#seven steps is a long-winded way of doing the same thing. this way is admittedly more obtuse imo because. office user info tells you nothin
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Just note there is a quicker way to access the menu through word, it's not that deeply buried.
go to your user account, in the top right, where your name and icon is.
click 'office user info', a supremely obtuse title for what this actually does (not information - settings).
click 'manage settings' under the Account Privacy header.
scroll down, and turn off experiences that analyse your content. It's not not buried, it's just not as buried as ralfmaximus says. Not good, of course - this toggle should be like, on the main settings menu - but at least fewer steps for you to do; same process, just faster!
It is with the deepest frustrations that I must report Microsoft has pushed out Copilot onto Microsoft Word no matter what your previous settings were. If you have Office because you paid for it/are on a family plan/have a work/school account, you can disable it by going to Options -> click on Copilot -> uncheck 'Enable Copilot'.
(Note, you may not see this option if you haven't updated lately, but Copilot will still pop up. Updating should give you this option. I will kill Microsoft with my bare hands.)
In addition, Google has forced a roll-out of it's Gemini AI on all American accounts of users over 18 (these settings are turned off by default for EU, Japan, Switzerland, and UK, but it doesn't hurt to check).
To remove this garbage, you must go to Manage Workspace smart feature settings for all your Gmail/Drive/Chat and turn them off. Go to Settings -> See all settings -> find under "Genera" the "Google Workspace smart features" -> turn smart feature setting off for both Google Workspace and all other Google products and hit save. (If you turned off the smart settings in your Gmail, it never hurts to open Drive and double-check that they're set to off there too.)
Quick Edit: I found the easiest way to get to the Smart Feature settings following the instructions above was to do it through Drive. Try that route first.
Now is the time to consider switching to Libre Office if you haven't already.
#just clarifying things#its not seven steps its four.#seven steps is a long-winded way of doing the same thing. this way is admittedly more obtuse imo because. office user info tells you nothin#useful about where that link takes you. but it's where you need to go!#office#microsoft#word#microsoft copilot#psa
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WITH OUR FATES TANGLED TOGETHER ➽ ATSUMU MIYA X READER
requested by: @tsumue
➪ hi davi! so, as you know i fell deeply in love with your soulmate fics (a while ago and so did some of my friends!!) your writing is really beautiful and i couldn't stop myself from intruding your inbox🥺 if it's not too stupid or uninspiring could i mayhaps ask for a soulmate scenario angst to fluff (only if you feel up for it!) with atsumu? thank you!🤍
genre: angst to fluff
soulmate au: soulmates are bound together by a red string
warnings: angst — my ability to write this genre isn’t necessarily the best :v but i tried my best with it, and i did enjoy the experience! hopefully with time i’ll be able to write more and get better at it!
you meet your soulmate at age sixteen.
the fear that grips at your heart is mind numbing. it sinks cold fingers into your neck and bruises it with a cruel hand that cuts off all air from your lungs, and leaves you empty so that the only other thing you can feel is hot, hot anger.
the anger isn’t yours — the red chord that’s gotten all tangled up between your fingers tells you as much. instead, it belongs to him.
the him who stands before you with hard brown eyes and lips pressed into a thin line. the him who you’d always wanted to meet ever since that red chord tangled itself between your fingers at the age of seven. the him whose name you’d dreamed of without ever knowing it, had fantasized about how it would feel to let it roll from your tongue. he’s here — you’ve finally met your soulmate, but why does the red chord that connects you two together feel so heavy all of a sudden?
miya atsumu sighs, lifting a hand to run through his sweat-matted blond hair: your eyes follow the motion. it was easier to watch that red string and think about the way it wrapped around his fingers than to meet brown eyes that burned under a muted fury. “look, i—“ the voice that you always imagined would cause your heart to take flight on butterfly wings reaches your ears on a cold, flat tone that locks your body down to a barren winter land. “i know this isn’t what you expected for when you meet your soulmate.” by the time you finally pull your eyes to look at his face, they’re burning with tears and blur the image of him until he’s a blend of colours you can’t tell apart. his lips move behind a sheet of haze, like a spell cast over your vision that should protect you from breaking.
“but i don’t think i can be together with someone else right now.”
that spell can do nothing for your heart that rips apart underneath the blunt end of his blade.
when he looks at you, there’s something behind the light of anger and hatred — hatred for you, why does he hate you, you don’t understand... did you do something wrong? what you see behind flames of brown sugar and autumn leaves is a chasm: wide and glaring and so consumingly empty. it spits on the bedtime stories of warmth and unimaginable joy and fulfillment that a soulmate should bring — it chews on those fairytales and coughs them out on a plate of cold indifference, hate, contempt. and it hurts.
“o-oh,” you choke. there’s no way you can meet his eyes like this; your voice is cracking under the weight of your pain and your tears threaten to paint your skin with the colour of blood red agony. “i... I understand.” you don’t. this isn’t what your friends told you would happen. nothing prepared you for your own soulmate to reject you. “that’s fine, i—” breathing becomes hard, your very lungs reject the air that you so desperately drag between your trembling lips. when you look up at him, what hope that you feel is quickly smothered when you catch his eyes. he looks at you as if the sight of you here, on the verge of tears, disgusts him. “i can wait for you... i don’t mind.”
he scoffs: the sound of it is like the grating of metal against your ears. “sure, whatever.” and that’s how he leaves you. broken hearted and crying for the ache that cripples your body as the red chord tightens around your fingers.
now, the picture of him standing before you is so jarringly different that it causes your world to spin so violently that you feel as if your legs might collapse in on themselves. your reality turns itself on its side so that your cup spills out from between your hands and leaves your heart vulnerable to the cold water that floods through your body.
atsumu miya’s eyes are searching as he stands beneath the winter night’s sky, the brown colour in them filled up with a warmth that you know for a fact wasn’t there on that day you met him. there’s pain on his expression, regret so tangible that it tastes sour on your tongue, and when he says your name on trembling lips, you feel the last of your will crumble into dust.
“y/n...” he’s pleading. his eyes are wet with the same tears that had touched your cheeks throughout the two years he’d left you waiting. they tell the story of unmistakable suffering and agony — the familiarity of it tears your heart into pieces and leaves you gasping for air. “please.”
and oh, by the gods above, you want so desperately to welcome him into your arms, want nothing more than to hold him so that you can feel whole for the first time since meeting him. but the pain that still echoes inside your chest is loud and demanding, rumbling through your ribs like a thunderstorm that pushes words you don’t want to say out from between your lips. when they fall, they reach atsumu’s skin like the little snowflakes that fall from the winter sky. they melt into his tears and dig their way into his heart until he’s left breathless because he knows just how he hurt you.
“you made me wait for so long, atsumu.”
he can’t begin to tell you how much he regrets it.
“i’m sorry...” his apology falls from him like a whimper. it dances on his tongue so that he can taste the salt of his own tears. he discovers that it’s awfully bitter. “I shouldn’t have done that to you.”
the emptiness, the helpless acceptance in your voice echoes inside his mind. “i was so close to giving up, you know? i thought you’d be happier if you weren’t tied down to me...”
he knows. god, he knows. every minute of pain and hurt had trickled down to him through the red string that connects the both of you, and the knowledge that you suffered so much because of him, it tears him apart as he stands before you.
“no, please— i can’t live without you...”
he really can’t. he tried to forget about you. he threw himself out into a reckless life and ate the hearts of others who sought for his affection, hoping that they could somehow erase the wretched piece of cloth that tied him down. he submerged himself underwater hoping to breathe, and found himself drowning without you.
“you hurt me.”
“and i was selfish, i know...” he reaches out for you on a single, hesitant step that crumbles the snow beneath his shoes. when you don’t step away, he takes another, pushes himself forward until you’re standing directly in front of him, tear-stained eyes tilting upwards to stare into his. they’re burning, you notice: the fire that consumes the brown in them this time, though, is different. it’s changed.
he reaches for your hand, holds it between the both of his and cups it close to his chest, and his eyes never leave yours. they reveal to you the secrets that his lips won’t tell to you, they bare every ounce of yearning that his spirit screams out silently, and it’s as if every cell in his body is desperate to feel you against him when you can feel the heat of him through your gloves. “but let me make it up to you...” his whisper falls underneath the soft winds, it caresses your skin just as gently and, as you’re looking up at him, your soulmate, you can’t help the tears that sting behind your eyes. you realize that, just like back then, his image is blurred by the curtains of water, but now he glows like the sun itself. everything about him manages to warm your heart on a cold winter night, and god knows you’ll never forgive the pain that he’s caused you — all those years filled with doubt and insecurity and despair — but you think to yourself as you lift one of his hands to hold against your cheek that, at the very least, you want to take a chance with him.
his eyes shine like the stars when you show him a watery smile. “yes...” you whisper back to him. he thinks the sound of it is sweet, and he imagines that your voice may be what it means to dance among sunflowers.
“i want to take a chance with you, atsumu.”
haikyuu!! soulmate au taglist: @nishiya-is-baby
general taglist: @aiiishiiiteru @tsumue @bootylikepeachy
send an ask to be added!
so this is admittedly one of my shorter works and i did struggle a little with transitioning from angst to fluff :( i originally had two ideas, this one which is mostly angst, and another that’s mostly fluff, but in the end i decided to go with this one since i know runa likes angst a lot :0 bb i hope it was okay!
for atsumu’s character in this i wanted to push across that he didn’t want to be tied down with a soulmate when he had his volleyball aspirations to follow through with. although i don’t recall it being specifically stated in canon, i get the feeling that his dedication towards volleyball is nearly on the same level as kageyama’s and oikawa’s, where they wouldn’t be able to give themselves into a relationship when they had their dreams to seek after. so at the point in time when he meets the reader, he’d already decided to disregard any attachment for his soulmate, and so his attitude towards them is a result of that decision he made. however, time spent intentionally trying to separate yourself from your soulmate causes suffering and i wanted to show in the end that it was that pain and longing that finally drove him back to the reader. i feel like if i’d shown from atsumu’s perspective, i could have portrayed that pain and suffering that he’d have gone through without her, but i really wanted to show that through the reader instead. did it work well?
this is part of a series, so please send me an ask or dm if you’d like to be apart of a taglist! i’m currently taking request for haikyuu characters and soulmate au’s, so please come and leave your requests for those as well! thank you for reading! ♡
previous: hajime iwaizumi | next stop: requests are open!
#haikyuu!! soulmate au 💕✨#atsumu x reader#atsumu miya x reader#atsumu angst#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu!!#haikyuu reader insert#haikyuu soulmate au#runa!! 🌻
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100 Followers Celebration!
God, I’m late with this, but I finally passed the 100 follower milestone and I wanted to do something for it to show my appreciation. That something turned out to be almost 3000 words of emotional hurt/comfort and dumb boys in love, so I hope someone enjoys it.
I can’t even express how grateful I am to have (over!!!) 100 people think I’m worthy of following when mostly I just reblog other people’s posts and scream in the tags, but this is me trying to get the point across. Thank you, thank you, thank you to the people who continue to tolerate my bullshit and occasionally encourage my sad stucky edits and my angsty fluff fanfics. You’re all amazing and wonderful people!
Also cross-posted on Ao3 here.
you left your mark on me like footprints in the snow
“Buck, you awake?”
It’s sort of a moot point, seeing as Bucky — light sleeper that he is — would have woken up the second Steve stepped across the threshold of the living room, but he feels compelled to ask nonetheless. His ma was a stickler for courtesy, especially when it didn’t cost anyone a dime, and while he can’t quite manage to defer to politeness when it comes to aggravating superiors, it comes easy as breathing with most everyone else.
Bucky isn’t everyone else, and half the time Steve doesn’t bother filtering himself around him, but tonight—
Tonight’s a bad night.
But it’s not Bucky’s night for a change.
As Steve pauses at the back of the couch, arms crossed and head ducked, he sees Bucky smoothly push himself up into a sitting position from where he was stretched across the cushions, rolling his shoulders back as he scrubs his flesh and blood hand over his face. He was awake, judging by the dog-eared book he lets slide to the floor; Steve can’t make out the cover from this angle, but he’d bet anything it’s one of those YA novels Sam recommended to him that he refuses to thank Sam for. Something about Greek gods and terribly unlucky teenagers. Steve doesn’t go for fantasy often, but he knows Bucky’s been plowing through the series for the last few weeks.
“I’m always awake,” Bucky says once he’s gotten a good look at Steve, despite Steve’s best efforts to tuck all the visible hurt away behind an admittedly shaky smile. He’s joking, mostly — when Bucky first came home, he rarely got more than an hour or two of sleep before some imagined threat had him prowling the confines of the apartment, checking and rechecking the locks and the security system. Nowadays his sleepless nights are still disturbingly frequent, but not every night, and he can usually pass them by reading or watching whatever he finds most interesting on TV.
Bucky quirks a brow when Steve remains silent, tilting his head. Assessing. “You, though,” he continues as if he hadn’t paused at all, “you should be dead to the world, Rogers. Sawing logs, or whatever it is they say when you snore louder than a damn foghorn.”
“I don’t — I don’t snore,” Steve bites out, reflexive, which just gets Bucky’s other brow jumping up to join the first.
“So it’s one of those nights, huh.” Bucky nods to himself, twisting around on the couch to lean back against the armrest, legs spread invitingly. He pats the space between his thighs. “Good thing I’m a certified Steve Rogers expert and know exactly what you need.”
Steve considers refuting that claim, but he can’t bring himself to bother with it. A flare of indignation does pulse under his skin (he hates the idea that he needs to be managed), though it peters out just as quickly as it came, taking with it the last shred of warmth Steve’s been clinging to since he slipped out from beneath his bed covers. Bucky’s right, anyway; this is what Steve needs, something they’ve pieced together in the months after Bucky felt safe enough to put himself back into Steve’s orbit.
Rubbing briskly at his upper arms, more for something to do with his hands than any hope of warming himself up, Steve hesitates another moment before he sighs and climbs over the back of the couch to crawl in between Bucky’s legs. Bucky wraps his arms around Steve’s waist instantly, tugging him until his back is flush with Bucky’s chest. He noses at the nape of Steve’s neck, presses a kiss there that has a delightful shiver rippling down Steve’s spine, then wedges his chin into the space between neck and shoulder.
“What’s the threat level with this one?” Bucky asks quietly. Threat level is their established short-hand for how bad a nightmare was, what kind of toll it took on them. It’s easier getting that out than something like I woke up crying reaching for you can’t get my heart to calm down can’t breathe woke up alone and had to bite back a scream, and Steve can admit that Bucky’s nothing short of a goddamn genius for giving Steve a way to explain without explaining.
“‘Bout a seven,” Steve says, which means it’s closer to a nine than he’d like. He can still feel the phantom chill of wind and snow on his face, the ice-clogged water in his lungs, arms outstretched but grasping at nothing nothing nothing. Bucky’s face, frozen over and glassy-eyed. No air, no breath, no life in either of them — but Steve, undead, trapped below the ice, forced to watch it all play out on repeat—
“Uh-huh. Seven. Sure, I’ll go with that for now.” Bucky’s voice is right against his ear, his breath warm, the solid weight of him so very real that Steve shudders again, leaning into him even though there’s hardly space left between them to close. “You need me to do anything extra special?”
Steve shakes his head, then pauses, reconsiders. “Keep talking?”
His nightmares are — strange. They’re quiet, mostly, unless they involve the train, and then it’s the clack-clack-clack of the tracks, the high-pitched whistling of the wind, his own desperate screams. But when it’s the ice… it’s almost silent. Like an old film, the reels spinning on soundlessly around him. Colors are muted, too, shades of gray and blue and the occasional vibrant streak of red that could be blood, could be his suit, could be the afterimage of staring too long into a bright light.
Bucky huffs a laugh and tightens his arms around Steve, and in return Steve shifts to lay his hands over Bucky’s skin, one sliding along his forearm, the other reaching down to slip under the hem of Bucky’s shorts. He’d grab the metal arm (it doesn’t bother him, and it’s body temperature from being tucked under Bucky on the couch) but he needs skin right now, and he knows Bucky doesn’t begrudge him it.
“Talking,” Bucky murmurs. “You gotta pick the one thing I’m no good at anymore, don’t ya. No, no, don’t start,” he says, reading the tensing of Steve’s body all too well, and Steve slumps back into his hold, caught out. “I’m not sayin’ I won’t do it, and I��m not gettin’ all self-deprecating on you, either. Words are hard, sweetheart, you know that.”
“Sorry, Buck. We can just put the TV on, or—”
“I said it’s fine, Rogers. Relax. I’m not in the habit of doing things I don’t want to these days, even for you, which is a goddamn miracle considering all the shit I put up with for your benefit when we were kids. Christ.”
Steve rolls his eyes, which he knows is the exact reaction Bucky was going for. “Alright, I’ll bite. What’d I talk you into that was so bad?”
“God, Steve, Snow White? How many times d’we see that in theaters?”
“What? You loved that movie!”
“No, you loved that movie, despite being fuckin’ colorblind. I went because I’m a goddamn sap and I couldn’t get enough of the wide-eyed baby deer act you pulled every time you got to see all that animation in action. You sparkled, Steve, it was addicting.”
“What?”
“Whaddya mean, what? Can’t a guy get all sentimental over how cute his best guy looked staring adoringly at a cartoon?”
“No, I mean— you went for me? We weren’t even…”
“First of all, jackass, I don’t gotta be in love with someone to wanna see them happy. Second, I honestly can’t tell you if I realized that I was in love with you back then. It’s all mixed up with how I definitely felt during the war, and then with everything that came with thawing out here.”
Hold on—
“Bucky. Bucky. The war?”
Steve’s half-twisted around in Bucky’s arms now, staring at him, slack-jawed, because they’ve never had this conversation before. Nothing even close to this has ever come up between them. When they got together this century, they only acknowledged that they’d never considered doing so back in the thirties, that their feelings only really surfaced now because they finally had a moment to rest without the fear of discovery hanging over their heads. Bucky has never breathed a word of loving Steve at any point before that.
But Bucky doesn’t seem to understand what’s running through Steve’s head, because his brows furrow as he stares right back at Steve. “Why are you acting so surprised? You think I curled up with you every night just ‘cause I was cold?” He pauses. “I mean, alright, yes, I was freezing and you were a goddamn furnace all of a sudden, but—”
“You have never said shit about this, Barnes, what the fuck?”
And there’s Bucky rising to the challenge in Steve’s voice, lifting his chin and narrowing his eyes. Refusing to let go of Steve, though, for which he’s grateful; he needs the grounding weight of him all the more in this moment.
“I ain’t exactly proud of it, Steve. You and Carter? Fuck, you made my blood boil with her.”
Steve blinks. Blinks again, shakes his head like that’ll make Bucky’s words fall into a neat little line he can actually understand. He feels Bucky’s chest expand as he breathes in deep, feels it deflate as he lets it out in a heavy sigh. His eyes are nearly silver in this light, and so sheepish that Steve just wants to set this aside and kiss on him until he’s smiling again. But — he wants to know, fuck, he doesn’t like secrets between them anymore, and he knows Bucky’s the same way. It’s not the best time to get into this, but really, in the grand scheme of things… it’s as good a time as they’ll get.
“God, alright. I was jealous, okay? Whether or not I knew what you were to me while we were still in Brooklyn, I sure as hell knew it then when I was watching you two dance around each other for months. The way you’d stare after her, the way she tucked herself right into your side whenever you were in the same room… I was sick with it, hatin’ her and hatin’ myself for feeling that way when I didn’t have a fuckin’ claim to you. When you were happy with her and I couldn’t make myself be happy for you. You think I like admitting I couldn’t put my best friend’s happiness above my own bruised ego?”
“Buck…”
“Aw, don’t look like that, sweetheart. Was my own fault for never saying anything. And, well, for all I knew back then you were straight as an arrow. You thought you were pretty straight, as I recall. Maybe it woulda just driven a wedge between us if I’d said something.”
“Fuck that.” The words are whispered, but they get Steve’s point across just fine — it’s Bucky’s turn to blink, leaning away from Steve slightly like he needs a better look at him to process what he’s just heard. Steve just follows him, getting his knees under him so he can cup Bucky’s face in both palms, holding him close. “Fuck that. I always loved you, Bucky Barnes. Platonic, romantic, doesn’t fucking matter. If you think for one second I woulda left you over something like that—”
Bucky laughs again, a quick, sharp little thing that barely interrupts Steve’s vehement protests, but the kiss Bucky plants on his lips does the job of getting his attention.
“What a stubborn asshole you are, sweetheart.”
Scowling, Steve kisses Bucky again, harder this time but still achingly sweet. “You think I’m lyin’?”
“Do I look like an idiot? No, I don’t think you’re lying, but that’s what you’re saying now, with the glorious gift of hindsight. You can’t say for sure that’s how you would have reacted, and I wouldn’t have blamed you for it.”
“One more time, Barnes, ‘cause I do think you’re a little slow on the uptake tonight. Fuck that. You got my ass through every fuckin’ illness that so much as looked at our borough, got me through ma’s death… you think you catchin’ feelings was gonna scare me away? I was afraid of you leaving, god, I woulda clung to you forever if you let me, even if you got married, had kids, whatever. I probably wouldn’t have believed you could like me, but I wouldn’t have been mad at you over it.”
It’s quiet between them once Steve’s gotten it all out of his system, save for his heart thudding in his chest and their quickened breathing, the tick-tick-tick of the ceiling fan above them. Steve refuses to look away from Bucky’s searching gaze, and god, yes, he’s a stubborn asshole, but he’s also right! He’s right and he’s going to prove that to Bucky, one way or another, because this is too important to let go. He doesn’t want Bucky thinking even for a second that there is a scenario where Steve would throw him over for someone else. Anyone Steve loved — anyone who loved Steve — would have had to accept that Bucky came first, always.
In hindsight, Steve maybe should’ve figured out his own damn feelings long before he reached the 21st century, but that wasn’t exactly his point right now.
Steve doesn’t know how long they sit there like that, holding one another without saying a word, but he doesn’t tear his eyes away from Bucky’s for a single moment of it, willing him to understand that he’s always been Steve’s anchor, his touchstone — that absolutely nothing short of death could ever come between them, and fuck, even that didn’t stick. And he thinks Bucky might be getting there, the way a slow, tremulous smile spreads across his face, a flush high on his cheeks that does things to Steve’s heart.
“I love you.”
Steve’s eyes crinkle as he smiles, automatic, ducking his head down to press into Bucky’s neck, the fabric of his worn t-shirt soft against Steve’s cheek. It’s far from the first time either of them have said it, but Steve still gets so giddy over it, knowing he gets to have this, have Bucky, to hold and kiss and adore this man in his arms for as long as they’re both alive… it’s heady, and something Steve doesn’t want to take for granted, not even for a second. The road they took to get here was too brutal for Steve not to be damn grateful for every moment they have together.
Which means he doesn’t mind the teasing they get from the rest of the team, the not-so-sly remarks and gratuitous eye rolls that Sam and Natasha are so fond of, the downright lewd shit that gets thrown right back in Tony’s face when Bucky reminds them all that neither of them are innocent grandpas.
It’s all part of getting to love Bucky the way he deserves, the way he’s always and will always deserve, and if there’s one thing about the future that Steve unequivocally loves, it’s that he can be as open as he wants about just how much he loves Bucky. And, if people do have a problem with it, Steve can kick their asses — mostly over Twitter, but still. He’s a fan.
“Love you too, Buck.”
Bucky hums, content, and readjusts so that Steve is mostly laying flat on top of him, the both of them stretched out across the couch. He snags the blanket from where it’s half-spilled onto the floor, draping it over Steve enough that it covers the majority of their bodies. Steve snuggles in, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s back, giving him a gentle squeeze to show his appreciation.
He’s all but forgotten the phantom cold that drove him out here in the first place.
“Wanna try going back to sleep?” Bucky murmurs, rubbing circles into Steve’s back.
“Nah. You’re still gonna be here, don’t wanna sleep alone.”
“Mm, fair point. You just gonna lay here, then?”
He could, Bucky won’t protest his weight or the company. “Yeah. Right where I wanna be. You could read to me, though?”
“I’m in the middle of the book, Rogers, you won’t have any clue what’s going on.”
“Just like the sound of your voice, Buck. It’s soothing,” Steve argues, and he’s slurring his words a little, he knows, but he doesn’t care and Bucky doesn’t call him out on it. “Read to me?”
He feels the rumble of Bucky’s laughter in his own chest, pressed right up against him, then the shift of the couch as Bucky grabs his book from the floor and braces it against the dip in Steve’s spine so he can read.
And yeah, Bucky’s right — Steve couldn’t tell you a thing about what’s happening in the book right now (there are gods and monsters and quippy teenagers, but none of it settles quite right in his brain, none of it takes any recognizable shape) but he couldn’t be happier regardless.
Turns out it’s not so bad of a night after all.
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A Fairy Tale’s End [Prolouge]
Pairing: (future) ot7 x reader
Word Count: 4822
Rating: pg-13
Warning: reader is mostly just sad, gets hunted by a creature bent on harming her, brief description about fighting
Genre: fluff, angst, e2l, fantasy!au, supernatural/fairytale!BTS
Summary: You wanted, for once, to be someone important, someone needed- to be wanted and appreciated, to love and be loved. Well, you should be careful what you wish for.
or
A careless wish made on what might be the worst day of your life sets into motion events that puts you on a journey in another world- literally. You wake up to find that you've become a chosen hero- and now you have to save the world!? Thrust into a dangerous quest with no one but seven princes (re:jerks) as team members, can you survive the quest and go home?
AN: I wouldn’t have been able to post this if not for @shadowsremedy so thank you T^T I seriously kept asking him again and again for help aixnsoxnsoxa nOT TO MENTION @dee-ehn who made the banner I’m not over how pretty it is asuidhjasd
This is also a part of @bangtanscenery’s collab, ‘April Showers Bring May Flowers’! Quickly before posting period ends in a few hours, ahahah. I, the fool, am doing a series instead of a oneshot because I have no self-control. Nevertheless, I hope this makes whoever reading smile ^^
masterpost // next chapter
»»————- ♔ ————-««
The streets in the city were always dreary at this time of the night, moreso with how the rain seemed to be specially intense tonight.
Splish, splash.
Your footsteps hardly made a sound in the deafening sound of the downpour. Instead, with every step you took, it was the sound of rain puddles splashing that you heard, and the faint squelch in your sneakers as they became even more soaked. The umbrella in your hands barely protected you from the rain, harsh as the winds were- and your clothes were already a lost cause. Only the tips of your hair were wet, yet the wind had caused your hair to be blown into messy knots, and your makeup- well. You had no doubt that were anyone to see you now, all they’d see was a ragged, downtrodden woman who seemed like she had been broken up with.
Not that you had much motivation to correct that, anyway, even if it was far from the truth.
Or that there was anyone to even see you in your current state. The time was well into the evening, most people having gone home already- and the fierce rain only drove the people left outside into either staying home, or going home. There would be no one sane walking around the streets tonight.
Well, except you.
And even then it was hard to mind. The rain was therapeutic in a way- and even when you arrived back at your apartment, what was there to welcome you but silence? What was there to surround yourself in but silence, echoes of birthday greetings faint and even then insincere, reduced to polite, half-hearted greetings that only reinforced the distance you felt. Between your parents, your family, and to the people who, if asked, would call themselves your friends- but were you, really?
Was it really too much to ask for more than a smile, more than a mention on the day you believed you had the right to feel important on?
At least in the rain it was hard to hear your own thoughts. When you stood under the rain, alone in the streets, it was easy to believe that you were alone in the world, that what you felt truly was reality. You were alone.
Still… as a shiver crept up on your body, the coldness of the rain seeping in, you were forced to relent, looking around for a nearby eave to wait out the rain in. That was all you were looking for to stop yourself from getting too sick. No rest for the wicked, after all.
But then your eyes met the sign of a bookstore near you, and you stopped in your tracks.
Magic Shop.
… What kind of name was that, for a bookstore? Curious eyes wandered along the outside display, the glass offering little view as to what was inside, what with the dim light from outside. Still, it was easy to see that the shop was open- and you hesitated to step in. Your dripping clothes would ruin the shop’s interior, you knew- you probably shouldn’t go inside.
Too bad, you faintly thought. It would be a nice break, small it was. The shop had to be new too- you’d never seen it before despite going through this road so many times now.
You wandered closer, feet dragging as quiet as they could be along the road. A meter away from the glass, in contrast to the bitter cold surrounding you before you could feel a soft kind of warmth coming from inside. Still the inside remained hard to see, as though there was a fog covering your eyes.
“A customer?”
You flinched at the sudden voice, turning to the side.
Mellow eyes that took in your current look without a hint of pity or disdain, accompanied by a warm smile that showed no malice, the woman that suddenly appeared by the door looked at you with curiosity.
“… Oh, um, no,” you mumbled, feeling yourself redden under her stare, even though she didn’t seem to be judging you. “Just keeping myself out of the rain, ma'am.”
She tilted her head at you, the picture of a curious cat, before raising an eyebrow. “Well then- you should come inside anyway.”
“I couldn’t,” you rejected her gently, fidgeting with your soaked clothes. “I’m- well, um, I might ruin your floors.”
“Nonsense,” she tutted at you, beckoning you to come over. You followed her order, a little intimidated by the firm look in her eyes. You raised an eyebrow in surprise as she reached behind her to hand over- a huge towel. Wrapping it around you- where did she get that, you wondered, it was too big not for you to have not seen it, so why? She gently but surely tugged you inside. For a moment you hesitated, foot raised mid-air, before you slowly followed her inside.
And while you didn’t want to impose… it was, admittedly, nice to be out of the rain and with a towel around you. It helped that stepping in, it was as if the rain was little more than background noise- the warmth you felt from before surrounding you oh so heavenly, the chill from the rain being banished instantly. So instead you put your mind to your current situation, instantly looking around the bookstore that originally intrigued you- only to stop. As the two of you stepped in, you couldn’t help but pause as you took the interior of the bookstore in. The air in the bookstore was… strange, to put it in simple words.
No, you mulled over the word in your head. Not quite strange.
Old.
Yes, that was the right word. Inside, it felt as if you had taken a step back in time. Dusty bookshelves filled the floor in neat rows, crammed neatly with books of different shapes and sizes. The bookshelves themselves seemed to be specially made as well- carved decorations standing out neatly, intricate and mesmerizing. The walls lined with bookshelves, the sole exception being the counter. Looking down, the floor was spotlessly clean, the shine of wax evident- and, looking up, there was nothing on the ceiling save for the sole, hanging light lamp.
That wasn’t even beginning to describe how the bookstore was to your other senses- the smell of old parchment mixing with what had to be an incense- nothing but the sound of rain outside and the quiet inside, broken occasionally by the drips of rain falling from your wet figure.
But for some reason, it was how the bookstore simply felt that had you enthralled.
It was hard to describe, but there was something in the air, something that you knew was something so rare- so wonderful, so… magical.
Magical. Yes, that was it. The bookstore seemed magical.
You took a step forward, curious to explore. Each bookshelf was filled with books, yes, but… as you examined them, you were surprised to find that not a single one had a title. All of them leather-bound books, yet not a single one with an engraved title, or an author, or anything to tell them apart from each other, save for the fancy decorations you could see on some. The hints of a ribbon here, and there, yet overall each book seemed to be about the same.
You walked around the bookshelves, curious. Did all the books in the bookshop have blank covers?
As your eyes fell upon the bookshelf nearest to the windows, you tilted your head. Familiar titles of the Grimm Brothers and many other classical authors were on each book- you let your fingers trail over them, a sense of wonder in you at how authentic each book seemed to be, as if they were collected at the time of original publication- the first edition, so to say.
Still, then, what about the other books? You walked back to the original bookshelf you had been looking in, more curious than ever now. Still blank.
Weird, you thought. What kind of bookstore did you step in? Fingers fell unto a single book, and you were just about to tug it off the bookshelf, when-
“You are, then, here for a book?”
You halted, eyes wide as you looked to the side- the woman from before smiling at you.
… When did she arrive? More than that, when had she left? Why didn’t you notice both occurrences? The floor was waxed- it should have been impossible to walk without making a sound. Yet both times she so easily did it that you were very much confused.
“That,” you paused, feeling your face redden slightly as you tried to come up with a response, aware of how long it was taking you to answer. You coughed. “Yes, I am. Um, I mean, I’m looking for something new to read.”
A thought appeared in your head. “That said, uh, what kind of books are these? If- if you don’t mind me asking,” you mumbled. “I mean- the other books were fairy tales, weren’t they? B-But, um, these don’t seem to have any indications of what books they are…“
“Why, they’re fairy tales too, of course,” she beamed at you, before sighing. “Although not many people read them anymore. It’s a shame… perhaps things like knights, magic, and fae aren’t that interesting anymore. Instead they have robots and disasters and whatever young people seem to be reading these days.”
“That’s not true!” You burst out, a part of you immediately upset, before your nerves kicked in and you amended your words. “I mean- I’m proof that that isn’t true, right? I… can’t deny that, um, robots, and uh disasters, all that- they’re appealing to a lot because it’s easier to relate with them. Considering our society now,” you relented.
“B-But,“ you hastily continued. "That doesn’t mean people have abandoned fairy tales. And, um, I think everyone could do with a reminder of old stories now and then, don’t you? Tales about simpler, purer things.”
“Like curses and magic?”
You flushed, pouting. “W-Well, at least they’re easier to understand than human feelings. I mean, I don’t think anyone can tell exactly what they’re feeling at any moment, even if they spend a lifetime studying themselves, right? So, I mean- in comparison, I’d prefer word games and riddles. At least they can be logical,” you fiddled with the hems of your shirt as your rant began to die down. “In a way.”
“… Yes, yes, that’s true.” You glanced at her, unsure if she was simply saying them or if she meant it- but the sudden glee in her voice was not hard to miss, and you rethought your words, unsure if her glee was good or bad for you.
While you fidgeted in place, she began to speak again. “You seem to be familiar with the books by the window?”
“Um- yes,“ you admitted. “I’ve read many of them, or, uh, at least a version of them.”
You shyly added. “Fairy tales are one of my favorites, though I guess that was, um, easy to see from earlier. Honestly… it’s up to the point that I often wish the world was a bit more like fairytale. Or that I lived in one. That would be much more preferable to my life right now.”
The last part of your words was said wryly.
She gave no outward reaction to your words- yet when you looked at her, you were surprised to see her look at you in awe, as if she’d found a rare treasure. Then there was the determined tone in her voice that made you nervous, for some reason. “Yes… this world just isn’t quite right, isn’t it? If you’re looking for a new fairytale to read… yes, if it’s you, I think you’ll appreciate this one just fine... if it’s you, you’ll succeed- you’ll finish the story properly.”
“Huh?” You furrowed your eyebrows, confused, as she suddenly left. “What do you-!”
And then came back seconds later, a book clutched in her hand. “For you,“ she told you with a satisfied look on her face- you warily accepted the book.
Looking down, it seemed to be the same as all the other books in the shelves- leather-bound with a glossy finish, the cover blank save for a light engraving on the side that resembled- flowers?
You barely resisted the urge to bring the book closer to your face, feeling the smooth texture and the smell of old parchment. Just what exactly had you been given? “It’s…”
“A book about a fairy tale,” she finished for you, the smile remaining on her face.
“There’s no- um, there’s no title on the cover,“ you pointed out, feeling a little bewildered at the sudden turn of events. Was this something that she did often? Did you even do something to warrant the book? If the cover was blank… “How old is this book?
It seemed, though, that you wouldn’t be getting any answer to your question- her vague answer only gave you more questions. "There’s no title on the cover because it’s the only one out there of its kind, of course,” she chided you as if you should have known better, but all you could do was look at her in apparent confusion. “And as for how old it is, just know that it’s older than you can imagine.”
You furrowed your eyebrows. “W-Wait, just one? What does that mean?”
“It’s a special kind of fairy tale,” she said slowly, an impatient frown on her face- you bit back the frustration building inside you at her sudden switch of moods. “It’s one of a kind. Magical- you’ll be so immersed in the story, you might even forget about this world. Really, you won’t find any book like this out there!”
At her insistent stare, you reluctantly held the book under your jacket, careful not to let it get wet or damaged. “Okay…”
A glance at the windows revealed that the rain had stopped long ago- really, you should have been in bed by now. You had to admit you were nervous. For once since stepping in, you were all too aware again at the oddness of your situation. You clutched your clothes tighter- dry. A step back- you glanced at the woman who seemed content to see you go.
It was only when you were a step out of the door that she spoke to you again.
“Wait! Don’t open it until you’re about to sleep, or you won’t be able to experience the story properly,“ she firmly instructed you, her voice making you wince.
“O-Okay…” You paused, awaiting for any signal from her that she was going to continue talking, before you resumed. “Um, I should be going now.”
“Alright,” she beamed at you- the whiplash making you even more uneasy. “I hope you enjoy that book!”
It was only when you arrived back at your apartment that you realized the towel had disappeared, and your clothes were dry- your hair neat, make up removed- as if you had never even stepped out in the rain. All that remained that assured you the bookstore was real was the blank package you held in your arms.
»»————- ♔ ————-««
“One of a kind, huh…”
That night, as you laid in bed you found yourself examining the book given to you by the bookshop owner- still mystified by the whole thing. You let your fingers trail along the sides of the book. A part of you was admittedly curious about the book, so held in high view by the shopkeeper.
But.
“Blank,” you murmured, looking down at the pages below when you opened it. Not a single drop of ink anywhere, nor the pressure of a pen or any machinery. The pages themselves were barely yellow, yet all the same there was the faint smell coming off from it that indicated it was antique. You flipped through the ages, confused. However the remaining pages proved to be like the first- and until the very end, the pages were all empty.
“Figures,” you exhaled, feeling oddly disappointed as you closed the book. “The one time I hope, and this happens.“
You stopped in surprise as you felt something on the back. What…
Looking down, you felt bemused. Engraved on the back cover were seven… men. No, not entirely human- you traced pointed ears on one of them, and the faint outline of a bow- another had scales and a tail, while the rest…
Well. You paused. Was there any point in figuring that out? It wouldn’t change that the book was blank. Tomorrow you’d return it, you told yourself. No need to keep what was basically a journal, no matter how pretty it was.
For a moment as you set the book down you remembered the shop keeper’s words, and you chuckled to yourself.
“Make a wish…?” You huffed, chuckling afterwards. “Make my own story, hm?”
“I wish…” You started, your voice a whisper as you stared at the book. “I wish, for once, that I’m able to be someone important… needed. To experience loving someone and being loved for real…”
“For once I want to feel what it’s like to be like a main character in a story…”
»»————- ♔ ————-««
Loud.
When you woke up, it was to the sound of birds chirping ringing in your ear. Which, you faintly thought as you stirred into consciousness, was actually kind of ringing in your head. And annoying. Why would people think it nice to wake up to the sound of nature? Everything- everything was just so loud. Even the grass you were laying on wasn’t in any way comparable to your bed.
Wait.
Why were you laying on grass…?
You opened one eye and hissed. Too fucking bright. Bringing up a hand to intercept the light, you allowed yourself a few moments to adjust to your surroundings.
You fell asleep on your bed. You had, hadn’t you? But- your eyes were squinted even as you slowly opened them- you weren’t in your apartment anymore. Nor were you anywhere near your city- you would have remembered seeing these-
You paused, taking in the appearance of the strange trees. You’d never seen it before in your life, which, what the hell? Where the hell were you then?
You… should have been feeling panicked. You should have, shouldn’t you? Here you were in an absolutely unknown and strange place. Anyone would panic.
But your head felt stuffed instead, as though there was a fog inside and you were straining to see through it.
You shakily got up on your knees, noting distantly that you were still dressed in what you’d originally slept in- a a huge t-shirt and a pair of shorts. Your slippers were also on your feet- that was good, right? Not the fact that you weren’t dressed for the outdoors, but the fact that you hadn’t been changed out of your clothes by- whoever had brought you where the hell you were.
Your legs were unsteady as you walked over to a nearby pond. When you looked over- you felt a steady sort of relief as you realized it was still you in all your… glory-ish. Nothing had changed, or was changed about you. But that didn’t answer the question- where the hell were you, and how had you gotten here? Nothing was out of place with you, and you couldn’t remember anything…
You turned around and nearly fell back into the water as you met the eyes of- something.
Something, because your mind had to have been playing tricks on you. There was no way you were seeing a small- human. Ish? Human-ish? With a pair of- what kind of wings were those? They couldn’t have been butterfly wings, and they were too little for any other type. Actually, the initial thought probably should have been why there were little wings attached to tiny humans. Wait. But they had pointed ears. They couldn’t have been human, could they?
“Wha…”
You couldn’t help just staring at it, confused. Thankfully enough though, the small creature also seemed to be quite confused as well, looking back at you with a tilted gaze. You hesitated, then slowly stepped back- and then you let out a cry of pain.
What seemed to be adorable as much as confusing it was before turned to now be a fucking menace and a terror in one as, with a raise of its arms, the soft grass from before shot up and pulled you harshly to the ground. You let out a wheeze as one of the grass vines wrapped itself around your waist, another around your arms- its hold on you firm, then squeezing tighter and tighter.
No no no no no, you had to get up- you could feel the rocks digging into your back, a light, malicious giggling coming off from the creature from before, and, more than a feeling, knew that if you didn’t do anything then, you were dead. You weren’t- you weren’t dreaming, a part of you knew that from the start, but this only reinforced it- you would actually die.
Fuck this shit, you thought, and with a fierce, concentrated kick with your legs, you hastily pulled yourself from the grass ropes, your heart beating in your chest as you frantically began running away from whatever you encountered. You didn’t know which direction you were running off to, and you didn’t care- your main priority being to set distance between the two of you. It proved to be right, as you could hear the slither of grass as it furiously nipped at your heels, trying to cage you in- shrieks and maniacal giggles echoing behind you.
What the fuck, you chanted in your head. What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck.
You almost screamed as you tripped, although you were able to recover your bearings just as quick. The world around you seemed to blur, the only action your body had to run, when you saw- him. A young man sitting on a horse, riding towards you. A part of you noticed his strange clothes- the way his hair framed his face in locks that made him more handsome than anyone you’d ever known, the plump lips and angled nose- but the main part of you was focused on having someone possible save you. You screamed.
“Help!”
“Grab my hand!” He yelled, the horse immediately stopping in its tracks with a cloud of dust rising behind it. You didn’t hesitate, taking his offered hand. It only took a second for you to be smoothly swung onto the horse’s back, and with a sharp move of his legs the horse turned around, galloping fast away.
But not fast enough. You stared in horror and fear as the grass seemed to move even faster, as though the creature was a snake instead of whatever it had been. Even the trees seemed to come alive, branches shaking slightly in a deliberate manner. You turned around to warn your companion, when he muttered something that barely registered in your ears.
“Of all the places to appear…”
“I think it’s still following us!” You cried out, letting out a sharp squeak as you ducked, one blade of grass almost wrapping itself around your neck.
Your companion let out a sharp scoff. “Well, what do you expect, you’re a practically a chasm of magic.”
Your eyes widened. “Magic? What do you- ah!” You screamed again as you faced another near miss. As the horse jumped over a tree root, you instinctively held on to him, your fingers finding purchase in his shirt before you turned to face him with a bewildered gaze. “What do you mean by that, magic isn’t- your ears!?”
You gaped at the pointed cartilages, unsure what to say. The disbelief in your companion’s voice however, was palpable. “Did you just realize you were talking to an elf?”
“You’re an elf!?”
“Of course I am!” He hissed out, before groaning. “I can’t believe it- the only hope we have, and she turns out to be useless.”
“I wouldn’t say I’m useless, as much as I don’t fucking know what’s going on,“ you shot back, annoyed and frustrated. “Well, not much other than that we’re getting chased by fucking murderous fairies.”
“Pixies.”
“What?”
You couldn’t see him, but you could feel the irritation thick in his voice. “Look at their color and size- that’s a fae born from corrupted magic. Meaning, it’s a pixie, not a fairy.”
This time it was your turn to be in disbelief. “Oh god, you’re actually serious.”
“If anything, you’re the one being utterly ridiculous right now,” he muttered, before sharply yelling, “Duck!”
You reflexively obeyed, narrowly avoiding a- was that a tree branch!?
“Isn’t there anything you can do to stop them!?” You screamed, even more terrified now than before.
However this time it seemed that your companion was focused on your escape, or rather to ignore you- you weren’t sure. You shivered, your hold on his shirt tightening even more as a sharp wave of faint panic rose up in you.
“Oh god, I’m going to die and it’s going to be by pixies, of all things, in a dream I don’t even know about,“ you whimpered.
You squeaked as you felt a change in your surroundings- looking around in surprise as you realized the grassy plains were making way for dirt roads and stone pavements. When you looked to the side, you were no more terrified than to see people milling around, faces set into fear or confusion.
“We’re approaching the city!?”
The horse stopped quite smoothly, despite the tremble in its body- you almost fell off as your companion descended, though he pulled you off and behind him afterwards.
You trembled. What else were you supposed to do? You didn’t even- nothing had been making sense for you since you woke up. A part of you wanted to ask him what the hell he was thinking, stopping, when the- pixie arrived.
“There’s nowhere to run- oh god,” you choked out, freezing as you heard it’s giggling.
“I don’t think a god will help us now,“ he muttered, plump lips twisting into a scowl. “Stay there if you want to live.”
The giggling grew louder- you flinched as you felt something manifest in the air, before you noticed them- long, tendrils of vine from the forest, creeping up into shapes behind the pixie. You stared at it in horror- only to gape as your companion pulled out the bow he was carrying, drawing it back and shooting arrows- some at the vines, but mostly for the pixie it seemed.
A vine coming for you overhead quickly found itself pierced apart, and the others dealt with in a similar manner- even as you stood there, initially frozen in fear, you eventually began to look around, hoping for a solution to stop the- the pixie.
But, the thought trailed in your mind. What were you supposed to do? You didn’t even know a single thing waking up here- you still didn’t understand what was going on.
But then you heard the heavy thump of something getting hit- and the accompanying cry of pain from him, even if it was quickly muffled-
You looked back at him, noticing the vines slowly overpowering him as he became slower and more sluggish, one in particular aiming for his unprotected back-
You ran forward without thinking. He’s going to die, you thought- you had to do something.
“Stop!” You cried out, desperate- please, you thought. Anything, just to stop it. As your hand touched- something, something that you couldn’t figure out, just something, you felt it. Something hot and heavy, something tainted and dark flowing into your hands, before a fierce warmth came from you, overpowering it, and you opened your eyes-
A flash of light- an overwhelming, searing light- covered you, blocking all other senses and leaving you feeling as though you were floating on air- and then, silence.
When you opened your eyes, it was to the shocked expressions of not only the populace, but the minute widening of your companion’s eyes. You froze, confused and dazed.
What had just happened…?
“You…”
When you glanced down, you saw a crater leading away on the ground- and at the end of it, the faint shimmer of wings, though not badly mangled. The pixie. Too little to fully see, but a part of you just knew they would not be getting up again, for a long time at least.
… Had you… done that…?
When you slowly looked around once more, it was to the chatter, the excited voices, the rising fervent pitch of the crowd. Faintly you felt your hands touch your heart- beating loud and fast, almost too much- everything was too much-
“The Savior has arrived! Praise be the gods!”
The cheering broke out- and your consciousness fell away.
#bangtanscenery#bangtanhq#ficswithluv#btswritersnet#bangtanscenerycollab#bts x reader#ot7 x reader#seokjin x reader#yoongi x reader#hoseok x reader#namjoon x reader#jimin x reader#taehyung x reader#jungkook x reader#bts fanfiction#bts fic
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Heyy happy FFWF! You’re amazing and I love your fics! So, my brain just decided to remind me of one of your posts from a while ago where you gave us a snippet of a fic you’re currently writing (it was the seven-sentence challenge I think) and I got curious about it again. Is it something you’re still working on? If it is, would it be possible to get another sneak peek to satisfy our irondad cravings? I’m sending some sunshine your way, hope you have an awesome day!☀️
Hiya! Happy FFWF!
I am indeed still working on my BioDad fic. I am about 90K written but I won't lie, I’m struggling a bit. I think a lot of it has to do with wanting it to be good enough- it doesn't feel like it has the same flow like I had with A Peter Parker Problem. I mean, I think what I have is ok but I want it to be as better (- sorry couldn't resist a Homecoming pun..!). So I prob need to get out of my own head about it. Anyway, that really isn't what you asked me, is it?! Can you have another sneak peek? Yes you can! Ok, you know how long winded I am so it’s more of a half a chapter rather than a snippet - oh well!
----
Peter
“Peter, Boss would like to see you in his workshop.” FRIDAY’s voice filtered down from above.
Peter looked up towards where it had emanated from, worrying his lips between his teeth.
Why did Mr Stark want him to go down there?
Peter had retreated back to his room after they had said their goodbyes to Harley. The weekend had turned out much better than he had expected. He’d actually enjoyed himself and not felt like he was taking up space in the Penthouse. They’d tinkered about with tech and watched movies. Mr Stark was so much more relaxed in the workshop. He couldn’t deny that it’d been fascinating to see the man in his element. He’d left the two teenagers to do their own thing at one point, but Peter’s eyes had been drawn to the man as he worked: watching him work with holographic schematics with singular focus.
Peter put down his pen on top of the homework packet that he was working on and headed towards the workshop.
Sweat started to pool under his armpits as the doors to the room swished open as soon as he was in front of them; no need to knock or announce his arrival.
He tentatively followed the sound of metal on metal and as he turned the corner, he could see Mr Stark was working a sheet of a thin alloy into – well he wasn’t sure what, but something else. There was a bead of sweat running down the side of his face, and his hands were oily.
The banging stopped for a moment, and Peter cleared his throat.
Mr Stark twisted towards the noise, pulling his safety visor up when he saw who it was and sending Peter a warm smile.
“You, um, wanted to see me, sir?”
Tony took the visor off completely now and headed towards him, picking up and rag and wiping his hands as he did.
“Yeah kid, I did. It’s about borrowing the tools.”
Peter straightened up. Shit, he was in trouble. He looked at the floor and put his hands in his pockets.
“I’m sorry. FRIDAY said you wouldn’t mind, but I should have asked you directly. It won’t happen again, sir.”
“Oh no, that’s not what I meant…” Mr Stark’s face crumpled. “My tools are your tools. It’s just, I figured it’s safer if you use them in here. So, I set you up with your own workstation in here, you know, so you can have a proper area to create.”
Peter stared at him. He’d never had his own place before. A million possibilities went through his mind.
“It’s just over here…”
He followed Mr Stark a few steps to where there was indeed a cleared off desk.
“I figured you might like a holo projector too.”
Peter’s eyes widened as Mr Stark opened it up.
“I set you up your own server so you can save your work easily. You can talk to FRIDAY just as you’ve seen me do and she’ll help with any calculations or, well, anything you require.”
Peter continued gaping, as Tony jotted something into the holo and a rotating gauntlet came into view. “I took the liberty of putting this on here for you to practice getting used to working with the system.”
Peter stepped forward straight away. This was the coolest thing ever. He pushed his fingers forward and grabbed a piece of the floating gauntlet in his hands, pulling it apart in a motion that he’d seen Mr Stark doing yesterday. The image separated out into the component parts. He moved the pieces around with no more than a flick of his wrist. God, the whole system was so intuitive, it was incredible.
Peter spent a few moments engrossed before he realised that Mr Stark was standing there watching him.
“Oh, thank you, this is awesome. Th-thanks.”
He saw Mr Stark moving slowly, no doubt on purpose, to place his hand on his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. It felt warm and secure. It had been a while since he’d felt such a gentle, warm gesture from an adult. He turned his attention back to the hologram; trying to keep his cheeks from burning but knowing he probably wouldn’t succeed.
Mr Stark’s hand retreated and he did too.
“Um, Mr Stark?”
The man turned around with a hopeful expression.
“I, uh, don’t suppose you have time to show me how it all works.” Peter chewed the inside of his mouth. He didn’t need help, not really.
Mr Stark let out the biggest smile that Peter had seen since he arrived, and he came and stood next to him.
“Yeah, sure bud. All the time in the world.”
Tony
Tony’s heart had taken a while to calm down. He’d been in a lot of high pressure situations in his lifetime. Literal life and death situations; Afghanistan, the wormhole and yet here his heart had been hammering just as much as it had then. At least that is what it felt like to him. Hell, the kid could probably hear it from where he was stood next to him.
He was stood shoulder to shoulder with his son. Just that thought alone was enough to make his stomach flip – though this time in a good way. His heart rate gradually began to decline, and he tried really hard to keep the ridiculous smile off of his face.
Being so close to him, hearing him talk. And God, he was so fucking smart. He seemed to want to hide it, but then he’d start to get excited, and Tony could see the inquisitiveness and joy in him. It was there, had been all along, there just hadn’t been the chance to push it out from behind the sheer fear the kid must be feeling about this whole new situation, this whole new identity that he had.
Tony knew that they should have talked about it all directly by now. But the kid was so on edge, he didn’t want to do anything to make it worse.
Social Services had reminded him that one of the major conditions of their breaking protocol was Tony’s agreement that Peter would attend Counselling sessions – both individual and family sessions. They were set up to start next week – it was just down to Tony to tell him. Tony looked over at him, as Peter studied some calculations, his dark eyes intent on the numbers in front of him, knocking a pencil against his lips as he did. Not today.
This whole weekend had been incredible – he’d be sure to send Harley a fat gift for his part in that. He’d made it all so effortless. So Keener would be getting a gift and an extra bump in his college fund too. But if the weekend had been good, then this afternoon had been perfect.
Tony hadn’t been too sure how the offering of the worktable would go down. It could quite possibly have been met with the same polite distance Peter had shown him since he got here. He was sure he was being totally transparent. Having the worktable in here meant spending time with him. He wasn’t sure that was what Peter wanted. But then, he’d just been about to leave him to it, not wanting to hang around applying pressure and Peter had reached out to him. Peter didn’t need guidance on the system – not really, that much was obvious in the first five minutes - so Tony could only surmise that Peter wanted to spend time with him. He’d asked about Tony’s old projects and tentatively asked Tony to show him them. Which was how they came to be elbow deep in giving DUM-E a proper tune up. Self-admittedly, Peter wasn’t as up with mechanical engineering, so it gave Tony the opportunity to teach him – something that he had always imagined that he’d have the opportunity to do with his son.
Peter’s head lifted and a moment later Tony heard the tell-tale click of Pepper’s heels.
“Tony!” Pepper’s voice called. And oh yes, that was her pissed off tone.
“Over here,” he called back cheerfully.
“So you are here!” Her voice was starting to grow louder as she got closer. “You can’t just mute FRIDAY and include me in that; we had a meeting, what was so…”
Pepper had made it to where they were and stopped still, her eyes training from him to Peter and back again.
“Sorry Pep, forgot about that meeting.” Tony couldn’t help but smile at her with what he hoped was a ‘look at this, don’t mess this up’ vibe.
Pepper’s mouth was open but before she could say anything, Peter did.
“Sorry Miss Potts, I asked Mr Stark to show me how DUM-E worked…” Peter seemed to hunch in on himself.
“That’s no problem. Tony appointed me as CEO specifically so he didn’t have to deal with meetings, if I remember correctly,” Pepper said, sending him a warm smile.
“That was one reason.”
“I suppose it is pointless of me to ask if either of you have stopped to eat whilst you have been down here?”
Tony looked at Peter, who looked back.
“Erm…”
Pepper rolled her eyes. “Tony, it’s 8pm and he hasn’t eaten!”
“Oh, sorry kid…”
“I didn’t even notice the time, I was so focussed,” Peter said sheepishly.
“Oh no, now there are two of you.” Pepper put a hand to her forehead. “I’ll go and order something in whilst you finish up and wash up. Pizza ok, Peter?”
“Yes, Miss Potts. Thank you.”
With that she turned on her heel and was off.
Tony looked to Peter who looked a little chastised.
“You did good, kid. If you hadn’t been here, she’d have had my head.” Tony grinned and Peter seemed to push a little smile out. “Shall we get cleaned up?”
Peter looked down at the robot in front of them as he twisted his hands together. “We are about ready to close him up, right? I don’t like to leave him all hanging out. Can we just finish it off, sir?”
Tony shifted his weight back.
“How about we make a deal? You stop calling me ‘sir’, and we can finish DUM-E off.”
Peter looked up at him, a look of uncertainty in his face. Was it so hard to not call your own father ‘sir’? Had his parents or uncle been so formal? Or was it something else? The words emotional distance floated into his mind – huh- maybe he had paid some attention during his past therapy sessions.
“Ok,” he said softly.
“Great,” Tony gently knocked his shoulder into Peter’s without thinking too much about it and was rewarded with a smile. “Let’s get this guy back on the road.”
----
Thanks for the ask!
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Reconciliation - Part 2
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Pairing: Im Jaebum x reader
Genre: ex-lovers au / angst / romance / business au
Warnings: mature content in a future part
Reconciliation will be shared daily at 10am NZST.
Preview | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5
It was too late. The damage had been done; the collateral had been collected by you. For the first time in his life, Jaebum saw the consequence for how he treated those around him. As he travelled up to his office, he looked at the faces surrounding him. Did he even know anything about the people who walked in and out of this building each day? Aside from their strengths and weaknesses, what made them tick? What did they go home to each day? A family or a parent? Did they tell them anything about their work day? Was he ever mentioned?
Did they think their CEO was a fair man?
Somewhere along the line, Jaebum had royally messed up. The figures no longer added up, and he could tell he had been in a deficit for too long. You had masked all his weaknesses, accepting him as he came and not once arguing with his bad choices.
He couldn’t blame you. You had believed he would always keep you at the top.
Still, it had made him arrogant. To covet what he wanted, to have no opposition until now had spoiled him. He had grown too fast too soon, greed compelling him forward at each turn. It didn’t matter what he needed or what he did for himself. Jaebum only needed to be on top of everything.
He had been afraid to look back at the path beyond the woman he had placed there to keep himself from wandering astray. Now that he was all alone, he was a lost cause. There was no pathway opened in front, each door locked down by you.
By himself.
His focus faltered in meetings, his indecisiveness plagued him at every turn. Your soothing words no longer there to help seal the deal whenever he doubted himself.
Jaebum felt incapable.
This led to him taking the first break of his career. It surprised him when he realised the only time he had gotten on a plane in the last seven years was to meet with clients and investors. He felt anxious as he buckled himself in, chiding himself for being so foolish. Glancing at the empty seat beside him, Jaebum sighed. Perhaps he was nervous because he was alone.
Swallowing back his emotions, he placed in his earbuds and closed his eyes.
He needed to rediscover who he was.
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Jaebum slept away the first three days of his stay. When he groggily pulled himself out of the bed on the fourth morning, he was surprised by how much he needed that rest. He was always on the go, forfeiting sleep for work. Now he felt entirely overdone with lying in a bed and wanted to stretch his legs.
He had opted to stay at a beach resort, hoping the salty air and boasted relaxation would soothe his soul. Admittedly, it had been the one you had recommended you head to after the contract had been signed for the deal that fell through.
That led to your disappearance from his life.
Still, he held on to what little remained. He had never told you how he felt about you unless it was when you were entangled in his arms. The confessions you deserved had never once been spoken further than upon your skin. Foolishly believing you knew all there was to how his mind and heart worked.
Jaebum realised he knew very little of yours.
It was early enough to catch the communal breakfast at the main hall and once casually dressed, Jaebum took the winding pathway towards the main building. It was already shaping up to be a cloudless day, the sun letting him know the light sweater he had over his polo would be soon unneeded.
Just as he went to step into the building, he stopped when he realised someone else was trying to do the same. Pocketing a hand, he smiled lightly as he gestured for them to go first instead.
And when they moved inside, he saw you.
Blinking once, he refocused on your face, searching it hungrily. His body lurched and he took an unsteady step forward, hopeful that his desperation to see you wasn’t causing him to hallucinate.
You stepped back and his mouth fell ajar. “Y-Y/N.”
“Jaebum.”
“Wha—what are you doing here and-”
You breezed by him, leaving him stunned for a second, scrambling into the building behind you. He followed you into the breakfast buffet, staring relentlessly at your back profile as if it would give him the answers he craved.
Why were you here?
Did you remember the plan to come here too?
Did you miss him as much as he missed you?
Blindly grabbing some of the food before him, Jaebum didn’t miss a step to keep up with you, sliding into the seat across from yours when you sat down. You gave him a pointed look despite how flustered you were.
He couldn’t hide the smile that formed on his lips; he had always loved when you looked like that. And with your hair down and sans your tailored outfit, Jaebum found himself falling in love with you all over again.
He blinked rapidly; it felt too raw to think of the word love right now.
“What are you doing?”
“You didn’t answer me.”
You cocked your head to the side. “I don’t have to any more. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m no longer working for you.”
“I know.”
“Then, would you like to leave the table first or shall I?” you asked bitterly and he stopped adding maple syrup to his pancakes to look up at you. Your expression softened and he watched as you wrestled with the old you. The one who reacted to every look he gave you.
Diverting his eyes to the plates on the table, he went to leave when he noticed you mindlessly pulling your fork up to your mouth, lurching over to grab your wrist before you could eat. You shook under his touch and he pushed back his feelings to focus on why he stopped you. Reaching for the piece of fruit you had come dangerously close to eating, he popped it in his mouth.
“Did you forget you’re allergic to pineapple?” he murmured, taking the three other pieces from your dish before scraping back his chair, getting up and leaving you reeling after his departure.
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Now that Jaebum had seen you once, it felt as if all day he was running into you somehow. You were at the pool when he turned up for a swim, you crossed paths with him on the beach and you even ended up attending the same night festival the resort had put on. It was killing Jaebum to keep stepping away from you when all he wanted to do was grab a hold of you and apologise for how he had been over the years.
Even though he knew that a simple apology wouldn’t solve anything.
Equally, thoughts of you never left him. You looked even more breathtaking than he remembered in your swimsuit, your legs lighting up the flames of arousal within him. Further than your physical attributes, he craved even fifteen minutes of conversation with you. His attraction to you had started all from a debate you had both held in a business management class and he couldn’t get over how much he missed just hearing what you had to say.
It made him wonder, had he even heard your real thoughts over the past four years when you had worked together? Now that he had all the time in the world, he wanted to spend it on rediscovering you.
Jaebum was too much of a coward to approach you though, your cold barrier earlier in the morning and the memory of that night reminding him of his place.
You had stepped out of his life with no intention to return.
The following morning he decided to go for a run along the beach, hoping to burn off some of his frustrations. He hadn’t slept nearly as well as the first three nights, merely staring up at the ceiling of his room thinking of you. Of what he liked about you, the things he disliked too. The way you felt in his arms, and the way you always fell asleep on him after the night ending with avid moans of euphoria.
The bed had felt far too cold for Jaebum to gain any successful rest.
He had already run the length of the beach to the cove at the end before turning around to head back for a shower before breakfast. Jaebum was satisfied with the burn in his lungs and the blood pumping in his veins. It empowered him enough to face the day, hoping that he would at least remain in control of his emotions if he happened to see you.
And it was seeing you that sent him hurtling into the damp sand suddenly, unprepared to cross paths with you so soon. Groaning after his less than stellar dismount from empowerment and hitting the ground running literally, Jaebum hoped that you hadn’t seen him.
But you had and he was red-faced when you dropped to your knees at his side. “Oh my God, are you okay?!”
“No,” he admitted and he attempted a laugh. Looking up at your stricken expression, he laughed harder. “No, I haven’t been alright for months now.”
You pursed your lips, seemingly wanting to say something more but your judgement ruled it out. He sighed, wishing you had just said whatever it was. Hauling himself up into a seated position, Jaebum waved you off. “You don’t have to worry about me.”
“Okay then, I won’t,” you answered curtly, getting back to your feet when his hand reached out to take a hold of yours.
Jaebum lowered his head. “Could you though? Is there a chance you could worry about me again?”
You stared down at his feeble request, uncertain.
_________________
Part 3
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My Little Secret (Part 3)
Pairing: NCT Jaehyun x reader
Genre: Angst
Summary: Welcome to the house of torture, where you find yourself struggling to survive.
Note: This is the last installment of “My Little Secret”! It was supposed to be longer (seriously, way longer), but I decided to cut it down. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been able to upload today. If you haven’t read part 1 or part 2, check them out here or here. Enjoy!
____________________________________________________________________________
It was day two of you living in the house of torture, and the torture began with a simple call. Nothing was more tiring than the constant cries of your morning alarm, but nothing was more frightening than waking up to the screaming ringtone of your phone before your alarm. It was five minutes till five in the morning, and Johnny was calling you--nothing about it was a good sign.
The week before you had temporarily moved into the Jung, Lee, Kim household, Johnny and you were promoted to one of the higher positions in your department, effectively ending your boss-and-subordinate position with Jia and subsequently her frequent calls, which you felt sorry to whomever would take your position. Instead, your calls came from Johnny, who was your partner-in-crime in the company since you two were exclusively the two assistants of Chris, your current boss.
With you groggily forcing yourself up your bed, the phone kept ringing across the room. You were trying that “life hack” of waking up in one try by having your phone away from easily accessible areas around you, but with the surprise calls, you were sure to give up the habit soon.
“What?” you said grouchily into the speaker once you barely made it to your desk.
“Yeesh, I woke the Grinch up,” Johnny responded jokingly.
You wouldn’t have it. “It’s almost five, Johnny. We leave for work at seven.”
Cue the dramatic list of things you had to do that day, commencing your wonderful morning of your second day in the house that wasn’t yours. That was just a small appetizer of the horrors of your mornings there. They were nothing in comparison to your nights when you would return to the sweet smell of whatever dish Doyoung or Jaehyun were cooking but couldn’t afford to eat with the work you had to do. They paled in comparison to your lonely nights up in the kitchen, fetching water while looking over some thick files in the dimly-lit kitchen. They were a speck of dust in comparison to the nights when you actually had the time to sleep, yet you couldn’t. You would lie awake in bed, drowning yourself in a whirlpool of the same thoughts. What kind of thoughts? Surprisingly, none of them had to do with your work. No, you were sick of it. Rather, they were the kind of thoughts that involved the certain man sleeping in the next room.
Caught up with work, it wasn’t hard to swallow your feelings about Jaehyun whenever you two were in the same room, an occurrence that was rare with your crazy schedule and Jaehyun’s focus on Jaehyung. Sometimes, you would wonder why your sister suggested that you filled in her spot while she was away when all you would do was work even in the house.
Days rolled by quicker than you expected, and they were unsurprisingly unpleasant. You were able to suppress your feelings for Jaehyung to some degree and could hold conversations with him, building the foundation of your guys’ relationship as in-laws. You even initiated the conversations sometimes. But all that just reminded you that you couldn’t have him, and it was killing you.
Soon, it was the second to last day at the house, and you (thankfully) had the day off. You had told Jaehyun the night before to relax so that you could start taking care of Jaehyung more, but the kind father refused. So there you were on the couch, watching Jaehyung’s favorite movie with everyone else in the living room. It was one of the rare moments when Jaehyung stayed quiet, his eyes watching the screen with so much anticipation that you wanted to pinch his cheeks. You didn’t, of course, since you didn’t want to pull him out of his zone. Instead, you focused your attention to the movie, which you admittedly thought was entertaining
Lunch rolled by like a breeze and Jaehyung was sound asleep in his room. Before you knew it, you were back in your room on your laptop, looking over the interview Johnny had with one of the most renowned artists of the digital age even though it was your day off.
“Johnny, I think you can send it to Chris,” you spoke into your speaker, making small commentary on a few slides. “It looks great.”
Despite giving him the okay sign to proceed with the presentation, you sensed that there was hesitation on the other line.
“What?” you asked, an ugly feeling clawing into you. “What’s wrong?”
Another moment of silence sunk in before Johnny dropped the bomb. “Chris also told me that Jack’s manager called.”
You drew a sharp breath inward. “No.”
From your friend’s visibly frustrated sigh, you could only imagine your boss’ deeply furrowed eyebrows. “Don’t tell me he canceled.”
“He said something about schedule conflicts.”
There was no better word than exasperation to describe how you felt. Jack was someone everyone from Asia to North America knew. He was the guy that everyone wanted to get an interview of--he always turned offers down. Somehow, Chris managed to get a hold of his manager and arranged a meeting for both an interview and a photoshoot, but there was always an unspoken tension that whispered an ominous message that Jack would cancel. The main story for your November issue was now empty.
“That jackass,” you murmured under your breath as you furiously typed a message to Chris on your phone. “With two days from the shoot he’s bailing? Unbelievable.”
“Chris already said that there was nothing we could do about it,” Johnny said, stopping you from your impetuous typing. “So don’t request that we call Jack’s manager again.”
“We can’t just let this egoistic man do whatever he pleases,” you huffed furiously. “Our entire team has been working day and night for this, and the one day we’re let to rest is the day he decides to suddenly say that he won’t be cooperating. The audacity of this man to cancel two days before the shoot is unacceptable. Just who on Earth does he think he is?”
By the time you were done ranting, you were already seated on the edge of your bed, pulling up your socks.
“A worldwide superstar,” Johnny candidly replied to your rhetorical question.
“Well he obviously needs a wake-up call,” you grumbled. “Can you send me his address?”
Rummaging through your bag in an effort to find your keys, you heard Johnny say, “You don’t even know if he’ll be there.”
“So I’ll camp out.”
At that statement, Johnny decided against picking up a fight. He knew better than to have you get riled up even more. You were on your way out when Jaehyun came out of his room with Mark and asked where you were going.
“Work,” you said over your shoulder before swiftly leaving the house before anyone could say anything else.
“Isn’t it her day off?” Mark uttered when he recovered from the fact that you had just gotten away in a blink of an eye. “It’s a national holiday.”
With a frown, the taller man stared at the door. “Jaehyung was looking forward to spending the afternoon with her.”
“Maybe she’ll come back soon.”
It was midnight by the time you had personally convinced Jack to take part in the interview and photoshoot. You had waited in your car for six hours in front of his house, hoping that each car that passed by belonged to Jack. At the second hour mark, Johnny joined you in the waiting session, originally there to tell you that you were crazy until he gave in. For half an hour, Jack refused to let you in. He thought you were a fan at first, but even after you cleared the misinterpretation, he still refused to let you in, let alone be the main story of the magazine. It didn’t matter if the wind was frosting your hands or freezing your ears: you had to convince Jack. After waiting outside at his gates for another four hours, you successfully got the conceited man to let you in for only five minutes.
“You’re seriously crazy,” Johnny breathed out into the cold night the moment you two stepped out of Jack’s house. “You’re a crazy lady.”
A huge smile was planted on your lips as you closed the gates behind Johnny.
“We did it,” you said, almost whispering. “We did it.”
Engulfing you in a warm hug, Johnny patted your back and gave you a squeeze. “You did it.”
You laughed joyously and swayed your bodies side-to-side, returning Johnny’s actions, and when you let go of him, you immediately squealed and jumped around like a two-year old.
“We got Jack!” you shouted excitedly, twirling across the street. “We did it!”
It probably wasn’t the best idea to run around the streets at midnight when you were exhausted from waiting because on the way to your sister’s house, you were yawning every passing second and almost fell asleep at each red light you encountered. Making it across the lawn wasn’t an easy task either with the wind forcefully pushing away from entering. It was a quarter till one in the morning when you opened the front door, greeted by your brother-in-law from the kitchen. You weakly waved at him, but were too tired to bother starting a small conversation with him. You couldn’t even hear the man ask you whatever he asked, not even your name. All you could do was stare at your moving legs, which seemed to move on a mind of their own as they moved past the shoe room, and watch your world turn black.
...
“No, Johnny was there with me,” Doyoung heard you say while he flipped the waffle maker over the stove. “Yeah, I’m glad we didn’t cancel everything.”
“Jesse?” he called out, leaning his head back to see you reach out for the doorknob.
“Don’t worry!” you responded, waving to him briefly. “I’ll be back before dinner!”
And you were gone like that. At the sound of the door shutting, a certain someone with a long pair of joggers and a white t-shirt appeared from the basement.
“Was that Mark?” he asked in a husky voice, slipping into one of the dining chairs.
When Doyoung revealed that it was you, the man immediately shot up from his chair and rushed to the windows. Sure enough, you were speedily walking across the street, busily talking to someone on the phone.
Catching you while you were knocked out was the last thing Jaehyun had imagined he would be doing earlier that morning. He was so concerned that you wouldn’t return home that he stayed up all night, wandering back and forth from the living room to his room, so he almost lost it when you fell into his arms. No matter how many times he called out your name, you wouldn’t wake up. Crouched on the ground with you cradled in his arms, he watched you soundly breathe in and out with a relieved expression. Gathering his strength, he stood on his feet and lifted you up in bridal style, taking you to your room as quietly as he could. While he tucked you under the covers, he watched you go off into dreamland peacefully, which oddly made him feel at ease. As he brushed away a few stray strands of hair from your face and observed your soft but dominant facial features, a strong wave of discovery hit him like a rock. His pulse began to pick up, and he was no longer at ease. But what he did was simple: he left an unopened box of aspirin and a water bottle next to your phone, which he carefully placed on the bedside table. When you left the house without a notice, he went into your room and saw the aspirin tray peeking out of its box and the water bottle three-quarters full. A smile unknowingly rested on his face.
Later that night, when you returned well past dinner time, you went straight to your room, passing the meal that was left for you on the dinner table and calling Jia.
“That’s great,” you told her through the phone, plopping down onto your chair. “Tell Emma that we’re expecting her entire team there, too.”
A small repetition of knocks shortly followed and seeing who it was at the door, you quickly hung up on Jia and swiveled your chair around.
“What’s up?” you greeted the man of your dreams, watching him take great strides towards your bed. “I thought you were asleep.”
“I couldn’t,” he replied simply, situating himself comfortably on top of your big covers.
Turning around back to your computer, you attempted to force down the intense emotions that were resurfacing. With the handsome man showing up in casual joggers and a simple t-shirt, an outfit that looked damn fine on him, you had to mentally slap yourself to come back to your senses. But they kicked back in an instant when he called, “Jesse.”
At the sound of your name melodiously leaving the lips of Jaehyun, you restrained yourself from looking at him.
“I’m listening,” you said, searching for a lost document in the sea of mess known as your desktop.
A short-lived second of crickets passed before he said, “Shouldn’t you be taking a break from work?”
With your eyes busily scanning for the file, you answered monotonously, “I already did when we were watching the movie yesterday.”
“You came back at one yesterday,” he urged in a more pressing voice. “Jaehyung was waiting for you.”
That got you to stop what you were doing. You hated it when you let down Jaehyung, and you didn’t need to be reminded of your constant shortcomings.
“I’ll see him first thing in the morning,” you said barely above a whisper.
“Jesse, look at me.”
Those four simple words were all it took for your heart to skip a beat. A small tugging of your heart began, the tug you felt during your sleepless nights. Silently sighing, you prepared yourself to set your eyes on the most beautiful man. Of all your years working and facing severely bad days, the hardest challenge in your life was to look at Jaehyun straight in the eye. Nothing competed the concerned gaze he gave you. Absolutely nothing.
Giving yourself another mental slap, you returned his seriousness with a flat, naive look. When he took a step forward, beginning his advancement towards you, you focused your nervous, excited energy on your toes, squeezing them. With a few feet in between you two, he settled on your desk and held your gaze with so much intensity that you had to blink.
“Don’t you think you’re working too much?”
Your brows instantly furrowed. “What?”
“You’re giving up your personal time and social life to work when you don’t have to.”
Despite Jaehyun’s soft, cautious tone, you felt attacked and alert: the man you loved thought you had no social life.
“I do have a social life,” you argued, returning your gaze back to the screen to break the horrific feeling sinking into your stomach. “You just don’t know it.”
“Jesse.”
The smooth, fragile fingers of the man spread warmth throughout your body when he touched your arm. The sound of your heart beating grew louder and louder, your face, in contrast, stoic as a rock. You had no idea how to react. The man’s hand was on your arm! It was even squeezing your arm for a quick second.
“I’m saying this for your better interest.”
You couldn’t register anything he was saying; your attention was taken away by his hand. It was as smooth as silk compared to your rough, unmoisturized hands. Thankfully, it wasn’t too long when an idea occurred to you. You strategically leaned into your chair, naturally (and regrettably) pulling your arm away from the man’s touch.
You cleared your throat and gathered the courage to face him eye-to-eye. “So I work overtime sometimes. What’s wrong with that?”
“When was the last time you enjoyed a full day off?” When a grilling number of silent seconds ensued, he continued, “You always couldn’t make it to our dinner invitations and left Jaehyung bummed out.”
The butterflies began to subside when a new, more vivid feeling arose.
“I’m sorry, but the truth is that I work for something that needs my constant attention,” you said, your eyes darkening.
His eyes dug deep into you, insisting you to think again. At that point, you were slowly getting frustrated. How could you bear the atrocity of him belonging to someone else while caring for you like that? You hated how you felt.
“Why do you care?” you shot, not meaning for it to come out as harsh as it did. “I get that I’m Janet’s sister and Jaehyung’s aunt, but I don’t need you to feel obligated to care just because of my connection with them.”
It was Jaehyun’s turn for his eyebrows to knit together. “As a friend, I think that it’s not good for you to always be overworked.”
You snapped. “Don’t give me that crap, Jaehyun!”
You felt a part of yourself fall at the crestfallen expression that formed on Jaehyun’s face, but you were still pissed at how he made you feel stupid and giddy inside even though he wasn’t yours.
“Since when were we friends?” you striked. “We only know each other because of Janet!”
With an incredulous expression, Jaehyun exclaimed, “So all this time you initiated a conversation or smiled at me was not because we were friends but because you felt obligated to?” He stood up from the desk in fury and stepped forward. “I couldn’t sleep because I cared about you and was worried that you wouldn’t come back! You know why? Because you never come back! Not even on the holidays!”
You pushed onward and pointed your finger at his chest. “You’re the one who feels obligated to treat me the way you do! You’re the one who feels the need to look out for me just because I’m Janet’s younger sister! Did I ask you to set me up with Jungwoo? No! Did I ask you to stay up for me? No! So stop making me feel so damn bad when I already feel like I’m at rock bottom for treating Jaehyung the way I have!”
You were so caught up in the moment that you didn’t notice the lack of proximity between you two. Your mind was running with furious thoughts, not giving you a chance to cool down. But the sudden change in Jaehyun’s expression broke the angry momentum: his face had fallen back to a broken manner. You watched his eyes stare into yours, waiting for something you didn’t know what you were waiting for. It was a matter of moments when his mouth slightly parted and spilled something you wish you could unhear.
“The only reason why I look out for you is because I have feelings for you.”
There went the sound of your heart pounding harder than ever with the rush of adrenaline spreading throughout your body. A chilling breeze ran down your spine as you watched Jaehyun wait for your reaction with pained eyes, causing you to step backwards, away from the taken man.
“No, no you don’t,” you whispered, shaking your head. “Take that back. You don’t mean that. You don’t.”
Your breathing rapidly fastened. Your palms became sweaty. The room felt suffocating. Jaehyun remained where he was--until you took in his honest self for one last time and left him for the bathroom, where you sat in the corner and let the tears you hadn’t let out for years trickle down your exhausted face. By the time you returned to your room, he was gone.
The next morning, you vanished from the house, leaving Jaehyung the presents you intended on giving him when your sister arrived next to his bed. You remembered the day you went shopping with Jaehyung and Jaehyun, secretly looking for their presents. You remembered how happy Jaehyung was to be running in the big mall. Most of all, you remembered Jaehyun’s sweet voice and his fatherly smile. You threw his present in the trash can.
There was no trace of you left in the house of torture except for the food you left uneaten. When you closed the front door behind you, you cut off the string to the red thread that you had hung on for so long. But what you didn’t know was that the man in joggers and white t-shirt had grabbed on, holding on for dear life. You started the engines to your car and drove off in the dark streets. You were still fumbling to hold the red thread, trying to grab onto the falling pieces.
#nct#nct x reader#reader x nct#nct u#nct 127#nct dream#nct imagines#nct scenarios#nct fluff#nct angst#Kpop angst#nct mark#nct jaehyun#nct johnny#nct taeyong#nct taeil#nct doyoung#nct yuta#nct jungwoo#nct haechan#jaehyun x reader
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helloooo, it's that one anon again with another song request/challenge thing. same prompt as my last ask but with the sing grow as we go by ben platt, please? also a random question: what are your thoughts on listening to classical music or like music that doesn't have words?
Hello again! Sorry it’s taken so long with this one - I wasn’t on my laptop at all yesterday and only had one or two chances to listen to the song and I wanted to do a good job!
I’ll answer your random question first before I go into what I wrote. The short answer is yes, I listen to classical/wordless music. I like a song to tell me a story as I listen to it and I have a few wordless songs in my D&D playlist for my OC. So long as I feel an emotion when I listen to a song, I don’t really mind if it has words or not!
And now for Grow As We Go. Well. This is a song, huh? It’s so freaking lovely! Another one I would never have thought to listen to without you, anon, and has made it into both my D&D playlist and my Broken Arrow playlist (yes, songs go into multiple playlists for me!)
So with this, I could have made it heartbreaking because the song is quite sad. But I decided against it and went with something more...uplifting, I guess? And yeah, I went nearly 2K (I just can’t do snippets I’m so sorry...) and I stuck with Ishileon for this because I could imagine Leon singing it to Taka. And this has taken me 4 hours to write...non stop. Haaaa...
I hope you like this, and please do send me more and more songs. I LOVE this challenge and find it so interesting to write this way.
The cool evening air wisps around Kiyotaka as he looks out over the horizon. Here, above what seems like the rest of the world, he has never felt more at ease. Never felt more comfortable in a place he never thought he would ever wind up. Because in every vision he ever had of his future, he never saw himself in the American wilderness.
He had always had a plan; get himself through school, then college, then university. Get himself into politics. Build up his reputation and popularity. Show the world that the Ishimaru’s are not the monsters that they’ve been portrayed to be and become the best Prime Minister that Japan has ever seen.
For the longest of times, Kiyotaka was fully invested in this plan. The backlash of his grandfather’s downfall has weighed heavily on his parents for as long as he can remember. Their name dragged through the mud, the innocent victims of merciless mockery, working round the clock as a policeman or a midwife just to make ends meet and do what’s best for their son.
So of course, he wanted to give back to them. He promised, back at the tender age of six when he heard his mother crying one night after Prime Minister Ishimaru fell from glory, that he would do what his grandfather could not. He stomped down the stairs and shocked his parents with the announcement, giving up any chance at a normal childhood right there and then.
And it was worth it. He made sure it was worth it. Sure, he had no friends. Sure, he was bullied relentlessly. Sure, he came home battered and bruised a few times a month. But it was worth it because he knew that he would be his family’s saviour in the end.
But things started to change when he started Hope’s Peak.
It wasn’t a big change. Not at first. It started off with friendships. With Mondo and Chihiro, Makoto and Hina, Hiro and Hifumi. People who seemed to see past his name, past his constructed personality, and tap into the real boy. And he found himself having fun for the first time in nearly a lifetime.
And then Leon Kuwata entered his life.
He’d always been on the side-lines, a constant background noise that Kiyotaka admittedly gave very little attention. For the first year and a half of being his classmate, Leon spent his time chasing girls and living it large. Kiyotaka would often head to get himself a glass of water in the night only to see the boy be carried back to his room, blind drunk in the arms of Hiro or Mondo or whatever upperclassman he happened to befriend that day. He seemed to have no regards for his education, his health, or anything whatsoever and that irritated Kiyotaka beyond belief.
It wasn’t until Kiyotaka stumbled across the boy in the toilets one lunchtime, huddled into the furthest stall and crying into his arms, that the real changes started. For the first time, he saw the redhead for who he truly was; a frightened young boy that had built a reputation for himself that was becoming harder and harder to maintain. And Kiyotaka had just happened to stumble on what was one of many moments of weakness that had plagued the boy ever since he set foot in this school.
The two became inseparable in a matter of weeks. Kiyotaka vowed to be Leon’s confidante whilst Leon promised to calm himself down and start taking his life seriously. And he did really well. It was inevitably that he would slip up every now and again because old habits are hard to break. But Kiyotaka would never judge him, would never scold him; only hold him close as he sobbed and promised it would never happen again.
Their first kiss wasn’t exactly planned. Nor was it the most appropriate, Kiyotaka has to admit to himself when he looks back at it. Leon had relapsed after a rough day and gotten blind drunk, calling Kiyotaka in a panic when his senses kicked in, sobbing in his arms and begging his forgiveness. And as normal, Kiyotaka had held him, offered gentle words of comfort, running his fingers through the boy’s hair.
And then he kissed him.
He would like to blame it on the way the moonlight hit Leon’s flushed cheeks that evening. Or maybe how his eyes sparkled like glitter as he finally stared up at him with a wet smile. He’d also like to think that Leon made the first move; that when he leant forward to nuzzle against his nose it was a silent invitation. But in all honesty, none of those were to blame. Kiyotaka had already fallen for Leon long before that night and even though the boy had melted into his embrace the second their lips met, Kiyotaka knew that he had completely taken advantage of his drunkenness and acted on his own accord.
The I like you that followed was disregarded as intoxication. Kiyotaka made sure he stored that away in a locked box in his heart, never to reopen. Although a few days later, it was smashed into pieces as Leon initiated the follow up kiss halfway through their study session and out of seemingly nowhere. Red cheeks and flustered apologies, a heart-to-heart and more I like you’s. And then a promise never to let go followed by soft touches and passionate kisses.
And they didn’t. They stuck together through school and graduation, through college and graduation, through the application to university to study politics. Leon stood by him every step of the way; as his biggest cheerleader, his shoulder to cry on when things got tough, with unconditional love and a heart of gold. They were happy, happier than they’d ever been, and would have been content carrying on as they were for the rest of their lives.
But it was Kiyotaka who changed.
Sat in his politic lecture one afternoon, something shifted in Kiyotaka’s mind. As he stared at the words on the screen and listened to the droning voice of his tutor, Kiyotaka realised that this wasn’t what he wanted. The plan that he’d followed for his entire life, the one that would restore his family name, crumbled in front of him like chalk into dust. And all that was left was a hole of uncertainty and endless possibilities.
He wonders to this day if he should have told his father first. After his mother had passed away, his father had put his everything into supporting Kiyotaka’s dream. So surely he should have been the first to know that things had changed. And there are days, nights when he’s lying awake and staring at the sky, where he feels a small twinge of regret at not telling him. Because he thinks that if he had, things might be different.
But those days are few and far between.
It was Leon he told first. The second the lesson was over, he went straight over to their shared apartment and told him straight: I don’t want this anymore. Politics, education, the little apartment they rented so close to the university. It all felt so wrong all in the space of a split second at 2.48pm on Thursday 3rd April.
And he needed to go. Where? He didn’t know. To do what? Also a mystery. But he just knew that he need to get away from it all and that everything needed to change.
He expected Leon to cry. To beg him to stay, tell him to reconsider giving up his dream and to stop and think just for a moment. But he didn’t. Instead he took hold of his hands and said the five most beautiful words Kiyotaka has ever heard:
Then we’ll do it together.
It wasn’t easy. Dropping out of university was harder than Kiyotaka could have ever expected. He had to give back all the fees he owed, chipping into Leon’s hard-earned income to bail them out of tough situations. There were highs and there were lows, months of living on cold beans and bread. But they made it through together.
And then Leon suggested they go to America.
As Kiyotaka was still unemployed and Leon’s salary was barely keeping them afloat, the idea was ludicrous. They were constantly rescued financially by their families, who surprisingly supported Kiyotaka’s decision to change his entire life, so how could they possibly go travelling in their position? But neither boy could deny the alluring call of a fresh start. Soul searching, Leon called it. And Kiyotaka fell for it hook, line and sinker.
After a year and a half of research, of doing odd jobs here and there to raise enough money, of buying all the gear they could possibly need, of working out and getting in shape, they knew where they were going. The Appalachian Trail; the longest trail in the world. Five to seven months of travel if they wanted to do it all in one go. And they did want to do it all in one go.
So, after getting the blessing of their families, they quit their jobs and headed off. Jetted halfway across the world with no one but each other. And they never looked back.
It’s been hard, Kiyotaka muses to himself as he gazes out at the breathtaking sights around him. Because as beautiful as the trail is, it’s also brutal. They’ve spent a lot of nights cold and hungry after misjudging how far the next campsite is. They’ve slept in poor conditions in a tent that they’ve had to replace a couple of times. They’ve stumbled across the local wildlife; sometimes a little closer to them than they felt comfortable. And they’ve had to ask their families to help them out with their finances on more occasions that either of them would have liked.
But as the night falls around them, as the orange hue of the sunset dims and the blanket of midnight blue drapes over the sky, as his gaze lands on the back of the boy in front of him, Kiyotaka knows he wouldn’t change this for the world. They’ve seen things that they never would have done back in Japan. They’ve met people from all over the world, learned valuable skills that would have been useless in their old life. They’ve done so much that Kiyotaka never thought he could ever have done and impressed himself on so many different occasions in so many different ways.
And it’s all because of Leon.
Stood on the edge of a cliff, the boy has no idea that Kiyotaka’s eyes trail down his body; outlining his relaxed posture to etch this moment permanently into his memory. His hair has grown out and only the tips are red now; the natural brunette strands pulled back into a messy pony tail. The small beard he once supported now long gone and replaced by dark stubble; caked with dirt and grime from the tiring day they’ve just had. The muscles he has always had are larger now; more toned and pronounced even when he doesn’t try.
Leon Kuwata is not the boy he fell in love with anymore. That’s undeniable given how much he’s changed. But as Kiyotaka wraps his arms around him, breathing in the scent of sweat and dirt that has become his favourite smell in the world, he knows he would give everything for the man who leans back into his touch.
“You okay, baby?”
“Hmm.”
“Ready for tomorrow?”
Who knows what tomorrow will bring? Nothing is written in the stars, nothing is set in stone. That’s what his life always used to look like; unbending, unchanging and terribly lonely. But as Kiyotaka smiles into Leon’s neck, as he presses a kiss onto the flesh and his fingers slip against the palm of his lover, he has never felt more comfortable with the unknown. Because at the end of the day…
“So long as you’re with me, I’m ready for anything.”
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a love that makes you shiver
@geraltwhumpweek
Title: a love that makes you shiver
Ships: Geralt/Jaskier
Prompt Day: Day 4, Betrayal
Medium: Netflix
Warnings: Hypothermia and Frostbite, Evil!Jaskier, Unhappy Ending, Emotional Abuse/Manipulation
Word Count: 2,606
Author’s Note: This is the first in what will become a series of one-shots by me and @bamf-jaskier. Watch this space on AO3! Also, I’ve been neglecting to post the past few days’ ficlets on tumblr, so my apologies for that.
The first thing Geralt notices is the cold.
He still feels a bit floaty, when he wakes, like he’s still half-dreaming, and the sound around him is muffled and hazy. But he instantly feels the chill, creeping over his skin and burrowing down to his bones. His lungs stutter in his chest, seizing against the frigid air, and he curls his heavy limbs in closer to himself, trying to preserve his body heat.
A soft, familiar laugh filters through the haze.
“You know,” a voice says lightly, conversationally. “That was the first thing you told me about witchers. That you can’t stand the cold.”
Geralt’s eyes flutter open.
Snow. Trees. Jaskier, smiling down at him like he always does when he wakes up before Geralt. Jaskier, smiling down at him from the other side of a set of heavy-looking bars.
That last detail is what kicks Geralt into panicked motion. He shoves himself up on shaking arms, hissing as his fingers slip across the cold snow, and staggers to his feet. Jaskier watches him with….amusement? Pity? Indifference? Geralt can’t tell. He can’t readhim.
He only knows it can’t be Jaskier.
He spins around in a slow circle, confirming that the bars surround him on all sides, a metal cage in the middle of the snowy woods.
“The perfect prison, don’t you think?” not-Jaskier continues, his eyes shining bright blue against the blur of white around them.
“W-what-“ Geralt starts, and clamps down on his chattering teeth.
“What did I do? Spiked your food last night, dragged you here when you passed out. Well, contacted my associates and had them drag you here. But same difference really.” He waves his hand carelessly. “You won’t be meeting any of my associates anyway. I’m the one assigned to you.”
Assigned to him? What in the seven hells did that mean?
“What did you do with Jaskier?” Geralt snarls. He stalks forward as he speaks, reaching out to grab the bars. As soon as he makes contact, his fingers burn, sharper and brighter and worse than the pain caused by the cold. He yelps and lets go, looking down at his hands to see blisters forming on his fingers.
“That one took you a while to tell me,” not-Jaskier says. “The silver sensitivity. You were so ashamedof it, so convinced it would make me leave you. So sure it would make me see you as a monster.”
He laughs at that, a sharp, unamused sound that Geralt has never heard come out of Jaskier’s throat before, and never wants to hear again. Rage floods him, rage that a doppler would dare steal his love’s face, his voice, his laugh. Dare twist them in this way.
“But darling, I’ve always thought you were a monster,” not-Jaskier says, stepping closer to the bars. “And nothing you did could’ve made me leave you.”
“Shut the fuck up and tell me what you did with Jaskier.”
Not-Jaskier tilts his head, smiling still.
“You think I’m a doppler,” he says. “Oh, that’s rich. What, you don’t think your little songbird has the capacity to hurt you?”
Geralt growls in his throat, low and warning.
“Scary. I’d be terrified, if I were in that cage with you.”
It’s the same sort of insult Geralt has heard Jaskier lob at countless posturing drunks in countless shitty taverns, rolling his eyes as someone tried to drag him into a fight. Dopplers know everything about a person, he reminds himself. That’s what makes them so dangerous.
“But I’m not,” not-Jaskier says. Another step forward. “And I’m not a doppler, either.”
He reaches out and wraps his hand around one of the silver bars. Geralt waits, expecting to hear a sizzle of burning flesh, a scream, a curse as not-Jaskier’s skin melted away to reveal the snow white flesh of a doppler.
Nothing.
“See?” not-Jaskier—or—or—no—says, letting go of the bar to show Geralt his uninjured, unmelted hand. “A hundred percent human.”
“Jaskier,” Geralt chokes. Because this is Jaskier. This is his lover, standing outside a fucking cagethat he’s locked Geralt in, studying Geralt like he’s a particularly interesting beast. “Jaskier, what—why—why the fuck are you doing this?”
Jaskier sighs.
“I wish I didn’t have to, dear heart,” he says.
“Don’t fucking call me that.”
Jaskier clucks disapprovingly, moving away from the bars.
“Vulgar as always,” he sighs. “No appreciation for more elegant language. That’s one of things I hope changes about you.”
“What.”
“Why am I doing this?” Jaskier sighs, sweeping his arms to indicate the cage, the woods around them. “I’m saving you from yourself, my love. That has always been the goal. Saving all you poor, monstrous witchers from yourselves.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“You’ll see,” Jaskier says. “Everything will make sense in just a little while longer. I just need you to hold on a little bit more, can you do that for me?”
“Do I have a godsdamned choice?”
“Not really,” Jaskier laughs. “Good point.”
Geralt sinks to the ground. His head is spinning. Twenty-five years. Twenty-five years of walking the path with Jaskier by his side and he—he locked Geralt up and watched as he froze and called him a monster. He doesn’t know which one of those things hurts the most.
“Don’t worry, dear monster,” Jaskier says, kneeling down in the snow on the other side. The smirk has slid off his face, and there’s sadness in his eyes, like he actually cares about what’s going through Geralt’s head. “I still love you. That’s why I’m doing this. I swear you’ll understand. I swear you’ll thank me.”
“When I get out of here,” Geralt growls. “I’m putting a sword through your heart. Silver.”
Jaskier sighs. He sounds almost disappointed.
“You’ll understand,” he says, getting to his feet. “You’ll understand very soon.”
Geralt doesn’t dignify it with an answer. He just curls up on his side with his back to Jaskier, tucking his hands under his armpits to keep them warm.
“I’ll be back soon,” Jaskier says.
The snow crunches under his feet as he leaves, and when Geralt can’t hear his footsteps anymore, he finally lets the tears fall. They trace hot lines over his frozen face, burning and burning and burning like silver, like frost, like the broken heart beating coal-hot and heavy in his chest. A sob bursts out of his throat and he bites down on his fist, shoulders shaking, trying to muffle any other traitorous noises.
You can cry around me,Jaskier said once, when Geralt was trying to battle back tears over yet another innocent he’d failed to save. It’s okay. You don’t have to be invincible.
Had he laughed to himself later? Congratulated himself on getting the monster to cry for him? On putting yet another crack in Geralt’s armor?
Stop crying, he tells himself as more tears stream over his face. Stop crying, stop crying, stop—
But it’s his lover of ten years, his best friend of twenty, he’s known Jaskier for twenty five fucking years. So he doesn’t stop crying for a very long time. And when he does, he doesn’t feel the relief that usually comes after tears, the relaxed feeling in his chest, the clean peace that comes with letting go of something heavy. He just feels exhausted, and numb, and still so fucking sad.
The numbness might come from the cold admittedly. He flexes his fingers, wincing when they’re slow to bend to his command. If he stays out here much longer, he’s going to get frostbite.
Jaskier would probably like that.
Gods.
He battles off another round of tears and sits back up, shivers running up and down his body as he does so. He needs to keep moving, keep his blood pumping, if he wants to survive this. He doesn’t know why Jaskier would have locked him in here if not to kill him from hypothermia, and Geralt isn’t giving him the fucking satisfaction.
He turns around, facing the front of the cage, where Jaskier had been. His footsteps are already mostly filled in with snow. Hanging on a tree branch some ten feet from the cage, an ornate silver key twirls in the freezing wind. It’s a delicate thing. A pretty thing. The thing that would set Geralt free, dangling just out of his reach.
Jaskier is taunting him.
He can’t hold back the tears at that realization.
***
His hands are freezing.
His hands are burning.
His hands are fucking dying.
***
By the time Jaskier comes back, the air has frozen in Geralt’s throat and he can barely move his fingers. They’ve gone all whitish-blue at the tips, a sure sign of frostbite setting in. Dread coils in Geralt’s throat as he stares at them, as he desperately tries to curl his hand into a fist. It listens to him, but slowly, clumsily.
Fuck. Fuck it all to hell.
“Oooo, that doesn’t look good,” Jaskier says as he walks up to the cage. It’s exactly the same sentence, exactly the same tone, that he had used upon seeing dozens of injuries, before grabbing bandages or a potion and setting to work patching Geralt up.
Don’t cry, Geralt tells himself as he lifts his chin and glares at Jaskier. Don’t you dare cry.
“Well, look on the bright side,” Jaskier says cheerily. “It’ll disincentivize you from picking up a sword again, which is excellent.”
“Is it?” Geralt snarls. Because Jaskier is ripping away Geralt’s life purpose, snatching up his ability to swing a sword and then acting like it’s a good thing, and Geralt still doesn’t know why he’s doing it.
“It is,” Jaskier says. “And don’t worry. When it’s all over, I’ll take care of you, dear heart. You won’t need to lift a finger.”
Geralt stares at him.
“You think we’ll just fall into happy domestic bliss when this is over? After you’ve fucking crippled me for life?”
“Yes,” Jaskier says, like there’s no other possible option. Like Geralt coming home with him is an immutable fact.
“What, you gonna chain me to your fucking bed?” Even as Geralt says it, fear creeps into his throat. He wouldn’t put it past this new Jaskier to do just that.
“No!” Jaskier gasps. “No, no, of course not. After this, after allof this, you’ll be free to go. Go do whatever you want. I just think…I think you’ll want to stay with me, once you understand. I hope you’ll want to stay with me.”
“Then you’re fucking mad.”
“Maybe I am,” Jaskier says. “I wasn’t supposed to fall for you, after all. You were just a mission. A…trial run, if you will. But I love you, Geralt, despite the monster running your life. And I hope that you’ll love me back, properly this time, once you’re free of it.”
There’s so much wrong with that, Geralt doesn’t even know where to start. But his heart takes the reins.
“Properly?” he asks. “Jaskier, I’ve loved you for years, I thought I could love you forever, I don’t understand why—”
“Pretty words,” Jaskier sighs, and there’s regret in his eyes. “But you don’t understand them yet. You don’t really know what you’re talking about.”
“What do you mean?” He hates how fucking small he sounds.
“You don’t feel love. It’s a scientific fact. A sad one for sure, but…oh dear heart, don’t look at me like that.”
The tears are burning on his cheeks again. He closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to look at Jaskier. Jaskier thinks he doesn’t feel love. This whole time, through Geralt’s shaky declaration, through kisses traded under stars, through dancing together on the coast, through their fucking handfasting ceremony, Jaskier has thought that he doesn’t feel love.
He thinks he might be drowning.
“You’ll feel it soon enough,” Jaskier says. “And then everything will be okay.”
He places a jug on the ground near the bars. It’s small enough that Geralt could grab it and pull it through.
“Drink this,” he says. “Just drink this, and I’ll let you go, okay? And then you can love me, or not, you can stay with me, or not. But you’ll be free. And that’s all I care about, alright? That’s all I’ve ever cared about.”
***
Geralt stares at the jug for a very long time.
Whatever it is, he doesn’t want to drink it. He doesn’t know what the fuck Jaskier wants to do to him, but he knows it can’t be good.
But the numbness in his hands is getting worse and worse, and if he doesn’t get someplace warm soon, he knows he’s going to lose them.
And no matter what this does, it can’t be worse than that.
So he drinks.
***
It hurts.
***
He doesn’t know how much time has passed when he wakes up. But the world is muffled again, muffled and painful and cold.
There’s someone leaning over him.
“Open your eyes, dear heart, that’s it, come on.”
Jaskier.
Geralt opens his eyes with a growl, fully intending to reach up and strangle him. But his arms aren’t listening to him—none of his body is listening to him, it’s all loose-limbed and weak like a newborn kitten—so he barely manages to lift them off the ground before they flop back down.
The world is wrong.
It’s fuzzy and dim, and when he tries to expand his pupils to take in more light it doesn’t work. What kind of drug had Jaskier given him?
Jaskier gasps. He looks delighted, like he’s watching a baby bird emerge from its shell.
“It worked,” he says. “Oh, sweet Melitele it worked, I knew that getting you weak from the cold would be enough.”
“What did you do?” Geralt says. Each word is a battle to get out from his throat.
“I should’ve brought a mirror,” Jaskier mutters. “But that’s alright, you’ll see soon enough. Oh, I have so much to show you, so much to teach you.”
He babbles excitedly to himself as he hoists Geralt to his feet. The world spins around him, but miraculously, Geralt manages to hold on to consciousness. Manages to match Jaskier step for shaky step as they walk out of the cage.
“We’ll go to the coast again and you’ll be able to appreciate how beautiful the ocean is, and we can redo our handfasting ceremony, now that you’ll actually mean the vows, and—”
Geralt throws an elbow against Jaskier’s ribs. It’s weak, but Jaskier still lets go of him. Probably out of surprise more than anything else. Geralt sways on his feet but stays standing.
“You…” Jaskier blinks. His eyes are turning red. “You still don’t love me?”
“I always fucking loved you,” Geralt says. Don’t cry. “Until you locked me in a cage.”
“You don’t understand.”
“No, I don’t fucking understandJaskier, I don’t understand why someone who claims to love me would do something like that.”
“I see.” Jaskier takes a deep, shaky breath. “I see. Well. Go on, then.”
Geralt takes a slow step away. Another. Another.
Hands don’t close around his throat. A blow doesn’t come down on his head.
“I’ll wait for you,” Jaskier says behind him. “When you see. I’ll take you back. I swear.”
Another step.
Another step.
Don’t cry until you’re safe.
Another.
Another.
Jaskier starts sobbing behind him, but Geralt doesn’t look back.
***
The first thing he does, when he gets to an inn with a surprisingly friendly innkeeper, is to look in a mirror.
You’ll see soon enough.
Brown eyes, human eyes, stare back at him.
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i love your precious heart
(chapter seven of we’re the fortunate ones) ♥️
season seven: i love your precious heart
For the longest time, there was a part of Jake Peralta that genuinely didn’t believe he was deserving of any special kind of love or affection. Years of rejection; from the revolving doors made up of fathers, step-fathers and short-lived relationships, had led to the once quiet inner voices growing louder - reminding him every chance they could that any state of legitimate happiness simply was not meant for him.
(Dr. Marcia, the therapist he’s been seeing once a fortnight for a close to a year now, has helped him to understand this.)
This New Year’s Eve, standing here on the fire escape that runs along the outside of the apartment he shares with his wife, is not one of those moments.
Their plans for the evening had skewed slightly from their original schedule, partially because Jake had heard the sighs of dejection Amy made when she’d returned yet another ill-fitting dress back into their wardrobe. Her body is changing in a lot of ways this year - some of them rapidly, others sneaking up on her so slowly it drove her insane - and when he remembered that Amy hadn’t really had the chance to go shopping for a decent range of maternity clothes yet, Jake had moved quickly to devise an alternative plan that seemed both spontaneous and not-at-all-related to a lack of party outfit options.
Pouring them each a glass of sparkling apple cider (if Amy can’t drink, then Jake can’t drink - and he’s not interested in hearing arguments that suggest otherwise), he had googled events that were happening nearby, found one with fireworks, and with his brilliant detective skills had deduced that their fire escape will face exactly the right direction to watch the show without ever having to leave their house. And maybe Amy had already been hoping that he would come to the same conclusion, or maybe she was just a really big fan of fire escape parties (he suspects, though, that it is the former) but either way, her dress had been swapped for sweatpants within minutes of Jake’s suggestion, and the relaxation on her face simply made her all the more beautiful.
They’d spent the entire evening rotating between the living room and the tiny space outside that Jake had stocked up with blankets and snacks, talking and laughing as they reminisced the year that was. There had even been a sweet little slow dance, to a song playing on Jake’s phone as it stayed nestled in his pocket - and it would have been totally romantic, if it hadn’t been interrupted by some dude yarfing onto the street below. Still, the feeling of holding his wife in his arms, while their baby stayed nestled in-between them, was something that Jake will hold onto forever.
The breeze has grown colder now, the wind rustling through Jake’s hair as he waits for Amy to return from her seventeenth trip to the bathroom (sadly, not an exaggeration), and as he reaches into the storage box for another blanket for his wife, Jake finds himself looking back on the last few months with a smile. Even now, there’s a tiny piece of his mind that is still incredulous that she is pregnant - that the two of them are having a baby. In just four short months, there will be a tiny human that is part Amy, part Jake and wholly them, and he’s never ever been more excited for the future.
He can still recall the moment it had all changed for the better - when Amy had turned to him with the brightest smile he had ever seen, and nodded her head. He’d sat beside her on the floor of their bathroom for longer than he’d realised, staring at the plastic stick with it’s stamped lettering and two thin red lines that told him that Amy was pregnant. His eyes had kept darting from left to right, his brain frantically trying to reassure himself that he was, in fact, reading it all correctly. That the love of his life was carrying his child, and the world as he knew it was never going to be the same again. It just … hadn’t made any sense, how easily it had all changed. Every part of his life involved filling out some sort of paperwork or prior approval or whatever - it was a reality that he merely tolerated, but Amy adored. But, in the blink of an eye (and a round of admittedly great sex), Jake Peralta was going to be a father.
Deciding to start trying had been one of the most uncomplicated decisions of his life, and one that he hasn’t reconsidered for a second (it had surprised him at first, how easily it came to him - but that’s the thing about finally being in a secure relationship. Even the things that terrified him the most, suddenly didn’t seem so bad when he knew Amy would be by his side). But it had stunned him, how in just one moment, seeing the word pregnant on a little piece of plastic had made him fall in love with something (or someone, really) that he hadn’t even met.
He had known, in approximately 0.0003 seconds after seeing their daughter for the very first time on the ultrasound screen, that he wouldn’t ever do anything that could hurt her. That he will fight for her safety and security, with every fibre of his being, until the very last day of his life. This tiny little shadow on the screen, with it’s echoing heartbeat and what thankfully looked to be Amy’s nose, was now the single-most greatest thing that Jake had ever done: and nothing was ever going to change that. These past few months have made Jake understand his father even less, and appreciate Amy all the more, if for nothing else than the fact that she’d given Jake a second chance to show just how capable - and deserving - of love he can be.
Hearing a soft grunt to his left, Jake turns his head in time to see Amy wriggling through the window frame, the swell of her belly turning what used to be an easy move into something that requires a little more finesse. There’s a soft metallic thud that reverberates towards the empty streets below as both of her slipper covered feet hit the gridded surface, and she grins in triumph before making her way over to Jake.
“Starting to get over this whole ‘needing to pee every half hour’ thing that I’ve got going on.”
Grinning, Jake leans against the balustrade of their makeshift balcony, ignoring the gentle dig of the metal against his skin. “I mean, you know my feelings about water, hun.”
Raising an eyebrow, Amy shakes her head in response. “Hate to tell you this, but all I’ve been drinking today is orange soda - and we both know that’s your genes at play here, Peralta.” Amy winks at Jake’s responsive wince, cupping his chin in her hand as she pulls him closer for a quick kiss. “It’s a good thing that I love you, huh?”
“Oh, it’s a very good thing, Ames.” The best thing ever, actually, that she loves him. She tells him a lot - even more so since falling pregnant, a side effect that has been hated by absolutely no-one - and every time feels better than the last.
A car passes them below, the loud music pumping from the speakers and filtering it’s way up to the two of them, and Amy looks down at her sweats, turning to give Jake an apprehensive look. “What a wild New Year’s Eve we’ve ended up having. Maybe we should have gone to Terry’s party after all? I mean, it is the last child free one we’re going to have for a long time.”
Slinging an arm around Amy’s shoulders, Jake pulls her closer to him, smiling as her hand wraps around his waist in a move that is absolutely second nature. “No way, Ames. I’ve got my two best girls here with me, and in five minutes I’m going to have the greatest seats in New York as that building over there lets off fireworks from their roof. Terry’s party can suck it.”
Right now, a bunch of fugitives could climb out from the sewer clutching diamonds from the biggest jeweller in town, and he wouldn’t move. Bruce Willis himself could knock on the door, and Jake would tell him that he needed to come back tomorrow (please, please, please - come back tomorrow).
This was his home - he’d built a world between these four walls, with the love of his life - the only one to run a hand over his scars, both physical and mental, and still call him beautiful. His partner, in every way imaginable, and easily the greatest person he’s ever known. And just when he didn’t think she could be any more magic, she’d begun carrying their child, and now he is absolutely certain that Amy is completely made of stardust.
Even when her hormones are out of control, and she’s yelling at him for not mixing enough pickles into her ice cream.
There was nowhere he’d rather be, and nobody he’d rather be with. Literally everything he needed, for the rest of his life, was right here in his arms.
(Okay yes, technically he would eventually need orange soda and gummy worms and maybe some water if Amy insisted. But there was a healthy stock of all that in their kitchen, and by ‘right here’ he obviously means their apartment.)
Amy hums - this sweet little hmmming sound that Jake knows to mean contentment ever since he heard it on their first night together, a sound that he’s heard a million times since then and just never, ever fails to transcend him - and she leans a little more of her body weight against him, blinking slowly as fatigue begins to set in. There were countless books and testimonials that told them to get as much sleep as they could, because once the baby came sleep would become a long-lost memory, and Jake could tell that Amy was secretly dying to curl up into bed. Baby-growing, it would seem, was a highly exhaustive task - and in all honesty the idea of curling up underneath the blanket with her for the rest of the evening sounded kind of amazing.
Jake’s just about to suggest a retreat to their bedroom when he hears the first whoosh of a firework streaking through the sky, the subsequent explosion of light piercing his eyes as tiny blue stars litter their previously dark canvas. Either the revellers had decided to celebrate early, or his watch was slow (entirely possible, he’d bought it for three whole dollars at their local bodega) - whatever the reason, Jake cannot help the smile that stretches across his face as more colours begin to light the sky.
Now completely awake, Amy moves closer still to Jake, standing in front of him and gripping his forearms in her hands when they wrap around her clavicle. From behind Jake can hear her tiny gasps as each bang and pop takes place, and after a minute he cries out in surprise, moving quickly to place his hands on either side of Amy’s pregnant belly in a protective stance.
Shifting her head to the side, Amy looks at Jake in confusion, pointing downwards. “What’s with the sudden coverage, babe?”
Eyes wide and earnest, Jake nods in the direction of his hands, explaining - “I’ve got to protect the baby’s ears, Ames! These fireworks are loud - and what if she’s asleep right now? She’s part Peralta, and you and I both know Peraltas are NOT a fan of being woken up.”
Amy laughs, her nose crinkling up in that completely adorable way that Jake absolutely loves, shaking her head as her fingers link with his on either side of her bump. “Our baby is totally fine in there, Jake. But I love you so much for thinking of her right now.” There’s a slight shift underneath Jake’s hands, and he can’t be sure if it’s a kick of just a general nudge from their daughter, but either way he takes it as a sign that their little one agrees with Amy’s statement. Nodding; he smiles at Amy, suddenly feeling a little foolish - but perhaps, he’s just foolishly in love. Above them, the fireworks continue to explode, only now they don’t seem so loud.
Moving one hand away from his, Amy cups the back of Jake’s neck, gently pulling him downwards for a soft kiss. “Only five months in, and you’re already the greatest dad ever,” she whispers against his lips, pressing against them with her own once more. He’s blushing by the time she pulls away, he can feel it in the sudden tingle of his cheeks, but all he can think about is the title greatest dad ever, and how much he can’t wait until those very words are emblazoned on a mug or some other kind of gift their child decides to buy him. He wants it on hats, and shirts, on socks and a keyring and everywhere in between - because when it came to Jake and fatherhood, there was not a chance in hell that history was going to end up repeating.
“Hey,” came Amy’s soft voice, pulling Jake out of his thoughts as her fingers return to the back of his neck and toy with the curls that live along the bottom of his hairline. Briefly, he remembers that he meant to get his hair cut two weeks ago. “You okay, babe?”
Taking a deep breath, Jake smiles and nods, waiting until Amy has turned to face him completely before tucking a stray strand of hair back behind her ear. “Happy New Year, Ames. I know I’ve said this before, but this year is going to be totally amazing.”
Amy nods back, giggling as Jake swoops in for a kiss. “I’m going to remember this moment when we’re elbow deep in dirty diapers and our eyelids are being held up by toothpicks.”
Joining in on Amy’s laughter, Jake shrugs his shoulders in defeat. “This is probably going to sound insane, and I’m definitely going to deny I ever said this when we’re in that situation; but even that sounds a little bit awesome, because it’ll mean that she’s here and we can hold her and talk to her and just love her for reals.”
“Totally insane, and I completely agree.”
It’s less than an hour later that both Jake and Amy are tucked into bed, the sound of Amy’s gentle snores lulling Jake to sleep as 2020 begins to stretch her limbs. Their apartment is quiet, but filled to the brim with love - right down to the printed sonogram, sharing the space of a heart-shaped magnet with a photo of a young couple falling for each other - and there is a small room adjacent to the kitchen that is almost ready for it’s tiny occupant to arrive.
As his eyelids grow heavy, Jake thinks back to all the years he and Amy had spent together, and how many times they’ve had to push back against all the things that have tried to keep them apart. He knows now that it was worth it - all of it was worth it - because truly, the best was yet to come.
#myfic#so pumped we have the option to write pregnancy/baby related fics now!#the options!#mine#b99 fanfic#peraltiago fanfiction#jake x amy fic#b99 fanfiction#b99 2020 vision challenge
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let your walls down for me (z.cl)
summary: worries about university, SATs, and moving away weighed heavily like a burden on your shoulders. one thing you knew for sure, though, was that your friendship with him wouldn’t falter, and you found solace in that.
pairing: bestfriend!chenle x reader
genre: hurt/comfort, fluff
a/n: hhHHH this is my first actual fic and i’m not v satisfied djsjdjjfjd but i enjoyed writing it and that’s the thing that matters!! if anyone is reading this rn and wants to be friends: hi! i’m cam! i wanna make more friends 🥺 👉🏻👈🏻
“you look like actual shit.” bestfriend!chenle snickers at you, a cheeky grin adorning his features as he pays close attention to the messy side bangs that fell into your face and uniform tie that was thrown on lopsidedly. you roll your eyes as he meets you on the sidewalk in front of your house, the same sidewalk you two had met each morning since second grade. chenle reaches out his hand and brushes your fallen locks behind your ears, chuckling at your irritated expression as you swat his hand away.
“well maybe if someone didn’t keep me up all night playing pubg, i would’ve woken up to my alarm.” you playfully side-eye him, knowing full well that your disheveled state was upon his insistence. flashbacks rang in your head from the night prior, a full seven hours of your life spent gaming that you’d never get back. considering you two would be uni students in just the next year, your sleep schedule was horrendous.
“we need to get more sleep than we do. you know that sleep deprivation is bad for adolescent brain development?” you nag.
“okay, okay. mom.” chenle disregards your light scolding, draping his arm over your shoulders nonchalantly. chenle was naturally a touchy person, even when you guys were little, so you were used to everything at this point— the hand-holding, the back-hugging, the general invasion of space when it came to him. admittedly, you weren’t the biggest fan of skinship, but zhong chenle was always an exception. he did it so often that people thought you two dated (not that you minded).
“your brain is so underdeveloped because you never sleep.” you tease, and he immediately feigns an overdramatic look of hurt, pushing you away from him. you beamed at his comical response. his orange locks radiated in the early morning light, and the up-turned corners of his lips stretch into a shit-eating grin.
“say that to me the next time you ask for calculus help, dipshit.” he mocks, and you stand on your tip-toes to ruffle up his hair, messing up the tangerine coloured locks (although he managed to still look good).
chenle sticks his tongue out at you, putting his arm back on your shoulder the way it was before. you were all smiles at his affectionate nature. a comfortable ambience fell over the two of you, as you basked in the undisturbed sunrise and yielded to the peaceful routine of walking to school.
“so have you asked bora to be your prom date, yet?” you inquired your best friend. jang bora was a good friend of yours both since elementary.
“it’s only the first day of senior year, it’s too early to ask her. what about you? find anyone you’d wanna go with?”
“no, not really. maybe i’ll just go alone.” you complained, scratching the back of your head. it wasn’t that you didn’t want to go, but nobody in particular really caught your eye.
“c’mon, don’t be like that. i know so many guys who would love to be your date, y/n.” chenle leaned in a little closer to whisper in your ears, “and i heard a rumour that park jisung wants to ask you.” he teases you with his gummy grin, a sparkle in his eye meant only for you.
“i don’t think so, chenle.” you shake off his mischievous laughter, holding back a smile of your own. “i think he’s more interested in you than me.” you add subconsciously.
“hey, if it makes you feel any better, you can be my date if bora rejects me. deal?”
“wow, chenle, i just love being your second choice.” you sardonically joke.
it was early autumn, and the typically mediocre scenery of your neighborhood seemed almost picturesque today. the muted orange hues of the fallen leaves perfectly complimented chenle’s bright ginger hair, a byproduct of some mindless bet he lost during summer. you swore that orange hair would look revolting on anyone; but he was zhong chenle, and zhong chenle looked good in everything. you still recalled the self-satisfied cackles chenle made at your widened eyes, because what the hell, chenle? how do you look that good with orange hair?
morning walks with chenle were always a safe haven for you two. all pressures to be considered ‘popular’ or ‘cool’ were reserved for the rest of the day, with other schoolmates and friends, but never with eachother. you liked starting your days off with him, opting to simply enjoy eachother’s presence rather than bombarding eachother with too much talk and mental stimulation at such an early hour. it was in these moments that you two could be at peace with yourselves.
you sigh in contentment at the foreign breeze, recognizing the first sign of autumn. to you, the messy escapades of summer— driving around in chenle’s car during the ungodliest of hours, blasting 80s rock music with the windows down so that the wind would seep into your hair— these events seemed so distant and long-gone. an image of two teenagers huddled haphazardly under a thick blanket, a twitch streamer on the laptop being the only source of light, chewing on shitty leftover pizza as you two struggled to stay awake—these were memories of a hazy dream you’d try so hard to remember. recollections of sandy flip-flops, overly competitive volleyball games, and cloud-watching at the beach, with chenle’s orange head in your lap as he dreamt lazily, airpods in his ears and sunscreen on his nose. these all were snapshots frozen in time. a time that felt lightyears away from the present, a time you’d try so hard to hold onto.
because now, it was the first day of senior year, and everything would be changing. the hustle and bustle of ap classes, sports games, student council, part-time jobs, and the pretense of a social life always kept both you and chenle on your feet. nothing would ever be the same in a few months, as the never-ending questions about university would loom over everyone, the topics of scholarships and SATs and moving away constantly being thrown around. it was all so overwhelming, so burdensome. one thing you knew for sure, though, was that your friendship with chenle wouldn’t falter, and you found solace in that alone.
you were zhong chenle’s best friend since second grade — he was intelligent, charismatic, well-rounded, and widely popular towards the entirety of the school. he assumed the role of student council treasurer, the soccer team’s infamous right midfielder, and subject to much talk amongst the females in your highschool. but with you, he was just zhong chenle, the sweet boy who moved in two doors down from you when you were 9. there was no facade your eyes couldn’t see past.
“hey, y/n?” chenle begins, and you glance up at him next to you, peering through your eyelashes. “can i ask you, like, a serious question?” you nod at your best friend, caught off gaurd by the sudden question.
“does the future ever scare you?” he ponders nervously. you pause in your steps, thinking of the right words to say. chenle looks at his feet, avoiding your eye contact.
“well, whether we like it or not, the future is going to happen, right? and i don’t think there’s any point in fearing the inevitable. the best we can do is try adjust to the changes and enjoy the ride.” you admit, honestly. and if you were anyone else, chenle might’ve laughed at the cheesy answer, might’ve made a joke about how you made everything too serious and tried to lighten the situation. but it was you, and he could trust you with anything.
“but y/n. everything is going to change in a few months. there’s final exams, graduation, and prom. but after that, it’s all just a jumble of ambiguous what-ifs. nothing is assured anymore. i never told you this, but i might have to move away for my soccer scholarship. i’ve never lived away from home and i don’t... i don’t think i can handle it. it’s too much all at once.”
his sudden rant of emotion was laced with anxiety and stress. you instinctively take his larger hand into yours, feeling how shaky and clammy they had become. you knew it took a lot out of him to finally admit those words to you.
“i know how you feel, chenle. but you’re strong. you’ve handled everything life has thrown at you, every single time. you can handle this, too.”
“but— but what if i never come back? the thought of losing everything and everyone scares me, so much.... i can’t imagine my life without you in it.”
his anxious words drifted into the autumn wind, ringing through your mind like a mantra. zhong chenle constantly tried so hard to be perceived as perfect and flawless to the whole world, that sometimes it was shocking when he let his walls come down to you. you don’t respond at first, not sure what to say to his vulnerable confession; so you don’t respond immediately, and instead, you took his face into your hands and stared him in the eyes, feeling the warmth and softness of his skin. you hold out your arms and wrap them around his taller frame, saying nothing for a few moments. you two were silent during this intimate time. when you pulled back, his surprised eyes were filled with tears.
“i know you, zhong chenle. you will get through this. and plus, i’ll never leave your side. it’s always going to be you and me, ok? wherever you go.” you assure him, beaming optimistically. and you meant every word.
he blinked away the tears and laughed, “thank you, y/n, for being my best friend. thank you for staying with me all these years... i love you.” his words left you taken aback. in all your years of friendship, chenle never told you he loved you. you wiped his tears away with your sleeve and laughed at his sad expression.
“awww, i love you too, you dummy. you know that right? now stop crying, you look like a baby.”
chenle snakes his arms around your waist and pinches your sides, sending a tickle jolting up your body. you slap his forearm as he chortles jubilantly in response.
“ow! nevermind, i take it back. i totally hate you.” you mock.
(you love him. very, very much).
he holds your hand all the way to school, and you know that wherever life brought you two in the following months, despite the anxious discussions on university and scholarships and moving away, zhong chenle would always be yours.
#nct drabbles#nct writing#nct writers#nct dream fanfiction#nct dream fluff#nct dream chenle#zhong chenle#nct chenle#nct chenle fluff#nct fluff#nct fanfiction#nct chenle fanfiction#nct dream imagines#nct dream blurbs#nct blurbs#nct drram drabbles#nct imagines
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FkuMori- New Year's Kiss
Hey, hi, hello, I have no justification for writing somethig so painfully long, but I hope you like it @vanafloria ♡ uwu
Crimson sunlight barged through the forest of skyscrapers and motels, allowing only a few remaining rays to stumble in a wide white office of a new clinic center, meeting their end either on a tidy desk or on a spotless lab coat of dr. Mori. He owned and managed the whole complex for barely eight months now, and despite it seeming out of place, the surrounding neighbourhood warmly welcomed this new branch of the health industry. Before its arrival, small gangs had a habbit of housebreaking and robbing the entire area, spreading fear amongst its residents and ultimately leading to a decay in economy, which most considered beyond repair. Yet, thanks to the generous heart of this ex war doctor, these problems were solved in the shortest possible time, leading quite a large number of people into an almost religious worship of his being. Fully aware of the fact, Mori dedicated vast amounts of energy in maintaining his public image- as long as the ordinary people were happy with his honey-glazed mask and dulcet words no problems will be caused, they will act as sheep following their shepherd through the fog. This logic, however, was not something he shared with his employees, more precisely his bodyguard, Fukuzawa- a man roughly his own age, but of strong stature. He oftentimes communicated in such a blunt and harsh manner that Mori felt obliged to step in the conversation for the tensions to settle. It was exhausting, especially after explaining him the meaning of his actions numerous times, but in the end, he couldn't afford better. Not only from a materialistic standpoint, but also because Fukuzawa was the best man in his line of work, rising up almost to a level of legend. Even upon a mere mention of his nickname, "The Silver Wolf", most of the underworld's bravest members would quiver, for the man's natural bloodthirst was a force colder and more ruthless than a Russian winter. He was far too valuable for Mori to dismiss and leave in another person's grasp.
In spite of this minor problem though, the business ran precisely as intended. The whole area became a neutral zone after doctor himself spread the word of his refusal to associate with the law enforcement. Sure, he faced hardships and doubt at first, but being spared and trusted by the two biggest crime organisations in town helped significantly. Everyone he knew now thought he was just a simple man who wanted to help people, which, in a way, wasn't even that far from the truth. Thinking about this, Mori didn't even realise he neglected his work until the phone-alarm notified him it was time for his lunchbreak. Feeling only slight discomfort about the matter, he swiftly he draped himself within his feather jacket and headed straight to the nearby bakery. Having stepped outside, his eyes narrowed due to the force of a razor sharp wind jolting his hair, leaving him with a view field wide just enough to get him to the desired destination. The bakery was small, albeit tastefully decorated. It possessed a rustic aesthetic, with its wooden, dark amber walls and shelves that blended so well with them it would be impossible to imagine one without the other, alongside two big square windows, one placed next to the door and the other on the West wall, allowing sunlight to highlight all of the beauty inside. Naturally, as it was Christmas time, decorations added to the aesthetics too, making even the baked goods taste more delicious than usual.
Upon entering, Mori fixed his hair and stepped into the line for making orders. He wasn't quite sure what he was going to get, but the queue was long enough for him to comfortably decide, or so he thought. Suddenly, an old woman came up to him and started a smalltalk asking him about the clinic and poking fun at his hair that he "ought to shorten". This was all an everyday occurrence to which he had gotten used to, up until one question.
"So, how will you spend the New Year's eve, dear?" she said with genuine curiosity.
"Oh, as usual, I shall occupy myself with work." the doctor replied and he truly did mean it. Over time holidays lost their value to him, and while a necessity in this society, he did not enjoy them for the most part, as he felt even more empty during those times, thus trying not to pay them too much attention was the best possible solution.
"Oooh." mumbled the lady "That's noble, but it must be terribly lonely, especially after having spent Christmas at work as well."
Admittedly, Mori was stunned by her bluntness, but he couldn't deny her words, even with his employees by his side, he felt the same as always during this time period. Still, he had to reply with something, so he conveniently used the exact thing he was thinking about for inspiration.
"Don't worry, Fukuzawa will be with me. After all, we are like brothers." he exclaimed, but for some reason didn't understand why he only mentioned this one man.
While they could surely be brothers by age, there wasn't much, apart from his skills, that dazzled him about Fukuzawa. So, brushing this off as a simple element of chitchatting, he continued to talk to the lady until he took his order and left the bakery, sprinting back to his office.
Having walked so fast he almost had difficulty maintaining a normal breathing pattern, he stopped in the entry room to gain some strength. It was now noticeably warmer compared ti the outside, but still, he felt no need to take off his jacked as he felt winter might bite down to his bones. Sitting there like a student in the school yard, he started thinking about his words once again. This time he had the freedom to explore all the possibilities, and an interesting idea occured to him. Mori then finished his meal as usual and headed back to his office, having a few buissnes partners already waiting for him. Unon greeting them politely,he called on Fukuzawa to guard the room until the meeting was over.
...
As dawn neared it's peak, the doctors hands lost their usual composure and craved for a resting place to stop their fatigue caused tremor, but contrary to his body's wishes, Mori took care of his equipment, changed his clothes and ramained to wait for the new shift to start. He didn't have to do this, obviously, but a part of him thought it was right and he hadn't done anything like that in a while. His mind was absent as he gazed into the rising Sun, mesmerised by it's colours and the flickering snow contrasting it. Losing track of time, and eventually his consciousness, the next thing amethyst eyes saw were white strands of hair shimmering next to them, appearing so light and soft they may have been unreal for all Mori knew. This fascination could have continued, but soon a deep voice broke off the illusion and reality came back into place. Fukuzawa was arched over his employer, looking at the weak body with concern.
"Shouldn't you go home and rest properly?" he asked as the younger man shook from his drowse and offered a hand to help him get out of his chair.
It took him quite a while to voice his answer, but nevertheless, Mori agreed with this and the two decided to head towards their homes together. However unusual it may seem, this isn't the first time they travelled together, it happened every once in a while and they would often engage in awkward conversations during it, but lately their communication improved (partially because of their debates about the neighbourhoods residents) so it was definitely a nice opportunity to snatch. Mori freezed as soon as he stepped outside, giving him a subjective feeling that his eyebags suddenly became a few shades darker. Jokingly commenting on this, he was greeted with an attempt of a reply "That's why you shouldn't wear jackets inside." and a smile. Fukuzawa may have been older, but he was definitely the one who had to learn when it came to these things. Still, Mori didn't mind his bodyguard's awkwardness when it was directed at him. He could never pinpoint the exact emotion he felt at those moments, but he knew it was something warm and for a long time he didn't think anything of it, but as of yesterday he became quite keen on exploring it, so he lead the conversation further until the blue eyes had lost their usual harshness. It is true that most of the trip had already passed by that point, but at least it was worthy. Now was the right time to ask:
"Say, what are your plans for the New Year's eve?" Mori continued with his usual tone.
"I assume I will spend it working." Fukuzawa replied coldly, retrieving to his natural attitude.
"Well if that's so, wouldn't you like to make me company during the countdown? It's not like we will leave the clinic, but it's nice to celebrate a bit, no?"
"I- I would have to agree, but what about the patients or the lurking danger?" the silver haired man asked with a serious voices , averting his sky blue orbs to his side.
"Hmm, a few drunks here and there shouldn't be much of a problem. I've had these experiences before, you know?" Mori proclaimed in a pensive tone.
"I don't see anything wrong with it then." Fukuzawa said, much to Mori's delight.
As planned, two men parted ways soon after, heading for their respective homes for a good rest, but somehow neither felt tired anymore.
...
Before coming to his clinic that evening, Mori stoped by an acquaintance's shop at the back of an alley near the town center. The man was a smuggling genius, holding seven mass storages, both in and out of the city, filled with opiates of various kinds, but at this small shop he brought only the finest of alcohol- be it original or fake, he had it all, oftentimes so well matched in characteristics that the drink's authenticity was for the consumer to evaluate. Despite this tho, he would never put Mori in the said position, for he owed him greatly. The store itself had two levels, the lower being almost twice as big as the one above, but nonetheless well-equipped with rare finds. Overall aesthetic was quite modern, filled with various shades grey as well as few metallic surfaces (shelves and the register most notably), but it would've been extremely bland if there werent a few pop art paintings hanging on the walls and bringing some actual colour in the room. Not really how most would imagine a liquor store, but it possessed a certain charm, especially for upstart people who stood in awe upon entering, with greedy eyes drinking from every bottle they recognized from a magazine they read before that one party in order to impress a lovely nobleman. But unlike these people, Mori wasn't all that impressed by this space, he already set his goal and this was simply the best way to fulfil it. He followed his acquaintance to a certain part of the store and upon a short wait, the man came back with what the doctor wanted- a bottle of Highland Park '68 . With a delighted smirk on his face Mori expressed his gratefulness and exchanged a few business related ideas with the smuggler.
Having put the bottle of expensive whisky in his bag, he set for the clinic, arriving earlier than usual although there wasn't much he planned to do but sorting some paperwork. Emerged in work, time flew by and before he knew it the clock hit nine, marking the beginning of Fukuzawa's work hours. Forseeably, he arrived on time and made his presence known to Mori immediately. Though his tone and words were professional, there were hints of insecurity behind them as he didn't quite know how to hold himself that night. As it is only natural, the dark haired man noticed this and decided to put his plan to action. Dramatically proclaiming his exhaustion, Mori suggested they both take a glass of whisky and without hesitation Fukuzawa accepted this offer. After all, the Silver Wolf was no stranger to alcohol, most notably spirits. He didn't know exactly why he liked this type of liquor to such an extent, but he never concerned himself with that question- the taste and the high was all that mattered, and surprisingly, this drink possessed both of the said qualities. Sitting in chairs, much like a doctor and a patient would, they sipped their drinks slowly, expressing thoughts of it's taste, colour and scent, but other than that the conversation seemed to end, making the whole situation awkward for a short while- until the rush of alcohol hit them. It did require two glasses of whisky, but it was worthy, as Fukuzawa relaxed significantly after every sip he took. Mori wasn't much of a drinker himself, so seeing this big, strong man getting tipsy before him was a pleasant surprise, and not only that, but his cheeks were slightly red emphasizing his blue eyes to the point where Mori had to put extreme effort not to stare at their beauty. Instead, the doctor started talking about their common mentor- Natsume Soseki. This proved to be a good topic of choice as Fukuzawa lead the story of their meeting and later anecdotes from trainings. Like the one time his sensei tried to catch a butterfly with his bare hands, or the time he casually lounged not on the regular sitting area of the couch but on it's back. This made Mori laugh more than he had imagined, to the point his abdominal muscles hurt, actually. This reminded him of his experience with Natsume-sensei, so naturally, he decided to share his discovery of the mentors unreasonably big collection of cardboard boxes.
Stories of their mentor soon turned into jokes, but after continuous use of whisky, the conversation took a more serious turn. They didn't remember how they got to the topic of loneliness, but it was obvious neither of them particularly enjoyed the subject.
"Loneliness increases inner strength and individuality, but our human nature is always there to chain our improvement." Fukuzawa claimed.
"Isn't it also in our human nature to adapt and evolve? While it is necessary, is it truly the only way we can help our growth? After all, even plants die if watered too much, don't they?" the younger man replied, but was met with silence.
"Well, it is New Year's eve after all, we shouldn't be talking about such things!" Mori added in a silvery voice, putting his usual smile on.
Forcing a smile on his face, the older of the two extended his arm to get his glass "If that's the case, why don't you pour me another one, doctor?"
Almost mechanically doing as he was asked, Mori suddenly remembered "Ah, wait!" he exclaimed as he jerked the bottle "It's not midnight yet, we should wait for the countdown, look how little we have left!"
Blue orbs focused on the bottle and blinked in surprise "Wow, that much? I mean, we drank that much."
Mori laughed to this reaction and fell off his chair from the force he used to nod his head, which in response caused Fukuzawa to snort as he lent him a helping hand. As expected from a drunk person though, the fallen didn't get up, but instead pulled the the other one down with him. With both of them on the floor now, they continued giggling like a pair of teenagers smoking behind their school, hoping not to get caught. It was strange how well they can get along, given the chance. As they sat next to each other, Fukuzawa took Mori's hand without a word and moved it close to him, causing the other man to blush, but before he could do anything the Silver Wolf narrowed his eyes and drew his head close to the handwatch to examine it.
"Two more minutes until countdown!" he said as he turned around to face Mori, who at this point had a perplexed look on his face and was only able to utter an "oh".
Fukuzawa then quickly crawled to the table an brought the bottle to a still confused doctor.
"Eh and the glasses?" Mori asked.
"Ugh. Who cares." the other replied with a sigh.
With their eyes fixed on the watch, these two anxiously waited for the final ten seconds. It seemed that time passed much slower now that they stopped talking, but that didn't really bother Mori. He could feel the pressure of his head leaning against the other and soft white hair caressing his cheek- in a way, he even wanted this to continue. Alas, the time they waited for came and both of them counted until zero, but before doctor wished his bodyguard a happy New Year, Fukuzawa was already taking a sup of the old whisky. It was unlike his usual, compound self, to disrespect a custom, but he was extremely drunk by this point, so the younger man took it as such. Sensing that the time is right, he started gently removing the bottle from Fukuzawa's mouth, advising him not to swallow the drink as he cupped the confused man's face and moved his own body close to his, giving him a deep and slow kiss. It was bitter and it burned, but he would give anything to do it over and over again.
"Happy New Year." he said weakly upon breaking the kiss and catching his breath.
"Yeah. You too." a flustered Fukuzawa replied, still in shock over what had just happened.
After remaining in the same position for a few seconds, Mori decided to back away, thinking this was all a bad idea to begin with, but as he was about to move, he felt strong arms holding him back and draging him even closer to them.
"Mmm? What?" he asked teasingly, but his lips were locked in a kiss before he knew it.
Who coud have guessed such passion laid behind those cold blue eyes? Those who seemed so detached and out of reach, slowly luring him into lust day by day... are they even the same as these fierce, devine eyes before him? Mori wondered, but that was a question that had to wait for the next day. All he craved now was to be liberated from his bottled up desires, and his saviour was ready.
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Some of my Thoughts About Dark Souls 1
Considering how I’ve heard people talk about this game for years and years, and I both finished my first playthrough and got more than halfway through a new playthrough in one night (it’s 7:30 a.m. and I haven’t slept at all, help), I have a few things I want to talk about.
I’m going to start off with my biggest point: is it just me or does the game drop in quality after Ornstein and Smough? Up until then the game is incredibly atmospheric, with fantastic level design and that whole “difficult but fair” thing everyone tells you about when you first find out about the game. However after I beat Ornstein and Smough and was told to go after the four Lord souls, the game stopped feeling fair and just became irritating. Tomb of the Giants? Admittedly not the worst at first, but once you get to the second bonfire it just becomes a mad sprint past the massive beast skeletons that’ll tear you apart if you stop to fight them. Not to mention the fact that unless you found the Skull Lantern in the Catacombs, you have to navigate the Tomb of the Giants in the pitch black, barely able to see two feet in front of you until Patches shoves you off a cliff just after the first bonfire. This area is capped off by Gravelord Nito, who is somehow frustrating and easy at the same time. I, a big mistake on my part, went in without a divine weapon as getting one to a decent level would have taken far too long. I could detail every bad thing that happened, but one example sums it up perfectly; I dodged one of Nito’s attacks, only for him to immediately follow up with a grab. I messed up the dodge and he grabbed me, doing a bunch of damage before gently laying me down on the floor. In the corner. Right in between the three skeletons. I couldn’t roll away, I couldn’t kill them quick enough, I couldn’t heal. I promptly died.
The Duke’s Archives was even worse, with the majority of my experience being boiled down to running around in circles trying to figure out where to go while being spammed to death by projectiles being fired from God knows where. After escaping my cell and returning to the Library I got lost for an unbearable amount of time, running back and forth trying to figure out where I was supposed to go when everything looked exactly the same. The enemies are irritating as well; the worst being the archers and the big sorcerer enemies (can’t remember their names), who just spam soul arrows at you then teleport away when you get close. I may be slightly biased because I just started a Sorcerer playthrough which was complete and utter hell in the Archives, getting nearly two shot by literally everything, but regardless. I don’t have much to say about the Crystal Caves. It looks nice, the invisible floor mechanic was odd and seemed pointless to me but it was easy to figure out where to go anyway and it was harmless all things considered. Seath the Scaleless, the boss of this area, was a complete joke. Trying to sever the tail for the Moonlight Greatsword was a pain at first, sure, but just going for the kill was pathetic. I beat him by running at one of the two front tentacles and just sprint attacking over and over. Seath barely even attacked me while I did this, it was a massive disappointment. Also special mention to that one garden area between the Duke’s Archives and the Crystal Caves, it looks unforgivably bad. I don’t have a good image of it unfortunately, but it looks genuinely unfinished. Especially with the Crystal Golems that look like they’ve just been randomly thrown about the garden with no thought put in whatsoever. I felt like I was playing a developer test level.
The Demon Ruins were very fun, fighting through the ruins gave me the same feeling as first carving my way through Undead Burg, seeing everything ruined around me, taking in the various details of the environment as I slowly overcome the various enemies blocking my path. The very copy and paste feeling of some of the enemy placements was strange, however. Seeing five or six weaker Capra Demons dumped in a hallway and seeing seven or so Minor Taurus Demons off in the distance, all standing together in the lava lake made me think that they could have been leftover placeholders that were kept in due to time constraints. But overall, without going into too much detail, the Demon Ruins was a refreshingly enjoyable area, especially after just trudging through Tomb of the Giants, so after killing the Centipede Demon I was excited to see what would be next. And then Lost Izalith ruined everything. My time in Lost Izalith was spent taking off my clothes and running through boiling hot lava and it was about as fun as it sounds. The sprint to the boss was stupidly long and had you taking an incredibly linear winding path through the lava lake to avoid attracting the attention of massive Tyrannosaur-looking Demons that just stand around completely still like until you accidentally step too close and get squashed. But despite the painful area leading up to it, maybe the boss would redeem it? Maybe the boss would be good enough to make all the suffering I’d endured worth it? Haha.
No.
The Bed of Chaos is easily the worst, most infuriating boss in the game and one of the worst I’ve played in a long time. It’s not fun having to run through the entirety of Lost Izalith, only to spend about five seconds in the boss fight before being swept into a bottomless pit and sent right back to the bonfire at the start of the area. Finally killing the boss isn’t even satisfying because once you’ve gotten past the asinine jump and managed to avoid being knocked into the death hole by the almighty hand of God himself, you find that the boss is just a pathetic little bug that goes down in one hit and doesn’t even fight back.
The last of the four Lords, the Four Kings and the area leading up to them, New Londo Ruins are my favourites of the Lords and their areas. New Londo Ruins had a brilliant aesthetic and atmosphere, the Dark Wraiths were threatening as all hell (although surprisingly easy to kill) and the idea of fighting the literal ghosts of those who had died when New Londo fell is incredibly cool. The atmosphere especially ramps up when you drain the ruins and head down, only to be greeted with piles and piles of endless corpses that you have to step over to carry onward. It’s intense. It only took me two tries to beat the Four Kings, but it was one of the most tense fights in the game for me (I’m not counting the time where I dropped into the arena then took off the Artorias ring and was consumed by the Abyss shhhh that doesn’t count). The first time round was me testing the waters then quickly calling the fight cheap because I was swarmed by three Kings at once that I’d obliviously allowed to spawn, but then the second time round I realised that I could reliably tank their attacks without needing to heal and kill each one before the next one spawned, so it quickly became “neck a green blossom and just rush them there’s no time for second thoughts”. It was easy, but damn was it fun.
And so came the final boss, Gwyn. The Kiln of the First Flame was a brilliant area that did everything it needed to, being an atmospheric and foreboding lead up to the final fight. The few black knights along the way were good parrying practice and they dropped tons of upgrade materials that’ll no doubt be useful in New Game Plus. But before long, I finally arrived at the fog gate. Weapon at the ready, I stepped through, prepared to meet the final battle this fantastic game has for me.
Remember how I said that “The few black knights along the way were good parrying practice”? Well, that was some subtle foreshadowing because parrying completely and utterly trivialises the final boss. Parrying isn’t something you can usually do in the boss fights, however for whatever reason Gwyn is able to be parried. So despite what the game’s story has been leading to and the beautiful, melancholy music backing your fight would have you believe, it’s much less an epic duel between Chosen Undead and forsaken Lord, and more just the Chosen Undead slapping Gwyn’s sword away and stabbing him in the chest every ten seconds. Good build up and once again good atmosphere, but a pretty underwhelming fight overall.
That sums up my thoughts on the second half of Dark Souls 1 pretty well; underwhelming. The first half is exactly as it should be: you fight your way up from nothing, constantly facing overwhelming odds as you prove your worth as the Chosen Undead through sheer determination and strength. The second half lost that same feeling for me, and I think it’s due to the levels relying more on gimmicks like the darkness of the Tomb of the Giants or the entirety of Lost Izalith. The game is still fantastic, but I do wish it managed to keep up the same level of quality that it held at the beginning.
Because I started writing that at about 7:30 a.m. and it’s now 9:21 a.m., I’m going to just summarise my last point and then go the bloody hell to sleep.
I feel that Anor Londo is somewhat overhyped. I’m not a big fan of the design and while I understand that it’s entirely by design and intentional, the big and abandoned feel of the city doesn’t work for me at times. I still love exploring it, but I don’t understand the tons and tons of love people give it. As well as this, the Anor Londo archers really aren’t that hard. I’ve heard people rant about their difficulty numerous times before, but once I’d finally encountered them, I just walked up to the one on the right, baited him into pulling out his sword and attacking me, parried the attack and one shot him. The pillar blocks the other archer’s view of you so they can’t do anything about it. It really isn’t that hard. Same with Ornstein and Smough, they’re definitely difficult, but not quite as difficult as I’ve heard people say.
Anyway I’m off to sleep for fifteen years, have a good one lads
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Trials Of Apollo Oneshot Series CHAPTER SIX
Takes place after the burning maze. Spoilers!
Meg propped her red high-tops up on the wooden table, engorging herself in a greasy chicken wing. I myself reclined on the sofa next to her, chewing on the best tasting fish I’d come across in a long time. The aurae brought whatever food the demigod, legacy or ex-god would like best. In my case, it was a typical ancient greek dinner - grilled fish with a small side dish of olives and olive oil. It reminded me of the old days, the heavenly smell wafting from my mother’s kitchen (minus the olives of course, as they had not yet been invented) while young Artemis and I played with nymphs, climbed trees and held archery competitions. Granted, my mother usually added a garnish of ground ambrosia, but that was slightly too impossible for me in my current state. Still, the thought brought tears to my eyes. I missed my sister and mother, more than words could describe. I managed to blink back the moisture welling up, but I was still glad we dined alone.
Our table looked pathetically desolate compared to the tables around us, which held fifteen demigods each. No one really wanted to talk to those who had pulled their respected leader into a quest which had gotten him killed. So, with our backs to the crowd, we ate in thoughtful silence (at least on my part) until Meg stirred me from my nostalgic reverie.
“You think Ella will finish the book thing in time?” Meg asked, pulling a chicken bone from her mouth and flicking it across the table.
“The Sibylline Books.” I corrected.
“Same difference.”
“That’s my line.”
“Will they be ready or not?”
I sighed with exasperation at the impatience of my master.
“I do not know.”
Meg rolled her eyes.
“You never know anything.”
“Hey! I know as much as my father has left intact in my memories, and that is not my fault.”
Meg ignored my defence, and leaned over to my plate to prod my fish in the eye.
“That’s gross,” she said, screwing up her face.
“Yes,” I agreed. “It is in fact disgusting to poke someone else’s food when they know you haven’t washed your hands.”
“Not that, dummy.” She pointed at my forkful of fish, which was halfway to my mouth. “That.”
I rolled my eyes and took another bite. “What’s wrong with it?”
“It’s hardly cooked.”
“It’s grilled.”
Meg stuffed her face with another few bites. Her mouth was so full I was surprised she could still breathe. “Aren’t you supposed to put batter on it or something?” She asked, spraying my face with spit and bits of chicken. I grudgingly wiped it off.
“Is there anything you Americans don’t deep fry?”
In response, Meg lifted her feet off the low table, swivelled around and dropped them heavily onto my legs. She was now lying the length of the sofa while half-draped over me, pinning me to the soft cushioning. “Ow.”
She snorted at my discomfort, then continued to inhale her meat.
My mind wandered around the possibilities of ever seeing my family again. My uncle Poseidon, who had always been my favourite uncle (although my only other uncles are either titans or Hades, so I guess that doesn’t come across as much of a compliment, but it is). My good friends, Hermes and Dionysus, who were always up for a good prank on Ares or ready with a bottle of wine after an awful day (but remember, alcohol is bad, kids. We only drink it because we are each over 3000 years old. Do not attempt until you are the same age, no matter what Dionysus tells you). My sister, the sharp huntress whom I would defend to the death. My mother. Sacred Sibyl, I missed my mother. I missed her warm hugs, her sweet honeysuckle scent, her soft, caring voice. I couldn’t stand the thought of never feeling her comforting presence again. I had to get home.
…
I woke, drenched in cold sweat and gasping for breath. ‘Blasted nightmares,’ I thought, desperately trying to rip the sheets off myself with shaking hands. My legs were still partially entangled when I attempted to stand, resulting in me thumping loudly to the floor. I grasped around in the dark for the small bedside table to help me stand. When I found the edge, I began to pull myself up, but the table tipped, sending me back to the hard floor and spilling its contents onto my head. The digital clock that clattered beside me read 01:38. I growled at it and stood, despite my quaking limbs. My nightmares had wildly unsettled me in ways I wouldn’t tolerate. ‘You’ll never hang onto those memories’, they taunted. ‘Give it a week and you won’t even remember their names’.
“Shut up, shut up!” I hissed to myself. I began wondering, stumbling towards to bookshelf at the end of the long room. ‘What kind of brother forgets a sibling?’ “Stop.” ‘What kind of son?’ “Stop it!”
I began to yank old, dusty, leather bound books from the shelf, looking for anything with my name on the front. I needed to remember me. Anything. Anything at all. Finally, a large black book with the emboldened golden letters ‘APOLLŌ’ printed on the spine caught my attention. It was a few inches thick and the cover was almost as wide as my chest. Eyes widening, I harshly ripped the book out from its place, the sudden weight bearing down on my weak arms almost causing me to drop it. I did not wish to make any more noise than I already had. I wrapped it in my gangly human arms and lugged it out the door.
I cannot say I knew where I was headed. I simply needed to get somewhere, to feel the crisp night wind sting my skin into feeling anything but numbness. I found myself marching up a hill. The extra muscle exertion distracted me from my troubles, so I kept climbing. A good way up the hill, I started to feel the pull of the familiar. Temple Hill. I scanned the assorted statues and . There was no particular order, other than ‘most important at the top’. Further on, a massive red crypt loomed, decorated with flames and human skulls. The name Mars Ultor came to me, but I overlooked it. My mind was so busy with rushing thoughts and doubts that I feared any more information might make my brain explode.
My fingers fidgeted with the tears and rough leather texture of the book in my grasp. I felt as if a band composed of nothing but timpani were performing a drumroll in my mind, getting more and more intense with each passing second. Unable to stand still for much longer, I bolted to my right, keeping my head down and following whatever path was under my feet.
Maybe the last scraps of my godly essence guided me to the place it felt most at home. My mind was caught in such a flurry of panic that I barely noticed I was climbing marble steps until the steely cold shocked my unprotected soles. I was in an circular, open room held up by bronze pillars that were rimmed with gold. A golden dome sat over my head, and an array of my favourite items littered the right side of the room - a golden bow, a quiver stocked with arrows, an elegant grand piano. In the middle of the temple, an altar sat, waiting for sacrifices. I padded to the back of the room, my bare feet echoing on the smooth marble. Sliding my back down a pillar, I sat and heaved the book open. I was too flustered to have possibly read a word, but the pictures soothed me. There were a few century-old ink sketches of the 'Apollo Belvedere’ in Rome, next to a modern Polaroid marked ‘Latona and Her Children, Apollo and Diana, carved 1874’ I smiled at the tranquil scene. Mother rarely appeared as such now, certainly not after the invention of many modern braid styles (she got me to teach her how to use Instagram so she can ‘see the videos all those pretty young ladies post’ and learn new hairstyles. She’s admittedly very talented. We tied on our self-held Let’s See Who Can Braid Their Hair The Fastest completion). A tear dripped onto the picture. I turned the page.
This one showed the ‘Diana as Huntress’ statue in Berlin. Artie always huffed about her statues, said they were ‘Too dramatic’. She questioned why she, a seasoned hunter, would ever stand around and wait around for the wind to blow the right direction just so she could look cool to the monsters charging at her and her girls. She can say what she likes, but I know that she prefers it when sculptors include her dogs. Just a thought for any artists out there, looking to gain Diana’s favour *wink*. I grinned at the thought of her thirteen year old form pouting up at me. The memory was fuzzy, but still clearer than usual. I turned the page again.
Again and again I flicked through photos of my relatives, skimming over the paragraphs just enough that it reminded me of their names and their relationships with me. Hermes/Mercury was my impish best friend, who I’d vowed to love for eternity. Hera/Juno was my stepmother who caused my mother and siblings nothing but pain, but somehow we respected each other enough to eat cabbage together and compliment each other’s hair. Dionysus/Bacchus was the ultimate party-man, often inviting me to play for his revelries.
I turned the page once more. This time, I was met with an image that spanned the length of the two pages. At the top of the page, black threatening letters spelled out ‘JUPITER, FATHER OF APOLLO’ and in smaller writing ‘St Petersburg, Hermitage Museum’. Even from glancing into those blank, marble eyes, my anger spiked. ‘There he is’, I thought, ‘sitting all smug on his little stupid throne-’ I admit, my thoughts turned to bitter toddler-like insults. But looking at the god responsible for my misery made me want to throw the book across the temple and storm away. So I did just that. The book smacked into the alter (which tipped) and thumped open onto the floor cover side up, the crusty pages wrinkling under the force. I left the hook where the golden bow had hung empty as I went.
…
Twang!
The arrow just inside the red circle of the target, and I mentally awarded myself seven points. Not that it mattered. Judging by the moon’s position in the inky sky, it was now 3am - I had been at Camp Jupiter’s open-air archery range for almost two hours. No one else had been here when I arrived, and I was glad it had stayed that way. I needed time alone. To stew. I had first come out with the intention to ‘practice’ (still an alien concept to ex-flawless archers such as myself), but now, this long into the session, I was only blowing off steam. Channeling my frustration into every loose of an arrow, imagining the target as everyone who had wronged me over the course of this forsaken punishment. My knuckles tightened. My eyes narrowed. My shoulders tensed.
Twang! An arrow buried itself deep in the flesh of Commodus’ shoulder.
Twang! A wooden shaft protruded from Caligula’s throat.
Twang! Blood seeped through the mauve suit surrounding Nero’s manipulating, insensitive heart.
Twang! Zeus howled in pain at the arrow embedded in his sternum.
Twang! Python writhed in agony, agony he deserved-
“Apollo!”
I yelped and my shot went wildly off course, flying high with no power or distance, and landing in the grass in front of the target with a thud. Whipping around, I was about to tell whoever it was to GO AWAY when I was met with an equally startled young man, dressed in pyjama bottoms and the signature purple Camp Jupiter t-shirt, with the gold letters SPQR emblazoned boldly on the front. He quickly raised his hands in a placid manner, showing that he meant no harm. Nevertheless, I remained on guard. There had been a few who had not exactly welcomed the bearers of Jason’s coffin warmly, and this had been a close friend of the son of Jupiter. I feared I could not take this particular demigod in a fight. Even though he looked to be not much older than myself, he towered above me - perhaps a few inches beyond six foot tall, which made my lanky 5”6 feel minuscule. He had handsome asian features and soft brown eyes that I wagered could shift from kindness to anger in moments. He wore jet black hair in a military cut, making him seem like the world’s youngest army general.
“Frank Zhang.” I nodded to him once before turning back to my anger outlet. I was in no mood to talk. Not after loosing any way to contact my family. Not after loosing my memories to oblivion. Not after loosing Jason. Not when I knew he could react violently, as some already had. And if his heritage and blessing from Mars went against my mortal pathetic self, I doubted I would last more than ten seconds. Thankfully, he did not look like he came to pick a fight. He came forward and stood beside me silently, watching as I drew back the bowstring. I felt his eyes bore into me, assessing my posture, my strength, my balance. It was off-putting. That, dear readers, is why my arrow went rogue. It wasn’t my fault. It thunked into the wooden leg that held up the target. I felt my cheeks redden. I glared at the stupid arrow, willing it to pick itself up and hover over to the bullseye. Unsurprisingly, this did not happen. It stubbornly stayed where it was, planted in the wood.
I really hated having an audience for my failures, especially if the audience was a child who had once hoped and prayed for me, the Great Golden Archer, to be his father. I doubted Frank felt such a longing anymore. I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. He was smiling sympathetically at me, having witnessed my disgraceful excuse for a shot for the first time. I decided that Gaia coming back and swallowing me whole at that exact moment would not have been protested against.
“Here,” Frank said calmly, reaching towards me and adjusting my grip on the bowstring. “You’re gripping the string too far up your fingers. You don’t want to make a fist around it.” He peered down at my feet. “And you’re too tense. Relax your stance a little.” I obliged, already seeing my stupid mistakes. My cheeks seemed to heat up even more, and I found myself resisting the urge to bury my acne-ridden face in my hoodie. Frank seemed to notice, and backed off, instead ambling over to a small supply shed where he scooped up a bow and a fistful of arrows. I kept myself occupied from the daunting future that would have Frank humiliating me by nocking another arrow. This time, I tried to take on board what advice I’d been given.
I angled my left foot closer to the direction of the target, so I took on a more open stance, then checked my fingering was correct. Taking a deep breath, I used my back muscles to push my shoulder blades together as to take the strain off my arm and shoulder muscles - an unforgotten golden rule of archery. I drew back the bowstring until I reached my anchor point (the index finger touching the corner of my mouth), and fired. Twang! Not a bullseye, but well within the first yellow circle. I grinned in delight. Success was a rare feeling nowadays.
“Good job.” He congratulated quietly, grinning and turning to his own target. We both drew our bows.
After about ten more shots, and four bullseyes on my part (how many frank got is not relevant, moving on), Frank suggested we go back inside.
“It’s early,” he said, rubbing his eyes and letting out a yawn. He started walking down towards the fifth cohort’s barracks, so I followed. “We should get back. Jason’s funeral is later, and you’ve barely been to sleep.”
“How did you know?”
Frank scratched the back of his neck and smiled awkwardly.
“Well, you made a bit of a racket when you were leaving the barracks. What with the whole…falling and throwing books and stuff…”
Yup. The ground was more than welcome to swallow me now. I stuffed my hands in my pockets as I felt my acne-riddled face turn tomato coloured for the umpteenth time that morning, and glared at the grass.
“Apologies.” I muttered. “I panicked.”
“Yeah, you seemed upset so I told the others to leave you alone. I thought maybe you wanted some peace and quiet. But you were gone for ages, so I came to find you.”
I shot him a questioning look. ‘Why?’ He read my mind.
“It’s my job as Praetor to make sure everyone’s safe,” he explained, his chest puffing out slightly at the little self-reminder of his recently increased status. “And, it sucks. To loose people, I mean.”
I looked up at the Roman. His eyes were shimmering with tears, but he looked me in the eye anyway. He wasn’t afraid to show emotion, which was a rare trait, especially in the legion, but one I had always admired.
“I only knew him for a few hours. Why do I feel so awful?”
“Because Jason was a great demigod. The greatest. He made an impact on everyone he talked to.” -Frank gestured around the camp- “He really made an impact here. Especially with the loser fifth cohort.”
“He-he told me to fulfil his promise. To build temples for every god in the pantheon.”
“Yeah. He could be like that. Noble, even at the worst of times. But that’s not the reason you’ve been drilling holes into the archery equipment for an a few hours straight.”
I answered with all the intelligence of someone who hadn’t slept since 1am.
“Huh?”
“I didn’t think to check here first,” he said. “I went up to your temple.”
I got flashbacks to my toddler-esque temper tantrum.
“Ooh. Yeah…”
“Yeah.” He responded in a tone that said ‘been there, done that, got the t-shirt’. “Families are messy.”
“I miss them.”
“That’s normal. Bitterness is normal. You aren’t being overdramatic.”
I smiled at the confirmation.
“Thanks. It means a lot.”
We were back at the barracks. Frank smiled at me one last time and patted me on the back, before lumbering in. I followed.
I slept soundly the rest of the night.
…
I walked, lead-legged, up Temple Hill. The whole camp was eerily quiet. Jason’s body had been given proper honours, and the legion had been given the day off from duties. I couldn’t stand the prying eyes of 200 kids for much longer, so, even while I had only gotten four hours of sleep and was weighed down with grief, I travelled to the only place in the camp that was truly ‘mine’.
Tired and weary, I plopped down on the seat of the sleek, white grand piano. I ran my fingers across the smooth fallboard for a solid minute of distracted silence, before lifting it to reveal the ivory keys. They were chipped and yellowed and seemingly out of place compared to the stark white of the piano itself, were inevitably out of tune. I played a short scale, opened up the lid and tightened the loose turning pins I had hit, then continued with my scales. I repeated until I was positive that every key was in perfect harmony, which took all of ten minutes.
Satisfied with the tuning, I took a deep breath and splayed my fingers out on the keyboard, and played a tune that inspired grace and felt to me like a ballerina daintily dancing on water. After a second, the fingering flowed into my memory, allowing my hands to glide elegantly across the piano while I stared over the rim and through the gaps between the temple’s pillars, and into the distance. The sky was clear and perfect blue, and the warm breeze swept gently through my hair. I remembered sitting with my mother on Delos, our shoulders touching as together, we played two parts of the same harmony. Like two streams running down a mountain, weaving around each other and sometimes intersecting to make one stronger melody. My heartbeat calmed from the stress of what was now everyday life to me. Peril, danger and death.
A jarring dissonance of notes jolted me back to unwelcome reality. I rolled my eyes glared at the pudgy young demigod beside me.
“You know, there are ways to make your presence known without scaring flocks of birds away.”
“Yeah I know,” Meg replied shrugging. “But it’s not as fun as watching you jump ten feet in the air.”
“I wasn’t scared! I knew you were beside me!”
“Uh huh,” she grunted, turning her attention to the keys and banging a few more notes without mercy.
“I just tuned those, you monster.”
Meg smirked. Then she ordered me to shift over on the bench, and practically bounced down in the middle, leaving me with one leg hanging off the side.
“Teach me that one. The one you were playing.”
I was too taken aback to argue it’s difficulty, especially for a beginner. I thought we had long since given up on the piano lessons (Meg was not very good), and even if we hadn’t, this tune was graceful and elegant - not words commonly used to describe Meg McCaffrey. But I admit, I missed playing with someone. And so we began.
“Why don’t you watch me first, try to absorb as much of the tune as possible before I teach you the left hand.”
Meg tried to hide her smile.
“Yeah. Whatever.”
Bit of a shorter chapter this time. Sorry for the long wait, I started writing out several completely different chapters and never finished them because they just weren’t good enough. Also, the point about ‘No romance’ in these chapters still stand. Frank and Apollo were written as a kid and an adult becoming good friends, NOT BOYFRIENDS.
#toa#trials of apollo#lester papadopoulos#meg mccaffrey#TOA oneshot#story#fanfiction#fanfic#my fanfic stuff#fanfics
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daybreak (SVT apocalypse!au)
♡ wordcount: 2,3k ♡ chapter 6/? (ch.1, ch.2, ch.3, ch.4, ch.5, ch.6)
♡ rating: PG-13? hints to death/violence, language
♡ pairing: svt x reader
♡ after bolting upright in my bed from a violent nightmare that reminded me way too much of the horrors i had experienced before meeting the group, i make my way out to be with whoever was doing night watch to watch the sun rise in the company of another person. i never would have known just how beautiful it would be seeing the golden morning light reach its beams out over the hills and onto the huge plains of overgrown grass, dirt roads and the almond skin of my companion.
I sat upright in my bed, hair clung to my forehead as I took deep breaths, flashes of the nightmare I just had playing in the front of my head like a slideshow of horror. The smell of the room took over my senses as I tried to focus on something else than the dream I had just had, the scenes replaying again and again in my head almost like a movie as I focused my vision on the crack in the newspapers on the window, a small stripe of light shining into the room and hitting the wall parallel to the window.
As my breaths eased, I got up, tugging the still slightly damp clothes onto my uneasy body and slowly making my way to the door. As I silently made my way down the stairs, I caught a glimpse of the watch tower, a soft yellow glow coming from the tiny room at the top. I made a quick walk over, trudging through the tall grass wet with dew, it must be early morning. The smell of wilderness floated softly through the crisp air, a small gust of cold wind blowing past me as I reached the foot of the tower like structure. “Hey!” I whisper yelled, trying not to scare whoever was up there, and if I could remember correctly it would be Mingyu. And as if on command Mingyu’s head popped out of one of the windows, his long back hair flopping wildly around his face. “Oh!” He gasped and made quick work of opening the latch in the floor as I started the climb up to the platform. The cold metal of the ladder almost burning my warm palms as I reached the top. “Hi.” Mingyu softly smiled, his voice raspy with exhaustion. I smiled back at the boy, as he lowered the latch back down and put down the fluffy blanket over the metal flooring of the tower compartment. “Why are you awake so early? It must be about 4 right now.” He stated as he looked over towards the horizon where the sun would rise in a couple of hours. He was wearing a washed out bottle green sweater, and the same jeans he had been wearing the earlier days. He looked back at me with an amused smile, his eyes seemingly swollen, probably from being awake for so long. “Couldn’t sleep.” I replied and wrapped my hands around myself as another gust of cold morning air blew past us. Mingyu nodded a knoing smile and sat down silently, patting the spot beside himself to signal you that it was okay to sit down. So I did. And the minutes seemed to tick by like seconds as the sky gradually faded and went from a dark night blue dotted in small stars and constellations to a more vibrant ocean blue as the rays of the rising sun stretched across the horizon.
The lighthearted conversation between Mingyu and I died down as the bright summer sun peaked over the mountains in east. The sound of the grass rustling in the wind and the first birds chirping danced through the crisp morning air, and Mingyu’s soft voice broke through the peaceful morning symphony. “Why where you alone?” He asked. I turned my gaze from the fields of overgrown grass and trees that twinkled with the morning dew towards the boy beside me and observed the tall male. His skin a beautiful golden almond tone seemed even more beautiful in the bright morning sun. He had his head tilted back against the makeshift half wall of the tower, his hair disheveled and tousled from running his hand through it a few times too many. His nose sloped almost impeccably perfect out from his face and his lips rested in a pout that had it not been for the circumstances, I probably would have wanted to kiss. His eyes looked to be resting on the landscape in front of us. Black irises following the dirt road as far as the eye could see. “Things happened. People turned.” I breathed out as I too turned my gaze to the grassy fields in front of us, letting the conversation die quickly. I didn’t want to open up about my past, afraid the group might see me as weak, untrustworthy or a burden. It was too much. In the distance a buck peeked its head up from the tall grass to look around, the horns standing proudly over the animal’s head. The quiet air seemed to warm up as the sun rose, and soon Chan’s voice could be heard breaking the silence of the morning hours.
“Hyung!” He hollered, and Mingyu jumped up, and before Chan had time to question why I was also up there with the older male, Mingyu and I headed to our respective rooms.
As the door softly clicked shut behind me, I sighed. The smell of cardboard and cheap wood hit my nose as I sat down on the edge of the bed. Only seconds later, did it knock two times on my door. My eyes fixed on the door, and after I had let a couple of seconds pass, it knocked two more times. After waiting long enough to make the person waiting outside think I had been asleep I opened the door. Joshua.
His round eyes crinkled into a warm smile as we met eyes. “Good morning,” He said, his voice impossibly soft and careful, still laced with sleep. “Before we go grab breakfast, I wanted to take you to the utility room to see if you can pick out some new clothes for yourself!” He continued, his tone still so incredibly kind that it could melt anything within earshot. “Sure.” I answered, my tone not anywhere near as kind and cheerful as Joshua’s. He gestured for me to walk down the stairs first as we began our short trek to the utility room which I had no idea where was. “How’s your shoulder feeling?” He asked, real concern audible in his voice as we took the first couple of steps towards the stairs. “Better. I think it’s settling a little.” I quietly replied, turning my face sideways to look back at the older boy, his eyes trained on the steps ahead of him. “That’s good!” He smiled and lifted his eyes up to meet mine. He was wearing a red t-shirt, which looked to be about two sizes too big, his slender shoulders almost being swallowed by the fabric. His legs, in similar fashion, where clad in dark wash jeans with rips and tears all over them and seemed to be one or two sizes too big. His feet in grey converse that seemed to be old, but fairly clean. The attire was very different from what you had seen him in the first time I had seen him. Admittedly I had only laid eyes on him for a few seconds, but I could clearly remember the black fitted t-shirt the man had been wearing, with a leather shoulder gun strap adorning his torso, grey fitted cargo pants and a green cap to shield his eyes from the blaring summer sun. He almost looked like a little boy now compared to that day in the office building.
“This is us.” He softly stated as he stopped outside the room with the number 2 on it. He opened the door and as we both shuffled inside, the smell of old clothes and fabric hit me like a slap in the face. “Damn… We really should air out this room more often.” He chuckled, the curse almost seeming like a pet name with the way his soft voice curled around the vowels. I laughed meekly in response. “We don’t usually scavenge for clothes so we don’t have a lot, but we do have some clothes that are a bit smaller in size, they might fit you.” He said as he pulled out one of the drawers completely and placed on the wooden table that was pushed up against one of the walls. As I gazed around the room I noticed the layout was exactly the same as my room, but there was no bed. Only dressers with piles of folded clothes on and a similar night stand to the one placed in my room. Then there was a table and a small couch pushed against opposite ends of the room. “Here are the female items we have so far.” He mumbled as he looked though the other drawers. I looked over at the pile Joshua had placed on the table, some tank tops caught my eye at first. I picked out two that seemed to be my size.
As I dug though the pile, I picked out some more items, and as I dug through to the bottom, I found some panties. Still with the tags on. I looked up at Joshua, luckily, he was still rummaging through one of the drawers. I could feel my face contorting a little. Why would a group of seven men have womens underwear stocked up? I furrowed my brows as I placed the undergarments on top of the shirts I picked out. “Joshua?” I tried, looking back at the pile. He hummed in response. “Why do you guy have female underwear?” The boy halted his search for a second, but quickly composed himself. He pulled out another drawer and turned to place it on the table next to the drawer that was already placed there. He looked up at you, his face blank but still a slight twinge of dusty pink decorated his cheeks. “Most of the stuff was here when we got here, most of the people who lived here left all their stuff in a hurry so there was an assortment of random stuff left.” He explained, a playful smile dancing on the upward turned corners of his mouth. “By the way, there are some shoes thrown in the bathtub, you can check it out if you want. I’ll be in the dining hall if you need me!” Joshua continues, his cheeks turning a little pinker as he runs one of his hands through his hair. I mumble a thanks as he makes his way out of the room. “Just put the stuff you don’t want back into the dressers.” He reminds as he disappears out the door.
I end up with two tank tops, one with in a ugly atomic green color with lace coverup at the top, the other a plain white one. I find some light brown cargo pants that seem to be a little too big, but I still grab them, a black t-shirt with a Nissan car printed on it and a thin fitted grey sweater. And the underwear of course. As I place the drawers back into their places, I spot something out of the corner of my eye. In a pile of random shit, I spot my old, tattered backpack. I pick it up and look inside. Empty. It smells like dirt and must, but its mine none the less. As I feel around the pockets, I feel something hard in one of the hidden pockets on the side. The metal of the small object almost twinkles in the light as I hold it in my hand. The pocket knife from the office. I slip the knife into my back pocket quickly as I throw the backpack back now onto the pile of what looked like small suitcases, backpacks and a different array of bags.
I make a quick detour to the bathroom and snatch the first pair of shoes that have the right number scribbled on the bottom, and speed walk back to my room. I change some of the clothes I’m wearin in a hurry and make my way down to the dining hall. There Wonwoo, Soonyoung, Seungcheol and Joshua are talking lowly amongst themselves. Dino is probably still on watch duty and Mingyu is hopefully asleep. I slowly walk up to the men, letting them hear my presence. “Where’s Minghao?” I ask lightly, looking around the table at the boys in front of me. They’re all on different colored tshirts, and even though Joshua seems to be wearing a shirt two sizes too big, Seungcheol seems to be wearing one two sizes small. The black fabric stretched almost to the point of tearing across his chest, his arms bulging out through the short sleeves.
“He’s fixing the radio.” Soonyoung replies with a cheery smile his eyes immediately turning into crescents as his cheek’s lifts, and before I can continue asking questions he continues. “Do you want some food? There’s some bread and fruit in the kitchen.” He informs while simultaneously getting up from the table. I nod and start heading towards the kitchen. I pick out a slice of bread and an apple from the plates on the counter. The bread is still slightly warm from just being baked and as I make my way around the many counters and tabled and through the door into the dining area, Joshua and Seungcheol are the only two still sitting around the table. They’re not talking as I sit down, and I can feel the suspense in the air as I eye Seungcheol. Our eyes meet and I take a bite out of the apple, the taste exploding into my mouth. Joshua is focused on the empty glass he’s currently slowly spinning against the top of the table. Seungcheol clears his throat, making my eyes snap from the side of Joshua’s face to the older boys’ eyes. I raise my brows at him, signaling him to talk if he wanted to. The air is trembling slightly in the seconds it takes before Seungcheol’s voice breaks the silence.
a/n: omg the synopsis is so bad for this, i suck at writing them njdsenjdejd but yeah!!! heres part 7 omg this is becoming so long lmao im surprised anyone is actually reading it!!! ill post some more a little later so keep your eyes peeled! love u mwah kithes
#svt#seventeen#seventeen scenarios#svt scenario#svt imagine#seventeen imagine#kim mingyu#mingyu#mingyu imagine#mingyu scenario#hoshi#s coups#s.coups#joshua hong#hong joshua#hong jisoo#lee chan#lee dino#dino#minghao#the8#the 8#xu minghao#jeon wonwoo#wonwoo#wonu#kwon hoshi#soonyoung#drabble#scenario
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Kurtbastian fic - “Alone Where the Roads Don’t Travel - Chapter 1” (Rated M)
Kurt, a boy who doesn't believe in magic or fairy tales, will grow up to discover that he is full of magic. And as for fairy tales? His life practically is one.
Notes: I have been working on this story for a while now. Years, as a matter of fact, using the prompts from @kurtoberfest. I apologize that, even though this is a Halloween story, it won't be complete by Halloween. I hope you enjoy it anyway.
Read on AO3.
“Can we go?” Kurt chants, kicking his feet as his father slips the last rain boot over his sneakered foot. “Can we go? Can we go yet? Can we go? Can we can we can we can we …?”
“Hold on, kiddo!” Burt laughs, wrangling his barely bundled seven-year-old son as the boy tries to scurry out of his parents’ grasp. “We’ve got all afternoon to pick our pumpkins. But there’s a few things we’ve gotta talk about first.”
“Aw, all right!” Kurt groans, surrendering to his mom’s fussing over his gloves while his father fastens the jute toggles on his grey wool coat. “Just don’t make it too wordy. We’re burning daylight.”
Elizabeth looks over at her husband and snickers. “Now who does that sound like?”
“Your father,” Burt answers quickly, and receives a smack on the thigh for his remark.
“Okay, love,” Elizabeth says, returning to her little boy. “The rules are look before you leap. There could be slick patches of mud and uneven ground. I don’t want you slipping and twisting an ankle.”
“I know,” Kurt grumbles, though he definitely did not know. This pumpkin patch isn’t the same roadside stand they usually go to. That stand closed down, completely out of the blue. Not a single member of the Hummel clan understood why since the place had an advertisement printed in The Lima News yesterday. But they pulled up to it – or to the spot where it had been – and the whole stand is gone.
Vanished without a trace.
And not just the stand, but the field beyond, which was usually filled to bursting with pumpkins, squash, corn, bell peppers, and every other vegetable that sprouts during the fall, lay fallow.
Unsown.
It was as if the stand - the same stand his parents had been going to since they were children, the same stand their local news station visited at the beginning of October the way they did every year - had never existed.
They were about to go home and regroup, look for another stand nearby, when they stumbled across this place. Admittedly, Kurt’s parents weren’t too thrilled to stop here. For one thing, this whole place seemed deserted, run by a single old man at the entrance - stooped in posture, haggard in appearance, with one clouded eye and a head of stringy white hairs starting midway past his crown and ending above the knob of his neck. When he looked at Kurt, Kurt felt it, like a hand grabbing his heart, and not from the man’s clear eye, but from the milky white one, moving through Kurt as if the man were taking a peek inside him.
Looking through him at his very soul.
And Kurt felt transparent. Like cellophane.
He had a voice like broken glass, and a laugh that sounded like cats being skinned alive.
Kurt was glad he only had to hear it once.
But as unsettling as that man was, even that didn’t dissuade Kurt.
Kurt’s parents shared many a significant look during the decision making process. But Kurt insisted. It was three days before Halloween. They were running out of time. He wanted a pumpkin, preferably not one bought at The Home Depot or the supermarket since where’s the fun in that? And this place, with its air of rustic mystique, seemed like the perfect place to find one.
They tried to talk Kurt out of it, but his little mind was made up, and his parents, the way most well-meaning parents are, didn’t want to disappoint him, even if a question of safety was involved.
“If you find a pumpkin you like, don’t pick it up,” his father adds. “These are going to be bigger than the ones we usually get. Call me over, and I’ll help you.”
“Yeah, yeah …”
“But most importantly, stay where you can see us,” Elizabeth stresses, wrapping her own too long red cashmere scarf around Kurt’s neck and tying it in front. “If you can’t see us, we probably can’t see you.”
“I know, Mommy,” Kurt says, burying his nose in the knot and breathing in to catch a whiff of his mother’s perfume.
“And don’t go near the trees,” she warns in a slightly lower voice, as if the trees, standing at the boundary of the field over a hundred yards away, might be listening.
Kurt turns to look at them – tall, dark sentries of greying bark standing guard before an even darker wood. There’s a silence about them. A steadfastness. A chill wind blows, fluttering the vines along the ground, but it doesn’t seem to budge the leaves on those trees. That does make them appear a tad bit ominous, but other than that, they’re just trees. It’s a forest. Outside of fairy tales, Kurt has never known a forest to be scary.
And even though he’s only all of seven-years-old, Kurt doesn’t believe in fairy tales.
“Why not?” he asks.
“Because it’s getting dark,” his mother says, “and it’s getting cold. I wouldn’t want you to get lost.”
Kurt nods. That seems fair. That’s definitely a mom thing to say. But there’s something in the tone of her voice, in the hardness of her inflection that niggles at him. It’s not a cruel hardness. It’s more of a veil, hiding how she really feels.
As if her reason for him not going near the trees goes deeper than ‘it’s dark and it’s cold’.
“Okay,” he agrees. There isn’t any reason for him to go near the trees anyway. Today is about picking out pumpkins with his mom and dad. It’s not for exploring by himself. After this, they’re making cookies and candied apples and cider, then spending the whole night carving jack ‘o lanterns while watching scary(ish) movies. He doesn’t want to do a single thing that might derail their plans by a single minute.
Considering the way his folks have been talking – late at night after he’s in bed, when they think he can’t hear – he’s beginning to believe they might not be celebrating Halloween this way much longer. Like his parents think he’s getting too old or something.
Whatever their reason is, it seems to make them sad, so as soon as he can, he’s going to reassure them that there’s no reason at all to stop.
Kurt intends on celebrating Halloween forever and ever.
Once Elizabeth has her son properly shielded against the cold, the three set off into the pumpkin patch, weeding through the vines, meandering amongst the squash, on the search for the family of pumpkins that will adorn their doorstep, their dining room table, and the hearth in front of the fireplace.
“Do you see one you want yet, kiddo?” Kurt’s father asks, glancing periodically over his shoulder as they walk farther in. The ground begins to slope and it spurs Kurt ahead, but he does his best to stay within comfortable talking distance of his dad.
“I don’t know.” Kurt carefully examines one gourd, then the next. The ones in this particular section are misshapen, grotesque, knobby. Those are the kinds of pumpkins his father likes – the ones he can turn into goblins and trolls with a few masterful slices of his carving tools.
The ones he can decimate with his sledgehammer the second Halloween is over.
But Kurt likes the picturesque pumpkins – the ones without dents or growths; round and evenly segmented, almost unnaturally so, like he’s seen in Simply Living magazine.
The ones that match his mother’s decorating aesthetic.
His mother has already chosen her pumpkin and taken it back to their SUV. Kurt wishes she could have ventured with them longer, but she gets so tired nowadays – out of breath during the shortest of walks. They no longer go on treks to the park, or strolls to the market. She sleeps in later, goes to bed earlier, stares off into the distance for long periods, and cries with no explanation as to why.
There’s something going on. Something wrong. Like the forest.
And just like the forest, no one will tell him what it is that they really fear.
A rustle of leaves and a small whimper draw Kurt and Burt’s attentions away from the pumpkins and up to the top of the hill, beyond which they can’t see, but where their SUV is parked. Burt looks at his son, then past him at the forest, a wealth of thoughts scrolling behind his tired eyes.
“I … think I should go check on your mother,” he says, body turned halfway up the hill, quietly debating if he should make his son come with. Or waiting for Kurt to offer. But Kurt is only seven. He doesn’t know that’s what his father wants him to do.
He doesn’t know what’s going on.
Burt sees his own fear reflected in his son’s eyes as they begin to widen, and he smiles to soothe him. This is supposed to be a good day. That’s what he and Elizabeth had wanted. A fun afternoon filled with pleasant memories.
They’ll be needing more of these during the oncoming months. Best not to sabotage this one.
He doesn’t want to frighten his son over nothing.
“I’ll only be a minute,” Burt says. “You keep looking, but … stay here. Don’t go any farther without me.”
“I won’t,” Kurt says, relief curling into a smile that lifts his red cheeks. “I promise.”
“Good.” Another whimper and Burt’s steps quicken. “I’ll just be …” He doesn’t finish his sentence. He’s up and over the hill in the space of ten steps when Kurt could have sworn it took them twenty to get down there. No matter. Eyes on the prize, he tells himself as he returns to the pumpkins. He needs to find one so perfect that it’ll take his parents’ minds off of whatever it is they’re worried about. A pumpkin so perfect, it’ll make that forest seem less scary. A pumpkin so perfect, it could end hunger, bring about world peace, and win him a spot on the cover of next year’s Martha Stewart Living.
Kurt chuckles to himself. Alright. That might be overdoing it a little.
He’ll settle for … a pumpkin so perfect, it could cure cancer.
“Hello.”
Kurt’s gaze snaps up at the sound of a voice that’s not his father’s, not his mother’s, and definitely not the man from the entrance. Standing in front of him a little ways away is a boy about his age, bearing a wide smile of straight, white teeth. He has brown hair like Kurt’s, and green eyes that are not. That’s important for Kurt to note because sometimes he’ll see images of himself that he swears are other people, but they’re not. They’re just him.
But this boy is definitely not him.
For one thing, he’s not as wrapped up as Kurt. The coat he’s wearing looks much more elegant than Kurt’s for a plain old Tuesday afternoon. It looks like the kind of coat one would wear to the theater, or to church.
Or to a funeral.
How can he walk through this muddy field of pumpkins and not worry about getting that expensive coat filthy?
Kurt definitely has questions for this boy’s mother.
Kurt glances curiously side to side.
Where is this boy’s mother?
The boy with the green eyes smirks.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“Uh … nothing,” Kurt says. “It’s just … I thought my parents and I were the only ones here.”
“It’s a big place,” the boy says, shrugging one shoulder. “It’s easy to miss people, even when they’re right in front of you.”
“I guess so.”
“My name’s Sebastian, by the way,” the boy says. “Not that you’re asking or anything.”
“Sorry,” Kurt apologizes since Sebastian sounds mildly offended. “Mine’s Kurt.”
Sebastian nods. “So … you lookin’ for a pumpkin?”
Kurt scans the field around him, rows of pumpkins stretching as far as the eye can see … and nothing else. “Yup. That’s what I’m doin’.”
“Well, these pumpkins here are nice and all,” Sebastian remarks, toeing a gourd at his feet, “but I think the best pumpkins are over there.” He gestures toward the far side of the patch, closer to the line of trees. Kurt’s eyes follow, momentarily forgetting his parents’ warning as the thought of a pumpkin more perfect than the ones he can already see occupies his brain.
The pumpkin that could solve his problems.
“Why do you think that?” Kurt asks.
“No one goes over there. Nobody’s stomped on them or smushed them. And the ground’s dry, so they’re not moldy and soft. Every single one is better than the next.”
“Really?” Kurt says. Martha Stewart Living, here I come.
“A-ha. If you come with me, I’ll show you.”
The boy reaches out a hand. On impulse, Kurt does the same. He extends his small arm, and a strange sensation overtakes his body – electricity crackling from his skin to Sebastian’s, arching between them in strings of thin blue light. Kurt can’t seem to make his legs move, but he feels himself being carried forward. There’s a power inside him, one he’s felt before but that he does his best not to recognize, but it’s never done anything like this before. This is bigger than him, stronger than him. Whatever this is, it’s both his and borrowed from this boy with the green eyes, whose heart, from five feet away, Kurt can hear in his ears, beating at the same rhythm as his own.
“Come with me,” Sebastian says, reaching but avoiding Kurt’s touch as if he can’t take Kurt’s hand alone.
He needs Kurt to take his instead.
And Kurt tries, but the more he reaches forward, the farther the boy moves away. Kurt’s feet, which could easily solve the problem by lifting off the ground, seem to have grown roots. They tug him backwards, his heels creating furrows in the dirt from the strength of his resistance.
“Come on, Kurt,” Sebastian pleads, sounding inexplicably desperate. “Only a few more inches …”
“I’m … grrr … trying,” Kurt says, but he can’t reach any farther. He can’t make his arm stretch those last few inches. A distant warning rings in his ears that sounds like his mother’s voice calling his name, but Kurt ignores it … only for a few more seconds, he thinks, so he can reach Sebastian and take his hand. He needs to take Sebastian’s hand. Looking for the perfect pumpkin is no longer his goal.
Touching Sebastian is.
And like everything else going on around him, every look he can’t decipher, every secret whispered in his presence but out of his earshot, he doesn’t know why.
But he’s certain he’ll understand when he finally takes Sebastian’s hand and this is over.
“Kurt!” his mother cries. “Don’t, Kurt! Don’t take another step! Please!”
Kurt hesitates, and with that hesitation, he and Sebastian slip farther apart. The distance between them widens until Kurt knows he won’t be able to reach Sebastian, not even if he manages to break free of whatever’s wound around his ankles and takes a flying leap. Sebastian flexes his fingers, and the electricity grows brighter. A single fork breaks free from the rest and spits forward, pricking Kurt’s finger. Heat spirals up his arm, leaving a trail of fire behind. It becomes too heavy to lift and drops back to his side, but before it does, before his fingers break the connection between himself and Sebastian, that electricity zips through Kurt’s chest … and pierces his heart.
A sad smile lifts Sebastian’s lips.
“Kurt!” Elizabeth wraps her arms around him, tries to scoop him up. She falters, falls forward, but Burt catches them. She makes do with his help, Kurt’s father hugging them both as if their lives depended on it. “What were you doing!?”
“I was … I was looking for pumpkins!” Kurt scrunches his nose, confused as to why his mom and dad look so frightened, why they’re hugging him so tightly. “I wasn’t going to go into the forest! Honest!”
“But you were!” Elizabeth cries, burying her head in Kurt’s neck. “You were nearly there!”
“No,” Kurt argues, not because he’s in the habit of disagreeing with his mother, but because she had to be mistaken. He would never disobey her. And even if he’d wanted to, there was no way. He’d inched forward a step or two, but after that, he couldn’t move. “I was just going to look for the good pumpkins, with Sebastian.”
“Who … who’s Sebastian, love?” Elizabeth sniffles, her tears drying in an instant at the mention of a name. “Where is he?”
“He’s right there …” Kurt turns to point and notices for the first time where they are. A foot in front of him stand the foreboding line of trees that guard the woods. Standing this close to them, Kurt can understand a little better his mother’s fears. It’s not even so much the trees, but the darkness beyond them that takes his breath away. Kurt isn’t a stranger to forests. Where they live in Lima, Ohio, there are many forests, lining the outskirts of every park, and almost every property. But they usually have a warm, welcoming feeling to them. A serenity that’s inviting and safe.
These woods are dark. That’s the only word Kurt can think of to describe them. Darker than dark. A darkness so overwhelming, it becomes a void. Not a single shadow can he see, not a silhouette. A wolf could be crouching out in the open a few feet within and he would never see the creature. Not until it opened its eyes and bared its teeth.
Not until it was ready to strike.
And that was another thing.
More mysterious than how Kurt might have made his way to the forest’s edge with no recollection of it, Sebastian, with his green eyes and white teeth, was nowhere to be seen.
“But … he was here. He was right here,” Kurt mutters in confusion. “I … I swear. I’m not lying.”
Burt and Elizabeth exchange a look.
“Don’t worry. We believe you, kiddo,” Burt says, mussing his son’s hair.
“You don’t think …?” Elizabeth starts, but Burt nods. It’s not what he thinks, it’s what he saw. He felt it in the ground beneath his feet, the way it shifted uncomfortably. The vines had begun to grow around them, climbing up the hillside to warn them. The sky itself had summoned them, grey clouds closing in overhead, sparking to get their attention. Then they saw their son, gliding across the ground as if floating, wrapped in a cloak of blue lightning.
The only thing they didn’t see was another boy. To their eyes, there was no one else in sight.
But that doesn’t mean he wasn’t there.
It means he wasn’t meant for them to see.
If what Kurt says is true, and Burt has no doubt it is, he has found them.
And he means to take their son.
Elizabeth hugs Kurt tighter as Burt turns her towards their SUV.
“I think we’d better go,” he says. “Now.”
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