoenix couldn't discern. He didn't care what it was to exact, but it did smell nice. Yet, that isn't what had caught his attention the most.

Eggs! There were eggs within the big box! Large, and white like ones the phoenix can eat and lay on. He wanted to lay on those eggs! His eggs! He wanted eggs! With a happy screech he ran to the box. Wings flapping as his eyes scanned each uniform little orb in wonder. He liked these eggs. Very good eggs!

“Yoi yoi!” With lightning fast reflexes he grabbed an egg, and swallowed it whole. Very good egg! He shall grab more!

“H-Hey! You put those down!” Thatch had finally noticed his little escapade, spoon in his hand waving about as he tried to force the annoying bird away from the merchandise. The phoenix just growled at him. Holding several eggs within his beak, and cheeks as he did so. How dare he! His eggs! “Drop them!” The man had lunged for him, but the bird easily dodged. Feathers now all over the kitchen floor, and tables. Marking so the world could see he was there.

He bolted right away. Like a roadrunner getting away from a predator he was fast, and gone in a blink of an eye. Pride filled the bird as he escaped with his eggs without even a scratch on him. Yes! His eggs! With a happy chirp he gently dropped them next to his other treasures. The nest was starting to look good! Yes, good nest! Perfect for king!

“Well! You're having a good time my son.” A shadow then swallowed the entire deck whole. Blocking the sun, and any source of light that the bird could make out. His feathers ruffling, and standing on their ends as instincts ran wild. Darkness meant storm, and storm was bad. Instead he found his feet dangling beneath him, and hands on his body. Out of everything he could have done he decided he was going to scream.

“Yoooiii! YOI!” he kicked, and used his beak to nip at the offending hands that had trapped him. No one traps the phoenix! That is punishable by death! The bird only got angrier as the one imprisoning him refused to release his form. Only for him to stop in his tracks as a booming laughter shook him to his feathers.

“I’m glad you still have your spirit Marco! That's my boy!” When the phoenix finally craned his long neck to see who could create such a noise he was in absolutely shock. That was a big human! Large crescent mustache, and giant face seemed like a predator to him. One big finger then reached down to pet the bird, causing a happy little chirp to reverberate in his throat. He liked this human! Good human! Big human can protect him! Very good servant!

“Yoi!” He flapped his wings until he was finally placed down. Puffing out his chest, and glaring up at the large man that held his hostage. He can be good slave to the phoenix, but that did not mean he could touch him! No touching!

“Alright alright. How about you go back to your nest.” The large finger patted him on the head again, and the bird just sent a nip his way in annoyance. No touching! Bad human! “I’m sorry, you never let your old man pet you though. Here, a little gift for my boy.” Something glittered in the corner of his eye, and when the boy turned he screamed in joy. Yes! A shiny! Golden treasure!

“Yoi!” He grabbed the glittering ring with his beak, and waddled off to where his nest was starting to form. He had decided now he liked this human, but he will probably forget such a thing in a few minutes anyway.

“Pops! Stop spoiling him! Now he’ll think it's ok to steal from us!” Bird ignored insignificant humans. Those humans were just slaves to the phoenix! Bird was better than them!

“Now, making him happy doesn't hurt anyone.” He hurt all, and bird enjoyed it! All bow to him! A loud snore then snapped him away from his nest, and forced his neck to stare at a nearby body that had parked itself near his area. Bad human! He marked this territory!

With an angry growl he stomped right up to the human. Orange hat over his eyes, and messy black hair all over the place. Bad human! Terrible human! The phoenix used his beak to nip at the boy’s skin, but instead found an incredible discovery. He was oozing a nice, comforting, heat. He rubbed his head against the man’s stomach, and purred in delight at the cozy feeling. Better than nest! Very safe, and nice!

“Yoi!” He jumped up onto the man’s stomach, and walked in a few circles before settling down. Tucking his head into his wing as he cooed in delight. The warmth spreading throughout his body, and making his feathers tingle in joy. This human was nice, and he liked this human. And he was sure to not forget that this time.

#one piece #portgas d. ace #op marco #marco the pineapple #marco the phoenix #one piece marco #whitebeard crew #whitebeard pirates #whitebeard one piece #one piece fanfiction #op fanfic #one piece oneshot

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waitimcomingtoo · 5 years ago

Text

Missing Link

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Synopsis: Tom can’t find you during the quarantine and the boys are no help. Also, Tom has chickens if you didn’t know

A/n: got this idea from a prank on youtube. Thank you to all that helped me with the plagiarism thing yesterday! Lots of love. Stay safe and healthy ❤️

Masterlist

“Hey, guys. I’m just gonna take out the trash.” You held the trash bag up a little as you alerted the four boys in the living room as to what you were doing. Harry, Harrison, and Tuwaine did not look up from the video game they were playing, but Tom gave you a gentle smile and reached for your hand.

“Okay, Princess.” He squeezed your hand before returning to his game as you walked out of the house.

“Damn.” Harry mumbled once you left.

“What?” Tuwaine asked, neither of them taking their eyes off the video game.

“She said she was taking out the trash.” Harry pointed out.

“Yeah, and?” Tom asked, gripping the controller angrily when he lost.

“She forgot Harrison.” Harry sighed.

“This is why people say Sam is the cute twin.” Harrison grumbled.

“Die.” Harry deadpanned as he focused on the game. Tom and Tuwaine exchanged looks as Harrison gave Harry the side eye.

An hour later, the boys were growing listless with their game. Harrison put his controller down and rubbed his aching eyes.

“Alright, I’m starving. Let’s eat.” He rubbed his hands together and walked into the kitchen.

“Me too, mate.” Tuwaine tossed his controller onto the couch and joined Harrison in the kitchen.

“Let me get Y/n and we’ll have some lunch.” Tom said as he walked into the bedroom where he assumed you’d be.

“Are you hungry, baby doll?” He asked, frowning when he didn’t see you in there. He walked to the connected bathroom, but the door was wide open and you weren’t inside. Confused as to where else you would be, he checked the rooms one by one, starting his Harrison’s and ending with Tuwaine’s. When you didn’t show up in any of them, he began to get worried. He went down to the basement and yelled down the stairs.

“Y/n?” He called your name and got no answer. “Hello?”

He went down the steps and looked all around the room, but you weren’t there either. He stopped for a moment to scratch his head. He knew you weren’t in the kitchen or common area because that’s where he had been. And he knew you weren’t in the bedrooms because he had just checked them. The house wasn’t big enough for you to not hear him calling your name, and he feared that meant you weren’t inside.

Tom padded back to the kitchen where the other three boys were eating various forms of lunch.

“Guys, where’s Y/n?” Tom asked as he reached the kitchen counter. All he received as a response was a series of shrugs.

“I don’t know. Haven’t seen her.” Harry said as he put the finishing touches on his sandwich.

“I haven’t seen her either.” Tuwaine added, stealing half of Harry’s sandwich.

“I thought she was taking out the trash?” Harrison recalled.

“Yeah, that was over an hour ago.” Tom began to worry even more. He’d been so caught up in the game, he didn’t even realize you never came back into the house. The common area was in the middle of the front and back door. He would’ve heard or seen you had you come back inside.

“Maybe the chickens ate her.” Harrison shrugged as he took a bite of his food. Tom snapped out of his worried state to glare at Harrison.

“Don’t be a div, Haz. Chickens don’t eat people.” Tom snapped, growing frustrated as none of the boys took the situation seriously. He leaned back on the kitchen counter and stretched, blowing out a nervous breath.

“These are weird times, man.” Harrison defended. “Don’t you think they get tired of corn and seeds sometimes?”

Harry nodded along as if Harrison said something of substance, stopping when Tom shot him a look.

“No I don’t, because they have brains the size of walnut. And apparently, so do you.” Tom huffed. He ran his fingers through his hair and gave it a stressful tug.

“Let’s not turn on each other, guys.” Harry warned as he sensed tension rising.

“He’s right. It’s what the chickens want.” Tuwaine said knowingly and Tom gave him a long, angry glare.

“I’m leaving.” He declared as the boys snickered amongst themselves. He stormed into your shared bedroom and looked around again, hoping to find this there this time.

“Princess?” Tom called as he looked behind the door. “Are you in here?”

He sighed in defeat when he didn’t find you once again. He went through the same routine of checking Harry’s room, then Harrison’s, then Tuwaine’s.

“Y/n? Where are you?” Tom called, his voice echoing off the walls. When he got no reply, he impatiently licked his lips and took out his phone. He called you, sighing angrily when he got no answer. He tapped his foot as he waited to leave a message.

“Hey, sweetheart, it’s me. I’m worried about you. Please give me a ring when you get this. I love you, bye.” He left you a voicemail, trying to keep his voice calm as he spoke to you. He put his phone back in his pocket and returned to the kitchen, empty handed.

“She’s not here. I checked all the rooms in the house. She’s just not here.” Tom said in exasperation. He had no idea how he managed to lose you during a nationwide lockdown.

“Relax, mate. She’s probably went on a walk.” Harrison offered some helpful insight.

“But we always go on our walks together.” Tom whined like a child.

“Or maybe she just needed some alone time.” Harry suggested. “The poor girl is trapped in this house with four boys and nowhere to go. She probably needed some air.”

“I saw her talking to a lady bug the other day just for some female interaction.” Tuwaine commented.

“Okay. You’re probably right.” Tom decided to believe in the best case scenario. “She’s just on a walk.”

All the boys, including Tom, nodded in a agreement that you were just on a walk. After a beat of silence, Tom let out a whine.

“How long is this walk!” He exclaimed. The boys exchanged looks as Tom pulled out his phone.

“Hi angel. It’s me again.” He let out a shaky breath. “I’m scared somethings happened to you. Please ring me as soon as you get this. I miss you. Bye.”

He stared at his phone for a minute, hoping your name would light up on his screen. When it didn’t, he sighed sadly and put it away.

“Guys, I’m really worried now. I haven’t seen Y/n in three hours.” He licked his lips again, his mouth feeling dry with fear.

“Relax, Tom. She’s gotta be somewhere around here. She legally has to be.” Harry insisted.

“I’ve checked every room in the house. Twice! Where the hell did she go?” He asked in exasperation. He looked to the boys for answer but they had nothing to give him.

“Maybe every time you come into the room, she leaves it swiftly and quietly.” Harrison moved his hand like he was painting a picture.

“Like a gentle breeze.” Tuwaine whispered right in Toms ear, who flinched away.

“Why would she do that?” Tom asked in confusion.

“To avoid you.” Harry shrugged as he sipped his tea.

“Maybe she’s playing Hide and Seek.” Harrison pointed at Tom like he had a brilliant revelation.

“Or tag.” Tuwaine added.

“Why would she start a game of Hide and Seek without telling me?” Tom groaned at their incompetence.

“Or tag.” Tuwaine repeated.

“Did she expect me to just assume we were playing?” Tom asked, half humoring their ridiculous theories.

“Yes. You’ve never playing Surprise Hide and Seek with someone?” Harrison scoffed at Tom. Tom looked at his friend like he was crazy.

“Whats Surprise Hide and Seek?” Harry piped up. Tom felt the real issue slipping away from the conversation.

“It’s like regular Hide and Seek but it’s a surprise because you didn’t know you were playing it.” Harrison explained and Tom gripped the countertop in frustration.

“I highly doubt Y/n is playing Surprise Hide and Seek.” He said through a fake smile.

“Well we still have the chicken theory.” Harrison reminded the boys. Harry and Tuwaine nodded as Tom gave them a searing glare.

“We do not have the chicken theory! Chickens do not eat people! For Christ’s sake.” Tom slapped the countertop.

“We don’t know that Tom! We don’t know anything about chickens.” Harrison exclaimed. “Maybe the chickens saw you eating chicken and decided to get revenge. You named the chicken Predator, and now it ate your girlfriend. That’s on you!”

“I didn’t name the chicken Predator!” Tom shouted back.

“That was me.” Tuwaine raised his hand. “And leave Predator out of this. If he killed Y/n, it’s because he caught her slipping.”

“Have you all lost your minds?” Tom yelled at the bunch.

“Yes.” They said in unison. Tom was dumbfounded at this and seemed to space out. The boys stared at him in confusion as he stared off. Harry waved a hand in front of Toms face, and he didn’t blink.

“What are you doing?” Harry asked nervously.

“I’m counting to 10 in my head.” Tom stated catatonically. “Whew. Okay. I’m calm. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go find my girlfriend.” He spun on his heel but didn’t even get a step forward when he heard Harrison’s voice.

“Might want to check the chicken co-“ Harrison stopped his sentence when he saw the crazed look in Toms eyes.

“Finish that sentence.” Tom dared him.

“I don’t want to.” Harrison mumbled in fear.

“But I’m asking you to. Finish that sentence. Don’t be shy.” Tom said again, staring Harrison down. They looked into each other’s eyes for a moment, the tension building.

“Might want to check the chicken coop.” Harrison said quickly.

“I’ll kill you.” Tom lunged forward but Harry and Tuwaine held him back. Tom relaxed and fixed his shirt, clearing his throat as he nodded to the boys to signal that he was ready to behave.

“I’m just scared, guys.” Tom sighed as his frustration turned into sadness. “And none of you are taking this seriously! Something could’ve happened to her. She could be hurt or lost or scared.”

“Or on a walk.” Harry tried to reason with his brother as he got back on the couch to play video games.

“What if she’s not?” Tom protested. “What if someone took her?”

“Have you tried calling her?” Tuwaine asked.

“No Tuwaine. I sent her a letter asking where she was. I sent it to her via a carrying pigeon. We’ll have an answer in 3 to 5 business days.” Tom snapped in sarcasm. Tuwaine held his hands up in defense and Tom immediately felt bad.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap, I’m just worried about her. I’ll give her another call.” Tom said as he pulled out his phone to ring you. He got your voicemail again and sighed. “Y/n, baby, please ring me back. I’m dying here. I need to see you and make sure you’re all right. Ring me, please.”

Harrison and Tuwaine gave him sympathetic looks, finally grasping how worried he was. Tom shook his head and took a seat next to Harry on the couch.

“Harry?” Tom asked quietly.

“Yes?” Harry turned his attention to his brother.

“I think I’m single now.” Tom sighed.

“I’m sorry to hear that, mate.” Harry chuckled at his drama.

“I’m sorry too.” Tom nodded, accepting his fate as a single man.

“Hey, Tom. Hey, Harry.” You walked into the room and took a seat on the couch, turning your attention to the video game on the screen.

“Hey, Y/n.” Harry said without looking up. Tom did a double take at the sight of you, nearly jumping off the couch.

“Where have you been?” Tom practically shouted, making you jump back a little.

“I was taking out the trash.” You laughed a little at his reaction.

“For five hours?” Tom demanded.

“I’m teasing.” You laughed and pulled him closer to you on the couch. “I was pranking you. I’ve been hiding through the house all day while on Instagram live. Look, say hi to the camera.” You showed him your phone and he saw his own confused face on your screen with a couple thousand followers watching.

“Gentle breeze theory wins!” Tuwaine cheered from the kitchen.

“I really thought it was the chickens.” Harrison grumbled from the other side of the room.

“What?” You asked regarding Harrison’s comment.

“I’ll explain later. You mean to tell me you’ve been here all along? And recording it?” Tom asked you in disbelief.

“Yep.” You said proudly. “I had a lot of people tuning in to see how long it’d take you to find me. I figured I’d give you a break once it hit the four hour mark.”

“You didn’t think to check her Instagram?” Harry laughed at his brother for his stupidity.

“You’ve been on live all day?” He couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought to check your Instagram.

“I was on with her at one point.” Tuwaine mentioned and Toms eyes widened as you nodded.

“How’d you even get back in the house? I never saw you come in.” Tom realized, knowing for a fact he would’ve seen you come back inside.

“Climbed through a window.” You shrugged casually.

“Climbed- you climbed through a window!?” Tom exclaimed, making you laugh. He finally laughed as well and pulled you into a hug. He sighed in relief that he had you back before kissing the top of your head. You wrapped your arms around his torso and let him hold you.

“I missed you, princess.” He mumbled into your neck as he cuddled into you. You smiled and squeezed him tightly.

“I was always around the corner.” You told him, kissing his forehead. “I’m sorry I made you worried, baby.”

“It’s okay.” He smiled softly at you. “I’m just glad you’re back.”

“I’m glad too.” You pulled him into a brief kiss. “Now what’s this about chickens?”

Tag List 🏷

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#tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland fluff #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland imagine #tom holland x yn #tom holland x y/n #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #spiderman #tom holland blurb #harry holland x reader #harrison osterfeild x reader #tuwaine #quarantine

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wands-n-roses · 3 years ago

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Gummi Bears | R.W. [TDOF 2021]

Day 3!

A/n: Okay full warning this is a fic where Ron gets unbelievably high, everyone is of legal age!! Happy Holidays and day 3 of 12 days of Ficmas!

Warnings/Notes: Weed edibles, everyone is 18+ after Hogwarts, platonic relationship

You roamed around the apartment you shared with your best friend, Ron Weasley. The apartment wasn't too much of a mess, but it was less clean than you liked it to be, so you started cleaning up. Doing the dishes, picking up clothes from the bathroom, folding blankets, etc. But during this, you noticed your silver baggie, which previously held your gummy bear edibles, was empty.

"Oh fuck," you said to yourself, "Oh shit, oh fuck, oh shit."

You immediately know Ron had found them, assumed they were normal and ate them. Now normally, if your friend had accidentally eaten them, it'd be fine. Except Ron had never been high before. And he ate at least 5 gummy bears.

You began rushing around the apartment trying to find him.

"Ron! Ron where are you? Come out, come out where ever you are," you yelled throughout the rooms.

When that didn't work you yelled, "Marco!"

"Polo!" You heard a quiet voice say.

You did this a few more times until you found him under a cabinet in the kitchen. Now Ron was tall and built well, you had absolutely no idea how he managed to get under there... that was until he stood up.

This man managed to shrink himself to the size of a 9 yr old while high. You wanted to laugh your head off, but Ron was still completely out of his mind. His pupils were the size of walnuts, and he was trying to watch tv...but the tv wasn't on.

After racking your brain for what to do, you called Lee Jordan. He was the first person you'd gotten high with and he helped you when your brains had gone to shit.

Of course, however, Lee brought along Fred and Fred was laughing uncontrollably for the first 5 minutes watching Ron play with trains and saying "choo-choo!"

"Okay be serious here, Ron is unbelievably high. Help me out here," you begged them.

"Okay," Lee huffed, "how much did he take?"

"At least 50 mg."

"AT LEAST?!" Fred yelled, now he wasn't laughing he was jealous.

"Yeah..."

Lee chuckled, "Just make sure he doesn't try to cook or cut anything... or leave, and you should be fine."

You nodded, "How long do you think he'll be like this?" You pointed to the boy that was laying on the floor, having a staring contest with your pet owl.

"He'll sleep it off tonight."

You shook your head, "Thanks guys, I guess I'll start figuring out how to get him back to normal size."

As soon as Fred heard that he fell to the floor laughing, "I DIDNT EVEN REALIZE HOW SHORT HE WAS NOW!"

You facepalmed.

The boys left and you were watching over Ron.

"When you aren't high anymore I'm gonna give you a really long lecture," you huffed, cleaning up spilled chocolate milk.

"Okay, mum," Ron said very sarcastically.

You rolled your eyes. You put on a movie and got some snacks. Ron was having the munchies, which makes perfect sense as all Ron does is eat. He ate a bag of pretzels, 2 bags of chips, and an entire pint of ice cream. And then, like a blessing, he fell asleep on the couch.

"Oh thank goodness," you whispered. You took a picture sending it to all of your friends. By now everyone knew how high Ron had gotten, especially after the videos and pictures that Lee and Fred took.

Everyone was aware of Ron's high except him. And they'd talk about it for ages

#tdof 2021 #ron weasley #ronald weasley #ron weasley fanfiction

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parkersjiggle · 4 years ago

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Hi! I'm the one who requested the 'didn't know they were dating fic'. Thank you so much! It was perfect, I really enjoyed it. Can I make another request? Tony thinking Peter has feelings for one of the other Avengers and being jealous. But of course it's him Peter wanted all along.

Hey! I loved that prompt thank you for requesting it! I’m so sorry I haven’t gotten to you before now but I’ve been swamped with uni and I felt super unmotivated to write, but I’m back now! Anyways I hope you enjoy!!

Tags: jealous!Tony, mutual pining, misunderstandings, required unrequited love

—————

Frankly, this was not Tony’s morning. He hadn’t slept in over 40 hours and to make matters worse he had just run out of coffee and forgot to tell Friday to order more. But none of that could explain the bile rising up in his throat or the jealousy coursing through his veins.

The scene unfolding in front of him did though. Stupid Steve’s giggling again, unmanly as it is. His muscles shake and tears stream from his closed eyes. He has a hand plastered on Peter’s shoulder. Tony has to hold his breath, pursing his lips as he watches them from the corner of the room.

He knows what has happened. Peter probably told some joke that honestly wasn’t worth doubling over and bursting into harsh cackles of laughter, but Steve just had to go the extra mile to get Peter’s attention. Tony had been observing things escalate for a while, and the more he noticed, the more it upset him. It started out as most things did, he guessed. Flirty comments, lingering touches, more eye contact than strictly necessary.

It doesn’t matter anyway. Tony won’t have to be here for much longer. Next week he’s off to Hawaii by himself. The brochure looked really good and he couldn’t wait to relax, gather his thoughts and get over this idiotic crush.

It hurt to look, but he couldn’t not look either. He notices Steve telling Peter some lame story about a mission gone wrong. The kid’s face actually lights up brighter than a toothpaste commercial. He has that soft, adoring look on his face that makes Tony want to hurl.

Tony decides to torture himself some more and actually joins them in the living room. Steve whooshes past him as if it’s his house instead of Tony’s and perches himself on Tony’s favorite couch, signaling for Peter to come over. When he does, Steve wraps himself around him closer than food wrap, just as transparent. They’re whispering as if they’re sharing secrets. This time Peter’s the one giggling like he’s three and a half years old.

Tony can’t say anything about it. It would put their friendship at risk, and that’s something he won’t do. Friends like Peter don’t come along too often. Knowing that still doesn’t stop the want to raise his voice with jealous spite and demand Peter to explain why Steve makes him smile like that when it should be Tony.

But, it’s not the kid’s fault. Tony had no claim on Peter. They weren’t anything beyond close friends and Peter could flirt with whomever he wanted. Maybe he had a chance years ago when the hero-worship and excessive admiration still lingered, but he fucked that up too. Peter knew the real him now, flaws and all. Tony’s well aware he pulls with one hand just to push away with the other. He knows he’s doing it right now too, but he still doesn’t stop. He feels like he’s cursed. When he loves it’s too strong, like some God turned his emotion dials up way too far. No one really understands that Tony can only give mixed messages in order to disguise his love, protect his feelings.

He didn’t say anything but his eyes were like daggers stabbing Steve over and over again. He always had to have what Tony wanted too, huh? Tony felt the frustration bubbling up in his chest.

His knuckles turned white from clenching his fist too hard. His teeth gritted from the effort to remain silent, hunched form exuding an animosity that was like acid- burning, slicing, potent. “Something wrong, Stark?” When Steve spoke, Tony mentally snapped, face red with suppressed rage. “You’re enjoying this aren’t you, Rogers? You really love to rub it in, don’t you?” He made the mistake of letting all the frustration build until it inevitably snapped. He knew that he shouldn’t have let it escalate to that point, but logic wasn’t on his side right now. He couldn’t think this through.

“What on earth are you talking about?” Steve raised his brow questionably. Tony felt the hammering of his heart, its very great attempt to escape his chest. Nothing but hurt and fury ran through his mind right now, “Are you acting stupid or do you actually have a brain the size of a pickled walnut?”

He heard the youngest of them three gasp, almost scandalously. “TONY! You can’t say stuff like that! What’s gotten into you!?” He had the nerve to sound disappointed and angry at the same time. Those feelings quickly ebbed away, however, when he really looked at Tony, and more specifically at his eyes. Which seemed to hold a great deal of pain and had dark bags under them. Peter wondered when he was last able to get some sleep and not just a 45 minute powernap between his lab projects. He paused and sighed. “Are you okay?” The concern and sincerity was clear in his voice. It made Tony want to confess everything and run away at the same time. He let out a shaky breath. “No... I’m not.” He cast his gaze onto the ground and his eyes darkened. He glanced back up at Peter. “Why?” His voice sounded more pained than anything. Steve saw this as the perfect time to excuse himself, fully well aware of how much Tony hated being vulnerable in front of others.

“Why what?” Peter asked softly, following Tony’s gaze that was plastered on Steve walking out. “You mean Steve? Why do you have a problem with him?” Tony chuckled darkly and shook his head, choosing to answer with a question of his own. “How long have you two been dating?” Peter eyed him weirdly, confusion evident on his face. “Dating? We’re not... what do you mean?” Now it was Tony’s turn to look puzzled. “What’s all that giggling and whispering about then? I can’t walk in a room without seeing you two joined at the hip!”

Peter laughed, almost hysterically. “Omg this is golden. This is so good. We’re literally plotting, trying to come up with a plan, to get him and Bucky together! There’s absolutely nothing going on between him and I.” Tony couldn’t help the relaxing of his muscles and the breath of relief that escaped his mouth at those words. “Why do you care? Wait... were you jealous?” Peter leaned in closer, smirking. “So what if I was?” Tony would not back down so easily. “Well I’d say you’re a bit of hypocrite to be honest. One moment I’m important, next minute I’m background at best. What’s making my head spin are the transitions. Stop giving me mixed signals, Tony! Don’t be a coward, tell me how you feel.”

Tony didn’t hesitate this time. He closed the distance between them, kissing Peter short and sweet. “I love you,” he tells him, “I love you. Come to Hawaii with me? How’s that for a signal?”

—————

Send me more prompts loves!! 😊

#tony x peter #tony stark x peter parker #starkerfic #starker

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recurring-polynya · 4 years ago

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Hey an AU request for you:

During Renruki separation what if the roles were reversed. Like if Renji gets adopted (in some rival noble clan) and Rukia is left behind. Or else if Renji is going to be executed instead of Rukia. Want to feel the angst from Rukia's POV.

Let me know if these scenarios are good enough.

Thanks as always ☺️❤️

Hello, yes, I realize this was not precisely what you were asking for, but here is a scene that has been charging me rent in my own head since at least 2019, and it’s close enough and I am using this as an excuse to get it out. Thank you for your indulgence.

The actual role swap in this scenario is what if Renji had gotten Sode no Shirayuki, a zanpakutou who embodies patience and planning and thoughtfulness, and Rukia ended up with Zabimaru, a zanpakutou who just wants to fuck shit up.

Read on ao3 or ff.net (this one felt substantial enough that I made it a standalone and also I finally had an excuse to name a fic after one of my favorite Oh Hellos songs.)

🗡️ 💔 💀

The air is heavy and thick in the World of the Living. It is oppressive, as if this very plane has its own reiatsu, as if it intends to oppose their mission. It’s just a thunderstorm gathering, though, a combination of atmospheric pressure and electrical potential.

Kuchiki Renji, Lieutenant of the Sixth Division and Heir to the great and noble Kuchiki Clan would like to finish this up before they are drenched, but he isn’t optimistic.

He stands on the roof of a human house, looking down at a nearly identical residence across the street, although this one bears signage indicating that it is also a neighborhood medical clinic.

Renji cannot feel her, but he doesn’t expect to. When Rukia doesn’t want to be found, she doesn’t get found, end of story. Renji can feel the human though, the human whom Rukia has given her powers. He can’t fathom why, but all of Rukia’s ways are inscrutable, they always have been. From the morning she saved his life from an enraged water vendor to the evening she walked away from the adopted family that gave them both names and a place in the world, Renji has never understood a single thought that entered her thick skull. Even if he can’t understand her, though, she is transparent to him, predictable.

He just needs to draw her out. And that part is easy.

Byakuya says nothing. Renji has explained his logic, and Byakuya is giving him the six feet of rope he needs to hang himself. Byakuya is also inscrutable, yet predictable. Sometimes, Renji wonders how the man managed to live in the same house as Rukia for as long as he did.

“Nii-sama,” Renji says softly. Byakuya does not like being asked for reassurances, but on this point, Renji requires it. “The orders said capture or kill.”

Byakuya waits.

“Shall I strive for the first?”

Byakuya makes a tiny throat-clearing noise. “I have fulfilled my obligation to that girl. I owe her nothing. Do what is necessary.”

Byakuya would never come out and tell Renji to kill Rukia, but the message is clear enough. Despite separating herself from the family thirty years ago, a trial, a jail sentence will be an embarrassment to the Kuchiki, an exhumation of old mistakes. Rukia will always be an inkblot on Byakuya’s conscience. Byakuya has never held this against Renji, which is probably the only sign of affection his adoptive brother has ever shown him.

Renji has done nearly everything Byakuya has ever asked of him. He is an obedient brother, hardworking and respectful. He practices the family sword form, he studies the history of Soul Society, he respects his elders. He has risen in the ranks of the Gotei, he has gained his bankai, he wears the kenseikan, even though they bite into his scalp. But Renji was only adopted into the family for one reason: to ensure Rukia’s compliance, and in that, he failed.

It is time to make up for that.

Renji jumps lightly from one rooftop to the other and over the ridge of the roof. The boy’s window is on the rear side of the house. He drops down onto the windowsill. His Hell Butterfly hovers at shoulder height. “Go on,” he urges it forward, to create a passage through the wall of the house. He hopes his hunch is correct. He does not relish the idea of murdering a young human in his bed.

It is not an issue. A dark shape rips itself from the shadows, but Renji has his zanpakutou from her sheath in an instant. Instead of Zabimaru’s wicked serrations, however, he finds himself blocking the worst shakkahou he’s seen since Byakuya sent him down to Shin’ou to scout out next year’s crop of students. It’s enough to momentarily blind him, though, and he leaps down to the ground to find steadier footing.

This isn’t right. Although Rukia prefers to rely on her sword, it’s not out of her M.O. to use kidou for a sneak attack. But why bother with a distraction when she could have just blown his head off? Rukia’s kidou are rarely elegant and Renji isn’t sure she even knows the chants, but what she has is power. Or rather, what she had.

Renji scans the backyard slowly. The grass at his feet is freezing over in a slowly widening circle. Careful, careful! Sode no Shirayuki sings in his mind.

Suddenly, he feels the crackle of hainawa and he leaps out of the way just in time, flinging an avalanche of ice in the direction of his attacker. Rukia’s kick catches him in mid-air, but he blocks it with a forearm. It doesn’t ring through his bones the way it should, though.

Renji lands on his heels and skids a few feet. Rukia’s toes hit the dirt just a second after. For a moment, their eyes meet. The air is so humid, it’s thick enough to swim in.

“Abarai,” Rukia snarls, baring a sharp canine. “Of course, they would send you.” She snorts. “Scratch that, I bet you volunteered.”

Renji sneers at her, but ignores the dig at his name. “I’m impressed, Rukia. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone botch a patrol mission so thoroughly.” He sheaths his sword.

Rukia barks out a laugh. “What’s this? Your sense of fairness? Gonna try to kill me with your bare hands, then?”

He’d rather not kill her at all. Byakuya will be peeved, but Renji doesn’t like the idea of running through an unarmed woman. “What is this, Rukia? You’ve given a human your full powers, haven’t you? Why?”

“It was an accident,” Rukia mumbles, her eyes darting to the side.

Renji narrows his eyes. “Where did you get that gigai?”

“A friend.”

“There was an intelligence report from the Stealth Force. A Menos showed up, just for a few minutes before it was driven back to Hueco Mundo with a sword wound. I assumed that was your doing, but you don’t seem to have a sword at the moment. Unless the Menos took that rusty piece of--”

“Fuck, Renji, don’t you ever get sick of listening to your own stupid voice?” Rukia spits, and in a second, she is on him, a blur of fists and feet.

Renji didn’t put his sword away because he thought he wouldn’t need it. He put it away because he knew that he would need two hands to deal with Rukia in hand-to-hand, even at 2% of her power, or whatever dregs she has left.

“I’m trying--” he backpedals furious, blocking blow after blow, “--to help you! I realize that your brain has probably atrophied down to the size of a walnut-- ouch! -- but doesn’t any of this seem fishy to you?”

“The only thing fishy is you questioning an order!” Rukia snaps, as Renji narrowly avoids getting his feet swept from under him. “We may not have much for brains in Eleven, but unlike the Sixth, at least we use what we’ve got!”

Suddenly, Renji manages to loop one of his arms under hers and spin her into a half-nelson. Her feet pedal furiously in mid-air. His spare hand presses her wrist against her rib cage to keep her from clawing the skin off his arm, and also to try and support her weight. “Can you breathe?” he makes sure, as he tries to figure out a way he can hold her still with one hand long enough to get a binding on her.

“Yes,” she grunts angrily. “Why are you doing this? Don’t you know you’re gonna be in trouble with Nii-sama if you bring me back alive?” She spits the honorific like venom.

“You’re wrong,” Renji mutters. He hates this. He hates how stupid this is. He hates that after all this time, her stupid arrows still find their mark, every single time. “You’re wrong if you think he’s spent even a second thinking about you since you threw away everything he gave you. You’re trash to him.”

“Is that what I am to you, too?” Rukia asks archly.

“You’re--” Renji starts to say, and then hits the deck as a sword whistles through the air where his neck had been a moment before. He loses his grip on Rukia, and she rolls away, but Renji’s got more immediate problems. He shifts to a crouch, his hand loose on Sode no Shirayuki’s hilt as he scans the shadows for his assailant.

As it happens, said assailant isn’t exactly subtle. “Hey, Rukia, this guy wears the same pajamas as you. Friend of yours?”

It is the boy, the one who buzzes with reiatsu that both is and isn’t Rukia’s. He is a gangling puppy of a human being, all elbows and ears. His hair is an unnatural orange and sticks out from his head as though he has just rolled out of bed. Given the hour, perhaps he has.

“Get out of here, Ichigo, this guy isn’t a joke!” Rukia screams, and Renji realizes that she is genuinely frightened.

“He sure looks like one,” the kid, Ichigo declares, hefting his sword up onto his shoulder. It is clearly a zanpakutou, but it is absurdly large. He can barely lift the thing. “And people say my hair is a dumb color.”

“My name is Kuchiki Renji,” Renji informs him. “Assistant Captain of the Sixth Division of the Thirteen Court Guard Squads. I am here to take Kuchiki Rukia, Sixth Seat of the Eleventh into custody for the crime of transferring her shinigami powers to a human. I do not wish to kill you, human, but if you interfere, I will not hesitate.”

“Wait, what?” Ichigo sputters. “Rukia, I thought your name was Inuzuri? Is this guy your brother? If so, he sure got all the height genes. I am so, so confused.”

Rukia rises to her feet. Her face is pale in the moonlight. A line of blood shines on her forehead, glassy against the black of her tattoos. “He’s my fiance.”

“Your what now?”

Renji snorts. “Former fiance.”

“I don’t recall breaking up with you!” Rukia barks.

Renji wants to laugh. He doesn’t know which is more typical Rukia-- the idea that rejecting his family and not speaking to him for thirty years would somehow not count as a break-up, or that now is somehow an appropriate time to talk about this.

There are a lot of feelings pumping through Renji’s heart, but he freezes them to ice and pushes them away. There is no room for feelings on a battlefield. “I am taking Rukia back to Soul Society. If you do not resist me, I swear to it that no harm will come to her before her trial.” Byakuya wanting Rukia dead is just a feeling, too. The Kuchiki must stand for justice, right? This is a good compromise, Renji rationalizes. I cannot kill her in cold blood in front of a witness, but if they force my hand, things happen. Surely even Byakuya would agree with this line of logic.

Ichigo’s eyes dart to Rukia. “What about after the trial? Is this, like, a thing where you pay a fine, or…?”

“I’ll be executed, most likely,” Rukia replies dryly.

Ichigo’s jaw clenches.

“You’re a valuable asset to the Gotei,” Renji corrects. “Central may be lenient.”

The two strongest young shinigami in their generation, people used to say, when Rukia and Renji entered the Sixth together. His iron nerves tempering her volatility, her fiery passion igniting his cold aloofness. The next Kyouraku and Ukitake. No wonder the Kuchiki plucked them from obscurity.

Renji doesn’t know what people say about them now. Now that he is the sole Heir to the Kuchiki. Now that she fights among the animals of the Eleventh. People’s voices go quiet at his approach. Byakuya says it isn’t wise to listen to gossip in any case.

“Hmmm,” Ichigo shifts his sword to an attack stance. “I don’t like the sounds of those odds. I think maybe I’ll just beat your ass instead.”

“Ichigo, move!” Rukia starts, but Renji has heard the words he needs to hear.

Renji’s favorite parts of the Kuchiki sword form are the quick draw techniques. He is not as fast as Byakuya, but he is very, very fast, and his reach is better. In an instant, he has closed the distance between himself and the boy. Maybe it was a lucky reflex or maybe it was Rukia’s warning, but Ichigo manages to get that huge sword up just in time to avoid having his chest sliced open. Renji’s assault is merciless. If it weren’t for the stupid power limiter, which Renji isn’t used to, he’s sure he would have cracked the boy’s zanpakutou clear in half. Despite her appearance, Sode no Shirayuki is not a delicate sword and Renji swings her with the inevitability of a glacier.

As Ichigo backpedals, his foot catches on a loose paver, and he stumbles. Renji raises his arm, preparing to deliver the killing blow, when suddenly, a knee in his back punches the air from his lungs, and his elbow is jerked forcibly backwards.

“NOW!” Rukia’s voice bellows in Renji’s ear.

The stumble was a feint, because Ichigo is Rukia’s student, and of course she has taught him all her dirty tricks. Renji realizes he has made the mistake of thinking he could beat Rukia, just because she has no powers and no zanpakutou. She still knows him better than anyone, though. She knows his moves and she knows what a rank fool he is. As Ichigo’s sword plunges towards his stomach, Renji flares his reiatsu as best as he can, and hopes Rukia’s pet human isn’t strong enough to pierce it.

But before the blow lands, Ichigo’s eyes widen. He lets out a gurgle and falls sideways.

“Renji,” says Captain Kuchiki. “What is taking so long?”

It seems as though time is standing still, except that the pool of blood surrounding Ichigo’s prone form is growing, growing.

“No,” Rukia murmurs. “No, no, no.” Suddenly, her feet scrabble up Renji’s back, and she launches herself off of his shoulders. “You!!” she screams.

There is nothing she can do to Byakuya. Her hands glow with raw kidou, but she is weak. It is the desperate, useless move of a cornered animal.

Renji knows that animal instincts are useless, which is why he has trained every day to eradicate them. To ignore his fear, to replace his body’s natural reflexes with the kata of his sword form. So even though he knows Rukia’s attack is hopeless, he cannot help but react to an attack against his Clan Head.

Rukia hits the ground next to Ichigo with a dull thump.

Her body is wrapped in the glowing chains of hainawa.

Renji’s hand shakes, his breathing is heavy.

Rukia is screaming filthy obscenities at both of them.

Byakuya regards Renji silently. His eyes linger on Renji's sword, naked in his hand. A different reflex, and there would be two corpses on the ground.

“She should face trial, Nii-sama,” Renji says softly. “If we do not uphold justice, who shall?”

“The law, Renji,” Byakuya corrects him. “We uphold the law.” He jerks his head at the screaming woman on the ground. “Pick her up. Others are coming and you will only become more sentimental if I am forced to kill additional humans.”

Renji kneels and gathers Rukia in his arms. She does not make it easy, probably in hopes that he will toss her over his shoulder instead of this humiliation, but she is the brute, not him. He will not give her the satisfaction.

As Renji narrowly avoids a headbutt, though, he realizes that this is not merely a display of defiance. It is a distraction. “Nii-sama,” he says as he straightens up, “I do not think the human is dead.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Byakuya sighs. “I have severed his hakusui and saketsu. Even if he survives the wound, he will be powerless, and Rukia’s power should return to her.”

Byakuya considers his lieutenant’s full arms for a moment, makes a disgusted face, and then draws his sword to open the senkaimon home himself.

While Byakuya’s attention is turned, Rukia leans into Renji’s, her breath hot on his jaw. “I will kill him for this,” she spits in his ear. “And if you get in my way, I will kill you too.”

“Then we are enemies,” Renji replies quietly, “since I am sworn to protect him.”

The first fat drops of rain begin to fall from the sky.

#my writing #wacky au requests #i have never been a big fan of enemies-to-lovers #but it turns out i'm a HUGE fan of lovers-to-enemies #if you too are a big fan of lovers-to-enemies i cannot recommend enough that you listen to the entire album of dear wormwood #every oh hellos song is about renruki #and if it's not i will make it #this feels like the culmination of my life's works #if i get even one 'wtf polynya' in the notes i will be content

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crimefightingspiderguy · 5 years ago

Text

a new recruit

Part I to the series, i want you to want me.

Summary: Peter, May and (Y/N) get an unexpected surprise.

Warnings: I guess swearing? Maybe spoilers for Captain America: Civil War, but like who hasn’t seen that bad boy lol?

Pairings: Peter Parker x best friend!reader

Word count: 2,491

A/N: This is my first series for Peter Parker so come along on this new adventure with me lol. I’m going to be doing something similar to my best friend to the throne series, but with the Spider-Man universe, and throwing some fun surprises in it hopefully.

“So, I was thinking, for the Spanish project we could make a cultural food to do a sort of “bring the culture to life” aspect. Plus if the rest of our project totally bombs, maybe we can win the teacher over with sweet desserts, I heard he has a bit of a sweet tooth.” You sent a grin over to Peter, who reciprocated.

“Sounds like a plan to me, but you might have to help me bake because I don’t think May would care for me burning our kitchen down again.” He chuckled, and as you were about to say a clever roast, something caught your eye. You and Peter had been walking back to his apartment so he could ask May permission to stay the weekend at your place and get some clothes if he could. You stop in your tracks, a confused look on your face. Peter turns and looks at you concerned.

“Who’s car is that?” You sped up to get closer and look at the fanciest car you’d ever seen in person. “Holy shit… I think this is Tony Starks!” You grin at it, reading the STARK license plate.

“What? No! What would Tony Stark be doing in Queens, and in my apartment building for that matter?” Peter came to stand next to you to see the plate, and his jaw dropped a little.

“Let’s go in and see if we bump into him!” You push him excitedly, “What if we got to meet THE Iron Man! How cool!”

You were practically bouncing on your toes as you waited in the elevator, you had no luck seeing him on the ground floor, but maybe there was still a chance. You and Peter got off when the doors opened, and to your dismay, Tony was nowhere to be seen.

“(Y/N), I really don’t think Tony Stark would just be wandering around our apartment building. It might just be a super fan or something, or maybe he’s taking a stroll” Peter gave you a teasing look, and you punched his arm.

“Fine but if we see the news later saying that Tony Stark was going around giving out wads of cash to random civilians, you’ll be biting your tongue.” You joke, realizing that Peter’s probably right and there’s no real reason for the Tony Stark to be in Queens, especially in this building. Peter smirked at you as he unlocked his front door and walked in, heading towards the kitchen table to set his stuff down.

“Hey, Aunt May! There’s this crazy car parked out front!” Peter said, back turned as he set his backpack down.

“Peter…” You stare at THE Tony Stark sitting on Peter’s couch across from May, you smack his arm repeatedly until he finally turns around to see what you want.

“Gosh (Y/N), what’s…” Peter saw him and paused.

“Oh, Mr. Parker,” Tony said, smirking as if he had an inside joke going with everyone else in the room.

“Hey! What’re you… Um... I’m-I’m Peter. This is (Y/N).” Peter said, pointing at you, who still had your hand on his shoulder, not really being able to move. You softly smiled and brought yourself together, and slightly and awkwardly waved at him.

“Tony.” He pointed at himself.

“Wh-What are you doing here?” Peter stumbled to ask.

“It’s about time we met,” Tony said like it was obvious why he was casually sitting with May and eating cookies. “You’ve been getting my emails right?”

May gave Peter a shocked and confused look, a look that says why didn’t you tell me. Tony gave Peter a look that said, play along man. You didn’t fail to notice either, and suddenly all eyes were on Peter as you looked at him suspiciously. Surely Peter, your best friend of 15 years would have mentioned to you if he had been emailing THE Tony Stark. Wouldn’t he?

“Yeah, yeah. Right. Regarding the…”

“You didn’t even tell me about the grant.” May jumped in.

“Yeah about the grant.” Peter played along but was clearly just as lost as you were.

“The September Foundation” Tony jumped in. You racked your brain, trying to remember if Peter ever mentioned anything about a grant, but nothing came up. “Remember when you applied.”

“Yeah…” You could read Peter like an open book, and you knew as soon as he put his hands in his front pockets and leaned on his tip-toes, that he was lying.

“Well, I approved. So now, we’re in business.” Tony shot him yet another look that told him to play along, as May got excited.

“But you didn’t tell me anything? What’s up with that?” She questioned Peter.

“Yeah Peter, what’s with the secrets?” You asked, and he looked between you and May, at a loss for words.

“Well, I just… I wasn’t sure if I’d get it. Thought I’d keep it a surprise if I did.” Peter pulled out of know where and shot you a look that told you he honestly had no idea what was going on either. “Anyway, what did I apply for?”

“That’s what I’m here to hash out,” Tony said, finally explaining why he was here. “It’s so hard for me to believe that she’s somebody’s aunt,” Tony said, making aunt May blush.

“Yeah, well we come in all shapes and sizes, ya know.” You snorted at this, but quickly tried to cover it as a sneeze, Peter shot you a grin.

“These walnut date cookies are exceptional,” Tony said, going back to flattering May.

“Let me just stop you there.” Peter joined back in. “Does this grant got like money involved or whatever? No?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty well funded,” Tony said.

“Wow”.

“Well, look who you’re talking to,” Tony smirked, and you could see the excitement on Peter’s face. Even if Tony had the wrong kid, you knew Peter wouldn’t pass up the chance to get a grant for school, or even to work under a genius like Tony. “Can I get five minutes with him?” Tony asks May.

“Sure.” She smiles at him. Tony gets up and has Peter show him to his room.

“This is so crazy!” You whisper yell to May as soon as you hear the lock turn to Peter’s room.

“I know! I really hope everything works out for him. A grant from Mr. Stark would probably be enough to set him up for college.” She grinned at you then at the door where she just saw Tony with Peter.

“It’s kind of weird that he didn’t tell either of us though, right?” You have known May your entire life. Honestly, you hadn’t had any siblings so when Peter moved in with May and Ben, and you remained close with him, she became more of an older sister to you. Peter’s parents had died when he was young, but May had been around enough that she had met you at some birthday parties and play dates, and she made it a priority to keep you and Peter together so he had some constant in his life in a time of chaos and change. You had grown up with Peter and had May to thank for that. Your parents had been close with Peter’s and when they died, May reached out to your parents and made sure they exchanged information at the funeral, agreeing Peter needed someone to make him feel normal in such a strange time. That was you, and the two of you had been inseparable since. You shared everything with each other. You were each other’s rocks and were together through thick and thin. When your mom had died you were about 10, it happened a couple years before uncle Ben had died, so he had helped your father through the transition. Peter helped you, and aunt May took you under your wing, helping you grow in ways that you need a mother for. She helped you with your first period, with puberty, she took you bra shopping, she helped you with all the things you felt too awkward to bring to your dad who had been left just as clueless as you.

“I would’ve at least have expected you to know. He tells you everything.” May said, holding up the cookie plate to you offering you one. You took one and bit it, immediately spitting it into your hand.

“No offense May, but… this is raw.” You chuckled as May realized that Tony was being polite as she broke a cookie in half, as it crumbled to pieces. She shook her head and smirked at you, placing the cookies in the trash bin.

“So how was school?” She asked you as she washed off the plate and put it on their dish drying rack.

“It was okay. Got a B+ on my chemistry quiz, not my best work, but that damn kid in front of me wouldn’t stop clicking his pen.” You shook your head angrily thinking of that day. “Oh, sorry that I didn’t ask before coming over, by the way. Peter and I have a Spanish project together and he was supposed to be asking you permission to stay the weekend at mine.”

“(Y/N), you know you don’t have to ask to come over, and Peter doesn’t need my approval to go over to your house. I trust you guys not to get yourselves killed.” She chuckled, drying her hands on a towel, and leaning back on the stove.

“See that’s just foolish on your part.” You pointed at her accusingly. She threw the towel at you, and as it hit you in the head you acted like it was a rock or something, holding where it hit and groaning. You fell to the ground “I’ve been hit!!” You gasp dramatically.

“Oh get up solider, it was a flesh wound at most.” May shook her head chuckling at you.

Tony walks out then and nods at May, “It was a pleasure.” He turns back to face Peter in the doorway and points at him, “I’ll be in touch.” He heads towards the door, stopping when he sees you lying on the ground. “(Y/N).” He nods his head, with a confused look. You quickly scramble up and smile at him. When he shuts the door behind him, you and May turn to look at Peter expectantly.

“(Y/N), can you come here.”

“Oh come on Peter, you can tell us both…” You point between you and May.

“Now.” Peter’s voice was solid. Unwavering. More intense than you’d ever heard it. You look between him and May but don’t question him, because clearly, something is wrong.

Peter quickly shuts and locks the door behind you as you scramble into his room. You sit on his bed, waiting for him to tell you what’s going on. He paces back and forth, tossing stuff into a duffle bag quickly.

“If you’re worried about aunt May letting you stay the weekend at mine, she already said she doesn’t care.”

“Good, because I’m not going to your house, but I need her to believe I am.” This caught you off guard.

“What do you mean you’re not coming over? We have our project to work on.”

“I’m going with Mr. Stark somewhere.”

“Where?”

“I can’t tell you. But I need you to trust me and lie to Aunt May.” You got up and grabbed Peter by his shoulders, stopping him in his tracks.

“No. You tell me what’s going on right now Peter Parker, or I won’t tell May shit.”

“I can’t, it’s too dangerous.” Peter pushed past you and kept grabbing clothes and shoes.

“Bullshit.” Peter stopped, straightened up, and looked at you seriously.

“Please (Y/N), don’t make me tell you.”

“If it’s too dangerous for me to even know, then it’s definitely too dangerous for you to go and do.”

“Just, trust me, please.”

“Peter, I couldn’t trust you more, but the thing is, in order for me to trust you I have to know what the hell is going on.”

“I’m Spider-Man.” You laugh, maybe a little too loud.

“This is serious Peter. Are you in trouble or something?”

“I’m being serious. I’m Spider-Man” He pulled his suit out and showed you. “I’m going with Mr. Stark to Germany to stop Captain America from breaking some law.”

“You’re going to Germany!?” You whisper shout. “To fight THE Captain America?!”

“And I’m Spider-Man.” Peter nodded, amused at your reaction being greater to everything besides him being a superhero.

“Yeah, that too!” You chuckle. “I knew you were being weird recently. Ditching our weekly movie nights more than you ever have in our entire lives.”

“I can catch you up on everything when I get back, but Mr. Stark is waiting for me right now in his car. So will you help me?” You mull it over.

“Yes,” you nod hesitantly, “but I want you texting me updates every chance you get! I don’t wanna tell May we’re fine baking Spanish treats and two days later your shipped home in a coffin from Germany.” Peter gulps at the thought. You pull him in for the tightest hug you think you’ve ever given him. “Please be safe. I can’t lose you.” You whisper into his shoulder.

“I’ll be back before you can even say, “what an idiot that Peter Parker” in Spanish.” He chuckled and rubbed your back.

You pulled away and rolled your eyes at him, “Well if that’s what we’re basing our time frame on, take your time. I won’t be getting that phrase down for at least a month.” You leaned in and did something you’ve never done before, kissed him on the cheek. “Good luck, and go for the legs on Cap, his shield doesn’t cover that region.” Peter held his cheek and smiled,

“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Hey May, we really gotta get going on that Spanish project,” Peter says as he leaves his room and heads over to her to kiss her cheek goodbye. “I’ll tell you all about everything Tony said when we finalize the details when his people email me this weekend. He didn’t tell me much other than that.” She nodded her head, looking a little flustered at how quickly he was heading towards the door. You knew it would be suspicious if you didn’t say goodbye, so before you left with Peter you gave May a quick hug and then caught up with Peter.

“Okay, so I just go home and work on the project as normal, then I’ll send you some pictures to send to May so it looks believable that you’re there. Remember, update me every minute you’re not kicking ass.”

“I will. I owe you big!” Peter said as he got into Tony’s car and drove off.

“Yeah, you do.” You smiled and shook your head, heading towards the train station.

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged throughout the series. I hope you enjoyed!

Find more of my work here.

My work is exclusively posted on Tumblr by me, on this blog. If you see my work posted elsewhere, please reach out to me.

Thank you, xx.

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thestarkerisobvious · 4 years ago

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Return To Castle Dracula

This Incredible Moodboard by @von--gelmini

inspired by @starker-sorbet

A snugglefic for @mrstarksbabyy

With great thanks for the betaread by @mrstarksbabyy

The Lovelace House -- Return To Castle Dracula

When Peter opened his eyes to the black fingers bare branches grasping for the sliver of moon, he knew where he was. He didn’t waste a moment playing “Am I dreaming?” games. Instead he bolted into Castle Dracula and dashed up the stairs two at a time, pelting down the hallway to the rose-strewn bedroom.

Sadly, Tony wasn’t there at all, not even under the covers of the creamy white bed. Peter moaned as he began his search of the dark castle. Dammit, his friend was probably stargazing in the courtyard, and that wasn’t good. Dream or no dream, Peter didn’t like headed down those inkblack corridors without Tony’s hand in his.

Fortunately he didn’t have to look far. He found Tony lying motionless on the floor in a vast, empty room that was part of a wide hallway. It was just at the

bottom of the large staircase that took them up to the huge black windows that looked down on the Transylvanian forest. If they ever stopped to look out those windows, Peter suspected, they would see Dracula himself, scaling the impossible walls like a lizard.

“You did very well, Tony,” he said gently, watching the pale face rolling weakly against his bicep. “You’re my superhero. You flew in and saved the day. Thank you.”

When Tony fed from dying animals he looked much like he did now, pale and drawn. Peter was used to seeing his friend looking younger and stronger when he was well fed, looking older and more distinguished when he was overworked or tired. But Peter had never seen Tony look like this. In addition to the pronounced grey at his temples his beard was very silver. Pure-white stubble grew over his hollow cheeks and his body was as light as a feather. And yet Peter thought he still looked remarkably handsome.

“I’m going to build a huge rabbit hutch, I’m going to fill it with rabbits. It will be Rabbit-New York City. And I’m going to feed them all to you. One night you’ll climb into my bed, and you’ll be the same age as I am…”

Tony hadn’t spoken, or even opened his eyes, when Peter carried him through the vast doors that led to the ornate, rose-laden bedroom. Peter steadfastly ignored this fact. He could be just as stubbornly cheerful as Aunt May, when he had to be. He lay Tony tenderly inside the curtained bed. “Am I going to have to kiss you, like Sleeping Beauty?” he joked, and Tony gave a tiny smile.

“You’ll be the shy moon tonight,” he said as he quickly stripped out of his poet’s shirt and breeches, and climbed, clad only in his boxers, into the bed. “I’ll be the passionate sun, and I’ll be gentle with you...”

“Be gentle with me, Master,” Tony whispered. It was the first words he had spoken all evening.

Peter continued to praise Tony tenderly as he worked him out of his complicated shirt and tight pantaloons. “You did very well, everyone is very relieved,” Peter explained as he lifted Tony up and pulled him completely into his lap, turning back the heavy blankets. “Although I guess I should have specified not to let Mr. Lovelace hurt the DeSlaughters, but they’re fine now. Everyone is going to be fine.”

“He bore no ill will toward the father…” Tony tried to explain in a halting voice. Peter shushed him as he tucked them in. He pulled Tony close as he continued. “The dawn was coming. I needed their aid. I roused the dogs, and dogs roused him, and he took Mr. Lovelace away in his pick-truck…” but he stopped speaking when Peter brought their mouths together, parting his lips willingly for Peter’s tongue.

Peter offered a vein, but Tony seemed to only want to kiss him over and over again. For a very long time they held each other silently, kissing and touching. Peter stroked Tony’s face, lapping his tongue into Tony’s mouth, coaxing out Tony’s tongue. Tony seemed too weak to even cling to him. Peter took Tony’s hand and spread it over his chest, letting Tony feel the steady heartbeat. In time Tony began to rouse, reaching up to tangle his fingers through Peter’s hair, pulling him close. Finally he broke the kiss and brought Peter’s fingers into his mouth. As he fed, Peter spoke.

“I guess the owls in the barn weren’t much sustenance. You left an eight, maybe ten foot blast radius right at our border. Grass, trees, vines, all black. They said Mr. Lovelace set fire to it, but of course there’s no ashes. There’s not even a smell. We’ve had neighbors driving by looking at it all day. But that’s okay, killing plants is always okay. We have plenty of plant life. I just thought the seals of Evorá were going to feed you because you were protecting us…”

Tony had moved from Peter’s fingers to the vein on Peter’s neck. Now he turned and suckled at Peter’s wrist for a moment before answering.

“Had he made a threat, but he spoke no threatening words. He only said “I wish to have a word with the missus.” He said it again and again. But I knew how afeared Aunt May would be, to see him in that state. I would not let him pass. Because he made no threat, the seals of Evorá would not answer to me…”

“Yes, Mike’s dad said Mr. Lovelace said you two had a long talk,” Peter said proudly.

Tony smiled back. “I was most frightening, Master.”

“I’ll say. ‘Eight feet tall with arms that reached to your knees, pitch black.’ I’ve seen that before. I guess it is rather frightening,” Peter said, smiling and kissing Tony’s smile. “Mr. Lovelace told Mike’s dad you were the ghost of Evan Post, and I suppose Mike’s mom has told the whole town by now. So now I live on a ‘haunted farm’ again. I don’t mind, though.”

“I have served you well? Make me your beloved, Master…”

“Yes,” Peter whispered against his mouth. He slipped his tongue inside Tony’s mouth, letting him feed that way for a long time.

“But why are you weak?” Peter asked as Tony nuzzled back into the crook of his neck. “That eight-foot tall man, with the long arms, I’ve seen him before. Does it take a lot of effort to look like that?”

“He was so ill,” Tony moaned against Peter’s vein before feeding again.

“Yes, that’s what they said. He’s in the hospital now. He’ll probably stay there.”

“He’ll surely die,” Tony murmured.

“That’s not our fault,” Peter reassured him. “That wasn’t you. That was going to happen anyway.”

Tony fed for a long time from the vein in Peter’s neck before he spoke again. When he did, he held up his hand in a fist. “There were so many…” he said, tightening his fingers.

“So many… what Tony?” Peter asked, caressing his hand.

“Crescimento. Poison. Krebsartig. So many. I devoured as many as I could. Had he stayed still long enough, lay himself in my arms, I could have eaten so many more. But not all. Not the ones in his brain, the ones in his spine…”

“I don’t understand. He has… fists in his brain?”

“Tumores. So many. Some the size of seeds, some the size of peas, one the size of a grape. One the size of a walnut…”

“Wait, you mean he had tumors? And you… were you trying to heal him?”

“I served all the Post elders in this way. For Bishop Berthwald. For my Simeon. I can consume them. They give me strength, they are substance, but they are bitter…”

“Oh God Tony, did you… did you poison yourself?”

Tony lay a weak hand on his own his own chest. “Inside my darkness they will… wegschmelzen. It is very old magic. But it takes time. When they are dissolved, they will be sustenance for me. They will make me strong. I will come to your bed a very young man…” he whispered with a grin.

Peter kissed him again, willingly letting Tony suck gently on his tongue again, hoping to undo some of the bitter that Tony had fed on the night before.

“You were so gentle with him. You did so well, Tony,” he said after some time had passed.

“I took the light from one lung, from one kidney. So poisonous, so much disease. I took the light, yet he pushed on. He was so used to pain. He barely noticed. He could not move his arms, nor his hands. But his pistol, in his hand, he could not release it. Could not open his fingers to release it.”

“That’s what Mike’s Dad said. They stood with him on the porch and argued with him in until it was daylight. Said they could give him a ride to the hospital if he put the gun down, but he couldn’t. It was like he was paralyzed, but he was still standing…”

“You did not wish him to lay down in the road, for fear of his life. And he would not leave the road. He would keep moving forward. I could not dissuade him, although I was very fearful. He called me ‘Evan Post’ and heeded not my warnings. When I could not convince him otherwise, I simply showed him ‘forward’ that was not truly ‘forward.’ Over and over and over he found himself walking east when he meant to walk west. But the dawn was coming. I was growing weary. I roused the DeSlaughters who cared for him. They have taken him to the healing place. He will not live, Master.”

“Yes, but that’s nothing anyone can do about that. He has cancer in his brain, that’s what Mike’s mom said. And it sounds like he has cancer everywhere else too.

“You’re sure… you’re sure what you ate from him isn’t bad for you, is it? What can I do to make it better?” he asked, hoping Tony would suggest another feeding kiss.

Tony did.

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

Master Post (not THAT Master Post, the big list)

as always please direct comments, questions and constructive crit to @witchwayisright.

#The Thing That Lives Under The Bed #Demon!Tony #But not THAT Demon!Tony #TheWitchwayWritesStuff #Starker #Von's Moodboards

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aye-write · 4 years ago

Text

Summary: Research student Isla Reid has been fascinated with the legend of the Kildonian Chessmen - a trio of mythical Pokemon rumoured to have lived centuries ago on the remote region of Kildo - for as long as she can remember. So, when a museum exhibit on the Chessmen is set to open in Kildo’s Hydrogate City, coinciding with her independent research project, she packs herself and her trusty partner Furret onto the long ferry journey bound for this new region.

However, when she arrives in Kildo, thoughts of her research, new friends, and an entire Pokedex’s worth of new Pokemon, are quickly dashed. Kildo is a troubled place, beset by natural disasters and fierce rivalries among its people. Isla suddenly finds herself at the centre of a centuries-old plot to invoke the wrath of the Chessmen, and is set on a race against time to stop them, before it spells destruction for the entire region.

Other Links: Read it on Ao3!

Tags: OC Pokemon journey, OC region, Fakemon region, bisexual main character, found family, ace main character.

If you are not interested in these posts, especially as I know Pokemon journeyfic is fairly niche, please blacklist the tag #Checkmate. Most of the story will be put under a Readmore anyway!

Author’s Note: If you’re interested in more information, exclusive updates, character art, and teasers for this fic, please consider following its sister tumblr @kildo-pokedex

*****

Chapter Two

The kitchen was teeming with heat when Isla walked in. Everyone’s eyes flickered towards her, leaving her feeling very much like a prized Miltank on show. Heat crept into her cheeks. She glanced around, trying to find somewhere to let her gaze settle. Skye and Blair were working through plates of pancakes. Kenneth leaned against the countertop sipping black coffee. Rhona had her sleeves rolled up and was tending to something on the stove. Anxiety spiked in her chest. Discounting Nana Morag, she was the last one up.

“Good morning!” Isla said, trying to inject cheer into her voice.

Rhona turned around to face her. “Good morning, chick!”

She was smiling. Good. At least Isla knew she hadn’t committed some unspeakable faux pas before it even turned ten in the morning.

“Have a seat,” Rhona continued. “Do you want tea? Breakfast? It’s just pancakes today, so I hope you like them.”

What kind of world did she live in where home-made pancakes were “just pancakes”? Rhona obviously didn’t get enough appreciation. “I love them! And tea would be grand, thank you.”

“Help yourself, there’s some in the pot.”

A fat teapot sat in the middle of the table with a brown tea cosy pulled around it. Fixed with a pair of floppy wings and a crocheted head, the Pokemon it was supposed to represent looked like a fatter, happier version of Rhona’s Ruchter. Isla sploshed milk into her tea from a jug that looked suspiciously like a Miltank and loaded it with sugar, the first sip sending a pleasant, energising warmth through her.

The tea worked its magic on Isla, but everyone else looked pale and withdrawn, like they’d woken up on low battery. Isla sipped her tea and battled between two impulses that both felt equally rude.

Eventually, she settled on, “Is there anything I can help you with today? Like around the croft or… or anything?”

Blair leant back into his chair and stretched. “It’s all done,” he said. Something in his back popped, the noise like a gun going off.

Isla blinked. “Really?”

“Yeah. We start at six.”

“In the morning?”

Everyone stopped. Kenneth’s eyes found Isla’s over the rim of his coffee mug.

“Sorry,” she murmured. “I just didn’t… hear anything.”

“We wouldn’t ask you to help out with anything,” Rhona said kindly. “And we didn’t want to wake you either. Especially with last night’s storm. We’re used to it here, but it can be quite distracting for folks not local.”

Isla had almost forgotten about the storm. The mention sent the image of the child from last night flashing into her head like the sear of a lightbulb. Her fingers tightened around her mug of tea. “Yeah,” she heard her voice waver. “The thunder and lightning were something else.”

Rhona’s eyebrows creased. “Thunder and lightning?”

“Yeah,” Isla said. Then she saw everyone else’s expression. “You guys didn’t hear it? It was like… It was like the world was coming to an end out there.”

They all returned blank looks.

“Well, did you guys notice the power going off?” Isla tried. “About 3am, I think it was.”

“I was asleep,” Skye said, spearing her pancakes and oozing sauce all over the table.

“So was I,” Rhona said, and Kenneth nodded his agreement. Isla was beginning to wonder if that man ever spoke.

Everyone looked at Blair, who bristled under their stares.

“I don’t remember the power going off,” he said, swilling the liquid in his mug. It smelled bitter and strong. Black coffee. No wonder.

“Then you didn’t see the—” Isla stopped herself. What would they think if she told them what she saw? She wasn’t even sure she knew what it was. Something deep inside her told her to hang onto it. At least for now. At least until she could do some further research.

Luckily, her trailing off went unnoticed as Rhona put a plate of pancakes down in front of her. She busied herself adding sugar and a squeeze of lemon as conversation slowly resumed around the kitchen table.

“So what’s on your agenda today, Isla?” Rhona asked, sitting down heavily in the spare chair.

“I’d like to get started on my research,” Isla replied, her mouth full of soft, fluffy pancake. “I brought some books and copies of old script with me, so I’d like to start organising my thoughts and think about what I’d like to tackle first.”

The others nodded politely as Isla explained her plans. Kenneth was the first to leave, dumping his coffee mug in the sink and ducking outside. Isla saw him lumbering towards the field of Wooloo in the distance a few moments later. After that, the rest of the family moved off like falling dominoes, until it was only Rhona and Isla left at the table.

“You’ll need the Wi-Fi password,” Rhona said, tearing off a strip of paper. “You might have a couple of wee connection issues since you’re a bit far away from the router, but you can always come down and work in the living room if you need to. Here,” she handed Isla the paper with the code. “We’ll try keep out of your way. We’ll be out working on the croft for a bit. Skye’s got some work to do in her room, but she should give you peace. Oh, and help yourself to anything you like from the fridge. Lunch will be about 1 o’clock. I’ll shout you down or I can take something up to you if you like?”

“It’s okay, Rhona,” Isla interrupted gently. “You’re doing so much for me at as it is. I’ll come down for lunch. I’ll probably need the distraction,” she paused. “Thank you, Rhona. I mean it.”

“It’s okay, chick. We’re family. That’s what we do.”

With that, Rhona headed out, leaving Isla standing in the kitchen, fighting a lump the size of a walnut in her throat. A minute to compose herself and she turned with renewed determination towards the stairs.

Back in her room, with the door shut against the world, she let out a long, slow sigh. The bedroom wasn’t the best as far as study spaces went. It was pretty small for a start. And like everything else in the house, it was cluttered and claustrophobic. But it was welcomely cool after the humid heat of the kitchen and after taking ten minutes to straighten up her things and clear the desk of all the tat and mess, she was starting to see its potential as a working space.

Isla unearthed her laptop from under a pile of clothes and plugged it in. As it chuntered into life, she released Soba, who curled herself up into a tight ball on the rumpled bedclothes. The WiFi was a bit dodgy as Rhona had fretted, but it was serviceable. As long as it didn’t drop entirely whenever she’d have to have a video call with the university department, she’d be fine.

For the first ten minutes, she picked between a handful of internet tabs tuned to information she’d found vaguely useful in the initial research stage. Now that she was supposed to actually make sense of it all and turn it into something halfway presentable, it was like her brain had stalled entirely.

No, she told herself. She wouldn’t be beaten. She clicked open a new Word document and started to type.

To Do For Thesis:

Get translations for Kildonian Chessmen texts

Interview locals about legends

Find, research, and visit rumoured Chessmen resting places

Research divide in Kildonian population (Vitalities?)

She paused, then added in:

Find out what was in the garden on the night of the storm.

A knock at the bedroom door startled her. Soba’s ears pricked up as Isla dragged herself back to reality. What was the time? She glanced at the clock. Nearly midday. Almost three hours had gone by no quicker than a blink as she clicked through research articles and flicked through books.

Scrambling to her feet, she answered the door to Nana Morag’s lined face. She was smiling, in a sort of mischievous way, one side of the mouth curved more upwards than the other.

“Heard you had a little powercut last night,” she said, conspiringly.

“Yeah,” Isla rubbed the back of her neck. “I think it must have skipped the rest of the house though. Or… or maybe it was just my imagination.”

“You think so?”

“I mean, it could have been,” Isla said, half-wondering why she was trying to rationalise it. “I was pretty tired. My mind could have been playing tricks on me.”

“Hm,” Nana Morag didn’t sound convinced. She glanced back down the hallway, before taking a step closer. “Isla, have you heard of Basinish Island?” When Isla shook her head, Nana Morag’s whole face illuminated. “Basinish Island is a small, abandoned island off the coast of Port Glen. About three or four miles…. that direction,” she pointed over Isla’s shoulder, past the window and towards the tracing-paper grey sky. “Legend has it that you can walk there and back from Port Glen on days when the tide goes out. Of course, no-one ever tries. It’s very dangerous.”

“Okay,” Isla said, wondering exactly what Nana Morag was getting at. “What does this have to do with—”

“There’s rumours that Voltean – the Electric Vitality – lives out that way. Of course, it’s never been proven,” she said, in an off-hand way like she was telling Isla the brands of cereal in the cupboards. “But I thought you might like to read about them in this.”

Nana Morag pressed a thick hardback book into Isla’s hands.

“This is an old text,” Nana Morag continued. “There are some newer edits now, but I think you still might find it relevant. Especially for your research. It’s translated, so it might read a little funny. But there should be plenty there to keep you occupied.”

Isla looked through the book in awe. Pages of intricate illustrations and small, looped writing teased her from within. She could barely get her words out to thank Nana Morag. Soba purred and chirruped from the bed in appreciation.

“Nana Morag, thank you so much. I’ll take really good care of it. I promise.”

“Not to worry, Isla. You seem to have your head screwed on tight. If there’s anything in there you need some help with decoding, you let me know and I’ll try and help.”

“That would be wonderful. I was actually wondering if I could ask another favour of you,” Isla said, feeling opportunity shoulder its way in. “I have some old translations about the Kildonian Chessmen and I need some help translating them. Could you help?”

“I can do one better,” Nana Morag said. “Come along to my class this afternoon. I teach the young ones how to read and write the old language. I find there’s so much more meaning in having done the work myself. Don’t you agree?”

The expectation trickled down Isla’s back like a sliver of ice. Would she have the time to learn for something like that? Surely it would only take a couple of hours, tops, for someone to translate the documents rather than possible weeks to learn even the basics of an entire ancient language? It didn’t seem like a good trade off. But Nana Morag had already been so kind to her. And there was no telling how she’d react if she refused. Maybe if she showed willing now, Nana Morag would be more flexible later.

Isla clutched the book to her chest. “When does it start?”

“I’ll be leaving now,” Nana Morag said, her eyes gleaming.

“Alright,” Isla nodded. “I’m with you.”

Nana Morag lead Isla towards a small community centre, off a narrow lane from the high street. The whole area was residential, cluttered with redbrick terraces and full of people going around their daily business even with the biting wind and the overhanging threat of rain. Nana Morag was stopped nearly a dozen times by passers-by, each one making the same guarded enquiries about Isla, wondering who she “belonged to”. Isla couldn’t tell if they were pleased or not when Nana Morag explained they were family.

The classroom was perfect for children, bright, colourful, and visually appealing, but its cheery theme did little to soften the sharp edges of anxiety in Isla’s stomach. It spiked even more when she sat down, on a too-small chair that creaked every time she even considered moving.

Nana Morag didn’t call attention to Isla when the children came in for her class, which she was eternally grateful for. Along with the rest of the children, she was given an easy-reader book in Old Kildonian, a language heavy with vowels and punctuated with strange looping symbols. There was also a sheet of paper, typed in large print, with what looked like an alphabet and a few short words paired with an English equivalent. Isla stared at them until her eyes went blurry. She couldn’t even figure out how to make her mouth contort itself to make those noises. But that wasn’t the worst of it.

The words were simple. Too simple. Words for “Mum”, “Dad”, “good”, “nice”, “friend”, and other twee phrases ran through her head. Not even a full sentence. Not even “Mum is nice”, “my friend is good”, just words, scattered over the page as if they were plucked from the ether. How would this help her? How could she translate complicated archaic documents with these basics?

The class hadn’t even started yet. Nana Morag was still talking to a parent while the children shouted and ran around the tables, obviously too overstimulated even before the lesson began. And Isla was spiralling. She could feel it percolating within her. As her breath raced out, she tried to clear her head.

This wouldn’t do. It couldn’t. Even if she attended one of these classes every day for a month, she’d be nowhere near ready to decode the Chessmen documents herself. She didn’t have that time to waste. The exhibition in Hydrogate opened in three weeks and she still had most of the region to see. Places to go. People to interview. Legends to find. She just couldn’t do it.

A blip pinged her phone, making her jump. While Nana Morag’s back was turned, still in conversation, Isla slid it out of her pocket and looked at it under the table.

Isla,

The Anthropology Department is concerned that you have not yet been in touch to update on your project. As such, we are writing to inform you that we have arranged a video conference with you at 1pm Johto Standard Time in two days’ time. Please follow the link below to attend your slot.

The department would like you to prepare a short presentation to highlight your progress as part of the video conference.

Please also remember you must submit proof of your passage to the Kildo region as evidence.

Regards,

Prof F. S. Gardener

Isla could only stare numbly at the email for the first few minutes. Slowly, heat crept into her face. Anger bubbled in the pit of her stomach. How dare they? How dare they talk to her like that? The condescending attitude dripped off the words like hot grease from a searing grill. They wanted a presentation? In two days? It couldn’t be done.

At least, not while she allowed her time to be wasted.

Nana Morag looked disappointed, but said she understood when Isla explained that something had come up that meant she had to leave early. It didn’t make her feel better.

Outside the community centre, she sat on the nearest bench and took large lungfuls of crisp, cool air until the anger and anxiety gurgling in her stomach finally ebbed away. She cast a guilty look back at the door. Hopefully Nana Morag would forgive her.

It would take nearly half an hour to walk back to the house. Plenty of time to think about what direction to take the presentation. Even as she thought about it, her mind unspooled ideas. She could look through the book Nana Morag gave her, cite the conversation they’d had about the Vitalities, maybe ask Rhona and the family for any other stories they had. She could do this. She could pull this together. She’d show that professor exactly what she was made of.

Just as she pushed herself to her feet, something thudded to the ground. Isla froze, her concentration shattered. Her hand sought the familiar Pokeball hanging at her waist and she rolled her fingertips across its keenly smoothed surface. Something crept into the corner of her peripheral vision. A dull, murky, red-brown shape, a rusted stain on the greenery encroaching the community centre. Her stomach tightened. Nausea crept up her throat and she had to fight a sudden, violent urge to vomit.

When the nausea passed, and the world faded back in, a noise trembled through the earth under her feet. A low rumbling whinny followed by the steady, echoing beat of hooves.

Isla called Soba out. It was an unwelcome return to reality. She was in a new region with strange new Pokemon and she hadn’t even taken five minutes to look at the kinds of creatures that lived in the area. If there was something there that could hurt her, then she was playing a dangerous game. Could she even defend herself?

She should ignore it, she reasoned. Ignore it and head back to the croft. Wild Pokemon attacks on humans weren’t common, especially in fairly urban areas, but something still spurred her into action. Sweat stood out on her brow as she circled the Community Centre, Soba in pursuit.

There was nothing there. No people. No Pokemon. The only thing that stood out was a patch of disturbed grass by the window that looked into Nana Morag’s classroom. A line of hoofprints sunk into the long, leafy fronds, each one fringed with thin purple liquid. .

Soba coughed and retched.

“Easy, girl,” Isla returned Soba to her Pokeball. The last thing she needed was for her only Pokemon to become unwell. That would just be the rotten cherry on the top of the already disgusting cake.

She took one last cautionary glance around the area. Leaves trembled in the trees. Cars sloped down the road. Children played in a park down the street, their voices carrying over a thin, brisk wind.

When she looked down at the prints again, the strange liquid was gone.

Back at home, Isla shut herself back in the tiny room, opened her laptop, and focused. Hours fell away. Daylight morphed into darkness. All Isla knew was the tapping of keys and the pages of books stiff with bookmarks and post-it notes.

She was turning over into a new chapter – The Shifting Traditions – when her stomach gurgled, lifting her out of her study induced stupor. What time was it? It had gotten dark without her even noticing. She groped for the desk light and clicked it on, the room touched by a jaundiced yellow light.

The clock flashed back; 18:47.

She didn’t want to seem presumptuous. Running a croft with only a few family members must have been tough. She could imagine it was the kind of work that never had a clear end goal, that there was always something that needed done. And she’d only been here a full day. She didn’t know their routines yet. Maybe they were a late dinner type of family. And she definitely didn’t want to pressure anyone. But it was very late now. She hadn’t eaten any lunch. And there hadn’t been any noises in the house for hours.

Downstairs, every room was draped in darkness. Isla felt around for the light switches, but the unfamiliar walls wouldn’t give up their secrets, and she clattering through the house like a particularly ungraceful Hippopotas. It confirmed one thing. There was nobody home.

Panic rose in her chest as she picked her way towards the windows, hoping that she could let some light in via the curtains. I

With a bang, the door opened, bounced off the wall, and light spilled into the room. Rhona stood in the hallway, shelling herself from a puffy jacket.

“Rhona?” Isla squeaked.

“Oh, gosh! Isla!” Rhona’s hand flew to her chest, her skin translucent. “Chick, why were you standing there in the dark?”

“I couldn’t find the light switch,” she said lamely. “I’d been upstairs, and I got a bit worried I hadn’t heard anything down here for a while.”

“Oh, God. You didn’t get the message?”

“What message?”

“Kenneth sent Drambark to the house with it,” Rhona said, hanging up her coat.

Isla wasn’t sure exactly what a Drambark was, but she didn’t think now was the right time to ask. “I didn’t get anything, sorry. What’s happened?”

“It’s Nana Morag, chick. She came over very ill just before she finished her class. She was taken to hospital.”

“Hospital?!” Isla gasped.

“Yes,” she said. “Oh, but she’s okay, she’s stable and responsive. They’re keeping her in overnight, but I think it’s just as a precaution.”

“What’s wrong with her?”

“They don’t know yet. They were running tests when I left.”

“I’m sorry, I…” Isla stammered. “I should have stayed with her.”

The look in Rhona’s eyes became sharp and probing. “Yes, why did you leave? I thought you wanted to learn about the language.”

“I do, but…” Isla heaved a sigh. “I got an email from my course supervisor when I was in the class telling me I have to do a presentation for them. In two days. About the progress I’ve made in the project. And I haven’t… I haven’t had much progress yet because I’ve only just got here. So I panicked and came back here to start working on that immediately because… well, if I don’t jump through their hoops, they’ll pull approval on the project.”

Rhona nodded the whole time Isla spoke. “Och, chick, maybe it’s for the better that you didn’t stay.”

Isla frowned. “Why?”

“Because it wasn’t just Nana Morag who became ill. Everyone attending that class did.”

#checkmate #pokemon fan fic #fakemon #pokemon fanfic #pokemon fanfiction #my writing #long post

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onigirisuna · 5 years ago

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blue ivy

a contribution for @zutaramonth, quarantine edition, day 15: trust. view my other work for zutara month (quarantine edition) here.

this isn’t sad this time, i promise!

modern au. cw: cursing. long fic ahead.

“See those other morons over there?” Toph says; she lowers her voice down to a pseudo-whisper. “They’re stupid as fuck.”

Akira coos in response. Toph continues her rocking back and forth, tickling her belly as she says, “Yeah, that’s right. I’m gonna be the dopest auntie you’ll ever have. You know that bitch, Martha Stewart? She won’t even know what’s coming for her.”

“Two strikes, Toph,” Katara says with her arms crossed. “I gave birth three days ago and now my baby’s gonna say fu– the f word before she says ‘mama’ or ‘papa’.”

“No, Katara,” Toph says, still cradling the now-sleeping Akira in her arms. “She’s gonna say y’all are fucking wussies when she realizes how lame her parents are.”

Katara rolls her eyes, too tired to argue with the blind girl. Toph deposits the sleeping child in Katara’s outstretched arms; as Toph unfurls her arms from the infant, she says, “I’m tellin’ you, Sugar Queen. I’m out here being Solange Knowles while you guys fight over which Kardashian you are.”

Zuko walks in with a two mugs of coffee in hand. “I think Kourtney’s pretty cool.”

Without looking back, Toph points in his direction. “Exactly.”

Katara smirks. “If you’re Solange, that means Akira’s Blue – making me Beyonce.”

Toph pulls a face. “Your husband just walked in claiming Kourtney Kardashian, so that makes you Travis Scott–”

“Scott Disick,” Zuko corrects her, handing Katara a mug.

“–And he’s pretty problematic.”

“We’re all kinda problematic Toph,” Katara says, her voice muffled as her lips rest on the rim of the coffee cup.

"Right,” Toph says, reaching for her wallet. “Anyway, gotta go. A precinct proposed another turnover to Major Crimes and I gotta go over it.” Toph gave both her friends side hugs before making her way to the door. Katara sees Zuko wince from the force of her grip and Akira smiles at the warmth.

“Thanks for breakfast, guys!” she says over her shoulder, closing the door behind her. Katara and Zuko stare at the door for a few moments.

“You want Toph to be Akira’s godmother,” Zuko says, raising his brow at her. “Do you really trust that she won’t drop our kid head-first?”

“Shut up, Jay-Z. Beyonce didn’t make a whole diss album for you to tell me what to do.”

Akira cooed, seemingly in agreement with her mother.

—

“Oh my spirits, Zuko, Akira’s lustration rites is three months away and we haven’t decided on her godparents,” Katara says, frantically pacing around their room. Zuko mumbles in response as he hunches over the latest bill on economic reform.

“Are you even listening to me?”

Zuko shoots his head up. “Kat, calm down – three months is more than enough time to choose her godparents.”

“No, it’s not, Zuko!” Katara says, pulling at her hair. “We still have to figure out the arrangements, the celebration afterwards–”

“The Fire Sages have that sorted for us, Kat. They’ve conducted thousands of baptisms of fire before,” Zuko says pointedly, returning to his work. He keeps his head down as he mumbles, “For all I know, they’re immortal and feed off of dying royals.”

“What? I didn’t catch that,” Katara says with her arms crossed. Zuko sighs and rubs his eyes, saying, “Nothing.”

Katara rolls her eyes. He continues, saying, “You know, the best set of godparents for Akira would be the ones we trust her life with.”

Katara huffs and keeps her arms crossed. “Well, I already have a list. Could you at least help me with that? I need to add more people.”

That wakes Zuko up. “How many godparents do you want our kid to have?”

Katara pulls out a sheet of paper from her own desk and slaps it onto Zuko’s. Zuko’s eyes widen.

“Akira‘s gonna have twenty godparents?” Zuko asks incredulously. “And you want me to add more?”

“You’ll never know, Zuko,” she says, biting her lip as she resumes pacing around their room. “We need more people to protect her.”

Zuko lets out a laugh. “We’re friends with the world’s largest leaders, Katara,” he says with mirth. “Three of them would be twenty to anyone else.”

Katara juts out her lip in thought as Zuko’s words sink into her; he gets up from his desk and gathers her into his arms. “Besides,” he says. “There won’t be enough people for the next baby.”

Katara untangles herself and places her hands on her hips. “Yes, there will.”

“No, there won’t, Kat. You’ve already listed my friends,” he says, grabbing her list and pointing to top. “All six of them.”

—

A few days later, Sokka bursts through Zuko’s office in song.

“Am I original?”

Sokka is met with silence.

“Am I the only one?”

The silence continues.

Sokka gives Zuko an exasperated look. “You’re supposed to sing yeeeeaaaaah after each question, Zuko.”

“I know.”

With that, Sokka starts laughing and Zuko breaks out into a smile. When Sokka comes up to Zuko’s desk, they bump fists and shake hands; Zuko leads Sokka to the chair in front of his desk. “So,” he says, settling back into his own chair. “What brings you back here? The lustration rites are still three months away.”

“I thought I’d stop by before I head over to Republic City for the Union’s Economic Council,” Sokka says, inspecting his boomerang. “You’re coming, right? Aang’s gonna be there.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Zuko admits. “I was going to send over my minister for economics. With the reform bill we’ve been reviewing, though, I feel a hell lot more inclined to go.”

Sokka hums and looks at Zuko when he says, “How bad?”

“They won’t let go of the dead war factories and they aren’t getting any cheaper.”

Sokka winces. “Yikes. Be careful, though, the Council might kill you if you raise that.” Zuko nods somberly with the thought.

“I won’t actually be there for the Council, Sokka,” he says, folding his arms over the table. “I’ll just show up because I have to. I’m actually going to Republic City because I need to have a talk with Kuei; they wouldn’t let go of the war factories because of foreign investors from his country.” Sokka nods his head in understanding.

An attendant knocks softly on the door. “Come in,” Zuko says.

“Dinner is ready, Sir,” she says. “Lady Katara and Lady Akira are already in the hall.”

“Is there an extra setting for Chief Sokka?” Zuko asks. The attendant blanches and wrings her arms behind her back. “N-no, Sir, I’m afraid we haven’t prepared for the Chief’s arrival.”

Zuko softens; Mira, the attendant, is new and was handpicked personally by Katara. “It’s fine, Mira. The Chief didn’t make his arrival known,” he says, throwing an accusing look at Sokka. Sokka shrugs. “Please tell Tako and the rest to prepare an extra setting and a room for the Chief. He will be spending the next couple of days here.”

Sokka starts. “Wait–”

Zuko holds up a hand. “That will be all, Mira. Thank you.”

Mira bows and leaves the room, closing the door behind her.

“I already booked a hotel, Zuko,” Sokka says, leaning back on his chair as he feigns disappointment.

“Ask for a refund, then,” Zuko says, getting up from his desk. “I know your cheap ass is glad you don’t have to pay for accommodations.”

Sokka gets up from the chair. “You are the best brother-in-law.”

Zuko smiles. “And you,” he says as claps his best friend on the shoulder, “Are going to be Akira’s godfather.”

Sokka’s jaw drops and Zuko backtracks.

“I-if you wanna be, of course.”

Sokka throws his arms around Zuko in response.

—

Much later, Sokka runs into the common room carrying a wailing Akira in his arms. “I swear I didn’t do anything,” he says. “I promise it isn’t my fault that she hit her head with a boomerang.”

Katara and Zuko shoot up from the couch. “She what?!”

“She was playing with Boomerang! I was showing it off, but then she reached out for it and bonked her head in the process,” Sokka says defensively. Katara picks up Akira from her brother, inspecting her for any injuries.

“In what world is it okay to play with a boomerang with a three month-old baby?” Katara asks, trying to soothe the crying baby.

“My world, Katara! Matok and Kira love Boomerang!” Sokka exclaims, throwing his hands up for emphasis.

“Sokka, she won’t even remember the names of her cousins because you shrunk her walnut brain,” Katara says, giving Sokka an accusing look. Sokka barks out a laugh.

“Kat, you’re being too generous. She’s related to me, remember? Her brain’s probably pea-sized, tops.”

Katara hurls a pillow at him.

Akira coos and smiles against her mother’s shoulder.

—

Aang visits the Fire Nation one month before the lustration rites.

“What’s up, little buddy?” he says, picking up Akira from her crib. Akira starts to giggle when she sees her uncle, and Katara smiles fondly at the sight.

“Are you here for another meeting with Zuko?” Katara asks, carrying a tray of durian tarts as she makes her way to Aang.

“Kinda?” Aang says, lilting his voice up. “I’m actually here to talk to his minister of economics, about the dead war factories.”

“Namato? Poor guy,” Katara says. “He’s smack in the middle of Zuko and Kuei’s hot shots.”

“I know,” Aang says, lightly pinching Akira’s nose. “Kuei’s not the bad guy though.”

“We know,” Katara responds, setting two durian tarts on a dessert plate. “That’s another poor guy.”

Aang hums in agreement; he starts reaching for a tart just as Zuko walks in. Aang takes a bite off the tart and pretends to offer some to Akira.

“What’s up, buddy?” Aang says, greeting Zuko with a bright smile.

“Could be better,” Zuko responds, sulking as he sheds his suit jacket. Sensing an incoming change in mood, Katara quickly attempts to brighten it by asking, “Aang, you’re gonna make it to Akira’s lustration rites, right?”

Aang brightens even more, seemingly oblivious to Zuko’s damp mood. “Of course, Katara! How could I miss the baptism of the first mixed-blood princess of the Fire Nation?” Aang lightly tickles Akira as he lilts his voice with every word. Zuko softens at the sight.

“Well, that, and the baptism of your first godchild,” Zuko says as he settles beside his wife. Aang almost drops the kid in surprise.

“Crap, Aang, watch it!” Zuko cries as Katara kicks his shin. “Ow! What was that for?”

Katara looks at him pointedly. “There‘s a baby in front of us.”

“Yeah, and our friend almost dropped her!”

“Aang would never drop the baby, Zuko. He can’t even drop a spider.”

The sound of sniffling cuts their conversation short; when Katara and Zuko turn around, they find Aang at the brink of tears.

“Y-you,” Aang starts, his voice shaking. “You want me to be Akira’s godpoppy?”

Katara and Zuko give him a look. “Godpoppy?”

—

Three weeks later, Aang is whizzing through the halls of the Royal Palace on an airball; as soon as he accepted his role as Akira’s godpoppy, he declared himself as the lead organizer of the celebration. “Mira, don’t forget to contact the caterer!” he says to the pair of attendants. “Tako, the decorators will be here in six days. You hear me, buddy? Six days. We need the plaza cleaned up before that, okay?”

“Yes, Sir,” Mira and Tako respond just as Aang whizzes past them. They bow respectfully to Katara and Zuko as they come up the hallway.

“What kind of sound system is this?” Aang exclaims, the echo of his disbelief reverberating through the walls.

Katara and Zuko laugh at their friend’s torrential barking, watching as Zuko’s staff scramble about trying their best to keep up with Aang’s incessant demanding. Akira laughs with them and Zuko brushes his nose onto his daughter’s. “He can hire Beyonce if he wants to, you know,” he tells his wife as Akira plays with his hair.

“What do you mean? I’m right here,” Katara says, the ghost of a smile on her face as she points a slim finger to it. Zuko laughs and kisses the top of her head.

—

The day of the lustration rites come, and Akira is placed in the center of a ring of candles. The ceremony is private, with only her immediate family, godparents, and the Fire Sages in attendance.

The Head Sage says the invocation in ancient Fire Nation tongue, and the ceremony concludes with Zuko bending the candlelit flames; they briefly shoot up in streams of fire before Katara bends water around each stream, evaporating them into the air.

“Congratulations, my lord, my lady,” the Head Sage says, leading a bow. Katara and Zuko bow in response. As the Fire Sages head to the balcony doors to reveal the child to the public, the royal family’s friends and family begin to swarm them. Sokka starts taking photos with his phone.

“Calm down, guys,” Katara says, holding Akira protectively as Aang and Toph wrestle over her. “The people are waiting.”

When the doors open, Katara and Zuko are greeted by a miles-long crowd of Fire Nation citizens. The couple smile amidst the raucous cheer, gracefully waving at the crowd; cameras and reporters are dotted around strategic points of the plaza.

“I present to you all,” the Head Sage bellows from the parapet. “Fire Lord Zuko, Fire Lady and Master Katara, and Princess Akira!” The raucous cheer magnified, causing Akira to stir uncomfortably. Katara and Zuko wave for a few more moments before being ushered back inside to the hall.

“Hey Kourtney,” Toph calls. Zuko turns around just as Aang and Sokka begin arguing who gets to carry Akira first. “If anyone dare touch little Blue Ivy,” Toph says, pointing her thumb towards the now-sleeping infant. “I will beat them up.”

Zuko smiles. “Okay, Rocky,” he says as he accepts Akira from his wife, who has since moved on to accommodating their guests.

“That’s right, Sparky. I’m Rocky fu–”

“Toph,” Katara says.

“–cking Balboa.”

#zutara #zutaramonth #zutaramonth2020 #otp: thanks to you #fickle #zkquarantine

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franklyshipping · 5 years ago

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Never Disturb A Sleeping Cowboy ~ A Markiplier Ego Fanfic

THIS IS A LOVELY ANONYMOUS PROMPT WHICH I AM VERY EXCITED TO WRITE, BETWEEN OUR SNAZZY COWBOY AND SNAZZY MONARCH OF NUTTINESS! LEEET'S DO IT!

TAGGING: @ed-edler @king-of-lee-squirrels and @kingoflesquirrel

A bit of peace and quiet shouldn't be too much to ask for, right? I mean, all it really takes is going somewhere, nice, safe, comfortable and secluded, right? Well, at least that's what Ed Edgar figured to be the case as he lay on a patch of grass in the comforting shadow of an oak tree. After a day of hard work, the cowboy just wanted a nap which the faint scent of grass and flowers around him. He got so close to getting it too, he was lying down, relaxed, and with his hat over his face to shield him from the bright afternoon as he shut his eyes....but it was not to be. Ed Edgar's relaxation was cut short....by a nut.

It was a walnut to be precise, and to be fair the dropping of this particular walnut had been a complete and total accident. The King of the Squirrels had been relaxing in the tree above the cowboy, hardly aware of his presence since he was fixated on arranging some walnuts in his hand by size. Unfortunately, he had fumbled with one and dropped it, which caused it to fall...and land right in the brim of Ed's hat. Thankfully Ed hadn't thought much of it, simply squirming to get comfy once more with a little sigh.

'C'mon mother nature let me naaaap.....'

King covered his mouth to repress a laugh, mainly due to how surprised he was that he managed to land the nut right into the brim of Ed's hat by accident! The monarch hummed to himself as he observed the grumbling man beneath him....oh part of him wanted to let him rest....and yet another, stronger part of him was really very bored. Unfortunately for King, the boredom took precedence when it came to King's decision making....and that decision being that the monarch was going to see how many more nuts he could land on Ed's hat.

The monarch ended up huffing in annoyance when his first two purposeful drops missed Ed's hat by a mile, and the next two, and the next three. But the King was determined....and that determination allowed one to land. Then, a second one landed on its mark....and Ed had HAD it. Ed growled and ripped off his hat, intending to look up and glare at the tree before finding one to nap under that didn't grow nuts. When he looked up and saw King with a hand full of nuts however...his agenda swiftly changed.

'Who in the hecki-King? What in tarnation?!'

The cowboy narrowed his eyes up at the monarch.

'Were you throwing those down onto me?'

Ed spoke accusingly, to which King mustered up the most innocent expression that he could, along with a soft smile down at Ed as he replied.

'Oh my goodness, Edward I simply do not know what on earth you are tal-'

'Oh don't give me that Mr Regal Schmegal crap, I know it was you!'

Ed could see through the innocence from a mile away, using his full first name was enough. As Ed jabbed his finger up at King, the monarch merely rolled his eyes and let the façade drop, swinging his legs as he remarked casually.

'Well you're the one who sat under my tree.'

Ed scoffed, sitting up straighter as he regarded King with a raised eyebrow and disbelief. King never ceased to amaze him with how brazen he could be, I mean sure he was random and eccentric, but he really took his royal status to heart and embodied it quite a lot.

'So you're saying that out of every single tree here, this SPECIFIC one is in fact yours?'

King looked down at Ed's pursed lips and thought for a moment. I mean, technically all the trees in the woodland were his, but there was brazen cheekiness and then there was being a true asshole; King preferred being the former of those. He replied promptly.

'Yes.'

'Bull!'

'We don't get cows in the woods Edward, if so my subjects would have spotted them.'

King smirked subtly, continuing to swing his legs and feet from his position straddling a comfortable branch. Ed gritted his teeth....Ed had a thing about smart asses.

'You think you're so smart don'tcha?'

The cowboy was getting more and more riled every second, I mean smugness aside, this guy had had the audacity to stop him from resting without even batting an eye! Ed anticipated maybe teaching this monarch a lesson, though he wasn't sure, he was still a little tired....

'Well this IS my habitat, and kingdom in fact....'

Ed narrowed his eyes....I think that tiredness was temporarily forgotten now. King smiled to himself, since he was having rather a lot of fun teasing Ed...until he felt a hand latch tight onto one of his swinging ankles. King looked down, and froze at seeing Ed wearing a dark smirk.

'I think a certain King has gotten too big for his boots.'

Before King knew it, he'd been tugged off of his low hanging branch and forced onto the forest floor, only able to let out a yelp as Ed completely overpowered him. Ed smirked in triumph as he pinned the spluttering King on his tummy before sitting on his shins, and snickering as King's bare feet caught his eye.

'Or lack of.'

King flushed with embarrassment....shoes and socks just felt constricting okay! He scrunched his feet as he grasped at the earthy floor, whilst trying to sound defiant.

'Unhand me! I'll set my subjects on you for this!'

Ed hummed amusedly at that....since there were no squirrels, or any other similar woodland creatures to be seen. He set about picking a tuft of soft grass, stroking through the soft blades and holding them in his fist so the tips of the grass blades were all nice and close together. After he finished his little construction, he purred.

'And how will you do that when you're too busy laughing to give any orders?'

King barely had time to register the sentence in his brain before Ed's intentions suddenly became very, VERY clear to him. Ed had begun stroking up and down his soles with the grass blades, making King splutter and giggle with embarrassment at the soft tickling. He couldn't let this happen, he was a King darnit he couldn't just let himself be humiliated like this!

'L-Lehehet me gohoho lehet m-mehe gohoho nohow!'

....unfortunately, he didn't sound as tough as he'd wanted to sound. Ed smirked broadly at this, loving how tittery and ticklish the monarch was.

'Not until you apologise to me for being a dick.'

Ed chuckled, particularly when King spluttered and tittered even more because of his embarrassment. First off, he was being nothing like a piece of genitalia and frankly King found that to be EXTREMELY inappropriate! Secondly, he wasn't going to apologise just because he demanded it!

'Ihihi w-wihihill d-doho noho suhuhuch thihing! Ihi aham a K-Kihing!'

Ed snorted and rolled his eyes at his reply, he felt sooo intimidated by King's jumpy, giggly tone right now; he'd known it was a long shot asking for an apology so soon anyhow. Ed smiled, settling himself properly on King's shins and ankles as he took to swiping under King's toes with the blades of grass.

'Then I guess I'll be tickling your royal tootsies for all eternity, your majesty.'

Ed used the royal title snidely as King squealed and hit the forest floor, his giggles becoming rather frantic as he scrunched his toes to defend their oh so sensitive undersides.

'Yohohou cahahan't yohou cahahan't!'

Ed hummed as he regarded King, before tossing the grass aside; he definitely needed a harder tool of some kind to really break through to King.

'Hmmm, seems like you need a little more convincing about who's really in charge here....'

Ed mused before, unseen to King, his eyes lit up and he picked up two long, thin objects from the forest floor. Meanwhile, King panted, trying to keep himself together despite knowing that the tickling was going to get worse. Nonetheless, King took in a breath, licked a little of his peanut butter beard for moral support, before attempting to replying insistently.

'I-Ihin MY k-kingdom I am in char-AAEEE WHAHAT IHIS THAHAT?!'

King's verbal plan was cut off by his own shriek, followed by his hysterical, hiccup-filled giggling. Ed had picked up the most perfect pair of fine, sharp twigs from the forest floor and had started swiping them up and down King's soles happily. One sharp, precise, tickly twig per foot.

'Y'know I always found twigs annoying, they always stuck in my back whenever I tried to rest or nap outside. I never knew they could be so wonderfully effective!'

Ed mused, putting in a little dramatic effect; he blamed associating with so many Extra™ egos for his little dramatic streak. Ed was serious when he said he liked the twigs now though, they could scratch into wrinkles that fingers could not, and they were harsher than blades of grass could ever be. Plus, they were tickling King and making him blush and scrunch his feet pretty damn hard, so they were clearly doing a good job.

'IHI'LL GEHET YOHOU FOR THIHIHIHIS!'

Ed chuckled, King's threats just sounded cuter and cuter by the second. He experimentally flicked the twig tips over the royal's toe pads as he crooned in response.

'Oh yeah, and how will ya do that? I don't see any of your subjects out here rushing to your aid your majesty....'

King shrieked and arched his back, squeezing his eyes shut as his cackles made his entire body shake with mirth. He totally didn't have his eyes closed in an attempt to ignore the fact that Ed was right and that his subjects were most likely just watching their King being tickle tortured, nopety nope noooope.

'YOHOHOU WIHILL RUHUHUHUE THIHIS DAHAHAHAY!!'

King cried, consumed by embarrassment; especially when he heard Ed snort in amusement as he continued the evil twig tickling technique.

'Uh huh uh huh, I'm not hearing an ''I'm sorry''.'

Oh that smug, stetson-wearing peasant! Despite the torturousness of it all, King was far too proud to let himself be beaten by this. Kings were strong, and he was no different.

'AHAHAND YOHOU'RE NAHAT GEHEHETTING OHONE!!'

Ed huffed with gritted teeth, growling as he tossed the twigs aside. Damn he was strong. He knew plenty of egos that would have babbled apologies as soon as those sharp twigs reached their precious toes, but not King. Ed had to think. This guy was a King of the wild, always outside in nature, so maybe he just needed a rougher treatment than most; plus, with how riled Ed was right now, he was more than happy to provide that kind of treatment. Ed turned his head, looking down at the monarch who had his face tilted to the side. Perfect....he could say this right to his face.

'You have NO idea what you're letting yourself in for. You're dealing with the tired, ruthless version of me Kingy, and that's the version of me that'll be more than happy to make you scream out an apology!'

....King ordinarily might have laughed at how much Ed's moustache twitched as he talked, but the things Ed was saying, the way he was talking....sent so many chills down King's spine. He could see that Ed meant every single word that he said....and King had a sneaking suspicion that even if he did apologise now, Ed would go all out on him before he actually had mercy, he was just that riled. So, King mustered up a smile at the cowboy. If he was going to be tortured, he was going to show his strong attitude first.

'Ahall I hear are words and words and words cowboy....'

King's smile was toothy and smug, since even though he had a hint of fear of what Ed was going to do, he didn't think it would be THAT bad. I mean, twigs were the most tickly things that the forest floor was currently offering....so King didn't even fathom the prospect of Ed actually having his own tool on him. But he did. Granted, he had never anticipated using it for anything other than polishing his boots, but once Ed remembered having the sharply bristled brush in his butt pocket, all thoughts of boot cleaning were cast aside.

'You wanna play tough, pretend you're the big strong leader, fine.....I can play tough too.'

Ed's eyes darkened with ruthlessness as he took out the brush....and started scrubbing King's soles with it. Needless to say, all King could do was scream.

'AHHHHHHAHAHAHAAA AAAAHHHHH!!!'

It was just maddening and insane and just the definition of tickle torture. King was writhing with mirth and regret whilst Ed smirked with delight at seeing King's soles already going a cute pink.

'Ahaaawww, can someone not take a lil scrubby scruuub?'

King thrashed and shook his head with wide eyes because no he could NOT handle it! His screams and shrieks were loud and getting shriller by the second.

'STAHAHAHAHAAAAA IHIHIHAHAHAHAAAA CAHAAAA!!!'

He was seriously going....nuts (yes Ed did chuckle at his own joke a little), and Ed couldn't have been happier, tickle punishments were very much his forte. He snickered happily at the incoherency, scrubbing the balls of King's feet now as he mused.

'One little word, one niiiice little word and it'll all stop.'

As King clenched his fists and struggled and struggled, he knew he had to make it stop....he had to...even if that meant submission.

'SSSAAAA-AHAHAHA!!! SAHAHAHAAARRYYYY!!!'

Ed chuckled and crowed at King's cry, removing the brush immediately.

'Theeeere ya go!'

King gasped desperately, his fists clenching around soil and leaves for comfort as he panted and shivered in the wake of it all. His feet tingled, and King was in shock because never in his life had he felt tickling like that before. Since Ed had slid off his shins, he found the strength to turn onto his side and start to sit up as he whispered.

'Whahat...w-wahas th-that?'

Ed smiled fondly at his innocent question, and held up the brush for King to see; of course, this very much sent the monarch into a state of flustered, wide-eyed awe.

'Ya like it?'

Ed teasingly asked, before giggling at how King swiftly turned his head away out of embarrassment whilst sitting up properly. Ed tucked the tool away with a grin as King mumbled.

'Y-You d-didn't HAVE to use it o-on me....'

Ed smirked, damn he was adorable when he was all meek. He nudged King's shoulder gently as he replied.

'Well, you were kinda being a brat, I had to break ya somehow!'

....dammit, King couldn't help but smile at that, and he nudged Ed back softly as he looked back at him. Then though, as the King looked at Ed and saw his slightly drooping expression and lazy blinking, he remembered why the cowboy had been here in the first place. King straightened up as his idea came to the forefront of his mind.

'H-How about, as an additional apology...'

King unclasped his red, fur lined cloak and offered it to Ed with a soft smile.

'I watch over you as you rest, since you are in my kingdom it is only fair that I am a good host for you.'

Ed blinked a few times, then had to fight a little blush of his own at how kind and sweet King was being. He hadn't even been thinking about his tiredness, until now though, because now he could feel the need for a nap washing over him. He smiled and accepted the cloak, before settling down on the ground and snuggling into its blanket-like warmth.

'Thank you King....I feel safer already.'

King smiled fondly at that, and as Ed got the much needed sleep he deserved, King kept guard. And I can assure you that he made sure no-one, and I mean no-one, disturbed his sleeping cowboy.

WOOOO HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE THIS ONE LEMME KNOW IF YA DO WOOOO LUV YOUS XX

#markiplier #markiplier egos #ed edgar #ed #king of the squirrels #king #sfw #platonic #prompt #tickle fic #tickle fanfic #ego fic #ego fanfic #tickle #tickles #tickling #ticklish #luv these bois

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