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ameagrice · 1 year ago

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Percy Jackson x fem reader

chapter thirty-two I see trouble on the way.

There wasn’t an exact word to describe the way Chiron looked at you, that summer. Months and years down the line, you still couldn’t place it. That weary look, like watching something play out that you can’t really put a stop to. Of course, then you couldn’t have known. Not amongst friends, at your cabin table.

“Barbecue chicken wings!”

The food sprouted on the plate, a magic you’d never grown used to seeing. Newcomer Clarissa, a girl with extravagant blue hair, blinked, jaw-dropped.

“Twenty barbecue chicken wings!”

“Greedy-guts,” Annabeth chided beside you, munching on a side of lettuce.

You shoved three wings in your mouth at once, side-eying her. “You’re eating rabbit food.”

Your eyes lifted to the head table, where Chiron talked with an expressionless face to the new guy beside him, in an orange colour of the fruit itself. “I don’t like him.”

“You haven’t even talked to him,” Annabeth stabbed her fries with a fork.

“I don’t have to. Something’s off.”

Your sister groaned at your side, reaching for one of your chicken wings. Your mouth gaped, a sound of protest that she ignored. “Don’t start with ‘the vibes are off’ again.”

“Vibes are very important!” You rebutted.

He happened to be a man in at least his early to mid-fifties, short as anything and skinny, too, with a mess of dark-grey stubble around his jaw and a thin layer of hair on his head. Talking to Chiron, he might have looked like any random convict. But you weren’t convinced he was harmless.

“Seriously, though. The vibes are off. Don’t you think? You’ve been here all summer with him haven’t you?”

Annabeth’s bright eyes raised to the man in question for a fraction of a second, before lowering to her food, pushing fries around with the fork in her grip. “Quintus is…difficult. You should be careful with what you say around him. Especially you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

“It means,” she lowered her tone, as if it was a super-secret secret. “I don’t trust him…particularly, and I know you always have a lot to say. Besides, something’s happening, can’t you feel it? Nobody trusts Quintus the way we should, since he came out of nowhere. Somebody mentioned the Oracle and he went crazy, he shut ‘em down. You have to keep your mouth shut this year, okay? Don’t disrespect the Gods, and don’t talk back to him.”

Being serious wasn’t in your nature, but you tried, for your sister’s sake. “Sure.”

“I’m serious.”

“No, you’re Annabeth.” Clarissa choked on her food, while Annabeth rolled her eyes.

It was a total pain that, not long after arriving, you had cabin inspection. A bore, grinding your nerves that you had to clean a cabin full of mess that wasn’t even yours—but Annabeth told you to quit whining, so you did, figuring you’d annoyed her enough already. Every afternoon for the first week, a senior counsellor came around with a checklist for every cabin. Thanks to your team efforts, you got the hot, clean showers first every time. Unfortunately for Percy, he fell somewhere around the middle-bottom league. You asked for snacks in return for your cleaning efforts, putting your home skills to use. Your best friend carried through on his promise—goods from the cabin store delivered promptly to your cabin every week.

Somewhere between the end of the first week and the weekend, you dipped your fingers in the lake water, watching the dark trailing swirls as you moved. Your ankle gently tapped Percy’s in the water, sitting at the end of the walkway. You can’t help noticing how much more grown up he looks this year. Older than you—you can’t seem to shed your baby face and freckles. Eyebrow waxing and tinting can only do so much.

“You know,” you say quietly, into the evening stars. “I think the Oracle wants to see me.”

Percy remains quiet at your confession. In the water’s reflection, you watch him nod. Maybe he thought this was a continuation of your want to see the future, carried through from last season. This time is very different, you want to tell him. Because this time, you feel it in your body that your time is here.

Dark curls gently sway with the movement of his nod. Even at fifteen years old, Percy respects your wishes, even if he doesn’t agree with them. “Want me to come with you?” Just being there is enough for him. There are no questions, with Percy. He understands you, and the way you talk. There is a mutual understanding that he’s there if you want, and there anyway. There is an underlying message in his words: I’m here if you need me to be.

“Yeah,” you dip your head, to your fingers laying just beside each others, not touching. “I’d like that.”

Intuition as a demigod means a lot. It can help the demigod avoid dangerous situations, or get them to act appropriately in time. In a few years from now, walking, lonely, along a shoreline yearning for someone who isn’t there, you’ll remember this moment, and question your own sanity. On the other side of the water will be a boy, sitting and praying on his knees in the sand, for your return. You’ll feel a million miles away yet so close, just the way you do now. This moment, in the present, feels so prominent and so odd that you commit it to memory, for later. Later always comes too soon. You shouldn’t get so caught up in the past, you hear a woman’s voice telling you. You want to scream until your throat feels raw; so why is the past always catching up to me? We live in memories; they shape you, they guide you—maybe that’s why you eventually feel so lost.

The next day, you kick yourself into action. You set about making a sword from scratch in the armoury (and bribing some Hecate kids to charm it for you, to a bracelet, or something. You haven’t quite decided yet). Something in the style of Percy’s sword would be beneficial.

“Do you think there’s a reason why my sword works so well with you?” The boy mutters, hanging upside down on the dock at night, cicadas singing all around. “Back at the school, I mean. You just…used it like it weighed nothing. It came to you.”

There probably is a reason. Chiron would know. But for now, you’re young, and you don’t care.

You go down to the training arena the next evening and watch newcomer Quintus fight against Percy—practicing. The older man might try to come across as harmless, and friendly, but there’s something you really can’t place your finger on.

“Good try,” the man nods. “But your guard is too low, Percy.”

Said boy parries back, undeterred. “Have you always been a swordsman?”

“I’ve been many things.”

And if that wasn’t strange enough, the purple insignia on his neck was. In the shape of a bird, the symbol sat against his stark skin like a terrible bruise. A reminder, he called it, when Percy asked. You decide you don’t want to know much more. You’ve made your mind up about the man.

The evening that you’ve made up your mind on going to the Oracle, something strange is in the air. It feels different, like it had when Ares met you in the diner your first quest, and the way it had when you ran away from home. Something was changing—had changed. When you raise your eyes to Chiron, talking with an animated Connor Stoll at his table, he raises his gaze like he’d been expecting you. He knows that you feel something is wrong, and you know that he understands what you mean. It’s a sure sign that this isn’t you being paranoid—this is real. Something is coming, and you wish you could avoid it with all your heart. Chiron shakes his head, curls jostling at his shoulders, a silent warning for you to be quiet—to let it be. He’s handling it.

In the middle of the dining place, striking across the floor, sits the crack where Nico di Angelo brought forth the dead. Since then, he’s been missing. And nobody will let you look for him. His grief showed his true colours, a hidden talent buried deep down. If Bianca hadn’t have passed, poor Nico would be here, and happy. He’d be safe.

Annabeth jokingly digs her hand into your side. Ticklish, you almost elbow her. “Shift it! I’m starving!” You draw your eyes away from the past, though it’s staring you right in the face.

You fall asleep that night with your fingers still against the edge of the curtain that stops right above your pillow, playing with it to watch the stars above camp. When you manage to drift off, feeling heavy and tired, you only hear words in the darkness.

“An exchange. A soul for a soul. A soul that should have died already. Someone who has cheated death.”

You can’t help but think, that’s you.

So you pull on a jacket and shoes, and slip from your cabin, trailing across camp in the quiet of night, taking in the sheer silence. In the distance, Festus snored and the Golden Fleece glowed, but that passed as you took the steps to the Big House, creaking under your feet. The lights inside are on, as they always are—the Big House is never closed. And somebody is always awake.

Unfortunately, tonight, the someone you want is not awake. Mr. D. is. You’re about to turn around when he blinks up from his magazine at the table, and waves his hand briefly. The door flies open, whacking the wall unapologetically. You stand, in mismatched socks and a saggy jacket, unimpressed.

“Where’s the manager?” You ask, folding your arms.

“That would be me.”

You scoff, stepping inside. “Bullshit.”

Inside, the lights are on, the house like a beacon. It smells of alcohol and coffee, though Mr. D. can’t drink ethanol. The scent lingers with him, like the smell of Cola. He sits in a too-big, starry shirt with red cheeks and bright orange pants. A fashion icon, on a different planet. A warm breeze drifts in from the open doorway, brushing your bare legs. The animal on the wall, above the chair where a clock also sits, stares at you, judging.

“I really need to speak to Chiron.”

“Not Quintus?” He lazily raises his brows. You laugh through your nose, shoving your hands inside your pockets. As you begin to walk the space, you blink at the dirt on your shoes, thinking.

“No. I’d rather jump off a cliff.” You stop. Pulling out a chair at the table, you sit heavily, legs outstretched, an arm over the back of the chair. You don’t look up. “I had a dream about that kid, Nico. He isn’t lost—he’s following someone’s orders. And we need to go get him. Someone wants to exchange lives—a soul for a soul. They said, someone who has skipped out on death.”

Silence fills the space. You look up, from your shoes. Mr. D. shrugs. “Okay?”

Fury fills you. “Okay? That’s all you got? Call for a quest!” You exclaim, getting to your feet. “Help Nico! A soul for a soul clearly means me. Did you just ignore the last quest altogether? How many times did I nearly die?”

His watery eyes blink, face unbothered. Mr. D. leans back on the sofa, flicking his magazine again. He hums. “How should I know?”

“You should! You should know these things. Please just…help me out, here. Get Chiron to call for a quest. Let me talk to the Oracle. We can save Nico! We can fix this! He’s a kid…he shouldn’t be out there alone. Someone is clearly controlling him. And personally, I think it’s a god.”

Now, he looks up. Those eyes harden. He doesn’t do anything, but the air shifts, changes, and you hate it. “Do you, now?”

“Yes,” you sigh slowly, watching carefully. Men can be unpredictable, you’ve learned that. Gods? A little bit more so. “Just…let me do this. Let me fix things before they get worse. Please.”

You plead the same way with Chiron, later that morning. “I know this is meant for me. This is my quest. My chance. Chiron, I swear. I feel this in my bones. We have to do something, because something big is happening. Nico needs somebody to help him, and someone powerful has risen. I’ve dreamt it. I feel it. And I know that you do, too. If you don’t believe me, let me talk to the Oracle! Talk to Percy. He knows about this. He knows how I feel about it all—!”

“Stop.” Chiron utters quietly. He cuts your rising tone in half, and you fall silent, waiting. He looks at you the same way that he has since you arrived—like you’re headed for your grave, and he’s trying to stop it. He sits looking out across the porch, across camp. “Go back to your cabin. Inspection’s due to start, is it not? I’m sure Annabeth would like your help—”

And…you finally snap. You swipe a hand over your hair, tugging on the ends. “Why does nobody listen to me?! I know that you can feel something is wrong. I know. If you’d just let me talk to the Oracle. Just this once. And I’ll stop. If nothing happens, I’ll leave it all alone,” you step forward, so you’re leaning on the railing, breathing deeply, waiting for his reaction. “We both know, though, that something will happen. You’re just scared of it.”

Later, you’ll realise, looking at a young boy on a rooftop, just why Chiron was scared. He was scared for all you heroes, then and always. Heroes die terrible deaths; they get hurt, and they don’t recover. They live difficult but happy lives. It’s the hard parts, he doesn’t like.

“We don’t all die,” you urge. “We don’t all suffer. If you let me do this, I’ll come back from wherever I’ll go. I’ll bring Nico back. I’ll fix all of this! You have to trust me on this one. I’ve had dreams. Nightmares. I know what’s coming, and what will happen if I don’t do something. You’ve always said that intuition is right, as a demigod. Isn’t that one of the first things you told me? Told Percy? Right now, my intuition is telling me that I have to do this! Please believe me.”

Waiting for his response is more nerve-wracking than spilling your thoughts to him at a million miles an hour. He holds a thousand-yard stare, like he’s seeing past you. Who is he seeing, you wonder? Which hero do you remind him of?

Chiron inhaled heavily, exhaling slowly. He looks tired. “You remind me��so much of your mother. So persistent to do the right thing. Not always the good thing, but the right. You young heroes…I will think about it. We have more pressing matters, right now. An Aethiopian Drakon was spotted this morning walking the camp border. We know Luke has made plans to invade, and my guess is this is the start of that idea. Quintus has suggested we have a round of war games tonight. You should tell Annabeth and Sienna, they’ll want to prepare no doubt…”

At breakfast, Quintus announces the war games after dinner. Annabeth yaps about how long it’s been since the last one. Clarissa tiredly asks what the war games are like. The conversation with Chiron plays on your mind while you scrape your offerings into the fire. A bit of toasted bagel and strawberries. The brightness of the flames reflect off your plate, grateful that you’re late to breakfast and there’s nobody waiting behind you.

“Help me get what I want, mom. We both know I’m meant for this. Let me save Nico. Let me save us.”

Whether she’ll listen—whether she even heard—is one thing, and carrying out on your wishes is another. A part of you wants to think about all the times she didn’t help you. But another part thinks of all the times she did, and you have a slither of hope that Athena will hear your desperation and help you out.

You remind me so much of your mother. You have lots in common, then. Maybe she’ll realise you’re more alike than either of you thought.

You turn and cast your gaze across the pavilion. Connor and Travis are throwing food across the table, so you’re not going there. At your table, Annabeth is staring at the sky like it’s the answer to all her problems. Silena Beauregard is sobbing her heart out at her haircut, so you’ll avoid her today. Finally, Percy and Grover. Percy in typical fashion of creased blue tee and jeans, and Grover chewing on lettuce, his horns poking through his curly hair. At the head table, Chiron is standing, not in the wheelchair, tall and…already watching. Maybe he does it on purpose—he just leaves. Campers shouldn’t sit at other tables, sitting with your own cabin is a where you should be.

You approach Percy, anyway, slinking onto the bench. Grover smiles at you, and you can’t tell if you’re paranoid or if Chiron has mentioned your talk this morning. Maybe you’re losing it—because you swore, hands down, that you talked to Mr. D. last night, and according to Chiron, he isn’t even at camp.

“What are we talkin’ about?” You pick at your bagel, eyeing Percy’s much more appealing chocolate pop tarts.

“Chiron wants Percy to convince me,” Grover utters, spearing his breakfast with a fork.

“Convince you of what?”

A plate smacks down on the table, rattling the dishes already there. Annabeth climbs over the bench and plonks down, reaching over you to steal one of Percy’s pop tarts. You have half a mind to snatch it back.

“I’ll tell you what it’s about,” Annabeth said. “The Labyrinth.”

You look between the three of them. “Labyrinth? Are we talking, like, Theseus’s Labyrinth? Ariadne, and shit?”

“Exactly that.”

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Percy hushes. “Either of you.”

“We all need to talk!” Annabeth insists.

“But the rules…” he frowns.

You shove the rest of your bagel in your mouth. “Rules-shmules. Cut to the point—I had a dream about Nico di Angelo, and he’s working with some psycho to exchange souls. He’s being controlled by someone. Last night, the Apollo kids went out to get rid of the drakon in the woods. I’ve had a weird feeling for weeks now that something’s coming and something has changed, and all of this is happening after Luke came up with the plans to invade and take over. Coincidence? I think not. We need to do something.”

Annabeth hums. “When you pair all that with the fact that Grover’s in trouble, and the Labyrinth we found this summer over in the woods? It’s all connected. It has to be. I think the only way we can figure it all out is by going into the Labyrinth. It didn’t appear for no reason, right? Clarisse found it by total accident, and we’ve been trying to investigate it all summer. We only get so far, though…”

“So,” Percy prodded. “It’s not under the king’s palace in Crete anymore. It’s actually under some random building in America?”

“It was never just under the palace, though,” you think aloud. “It was sprawling. It existed for so long before Theseus went inside that it just…adapted. Changed. If it grew there, chances are it isn’t just under some building in America. It’s probably everywhere. Just like Olympus moves with societal changes, and how an Underworld entrance is in L.A.”

“So, is the Labyrinth a part of the Underworld?”

It’s Annabeth’s turn to be confused. Grover shook his curly head. “No. There are probably passages leading down to the Underworld in the maze, but they’re not totally connected. Think of them as…alleys between streets. The Labyrinth is basically just under the surface of the mortal world, like a second skin. It’s been growing for thousands of years. It’s connected everything everywhere. You can get practically anywhere using the Labyrinth.”

It only occurs to you, then, that, “The Labyrinth that opened in camp…is Luke’s way in. It’s how he’s going to invade everywhere. He’s got it all planned to a T. Luke must have connections in camp, because the entrance to the Labyinth wasn’t here a few months ago. Someone has to be feeding him information on how it works, where it starts and ends. How to get inside. But who?”

It all clicks into place perfectly.

You’re your mother’s daughter, alright.

As it so happened, Chiron wanted Grover to explore the maze. Clarisse spent the summer inside of it, trying to get a feel for where it led to, the entrances and exits. It’s always changing, according to her, and she got lost a couple times. Chris Rodriguez went insane down there, says Annabeth. He’s still insane. But no other advancements have been made. Because nobody can find the entrances outside, or the exits inside. Grover still wants to find the god, Pan, and believes that the maze might be the only way to find him. But Grover is Grover, and he knows how he feels, so the maze isn’t a match. Annabeth urges him to go and keep looking. But…everyone knows something is wrong. Off.

When Quintus cleared his throat far too many times to be a sore throat, Annabeth got the hint and took you over with her to your own table.

“Convince him, will you?” She asks Percy, linking her arm with yours to pull your unwilling self along. “Talk to him.”

You eye Quintus and try to decide whether you’re a paranoid schizophrenic. Mr. D. would tell you straight. But he’s not here, and so says Annabeth, he never was. There’s excitement and unsettlement buzzing in your body, like you’re gearing up for something you don’t know about just yet. Sometimes, the body knows before the brain does, and it’s never wrong.

That evening, Quintus ordered the Capture The Flag armour to be handed out. Suited up and waiting for his orders, everyone crowded as the sun began to set, burning orange over the treeline. The mood among the campers was a lot more serious than when you played Capture The Flag.

“Right!” Quintus said, standing on the head table. “Gather round.” He dressed in black leather and bronze armour, like something from the past and the future mixed into one. Throwing in his greying hair into the mix was like seeing a ghost. The giant puppy (supposedly dangerous) that was Mrs O’Leary bounded and barked around Quintus, eating scraps off the floor. “You will be in teams of two—WHICH HAVE ALREADY BEEN DECIDED.” People began to grab at their friends and scream names, until he yelled over them.

“Awwwww!” Came a chorus of disappointment.

“The goal is simple: collect the gold laurels without dying.”

You lean over subtly to Percy, though you can’t just whisper in his ear anymore, he’s got so tall. “We do that every day.”

“The wreath is wrapped in the silk package tied to the backs of the monsters. There are six of these monsters, each has a silk package. Your goal is to find the wreath before the other teams. And…of course, you will have to slay the monster to get it, and not die.”

“Neat,” you mutter. It sounds straight forward enough. Around you, people agreed.

“I will now announce your partners. There’ll be no switching. No complaining. And NO trading.”

He went on to list the pairs, from a terrified Grover and spooked Tyson, to Clarisse and Joan, to Annabeth and Mason, to Connor and Travis, and you and Percy.

Percy grinned at you. “Nice.”

You shoulder-barged him so hard his armour turned ski-whif. You twirled your dagger between your fingers with what you could describe as utter skill, heading into the woods. The teams spread out, some walking, some sprinting. Percy held his sword at his side, and you were almost jealous of it. It was still light when you got into the woods properly but the height and density of the trees made it darker and colder than it really was.

“I spy with my little eye,” Percy spun in a circle. “Uhhhh…something beginning with T.”

“Trees.” You side-eyed him.

“Smarty-pants. Your turn.”

“I spy with my little eye, something beginning with P.” You hone in on the distant scuttling.

Percy gasps dramatically. “It’s a Percy!”

Your hand flies for his sword-side wrist. “No—package. Run!”

If this were a fun game, you might have run after the package strapped to the back of the creature. However…you were really quite scared. These creatures were huge, bigger than normal monsters, scorpions altered with huge pincers and poison dripping from their sides. When one came, three more followed. How on earth were you supposed to fight them all off? You nearly tripped over backward as Percy yanked on your armour. You scrambled to keep up with him, dirt flicking up off the ground. Another creature came out from that way, too, leaving you back-to-back with Percy.

“They don’t look happy,” he said.

“Absolutely not,” you agree.

You move slowly to be side-by-side instead, moving in the one direction the monsters aren’t keeping you stuck in. Your feet shift back, the ground declining. Percy, in front of you, trusts you to guide him, deflecting a hiss of poison with the flat of his sword just in time to catch it before it landed on your face. You exhale slowly, reaching your dagger hand behind you, catching on the side of a large rock, taller than the both of you, and one on the other side. The space between the two is slim, but with the creatures closing in on you, any sort of coverage is better than none.

“Bit tight there, no?” Percy suggests nervously, reaching his free hand up to his shoulder where your hand rests up on his armour, guiding.

“Cover is cover, man. Oh, that’s a bit steep—”

Before you can say another word, the ground under your feet gives way. All the breath leaves your lungs in the sudden, unexpected fall. Percy yells, shocked, falling backward into pure darkness. You land on hard ground, your armour taking most of the impact. Slightly winded, you sit up and rely on Percy to help you up, staring at the hole you fell through, the light sky and scorpions peering down to you. The boy next to you breathes frantically, panicking.

It couldn’t get any worse, right?

Wrong. You watch in total disbelief, the hole knitting together and closing up to leave you both in the pitch black. The make of Percy’s sword provides a tiny glimmer of a glow, casting between your faces—his wide-eyed, unblinking and yours terrified.

“Percy—”

“Don’t panic. It’s—it’s fine.”

Your voice rises to a high pitch. “Where are we?!”

“Well, we’re in a hole.” His voice shakes in response.

It’s freezing down here, and damp. You take a step back, dropping your dagger. It clatters and echoes in both directions. Your palms fly back as you lean and hit a wall, sliding them across dewy concrete. A breeze blows from one direction, whistling, all the way down to the other. The space doesn’t feel tight. When you reach your hand out to find Percy in the darkness, you can’t feel him.

“Are you there?” You whisper, throat tightening.

“Right here,” he gulps, and warm fingertips land in your hair. You slide your hand up to meet his wrist and don’t let go. His pulse flutters furiously under your tight fingers. “The whole woods, and four monsters come right to us. We’re like magnets.”

“Just you, man. Son of Poseidon ‘n all.”

“Glad you find this funny.”

“I’m glad you’re glad.”

As the two of you calm down ever so slightly, you push off the wall, still holding Percy, and reach for his sword, turning the material’s dim light this way and that. It doesn’t do much. “What is this? Maintenance tunnels?”

You want to laugh. But something weak and nervous has settled on your chest. “Percy…I think we’re in the Labyrinth.” The ground beneath your feet feels like brickwork, jolty, uneven. “Safe from scorpions, anyway.”

“This is new. Has to be. We would have known if there were caves here. Surely?…”

You nod, sniffing. “Definitely.” You thought of the crack made by Nico in the dining pavilion. Had the two of you made this? But how? It didn’t seem right. You lower your hand from Percy’s sword, and he slides his hand down…into your own clammy palm, off his wrist. Eyes widening, you don’t question it. He keeps his hand there. Percy shifts the sword light.

“It’s a long room,” he mutters.

“It’s not a room,” you realise. “It’s a corridor.” The darkness felt emptier in front and behind, and you had the terrible, crawling feeling that something was watching. If this was the maze, it would make sense: the maze is alive, after all.

He took a step forward, slipping your hand away. “Don’t!” You cried, a little too loudly, partially out of worry for danger but mostly so as not to be left alone. “Don’t go down there. We need to just…find an exit. We need to get out.”

If he sensed your panic—which, being Percy, he definitely did—he tried to calm you. “It’s okay,” he tried, somewhat soft. “It’s right—there…oh.”

You tried to think rationally under the rising terror. If this really was the maze, who was the maker? You sift through hours of books and facts and history mentally in seconds, working at a thousand mental miles an hour. The original maker, would have been Daedalus—the father of Icarus. Ancient Greeks and their creations…

“There has to be some sort of exit here,” you utter, trailing your hand up the wall. You let go of Percy’s and brush both across the dewy walls. “A mark, maybe? Daedalus was a creator. All creator’s leave their trademark, I think. If we’re talking Ancient Greece then it’s probably a Greek letter or…sign…something.” You liked to assume the trademark would be something to feel, and close by. You heard Percy copying you without question. You know one another by now, and how each other works. You often lead—Percy often follows. It’s a level of trust you’ve had no choice but to build on over the years. Act first, question later.

His unsure tone came forth in the darkness. “I’m not—”

“Got it!” A eureka! moment brings relief, and a bit of weight falls from your shoulders. A dented brick in the wall, in the shape of the ancient Delta—a small L. It began to glow bright blue when you pressed into it. You’d have smiled if you weren’t so worried. The roof slid open, dirt falling in atop of you. You’d been expecting scorpions and sunlight, not…stars, and the dark sky. Elatedness turns into sheer and utter bafflement. Metal ladder rungs speared out of the wall, to the opening in the ceiling. People were screaming your names, some distantly, some close by. Percy glanced nervously to you, and nodded to the ladder.

Humid air greeted you. Up on the surface, the ground closed over again, like it had never fallen open in the first place. Percy, crouched, brushed his hand over the place there should have been a gash. Nothing.

“Where the hell have you two been?” Clarisse rounded into your space, face like fury. “We’ve been looking forever!” She demanded.

Maybe it was how you shook, leaning against the rock. It might have been the paleness of Percy’s face.

“We were only gone five minutes,” he said.

Chiron trotted up, followed by Annabeth and a new camper. “You guys okay?” She asked, breathing deep.

“We’re fine,” Percy got to his feet. “We fell into a hole.” People looked skeptically to him, but you opened your mouth.

“Honest.” Chiron looked like his worst fears were coming to life. “We were out here just fighting those scorpions and then the ground just opened. Didn’t feel that long down there, but obviously…”

“You’ve been missing for nearly three hours,” Chiron ran a hand over his face. “The game is over.”

“Yeah,” Annabeth piped up. “We nearly won. Until Tyson fell on me.”

You eyed the golden laurels Clarisse wore. Usually, she’d brag and flaunt in typical Ares-kid fashion. This time, the girl stood judging. “It just opened?” She repeated.

“Chiron, maybe we should talk about this somewhere else? At the Big House?” Said Annabeth.

Clarisse pushed further into the circle. “You found it, didn’t you? You went into the maze!”

You turned your head in a short tilt, scoffing. “Yeah. Yeah, we found it…”

Campers grew rowdy, yelling questions and firing anxiety. Chiron held his hand up and it grew quiet. “Tonight is not the right time, and this is not the right place.” He stared at the giant rock formations like they were dangerous. “All of you, back to your cabins. Get some sleep. You played well, but it’s well past curfew!”

There was a lot of complaining and mumbling, but campers dwindled and retreated to their cabins, no doubt going to talk about your missing evening with Percy.

“That explains what Luke is after,” Clarisse shrugged.

You froze. “So I was right, this morning—we found Luke’s invasion route into camp?”

If looks could kill, you’d be back in that hole. Annabeth nodded, staring at you. Clarisse popped off on a spiralling theory, and Percy pressed his hand into your shoulder. Chiron had turned grey, face stony.

You didn’t know, then.

You’d just just started digging your own grave.

taglist:

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@rottenstyx @rory-cakes @i-am-scared-and-useless-bisexual

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@xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @nothankyou138 @i-love-books-and-the-bible

@obxstiles @mxltifxnd0m @ryujinraven

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jamilelucato · 1 year ago

Text

The Writer and The Illustrator (Part 03)

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Miss [y/n]

Summary: (Part 01 / Part 02) In the carriage en route to Lady Danbury's ball, tension crackles between Miss [y/n] [y/l/n] and Mr Benedict Bridgerton. Beneath their bickering lies an undeniable attraction that they both need to take care of before it's too late.

Age rating: 18+.

Author’s note: It's the end of age! No, I'm kidding, but it is the end of this story.

To read Anthony’s fic, click here! For other stories, click here.Enjoy

An air of tension hung heavy within the plush confines of the velvety blue carriage.

True to his word, Mr Benedict Bridgerton stood promptly outside the [y/l/n] residence at seven o'clock, resplendent in his finest attire, ready to escort Miss [y/n] [y/l/n] to Lady Danbury's ball. The initial exchange, with Mr [y/l/n]'s presence in the periphery, was pleasant enough—gentlemanly handshakes and cordial smiles exchanged between the men, with Benedict embodying the epitome of a refined gentleman, at least in the eyes of the [y/l/n] household.

But such commendation found little favour with Miss [y/n] [y/l/n].

Seated across from Benedict, [y/n] regarded him with a fiery intensity in her gaze. She couldn't shake the feeling of indignation at Benedict's earlier remarks, his unwitting perpetuation of the sexism she fought against. Who was he, she seethed inwardly, to lecture her on the perils of being a woman author in the 19th century?

[y/n] was well aware of the risks and well acquainted with the challenges she faced as a woman pursuing her literary aspirations. She wouldn't have embarked on this daunting journey if she weren't driven by an unwavering determination to realise her dreams. And yet, Benedict's condescension rankled her—his first foray into illustrating a book hardly qualified him to lecture her on the intricacies of the publishing world. He was a newcomer to her domain, ignorant of the trials she endured.

Still, despite her righteous anger, [y/n] begrudgingly acknowledged Benedict's artistic prowess. She may have bristled at his presumptions, but she couldn't deny his talent as a painter. His not-so-recent exhibition at the Bridgerton house, for the family's closest friends, had been a testament to his skill. Though she had been present under the [y/l/n]'s invitation, Benedict's work ultimately swayed her decision to enlist his talents for her project.

Benedict's voice, though barely above a whisper, resonated within the confines of the carriage, imbued with an unexpected intensity by the close quarters.

"You won't say anything?" he queried, his gaze fixed firmly on [y/n].

She unwaveringly met his gaze, her voice collected as she responded, "And what would you have me say, Mr. Bridgerton?"

A sharp exhale escaped Benedict, frustration seeping into his tone. "Am I now merely 'Mr Bridgerton'? No longer 'Ben'?"

[y/n]'s eyes rolled in exasperation. "Well, forgive me if the current circumstances don't exactly evoke the camaraderie of our long-time friendship," she retorted sharply. "Ben was the amiable fellow who praised my boldness in my talents as he delicately illustrated them. At present, however, it feels like he's nowhere to be found."

That woman threatened to drive him to madness.

Benedict's hand rose instinctively, gripping his own chin firmly as if to silence the words he yearned to express. The action seemed to quell the words on his tongue, preventing him from affirming that he remained the same Ben who marvelled at her talents and considered her utterly unique.

Somehow, Benedict couldn't bring himself to offer [y/n] the praise she might have expected at that moment.

"I have all the illustrations with me in the carriage," he declared, nodding towards the briefcase nestled beside him, unseen until now in the dim light of the carriage. "Before the ball concludes, we shall escape, and I shall escort us directly to your editor."

"Oh, why, Mr Bridgerton!" She exclaimed with exaggerated surprise, her eyes widening playfully. "It appears you've managed to summon your inner gentleman at last. Quite a departure from the sexist pig you were earlier in my library."

She was maddening. Utterly maddening.

For a myriad of reasons, unfortunately.

Benedict wanted to attribute his discomfort solely to her condescension, which tempted him to respond, assert his dominance and put her back in her place. A firm swat on her behind might remind her she must be a pleasant, nice girl.

Heavens! He nearly exclaimed aloud, reining in his thoughts just in time. Benedict found himself entertaining the notion of [y/n]'s posterior, a territory over which he had neither jurisdiction nor entitlement.

Clearing his throat, Benedict offered, "I apologise if that's how it came across. It was never my intention to diminish you because of your gender."

"It wasn't that," she responded, her gaze penetrating his. This time, he noticed, there was no anger in her eyes. [y/n] simply wanted to clarify her perspective. "You said I shouldn't go alone."

"Yes, and I stand by that," Benedict affirmed.

[y/n] paused, realising she needed to elaborate further for him to grasp her viewpoint.

"I understand your concern," she conceded. "But you didn't offer to accompany me. You only criticised me."

Benedict felt a chill run through him at [y/n]'s revelation. He had argued with her under the assumption that his willingness to accompany her was implicit. Not merely because she was a young, unmarried woman venturing into a dangerous part of London at an ungodly hour but because it was their joint endeavour she intended to pursue solo.

Now that he knew her secret identity and understood that this tenth book would not be her last, Benedict was determined to accompany her to the publisher's office on all future occasions. It would be against his principles as a gentleman—principles instilled in him by both his father and mother—to allow a lady to undertake such journeys alone, especially now that he was aware.

Suddenly, he realised, with a softening expression toward [y/n], that he'd be accompanying her to the ends of the earth from then on. He recognised the truth in his revelation. He couldn't envision himself being apart from her.

But the carriage stopped before Benedict could articulate his newfound determination to [y/n] or even offer an apology for any misunderstanding. They had arrived at Lady Danbury's residence.

As [y/n] began to prepare to disembark, ensuring her hairstyle was intact and smoothing her satin skirt, Benedict peered out the window, a heavy groan escaping him.

"No."

Startled, [y/n] looked up from her lap to find Benedict wearing a determined expression. He lightly tapped the carriage roof swiftly—a clear signal for the coachman to continue the journey. Almost instantly, [y/n] felt the carriage lurch forward as the horses resumed their pace.

"What are you doing?" she inquired, still adjusting her hair, the sudden movement causing her to worry about her appearance.

At that moment, she realised—quite abruptly—that lately, she had been increasingly concerned about her appearance. After her second failed season, during which she remained unmarried, Miss [y/n] had abandoned many of the formalities of fashion. She seldom wore corsets and paid little heed to the latest dress designs, opting instead for simplicity. Her hair, usually secured in a tight bun resembling that of a governess, was styled by her own hands, as her brother had also tasked her maid with attending to her sister-in-law.

But something had changed.

Benedict frequently selected her as his dance partner at parties where they unexpectedly crossed paths. They often rendezvoused in Hyde Park to discuss their book. Almost every afternoon, [y/n] found herself at the Bridgerton residence, although she couldn't quite fathom why she felt an unspoken obligation to maintain a polished appearance.

She wasn't oblivious to the rumours circulating about them. Many speculated that the two were courting, and why wouldn't they? What other reason could a single gentleman have for associating with an unmarried lady?

Still, [y/n] dismissed such notions as ludicrous. She felt like the most withered flower in the garden—what bee would alight on a flower with almost no pollen?

She consumed Benedict Bridgerton's thoughts. He couldn't help but gaze at her, taking in every detail. Only then did he realise he had instructed the carriage to continue, bypassing Lady Danbury's residence entirely.

Good Lord, he mused, in just fifteen minutes in her presence, [y/n] had managed to drive him insane, as he had assumed she would.

And, of course, he wanted to blame himself but blast it all; why did she have to wear the most exquisite dress in all of British fashion? Why did she have to wear a corset that not only accentuated her waist but also elevated her bosom?

Benedict, a gentleman with little interest in women's fashion, found himself fixated on it that particular evening.

"Mr. Bridgerton!" she exclaimed, breaking through his reverie.

Miss [y/n] [y/l/n] was, without a doubt, the most stunning woman he had ever seen. Suddenly, he regretted not having his drawing chalks with him so he could capture her likeness right then and there in the soft glow filtering through the carriage windows.

"[y/n]," he whispered her name like a plea as he wet his lips, "what's going on between us?"

She averted her gaze, feeling the weight of his intensity. "What do you mean, Ben? We're simply working partners."

He grinned like a mischievous imp. "No, we're not."

"Ben," she began, intending to distance herself. No, that would be a lie. His fervour drew her in like a moth to a flame, even as she knew she shouldn't respond. It didn't matter that she'd heard whispers about the longing looks he cast her way across the room; it didn't matter that her brother had overheard Benedict defending her at the men's club just two days prior. "We're just the writer and the illustrator. That's all."

"The writer and her illustrator," he echoed, but she barely noticed the subtle pronoun shift.

"Yes," she nodded, swallowing hard. "The writer and her illustrator."

A smile of pure delight graced his lips.

"I am yours, I'm afraid," he confessed, taking her aback. She, a writer, was powerless against his words. Involuntarily, she leaned in closer, drawn by the magnetic pull of his presence. "Could you say it again?" he pleaded, inching nearer, breaching the space between them.

They were mere inches apart.

"What? 'My illustrator'?" she repeated, her confusion mingling with the intoxicating atmosphere.

"My writer," he responded, mirroring her phrase. "Mine."

He was marking her with words. She liked it.

"I'm also afraid I have to kiss you," he said, leaving her confused. Benedict couldn't need permission, could he? She thought she was being very obvious when she prompted forward, her cleavage at his disposal.

She might have been a virgin, but she wasn't naive.

With a swift, decisive movement, [y/n] closed the gap between them, her lips capturing his in a searing kiss. Ben's initial surprise melted away as he responded eagerly, his body instinctively leaning to hold her in an embrace. The tension between them for so long ignited into a blaze of passion, consuming them both.

Their kisses grew more urgent, more desperate, as the carriage rocked gently beneath them. Benedict's hands roamed over [y/n]'s body, tracing the curves of her silhouette with a reverence that bordered on worship. [y/n]'s fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as she surrendered to the heady rush of desire coursing through her veins.

At that moment, the confines of the carriage faded away, leaving only the two of them wrapped up in each other's arms. Time seemed to stand still as they lost themselves in the heat of their passion, their bodies moving together in a sensual dance that spoke volumes without the need for words.

Amidst their embrace's perfection and delectable allure, [y/n] sensed an unspoken yearning deep within her soul. Despite the exquisite intimacy they shared, she couldn't shake the conviction that there was something more she craved from Benedict—something she couldn't quite articulate or request. Each time she drew near to him, although he didn't push her away, she felt him place his own hips away from hers.

Yet, after countless attempts to bridge the distance between them, Benedict could no longer deny the fervour burning within him.

"[y/n]," he murmured her name with a weighty sigh, attempting to extricate himself gently with one final kiss, but the lady refused to relent, meeting his lips once more. "I must escort you home."

His words sent a tremor of apprehension through [y/n], causing her to withdraw instinctively. She had barely noticed that she wasn't even in her seat anymore: she was trying to jump into his lap, but as he kept moving away, she seemed to crouch in the carriage. Oh, the shame that flooded her being, her gaze lowered in embarrassment.

Her reaction tugged at Benedict's heartstrings, stirring a tumult of emotions within him as he swiftly reconsidered his course of action.

"Do not feel ashamed," he implored, his tone pleading. The thought of [y/n] bearing any semblance of shame was unbearable to him. "I must release you now, for I could easily succumb to temptation in this carriage, and such a fate is ill-suited for a lady of your stature. You deserve far better."

Though every fibre of her being yearned for more at that moment, [y/n] knew deep down that he spoke the truth. She deserved better. He hadn't said he liked her, for instance. He hadn't proposed. She supposed that, to be deflowered, she at least deserved that.

"You're right," she conceded, her gaze drifting to the window as she pondered their proximity to her home. "I've never done this before, you know?"

Benedict stifled a sudden urge to utter a remark that hovered at the tip of his tongue, granting her the space to share her thoughts freely. He trusted her to confide in him, as she always had.

"I've never been kissed," she admitted with such earnestness that Benedict was taken aback.

Never been kissed? The notion perplexed him. After all, hadn't she just demonstrated such fervour and skill with her lips in the confines of the carriage? How could someone as captivating as [y/n] [y/l/n] have never experienced the simple act of a kiss? Surely, no shortage of suitors had come calling at her door.

"No, you can't be serious," he interjected, his incredulity evident as he leaned closer, their proximity becoming increasingly intimate. It seemed he had lost all semblance of restraint in her presence.

"But I am," she insisted, a hint of defensiveness colouring her tone as she addressed her innocence. "I am a spinster, Ben. Gentlemen typically pursue the young and bright diamonds of the seasons."

"You are young, and you are bright," he countered, his brow furrowing in response to her apparent self-deprecation. "You may not have been dubbed the diamond of the season, but that designation would have hardly done you justice."

[y/n] found herself unable to muster the strength to protest. Further, a realization soon dawned on Benedict as he observed her resigned demeanour. Yet, despite her acquiescence, he sensed a lingering doubt in her eyes.

"[y/n]," he began, his voice softening with sincerity, "these debutantes are hailed as diamonds because they are transparent and colourless. You, my dear, are nothing like them. By God, you are the most brilliant writer I have ever met; your scenes are so well described that I had no difficulty drawing them. If only I had dedicated our time together to capturing your likeness, I would have employed every hue in my palette to convey the sheer beauty that I behold in you—the most exquisite woman I have ever beheld," he confessed, his heart swelling with emotion as he laid bare his sentiments. "And look, I'm older than you."

"Only by a few years," she countered, a flicker of warmth igniting within her, a profound longing to smile once more gracing her features.

"Wait," Benedict interjected; his movements stilled as realization dawned upon him, connecting the dots between her confession, observations, and the vivid scenes in W. Jabber's novels. "[y/n], if you've never experienced a kiss, how is it that you wrote such erotically charged passages?"

Her eyes widened in alarm, akin to a child caught red-handed in mischief.

"'The Flowers of Our Garden,' despite its intricate political narrative, contains some rather passionate scenes," he remarked astutely, drawing upon his recollection of the four novels by W. Jabber that he had perused.

"Nothing overly explicit, Ben," she countered defensively. "Nothing I couldn't have imagined."

"Did you imagine being kissed?" he pressed, his gaze piercing.

[y/n] swallowed hard, her mind racing. Of course, she had—what woman hadn't entertained such fantasies? In the past month alone, while toiling alongside Mr Bridgerton day in and day out, [y/n] had conjured more scenarios of tender embraces than she had penned words.

"And what of the intimate caresses described in 'Flowers'? Did you envision someone touching you in those places as the protagonist did with his wife?"

"Ben," she uttered his name with a cautionary tone. "Yes, I am no stranger to worldly matters, having witnessed much within the confines of party gardens. Do not judge me for it. After all, no one judges Mr. Jabber for his prose."

"[y/n]," he started again, rephrasing. "I didn't ask how you know those things in your novels. One doesn't need to have died to know death," he offered through analogy. "But I'm curious if you desired those experiences for yourself. The kisses, the touches...?"

She cast her gaze downward, contemplating her response. "Yes," she admitted quietly.

"Oh, dear," he murmured tenderly, his words a gentle caress. [y/n] lifted her eyes to meet his, finding herself lost in the depths of his caring gaze.

He wanted her as the protagonist of his stories.

Benedict realized that to fulfil her desires, he first needed to address their current situation. And that solution seemed clear: he longed to give a name to their connection.

"Will you marry me?" he implored, drawing closer in the soft glow of the carriage.

"What?" she exclaimed, taken aback. Surely, Benedict must be jesting, she thought.

"I desire your hand in marriage," he persisted. "Please, say you'll marry me. Say you'll be mine, [y/n], and I will support you. I want nothing more than to cherish you. To experience the passion depicted in your novels and beyond. To capture the moments in my paintings. To immortalize you, now and for all eternity, bathed in candlelight."

"Benedict Bridgerton!" she gasped, feeling a flutter in her chest akin to a young maiden's.

"Ben," he gently corrected her. "I'm your illustrator, remember? Your Ben."

He yearned for her affirmation, yet she remained silent, lost in her thoughts. Determined, he leaned in to kiss her, pulling her onto his lap, his desire for her no longer a concern.

"Say yes," he whispered against her skin, trailing kisses along her neck. "Say it, [y/n]."

"Yes," she breathed, succumbing to the intoxicating allure of his touch. "Yes, I am yours."

"You are mine," he declared, his lips trailing lower to the curve of her bosom. With a playful smile, he pressed a kiss before meeting her gaze again. "You are mine."

"I am yours," she affirmed, feeling a shiver of anticipation. And as he bit her there, tenderly, she surrendered to the promise of more—a promise that seemed boundless in the arms of Benedict Bridgerton.

Benedict left a trail of kisses all over her that night in the cramped carriage. He began with tender kisses upon the lady's bosom—no, upon his bride's bosom!—before trailing lower, his hands deftly undoing the fastenings of her dress until it lay in disarray. Though not entirely bared, she was more exposed to him than ever.

"I... I..." she attempted to speak, to offer some form of explanation or apology. Was it due to her appearance? But she felt anything but unattractive under his hungry gaze, beneath his fervent touch upon her curves. Perhaps that's why the words eluded her.

He scarcely afforded her a chance to articulate further.

Ben persisted in his passionate assault, his bites and caresses a testament to his desire to taste her, to consume her completely.

"I need you to sit back... no, that won't do," he pondered the spatial constraints of the carriage. "I want you to go back to your seat."

She arched an eyebrow, bemused.

"I will kneel before you."

A soft laugh escaped her lips. "No need to worship me."

He knew she teased him, relishing her playful spirit. "I shall indulge in that too. It's been my practice since our journey began."

A smile of pure delight graced her features.

"But for now, my dear, I simply long to savour you, and that I can only achieve if you recline in your seat."

[y/n]'s initial confusion morphed into a swirl of emotions as Benedict delicately guided her back into her seat within the carriage, positioned her to face him, and divested her of the remaining layers of her attire. Fully exposed now, she stood vulnerable before him, her naked form laid bare. Yet, as she observed Ben's reaction, his evident pleasure at the sight of her, she couldn't suppress the smile that graced her lips.

At that moment, her confusion ebbed away, replaced by a sensation akin to pleasure.

With his bride before him, Benedict ventured where none had dared. [y/n] had never fathomed such intimacy possible. Though she had witnessed many clandestine trysts in the moonlit gardens of ballrooms and countless exchanges of affection, she had not anticipated the sheer ecstasy of feeling his touch in places even she hesitated to explore. It was an exquisite revelation, one she wished to prolong indefinitely.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" he inquired, his gaze fixed upon his task. [y/n] responded with a breathy affirmation, amusing him, yet he longed to hear her voice her pleasure. "Speak to me."

"I want you, Ben," she said suddenly, surprising them both by her boldness. "I want… oh!" Her words trailed off as a surge of sensation overwhelmed her. The intensity mounted with each passing moment, threatening to consume her, but Benedict halted before she could reach the brink of release.

"I want you too, dear," he declared, rising from kneeling. "And now, I shall claim you as mine, forever marking you as mine."

She regarded him with eyes ablaze with passion.

"You're ready, more than that," he continued, his words trailing off as he became lost in the depths of his declaration.

A smile graced her lips. "I'm eager."

He grinned; a devilish twinkle in his eyes caused her cheeks to flush crimson.

"It might hurt, I must tell you," he cautioned as he began to undo his trousers. At that moment, as he moved, [y/n] realized she stood alone in her nakedness.

"You must remove your shirt," she insisted, emboldened by her desire. Knowing Ben's yearning for her, she felt empowered to act upon her longing.

"I suppose I must, mustn't I?" he teased.

"I shall assist," she declared, reaching forward to disrobe him, stripping away each garment until he stood as bare as she. With gentle strokes, she trailed her fingers over the expanse of his chest; her curiosity piqued until her touch encountered something far more masculine than the smooth contours of his torso.

"Oh," she gasped, biting her lip in surprise.

"You may explore at your leisure later, my dear," he murmured, covering her hand with his own. "For now, I fear I may lose control if you continue."

Enchanted by his words, she acquiesced, allowing him to guide her hand away from his sensitive skin.

It had felt soft to the touch, yet beneath her gaze, she found it firm, rigid, and elongated. It was not what she had envisioned, but somehow, it was better.

She liked his use of words, so she let him take her fingers away from the delicate skin.

The air thickened with anticipation as their desire reached its crescendo. Benedict's gaze met [y/n]'s, a silent exchange of longing and need that spoke volumes without a single word.

With a shared understanding, they closed the distance between them. Benedict's hands roamed over [y/n]'s naked form, igniting sparks of pleasure that danced along her skin. She gasped as his lips found hers, their kiss a fiery union of passion and urgency.

As their embrace deepened, Benedict guided himself inside her, their bodies becoming one in a primal dance of ecstasy. [y/n] moaned in pleasure, her nails digging into Benedict's back as he moved with a steady rhythm, each thrust driving them closer to the edge of oblivion.

In the throes of passion, time seemed to stand still as they lost themselves in each other, their cries of ecstasy mingling with the rhythmic creaking of the carriage.

It was only them, lost in the blissful oblivion of their shared desire.

And as they reached the peak of their pleasure, they clung to each other with a fierce intensity, their bodies trembling with the force of their release.

As they lay entwined in each other's arms, their breath coming in ragged gasps, Benedict pressed a tender kiss to [y/n]'s forehead, his heart overflowing with love and adoration.

"You're mine, now," she said before he could say it first. For an unknown reason, she felt possessive over him. "I think I... I do love you, Benedict Bridgerton, you must know."

Before she could register the astonishment in his eyes, Benedict silenced his own smile with a fervent kiss, his lips claiming hers with a hunger that spoke volumes.

"I'm yours, without a doubt, and I love you more," he confessed with a smile, though his expression soon shifted to one of realization. "I'll have to procure a special license for our wedding. It will entail some effort... but it will be worth it."

"Can't endure being my fiancé any longer? They say being my husband will be even worse," she teased, her fingers trailing through the dark waves of his hair, tucking them back from his forehead.

"I would gladly remain your fiancé for a lifetime to become your husband for as many lifetimes as we have," he replied charmingly. "However, having a bride who is... with child might raise some eyebrows."

"Oh, Lord," she gasped, her eyes widening in alarm as she pulled back from him. "You don't think...?"

"It's a possibility," he confirmed, his tone laced with both excitement and apprehension.

He felt her tense, her body hardening over his. But he ran his hands over her curves and, smiling, said, "Don't worry about the child, my dear. I heard that a great writer is about to release a beautifully illustrated children's book..."

At his words, their laughter mingled with kisses, at their secret and the promise of a marriage that was not only passionate but also very, very artistic.

#benedict bridgerton x yn #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton fic #bridgerton #bridgerton fic #benedict x reader #mr bridgerton #polin #anthony bridgerton

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silvergolddraco28 · 1 year ago

Text

LMK x Hazbin Hotel- part 9- Introductions

cowritten with my friend Dortiii on AO3

heart comment and reblog! Remember i have a secondary version that's open for anyone interested!

Crystallized molten gold iris floating ruby red sclera blinked several times, ears pinned back, tail swaying like a cat’s in minor confusion. “What in the ten realms of the Diyu are you?”

"Now THAT !" Lucifer speaks with a beaming smile of sharp teeth. "...Is a good fucking question, my dear monkey man! Now I'm going to completely ignore that in favor of singing you a WELCOME SONG~!!"

"We should eat him!" Giggled the little cyclops cutting off Lucifer as the rest of the group now stood paces away from the groggy simian.

"He's kind of cute… looks like he can go a few rounds without breaking a sweat. ” The spider demon drawled.

"Are you INSANE?! Look at those eyes! He'll eat us first!" Shrieked the snake demon in horror and disgust.

"No one's eating the monkey," Lucifer warned with a demonic tone to his voice. "Ignore them! You're in hell! I'm Lucifer never Lucy so don't try. I run shit here and I'm your fucking guide until well, we'll get to that when we do I guess." The demon smiled. "YOU look like you could do with a song! or more water your pick!"

The golden monkey blinked at the wildly and completely left-field reactions. “I'm a vegetarian, thank you very much.” the golden monkey deadpanned to the others with the leveled look of a disappointed parent.

“Guys… Come on this is no way to treat our new guest. I’m sure they have a lot of questions! We should help them, not repel them away.” The princess implored with the others feeling the weight of the disappointment from the newcomer.

“Whatever you say toots.” The spider demon shrugged.

“He didn’t say no!” The cyclops giggled immediately making her way over before being abruptly held back by the dark-furred feline.

“Not a fucking chance Niff.” the feline huffed holding the cyclops by the back of the dress.

“I feel incredibly judged by him.” The snake whimpered into the spider demon who promptly moved away.

It certainly did not help once the mystic monkey rose to his full height garnishing an array of reactions. He had stood up to his full height of an even six feet, the clothing and his fur drying out with some steam puffing off his body.

“Meeeooowww~ he’s tall! ” the spider whistled only to be smacked upside the head by the winged feline with a minor glare directed at him from a slightly irritated Lucifer. The spider had the decency to look a little ashamed at that comment.

“Hell… as in Heaven and Hell?” Wukong asked recalling the concept from his travels to the west and how some believed in it.

“CORRECT! Crashed right in the center! Practically the best place to land to avoiding ya getting ya know-“ Lucifer made a slashing motion with his neck to indicate his point. “By those other sinners down here. You sure did make a fucking entrance with all… that. ” He gestured to the mystic monkey. “Though enough of that! RIGHT! Intros! Intros! Cause honestly I don’t even know half of you either- You already know me monkey man and this here,” bringing the blonde demoness forward with a beamed smile. “Is my dear darling daughter Charlie! The one and only Princess of Hell!”

“Sun Wukong, the Monkey King, and the Great Sage Equal to Heaven. Wukong is fine, Sun would be the equivalent of a family name in Western culture if i remember correctly.” Wukong replied with a bow to Charlie his tail picking up the crimson and gold staff left leaning against the couch before expertly flicking it up into the air and catching it to shrink down.

“Great to have ya on board monkey man! You’re gonna get on just fine here! More or less. Maybe.” Lucifer shrugged.

“Wow…it’s an honor to meet you! Mr. King sir.” Charlie beamed extending her hand with a flush. “P-Please! No need for formalities! We’re all friends here!” Waving away such a gesture. Despite the many years and her title, the extra attention could never sit well with her. “I-I’m…sure this…probably wasn’t at all what you pictured waking up to but we welcome you to our home.” The princess, was sincere with her words as she smiled elated and oh so fascinated by their new guest. “I’d love for you to feel welcomed here Mr. King and I’m super so sorry that it hasn’t been!”

“A magic stick!” The cyclops awed, breaking free from the dark-furred feline as she skittered over to the giant mystic monkey. “Can I hold it?! It looks a little grubby…I can clean it!! I promise I won’t eat you Mr.!” The little cyclops jumped up in excitement at whatever magic trick the great sage had performed with the tool. “I’m Nifty! I work at Charlie’s Hotel! I clean real good!”

“Little one i don't think you’ll be able to lift a seventeen thousand ton staff that's finicky with allowing anyone to carry it as it is,” Wukong replied.

"It's that heavy?" The cyclops marveled scuttling around the giant mystic monkey as if trying to locate its whereabouts. "Can I try it? Canicanicani-"

"Nifty baby. Can't ya see you're tirin' 'em? Give the man some space why don't yus?" The spider demon drawled, circling the king simian with glinted intrigue in his many eyes. "I could try," The spider smiled eyeing Wukong through a half-lidded gaze.

“ Like he could lift his head out of his ass." Muttered the darker furred feline from the side earning a snort from the grey-skinned demon. The spider shot them a look to say 'I'll deal with you later.'

“The only one who might be able to lift my staff is Dreaming Star-Lucifer.” Wukong corrected himself on the name.

"What's your deal anyway handsome? Are you single? I'm Angel Dust by the way. You'll remember it soon enough.~" The spider in question grinned placing a teasing hand across the simian king's chest.

“I have a Mate and a Cub already,” Wukong replied the partial truth. His tail flicked behind him while his left ear twitched at the omitted details.

"Is that so handsome?" Angel pried, cocking his head to one side at the details. This was nothing new, he had been in the game long enough to notice the little cracks in certain claims. ‘Oh I could have fun with this. Just how far was Mr. Big Stick going to go?’ Before he had the chance to say whatever he needed; to possibly ruin a crudely established relationship upon the simian's statement surprised eyes fell on Lucifer who had long since tuned out the horrendously boring set of intros finding entertainment in a beautifully crafted duck in his hands.

"Woah… No fair!" The little cyclops marveled.

"I guess with Dad being connected to you and the tree it makes sense…" The princess murmured, looking thoughtfully between the two powerful divine beings. A part of her couldn't help but wonder if she had a part to play if any at all. All she had so far was being a rainbow. ‘What exactly did that mean?’

"That fucking rules! I got to try it sometime- away from the public which we should do Charlie! Those creatures will be here at any moment giving the-" The demon king gesturing to the defiant tree.

“Does that include the Wendigo currently trying to dismantle my Sanctuary spell with Forbidden Magic?” Wukong asked with a slight tilt of his head while his eyes trailed over the lovely wooden duck. ‘Mihou would love that type of craftsmanship for his puppet plays.’

"I'm hoping if we ignore it he'll go the fuck away." The demon king simmered earning a look that seemed to showcase disappointment and disapproval from the princess. "Can ya make it stronger? Hell keep him out forever I'll pay ya!" Lucifer's eyes seemed to brighten at the thought but also the simian's interest in his craft. He held it higher and proudly for the simian to see. "My latest! Been working on this beauty for a while." Lucifer bestowed proudly

"Dad you know we can't- Sorry about that Mr. King that would happen… to be our dearest friend-" the Princess tried to argue but was cut off by the other residents.

"I am not associating myself with that guy." Angel jabbed unhelpfully.

"'Dear' is too strong of a word." The snake begrudgingly agreed.

"Yet ver~y~ fitting," Angel smirked.

Wukong hummed. “How well can he keep up in a fight?” Wukong asked while a calculating look passed through his eyes.

"Pretty long actually. Especially when he battles against me!" The snake demon chimed, boastfully.

"Pentious you don't count." Angel snarked.

"A while. Trust me. And it's clear he hasn't had any losses against an opponent either." A low gruff emitted from the grey-toned demon who shared light, meeting the king's gaze. Seeming unphased by the apparent behavior. "Vaggie." She introduced curtly with rigid statue, but not unkind.

Wukong nodded before he recalled breaking something. “I snapped your spear,” Wukong muttered before he looked for said pieces easily pulling out the tip and part of the shaft from the couch he had been on before picking up the rest of the broken shaft. “Luckily it's all metal, an easy fix,” Wukong stated as he lifted the two pieces into a small transparent golden bubble of magic before he took a breath and blew golden flames right into the bubble easily causing the two metal pieces to melt from the intense heat and liquefy. Cutting off the golden flames he quickly used his bare hands to pick up and mold the liquid metal crafting it back to its previous shape with added details of runic engravings along the shaft and spear tip itself. “For a spear infused with immortal blood, it's construction is rather weak.” Wukong idly commented cooling the spear with a mixture of wind and water until he was back to mortal temperature. “Here.” Wukong held out the finished and repaired spear to Vaggie.

Vaggie seemed surprised by the notion, both her and her weapon had seen far worse days yet coupled with the gesture from the king simian she was left quite stunned. She could practically feel the beaming eyes of her partner knowing the kind of reaction she would make. She let out a soft smile at the thought, softening her features. There was no denying it was quite intriguing to even watch his display of power.

"Thank you, for the trouble. Mr. King." She bowed, graciously accepting her spear. The weight was familiar in her hands yet she could feel the noticeable difference. It wasn't surprising he could point out its flaws though it still managed to alert her attention. ‘Despite the many disadvantages, it had been done on purpose after all.’

"Oh Vaggie! It looks amazing!" The princess beamed, precisely how the militant demon imagined as she flushed. The princess also regarded the simian king with a grateful beam.

"H-Hang on what about me?! I'm calling injustice! I never got to- " The snake was abruptly cut off by the militant demon who sharply wielded the weapon in his direction causing him to drop back with a shrill cry.

"Sir Pentious." Vaggie points to the cowering snake who offers the simian a bleak wave before shifting the spear's attention to the direction of the darker-furred feline standing to the side. "And the grump is Husk."

Wukong nodded to the duo. “Been a while since I've seen a snake demon. Domestic animal type and horned demons are more common but the wings make you a very unique and rare species had you been a mortal-born demon.” Wukong stated the latter half mainly pointed at Husk. Wukong asked seeing the familiar spark of innovation in those snake-like eyes. ‘Mihou would get along with him.’ Wukong thought to himself.

"Oooh? I'm special!" The snaked cooed. "I suppose we are quite ra-"

"Please. I fucked 10 of yus yesterday. And don't get any ideas bub- That ones mine." Angel pointed to the king simian.

"I don't recall asking for your unsolicited speech-" Sir Pentious jabbed.

Husk let out a huff, though not unkind taking in the king's words. His wings were always a harsh reminder of his overlord days. It only made him stick out more once he was recognized as having fallen from grace. Though the positive light shed was rather... Unexpectedly pleasant. "Goes for those eyes of yours. Quite the lookers you got there." The former Lord nodded. "You'd be the first monkey we've ever had down here. Welcome by the way. Though there isn't much to offer but lost souls I'm afraid."

"Mr. Hard dick here used to be an overlord that's why." Angel butt in. "The big dicks at the top tend to look like that or weirder."

Wukong then turned his gaze to Lucifer. “I'm guessing you never took up blacksmithing?” Changing the topic.

Lucifer shook his head eyes gleamed at the mention of the craft. "EXACTLY! I tried man really but it just wasn't as challenging as I had hoped for ya know?! Sides they aren't as cute with the material." Lucifer recalled the prototypes with that method of innovation but ultimately switched to working more with magic-infused rubber.

Wukong flinched slightly growling lowly as his eyes turned back to the direction of the Wendigo's power that was starting to become a minor headache with his rancid smell of rotting meat. “Ms. Morningstar, I’ll be completely blunt. Are you nuts ?!? My barrier prevents anyone who enjoys killing and has consumed the flesh of another from entering the grounds. It's why the spell is called Holy Ground, to begin with!” Wukong questioned while throwing those diplomatic lessons Mihou had more or less beaten into his head centuries ago out the window. ‘I am not letting a youngling get manipulated by a True Monster.’ “I can't allow something that vile to come in here and mess with or even eat younglings,” Wukong added expressing how unsettled he was by the Wendigo.

"I-I promise he means no harm! H-He's just...a little mad?" Even the princess seemed unsure but despite her qualms, she defended the creature. "My place is for all. Despite what it may seem I want for everyone to feel as though they belong- and change for the better so they don't..do those things!"

"Sweet pea I want him dead." Lucifer snarked.

Wukong hummed. “Lucifer, Vaggie may I request you both to see to the Wendigo? I wish to see him for myself and implement some rules before I even consider letting him enter.” Wukong asked the two. “Might get down to a brawl if he pisses me off.”

“Now that! I’d pay to see it. My money’s on tall, dark, and sexy over there.” Angel pointed unashamedly towards Wukong.

Vaggie looked to the princess who still seemed unsure in regards to the debacle that could unfold but she gently took her hands into her own. “It’ll be fine hun. I promise.” She assured. Seeing that her words did have an effect, Charlie visibly relaxed.

“Dad please just…try and see eye to eye?” The princess murmured.

The reigning king looked about ready to throw in another insult but stopped at seeing his offspring’s face. He let out a groan. “FINE- pumpkin… for you and you only though.” Waving a hand. “Very well! Maggie, Wukong, and I will go.”

Wukong made a cloud over Lucifer and sprayed him with water. “Vaggie.” Wukong corrected.

“What the?! HEY! YOU CHEEKY LITTLE!-“ The king of demons attempted to scold but he was far too amused by the antic. “Fine, my bad there Mag- I mean! Vaggie. Vaggie my dear. ” He corrected, earning a small giggle from Charlie.

“None took sir.” Vaggie smiled. “If…you may do the honors?”

“Certainly! Let’s pay the old fucker a visit.” Lucifer grinned adorned in golden light casting over the other two.

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znithrp · 4 days ago

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RULES AND GUIDELINES

01.��Age and trigger warnings

Zenith is a mature roleplay that can deal with dark themes. As such all members joining must be 18 or above. We do not accept faceclaims under the age of 19. By applying to this roleplay, you truthfully state that you meet our age requirement. If the admin team discovers you are underage, you will be promptly removed and banned. In Zenith you may find darker themes such as: murder, bloodshed, corruption, sex, and more. If such themes make you uncomfortable or triggered, Zenith might not be the best for you. Please consider this thoroughly before applying. Don't forget to place proper trigger warningsin your threads, your character's bio, out-of-character posts, and your SNS wall. We do not allow triggering images to be posted as SNS, there is a group specific for NSFW imagery.

02. Drama OOC and IC

There is zero tolerance for out-of-character drama and fighting. If an issue between you and another member arises, we ask that you message the admin team so we can help take care of the issue. You may use the out-of-character group to vent if you need it, but don't forget to use trigger warnings if the topic calls for them. Zenith is meant to be a safe space for all members. Make sure to separate IC and OOC. Political baiting, bullying, misogyny, sexism, racism, homophobia, etc. will not be tolerated. If the admin team finds you guilty of any of these offences you will be permanently banned. We have a zero tolerance policy for this out-of-character. In-character drama is welcome, but it always needs to be discussed and consented on by both parties. Roleplaying is meant to be fun, not stressful.

03. Sexuality, gender and smut

Zenith welcomes characters of all genders and sexualities. Members of Zenith are free to express their characters how they see fit in a respectful way. This means, we do not allow members to play intersex, transgender, or non-binary characters unless the faceclaim you are using identifies as such in real life. We want to be respectful to the faceclaims' gender identity. Misgendering individuals can be traumatic, so refrain from changing the gender identity or sex of your faceclaims. If you are transgender, intersex, non-binary in real life, we welcome you with open arms!

Regarding smut threads there are a few topics which are banned in Zenith:Bestiality - While allowed in bios please refrain from writing any sexual threads where Werepeople are in full animal form.

Non-con and Dub-con - While allowed in bios please refrain from using them in actual threads. Don't forget to use trigger warnings when you use them in bios. CNC is allowed but use the trigger warning on the thread!Pedophilia - While allowed in bios your muse must never be the perpetrator. This topic is banned in any smut threads, but if you plan on using this topic for a revenge plot don't forget to put that information in the trigger warnings.

04. Welcoming new members,bubble roleplaying, fc chasing and selective replies

Current community members have to welcome our new arrivals! We ask that you not only comment on their welcome post, but you should be sending new arrivals out-of-character welcome dms. This not only makes the newcomers feel welcome, but it is easier for them to reach out to you for plotting.

We do not tolerate bubble roleplaying, metagaming, god-moding or face-chasing. You should be reaching out to beyond the same faceclaim group or your favorite faceclaims. If the admin team starts to notice a recurring theme of maintaining a bubble you will be given a warning. We want a wide variety of threads for our community so please stay away from keeping a closed group and open your character up for everyone to approach. We also do not tolerate selective replies, we understand sometimes you feel more inspired for a certain thread but don't ignore your other threads. If you no longer feel inspired to write a certain thread please inform your writing partner so you can talk things out or drop the thread. It's not shameful to drop threads but please make sure both parties agree to it. No one sided dropping is allowed.

05. Activity, hiatus and character change

Activity checks will be run every two weeks, to pass the activty check you must submit evidence of your activity which is 3 replies/starters or 2 replies/starters + 1 self paragraph, 3 timeline comments and 1 timeline post.

For hiatus you can opt for a semi-hiatus which lasts maximum for a month and where you need to do 1 reply or starter, or full-hiatus which lasts a maximum of 2 weeks where no activity is required. psswrd is your favourite supernatural creature For character change, you can change your fc 2 weeks after arriving but you need to inform the admins first of your decision. Temporary character change is also allowed, it lasts 1 week and also needs to be approved beforehand by the admin team. If you wish to bring a second muse you can after 2 months with admin approval. If you want a third muse it will need to be discussed first with the admin team.

06. Relationships and children

Dating is allowed after 1 month in the roleplay, although they are important romantic relationships aren't everyting, so make sure you're giving your character different types of relationships. Characters can get engaged 2 months after dating and marry 2 months after the engagement. Pregnancies and children aren't allowed in this roleplay.

07. Before and after arriving

While applying we ask that you please read through our lore notion thoroughly. A lot of thought, time, and effort has been put into these races and subspecies and the admins can tell in an application if someone has or has not read them.

Although it's sad when members leave our community, we understand that real life comes before roleplaying. If you wish to depart from Zenith we ask that you message the admin team letting us know of your departure from the roleplay. We ask that you do not remove yourself from any group or delete your MeWe account without prior notice. If you do so you will be banned from joining again. If you follow these rules and wish to return to Zenith as the same muse or someone new, you may do so after 1 week from your announced departure. We allow asian facelaims from Korea, Japan, Taiwan, Thailand, China, etc, but no western faceclaims. We allow idols, actors and other public faces in the entertainment industry. Banned faceclaims include but are not limited to the deceased, any married idol, those with a serious criminal background, those under the age of 19, those who have expressed a wish of not being roleplayed, such as Baek Sumin, Kiji/Jisung, Pony, Cowsel, Ryu Won, Xiu Akay, Josie C, IU, etc, make-up artists, uzzlangs, youtubers or models.

You can also check out or list of businesses for a list of jobs available within the roleplay. If you wish to work at one of these business please include the name of the business and job title in your application. After applying and being accepted into the roleplay you have 48 hours to either make or recycle a MeWe account and add the Admin account. Please make sure to set your privacy & sharing settings to: Mewe Search & Chat Requests On. We will give you 7 days to turn in a fully constructed bio. This must either be a link (like carrd, mystrickingly, or notion) or your bio must be posted to your wall as your “Featured Post.” If you make any changes to your bio at any time while you're in the roleplay, you must message the admin group chat with your updated bio.

#krp #mewe krp #mewe rp #mewe based #au rp #supernatural au #city rp

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wormtoxin · 3 months ago

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A sidecar for a horselike, officially designated as a Hobby-Horse™ “Ride-Along Mk. VI” is often abbreviated as “Ravi”, for short.

It permits the passenger to ride autonomously within approximately 100 meters of the primary horselike. It has its own propulsion, controls, and seat. The passenger rides what appears to be a bicycle seat affixed to a hobby horse. But outside of 100m, the psychic tether which connects Ravi to the alpha horselike is severed, and the sidecar ceases to function.

Ravi is very reliable, being composed only of a synchro-gear, a sturdy rod, and a seat for the rider. Similarly, Ravi is fuel-efficient, only leeching the psychoelectric power generated by the alpha horselike. Most importantly, Ravi is significantly cheaper than a fully-fledged horselike.

Unfortunately, the knight of The Falling Star is broke.

She rounds the final turn of the valley, Squire seated on her haunch, clutching her round the stomach. Being touched makes her skin crawl, but she doesn’t say anything.

“Ma’am- or Sir- what are we doin here?”

“We are here to gamble, my Squire.”

It makes a noise of simple discontent, but doesn’t protest any further. She hitches the horse to the same posts as velvet-lined coaches and convertibles. Horselikes outfitted with palanquins and hot rod flames scoff at her trodden old steed, which she politely ignores.

An adept-valet welcomes them both inside, leading her past an oasis where beautiful women in bathing suits enjoy cocktails under UV-parasols. Her squire averts its eyes, blushing ferociously.

The interior provides its eyes little relief. Hostess-nuns in outfits fancifully themed after rabbits, and croupier-monks lounging at low couches, smoking hookah. The air is thick with hymns and the clanging of the slots. Guests in gowns and dinner-suits drink champagne at card tables; Elegant pilgrims on retreat to the Abbey-Casino for reflective prayer.

Once inside the foyer of the building, a sharply dressed and cloaked croupier-monk welcomes them both inside. His tonsure and mustache are both supremely trim.

The knight of The Falling Star approaches the poker table, chips in hand, like a hunter rounding on a flock of ducks. She smiles politely, tips her hat, and is promptly dealt in for the next hand.

“Oh, that’s good, isn’t it?” her squire whispers, loud enough for the table to hear.

The knight shoots it a look, and with a prompt “Eep!” it sits down next to her, hands folded in its lap.

Across the table, a dark-eyed woman dressed in belladonna purple eyes her sharply. Either her poker face is really bad, or she always looks this smug.

Next to her is an older man, robed in sumptuous yellow, gold-patterned like Klimpt. By his hat and the brass-coated trigger of his sword, he’s a fellow knight of the realm. His crest, emblazoned across his heart, is The Crown of Thorns. He doesn’t look up at the newcomers- just studies his cards.

She takes the example of her senior knight, and studies her own hand. The fool, the magician, the priestess, the empress, and the emperor. Low cards alone, but together they form a perfect Campbell’s Flush.

The knight of The Falling Star’s poker face is immaculate, but her Squire’s eyes shine in delight.

“Fold,” the yellow knight mutters.

“Stand,” the purple woman charms, throwing in her chips.

The woman in purple beats her handily (chariot/strength/hermit/wheel/justice- another, higher flush. Do the monks even try to shuffle the cards?).

“The Abbey can keep the pot,” the belladonna purple woman says, and shoves the meager pile of chips towards the salt-and-pepper croupier monk. The star knight’s eyelid twitches in irritation as the monk collects the chips without hesitation.

“I’ll take a secret instead”, the witch-in-purple hums. Her dark eyes gleam.

“Fine. Have it your way, witch,” the knight of The Falling Star scowls.

The belladonna woman gestures at the squire with her lace-purple fan.

“What is its birth defect?”

The star knight gawps, half-surprise and half-disgust, but the squire answers politely.

“Fetal alcohol syndrome,” it says plainly, without affect. The star knight scowls at her own squire.

“You don’t have to answer her,” she barks, but the yellow-clad knight of thorns answers in a baritone deep enough to rattle the chips.

“It does, in fact. It’s an extension of yourself.”

Her scowl only deepens. Where’s your squire, if you’re so schooled in the ways of our holy order?

“An addled mind is a valuable thing,” the witch croons, acrylics clacking against her beaded talismans rhythmically.

Not valuable enough for the Angels, apparently. “Not yet”, the angel had qualified, and the memory only irritates her more.

“Shut up,” the Knight growls, “Deal already.”

Her next hand is middling, and within seconds, the whole table knows it. She can’t read the woman, but the yellow knight is bluffing.

“Stand.” She throws in her chips.

Beaten again. The woman discards the pot this time as well. She leans in, conspiratorially.

“Where’d you pick up that curse?” she purrs from behind her fan, “it’s quite potent.”

The Knight racks her brain. “What curse?”

“The evil eye,” the witch supplies with cruel delight.

“Oh.” The Knight remembers the glare, like a white-hot stake. “An Inquisition officer. Nasty piece of work, that one.” This woman is putting her in a foul mood, dredging up unpleasantries.

“Aw, intra-sect squabble? Shouldn’t your Faith protect you from such trifles as curses?” the witch teases.

“Her faith’s weak,” the yellow knight resonates, eyes still fixed on the table.

The Knight grits her teeth. Detestable paganism, the worst kind of magic. She tosses a handful of chips to her squire.

“Sir, what I meant to do with these?”

“Bet ‘em. Eat ‘em. Whatever you want. Just don’t bet anything but chips,” she warns sternly. “Now scram, you’re throwing off my game.”

It wanders further into the den of debauchery, and the monk deals another hand.

The knight eyes her remaining chips. Exactly enough. If she wins the next hand, her gains will triple, and she’ll be good for a few more rounds.

She can’t afford to lose. She’d have to borrow from her own squire, and her pride can’t take another hit.

“Stand,” she says resolutely. Her hand isn’t the best, all told, but that’s not what matters in poker. She may not have faith, but when it comes to matters financial, she’s got conviction.

“Stand,” the knight of thorns says, but doesn’t toss in any chips. He’s looking intently at the knight of The Falling Star. His gaze rattles her.

“I ain’t bettin’ money. If I win this hand, I want your squire.”

“You’re senile,” she scoffs, a cold sweat starting to break out around her collar.

“I ain’t. You’re broke, you’re faithless, and you’re poorly disciplined. It’s clear you’re not a fittin’ teacher for the kid.”

“Fuck you,” she spits.

“Now now boys,” the witch chuckles, “it’s the cards you’re aiming for, not each other. Stand.” She doesn’t contribute any chips either.

“If I win, you become my knight.”

The knight’s jaw opens, but quickly shuts again. A knight of the holy order of the round table, serving a witch. It’d make her laugh, if it weren’t so possible. The chick is serious. Both of them have her fixed with a hard expression. The croupier looks to her too.

“Fine. But if I win, I don’t want your damn cash.”

“No takebacks,” the monk says, indicating the meager scattering of chips in the center of the table.

“I don’t care. If I win, I take whatever I damn well please off the both of you.”

The croupier raises an eyebrow.

“It’s only fair. You’re both taking whatever you want off me already.”

“Deal,” the knight of The Crown of Thorns assents without hesitation.

“Deal.” The witch’s smile curls.

The Witch-In-Purple plays her hand. The devil/the moon/judgement/two of wands/two of cups. A pair.

The Crown of Thorns lays out his hand, resolute gaze fixed on The Falling Star. The sun/three of pentacles/four of pentacles/six of pentacles/seven of pentacles. A broken flush. Four of a kind.

The Falling Star breaths her last, and reveals her hand. Eight of swords/nine of swords/ten of swords/page of swords/knight of swords. A Swords Flush.

The witch scowls, and the knight lowers his head in profound disappointment.

“Suck it, losers! Eat my dust,” the knight howls, taking off her hat-helmet to wave it a few times. Her voice is drowned by the din of the slots.

“You,” she points to the belladonna Witch-In-Purple, “I want your Ravi. The one in the lot.” The witch pretends to act scandalized, but the knight interrupts her before she can object.

“Bullshit, I know it’s yours. The trim is tacky, and the seat is purple,” The Falling Star corrects. The witch shuts her mouth. She pulls the key from her sleeve and tosses it, irritated.

“And me, Sir?” the Knight of Thorns says.

“Erm… What do you got?” She’d forgotten about him, in all honesty.

“I’d offer my sword, but you’ve a fitting one already. I’d offer my sigil, but…” he clutches the yellow cloak affectionately.

“It’s ugly, forget it,” The Falling Star mutters, not eager to part the old veteran from his sentimentals.

“How about this?” he proffers a trinket in his worn brown hand. An old charm, blown glass. An inscription is set in its center on a slip of very old paper. It is in a language she doesn’t recognize. It’s no bigger than a thumb.

“Paltry charmwork,” the belladonna woman gripes into her fan, “I could work you something ten times its strength.”

“No chance,” the knight of The Falling Star waves a hand, “You’d set a worm or a curse-serpent inside it. I know your type.” The witch-in-purple scowls, disappointed.

“I’ll take it,” she says, and retrieves it from the knight. “You ain’t fooling me?” she squints.

“I’ve carried it for many long years of my service. I know not its significance, but it has served me well. My duty has been eventful, but I have no regrets.”

“Sure fine, whatever,” she says quickly, eyeing the charm. It hangs from a little silver hook, and the glass itself is beautiful, artfully colored.

“I’m out,” the knight nods to the croupier-monk, who collects the remainder of her chips.

“Leaving after you win?” the witch-in-purple is affronted.

“Very poor form,” the solemn knight in yellow agrees.

“Don’t care,” the knight calls over her shoulder. The key to the Ravi jangles in her pocket, and she turns the little charm over in her hand. She heads off to find her Squire. It isn’t hard- its long banner sails overhead above the roulette table, moved by the wind of the abbey’s many ceiling fans.

When she approaches, its been cornered by a surly hostess-nun in her sultry rabbit-garb.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave on behalf of the Abbey,” the nun says sternly. The knight approaches, and the nun makes the connection between the two immediately.

“The little scamp has won fifteen games in a row,” the nun explains by way of apology, “We have to suspect cheating. It’s scripture-procedure.”

“Fifteen games?” the knight asks, raising her hat to get a better look. Poor thing looks like it’s about to cry, but its lap is stuffed full of coin. Gold twinkles greedily in the knight’s eye.

“We’re keeping it,” she says instantly, “It won those games fair and square.”

“Fine,” the nun says, “just get out.”

Outside, the knight instructs her squire how to position itself in the stirrups and how to hold the Ravi so that it doesn’t buck and leave it behind. She mounts her own horselike, about to ride off, when the salt-and-pepper croupier from the poker table catches her.

“Sir,” he winks, “A gift. On the House.” He flashes a card at her- The Three of Swords.

“Kind of grim for a prize,” she mutters.

“Apologies, but,” he bows, “the cards themselves decide.”

“Great,” she moans. “C’mon squire, let’s go.”

She tucks the card in her inner breast pocket, and nods to the croupier. She slips the Witch-In-Purple’s key into the ignition at the withers, and turns it. The synchro-gear of the Ravi roars to life, and a burst of steam pitches out of each nostril.

The Squire startles, leans forward, and immediately races forward at speed, colliding with an elegant coach, completely shattering its windshield and denting its filigreed panels.

“S… sir??” The squire of The Falling Star looks up at its knight, eyes welling up with tears. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

The monk’s eyebrows leap up into his tonsure, and he starts to reach for his walkie-talkie. The loud noise draws a few onlookers from the oasis, and more from the Abbey-Casino.

“Run,” she knight says. She turns her horselike, and immediately sets off at a gallop.

“Sir????” The squire scrambles to its feet. It starts to walk after her, says “Oh!”, and mounts the Ravi. He turns to the croupier, who is angry and astonished.

“Sorry!” it cheers, throwing a small wad of cash towards the monk. With that, the squire soars off after its knight, banner flying, leaving a cloud of dust in its wake.

When they finally settle, tucked in a ditch to avoid the roving eyes of Angels overhead, she hands her squire the glass charm.

“Here,” she says, “it’s yours. My thanks for winning all that cash.”

“Oh…. Sir, it’s beautiful…” The squire smiles, and immediately tucks the hook into a piercing, creating a dangling charm-earring.

She sips hair-of-the-dog in a backwater saloon in a town so small it’s nameless. She passes a ranch hand, a desperate squire with no master, carrying a banner with no meaning. It’s got that stupid bowlcut all the squires seem to have. Reminds her too much of herself.

She lets the gasoline moonshine burn off some more of her stubble. The wide brim of her helmet shades her eyes. Maybe, if she’s very quiet and still in the dark, her hangover won’t find her. It only senses motion, like a dinosaur.

“Howdy ma’am.” A squeaky voice. Cloying, senseless. The pit behind her eyes starts to throb immediately, a dog called to heel. Ah well, worth a shot.

She looks up. It’s here, nearly eye level since she’s slouching in her own chair. Its backpack is huge, stuffed full of provisions. Its banner is nearly 6 feet long, coffin-sized. It’s drawing the eyes of other early-morning drinkers.

“Spit it out,” she chuffs.

“Ma’am— Sir,” it corrects quickly. “You’re a knight, ain’t you?” A drawl. Poorly educated. Speaking colloquially to its superior. She ought to behead it. But if she moves, she’ll vomit.

“So?”

“Who do you serve?” It says ‘serve’ reverently, like it’s something special. She’s definitely gonna hurl.

“Noone,” she says. A few other patrons’ ears perk up. She regrets it immediately.

She knocks back the last of her drink, and spots fill her vision. She blinks them away.

“Ain’t your momma teach you not to talk to strangers?” she reprimands. It doesn’t have the instinct to flinch yet, a pup who’s gone unnoticed by the kennel master, runt of the litter.

“You’re a knight,” it says, as though the two thoughts are connected.

“If I was a smart knight, I’d beat you senseless and sell you to the highest bidder.” It had a pretty face and soft curls, like a girl. Squires don’t get the privilege of being assigned a sex until they’re knighted. That usually doesn’t stop people, though.

She stands, and a few other patrons stand up too. She pulls her duster aside to put a hand in her pocket, and the hilt of her sword pokes out. Well-worn handle, gleaming trigger. It’s worth enough that anyone would gut her for a chance to steal it. Noone tries.

She leaves the saloon, and a ray of sunlight passes through both eyes like a lightning bolt, skewering her brain. She vomits immediately.

A clean hand offers a hankerchief, and she accepts it without thinking, blots away the bile steaming off her teeth. She looks up to see it again, eyes wide and curious. She spits.

“Are you stupid?” she croaks.

“A little,” it answers bashfully. Fair enough.

“Whose banner is that?” she points with her chin.

“Yours, Sir, I hope.” It scuffs a toe in the sand, waiting expectantly.

She hauls herself up off her knees, patting sand from her trousers. She really looks at it.

Denim that might’ve once been a royal blue, now dusted with sand and ash into a bluish-gray. A stitched emblem of The Falling Star, a many-pointed radiant thing with a long tail of white-gold fire.

The emblem of once-blessed sinners, damned things of the earth. The emblem of gravity, downward spirals, all things breathless and heaving towards their ends. A pointless emblem. A banner that declares its master’s approaching end.

“You stitch that yourself?” she says.

“Yessir,” it says. Poorly educated, but well-brought up. Always says Please and Thank Yous.

“Looks like shit.” She’s not the type to take in strays. There’s always a kitten hanging around, mewling for milk, showing off its ribcage. She’s no momma cat. Doesn’t waste breath on cooing, doesn’t waste cash on withering things. She’s got plenty of betting debts, but none associated with losing dogs. Doesn’t like to be disappointed when dying things die.

“Don’t let it trail in the sand like that,” she says. While she unties the bridle and hitches a boot in a stirrup, the squire quickly turns, chasing it like a tail, scooping it up into its arms and patting the sand off.

“So you’ll take me?” it says, and her heart twinges. It’s the first hopeful note to touch her ears in decades.

“I won’t kill you if you try to follow me,” she says, “That’s all. I ain’t letting you ride with me, and I won’t stop just cause you get blisters.”

It squeals a profusion of gratitude, backpack clattering with god knows what, and she immediately kicks herself for being soft.

#sir cowboy and the squire

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violetsaffron5 · 3 years ago

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Infinity

2 | Unexpected

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x f!Reader

Unexpectedly run into Gojo after five years.

Words: 3883

Genre: JJK Universe with slight additional fantasy elements bc reader is not a sorcerer

cw/an: Nanami in a strip club, Gojo being cocky

5 years later

“Why did I have to come with you?” The blond sorcerer groans. He would have much preferred his night at home, rather than out with him.

“Because I suspect you’ve never been here before,” Gojo says, wrapping an arm around his friend’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, this is one of the classier establishments.”

“You could have brought Geto.”

“Nah, he’s on a date, and this is more fun than whatever you were planning on doing anyway,” Gojo says as Nanami continues to groan, “besides, it’s for a mission.”

“I don’t understand why we had to come in here. The men died in the alley. Couldn’t we just wait there for the culprit?”

“Nope~,” Gojo sings with a smile as they enter the strip club, “I want to check out the inside. See if we get any residuals from a curse user.” And also to see if this is a place he’s going to come back to with Geto, but Nanami doesn’t need to know that.

“This is humiliating. Some of them are topless….” Nanami looks away as a blush creeps up his neck and cheeks.

“Yeah, strippers do that sometimes. Lighten up and have fun, don’t be such a prude,” Gojo pulls down his glasses and smiles at one of the ladies who walks by him, “these ladies are working hard, can’t you tell?”

“Do you really suspect a curse user?” Nanami asks incredulously.

Gojo sighs, trying to have fun before getting serious about work. Taking a seat at the front by the stage, he motions Nanami to sit in the chair next to him. A waitress promptly comes to take their orders - a cocktail and beer.

“I don’t know what I suspect,” Gojo answers honestly, surprising Nanami. “The bodies weren’t found torn to pieces like they typically would with a curse. It’s almost as if… their souls were drained from them. Every one of the bodies were found with a smile on their face.”

“Their soul, huh?” Nanami asks, finally intrigued by something the white-haired sorcerer had to tell him. Gojo rolls his eyes. He was hoping Nanami would loosen up and get laid tonight. Guess that’s not happening.

“The bodies started showing up within the last two months, found on Friday mornings. Sooooo, I figured if we come on Thursday night and go inside, we have a chance to look around for anyone suspicious. If it turns out to be a curse or curse user, we handle it – if not, then we give the information to the police and get paid while having a good time.”

“Please welcome Chastity to the stage – she’s ranked second in our private dancer line up this week. Be sure to say hi when you see her, she is incredibly friendly and loves newcomers!”

Nanami shakes his head, finally understanding Gojo’s motives. “Except I won’t be paid for coming out with you, since this is your mission and you failed to notify anyone I was coming.”

“Nanamiiiiii, be quiet, the next dancer’s starting. I hear good things about her,” he smiles widely, “I suspect she isn’t as pure as her name lets on,” he chuckles to himself while Nanami groans.

Chastity is short, with a bright pink mesh top and thong, and matching eight-inch glitter platform stilettos. She’s pretty with her dark hair cascading down her back in waves, tight little body moving to the beat of the song around the pole on stage.

She’s attractive enough. When they’re done with this little mission, Gojo will probably hook up with her, maybe in the alley where the men died. Now if that isn’t a morbid thought.

Despite telling Nanami to be quiet, Gojo continues to talk while Nanami does his best to ignore him, all the while also trying to avert his gaze from the stage.

“I brought so much cash with me; I’m going to tip her so well.” Gojo says, leaning forward, biting his lip watching Chastity slide down the pole. “Try not to look so grumpy. You’ll scare all the lovely ladies away with that frown.”

Nanami rolls his eyes as Chastity descends the stairs and begins to mingle with customers.

Having seen Gojo and Nanami while on stage, she walks slowly past them, wondering if they will stop her and give a tip, since neither put any money on stage for her. Gojo definitely plans on doing just that. He knows how to get what he’s after.

“Chastity, yes?”

“Hi sweetie, what can I do for you?” She asks, as delightful as she can, leaning over so her breasts hang, barely in her top as Gojo shamelessly watches.

“You did great.” Gojo pulls down his glasses and winks, causing her to blush. She takes his money and puts it in her top and saunters off to the back room.

“You do feel that, correct?” Nanami questions, annoyed that the man who is technically on the mission has yet to mention the presence that’s been lingering since they walked into this wretched building.

You wait in the back for your turn. Chastity had a set lined up and you were to come on after her. You look in the mirror checking your outfit and hair one last time before standing behind the stage in your entrance area.

You decided to put on the light blue outfit tonight, as it compliments your skin color so well. Halter top, with the fabric going down over each breast, coming together in the center, trailing down your stomach into a thong. You adjusted the straps in the back, holding the top up, to create just a little more space between your breasts. You give them a good bounce to see if they’ll come out, they don’t. Not that it mattered – if they did, you would just get larger tips.

Chastity comes back after her set, extremely giddy making you smile and laugh as you put on the blue masquerade mask. You prefer to cover part of your face, so when you’re out on the town, people won’t recognize you. You’ve made that mistake before.

“Everything okay?” You ask, giving her a big grin, wondering if a cute customer gave her their phone number.

“There are these two total hunks in the front seats!” She exclaims, excitedly while telling you how much he tipped her.

“Wow, that’s a lot from one customer,” you flash your eyebrows to her, “you must have really brought it tonight, damn!”

“I wonder if I can get either of their phone numbers. The blonde one didn’t seem interested, so maybe the white haired one. I would be okay with either though!”

Intrigued by her comment, you decide to poke your head on stage and take a peek for yourself.

Admittedly, they are both very attractive, and both have the sharpest damn jawlines you’ve ever seen. She’s right to be excited about them. You might just be jealous if she gets to go home with one of them tonight.

Studying the man with white hair a little longer than the blond, you realize you recognize him as he turns his head towards the stage. Gojo. What a lucky coincidence – you smile to yourself in realization that the presence you’ve been feeling for the last half hour or so has been him and likely his friend. It’s not an uncommon presence here in Japan, as you’ve learned, but he’s still incredibly strong. Stronger than you remember.

Watching him with his friend, and seeing his smile, you feel the corner of your lips curl in response. You remember that smile. You’ve thought about it several times over the years. You also watch as his gaze follows and lingers on several of the dancers and waitresses, so maybe he’s a bit of a reg flag. But that doesn’t really concern you.

Since moving to Japan a few months ago, you wanted to immediately start your search for him, but since needing to work and feed, you didn’t exactly have a lot of spare time to go gallivanting around the city hoping to run into one person, so you decided to wait until you had enough saved to not need to work as much before starting your little manhunt.

As you’re peeking through the curtains, your eyes eventually meet. He gives a smirk, knowing you’re looking because of Chastity. You give a sly smile back and move behind the curtain waiting for your cue to go on stage, all the while still wondering what his eyes look like behind those hippie glasses. They look like the same ones he had on when you first met.

You take a deep breath, as you feel the familiar hunger in the pit of your stomach. The churning that inevitably comes back, only it’s more intense than before with the thought of some answers being so close. Maybe it’s because of Gojo and his friend.

Maybe after you get those answers you can feed from him, though it would be a shame to accidentally kill someone as pretty as him.

Maybe you could feed from his friend, or maybe both, together.

Quickly, you take another deep breath. Only a few more hours to go and then you can feed. Just need to stay focused at the task at hand so you don’t accidently give yourself away as the monster you secretly are.

“Everyone, please put your hands together for the ever lovely and talented, Infinity! The newest member to our team, she has been number one in our private dancer line up 7 weeks in a row. Just as her name suggests, she likes to have endless amounts of fun!”

With your introduction, you step onto the stage. Starting your routine, you sway your hips to the beat of the music blasting in the club. Smiling, you look down to Gojo who licks and bites his lower lip at the sight of you.

Then men gawk, stare, and a few cheer as you twirl and descend the pole, legs wrapped around it as you spin slowly down to the stage. You see both the blond and white-haired man watching intently as your back makes contact with the stage.

You flip over off your back into the splits and roll forward, laying on your stomach before lifting up and crawling to the end of the stage. You debate for a moment, to go to Gojo, but decide not to seem too eager to get their attention.

Dangling your feet off the stage, you rub your hand on the cheek of one of your regulars, a man who is quite rich and comes here, specifically to see you. He’s been a primary source of your tips for weeks now; using your powers on him to manipulate more money than he would normally give.

Touching his face, you allow some of your energy to flow into him, causing him to become a blubbering mess before you. You feel the eyes of the two handsome men you’re ignoring as you do this but hope there’s enough commotion and enough people blocking you, that they don’t really see what you just did. The man tips very generously as expected, which is what you were aiming for. You blow him a quick kiss and remove yourself from the stage, heading to the bar for a quick drink before working the floor for a while.

At the bar, you feel that familiar presence beside you, turning, you see Gojo standing next to you. Tall, so very, very tall. Just as you remember. He looks you up and down and smiles, “Hi, sweetheart,” then orders his drink, the sweetest cocktail the bar offers.

“Hi, handsome,” you purr, “what brings you out tonight?”

“It’s my friend’s birthday. Was hoping you had time to give him a dance.” He has a mischievous grin, pulling down his glasses giving you a wink.

Your throat goes dry as he exposes his azure eyes, surrounded by long white lashes. As he smiles, you see the corner of his eyes crinkle slightly. His eyes are playful and young. And so cocky. He knows how beautiful he is, and that just isn’t fair. He keeps the grin as he places his glasses over the bridge of his nose, and you continue to stare, wondering why he chooses to hide those beautiful blues from the world.

“Sure, anything for a birthday boy. Especially one as cute as him,” you finally manage to say, winking back and gaining your composure.

“Oh, you think he’s cute, huh?”

You say nothing as you walk away and approach the blonde sitting at his chair. You touch his shoulder and circle around him, he’s visibly uncomfortable and flinches slightly at your touch. It’s not a common reaction from the people who come here, but it does happen on occasion from those who are shy. Usually they loosen up by the end of the dance.

Sitting on the table across from him, you cross your legs as Gojo takes his seat. “I hear it’s someone’s birthday today.” You tease, shaking your shoulders which causes your tits to jiggle slightly.

A blush forms across his face. “I-I don’t know where you got that idea,” he stutters looking away.

“Nonsense, Nanami! She’s here to make your birthday better. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

You smile at Gojo and turn back to Nanami “Absolutely,” he shifts uncomfortably as you place a hand on his thigh.

Normally, you would use your little ability to calm the customer down, but you’re not sure if they saw what you did to your regular earlier. If they can even see what you did, it's best to play it safe and not do that now.

“This should cover it.” Gojo says, handing you a large wad of cash.

“This is way too much.” Your mouth hangs open as you look up to him, shocked by the amount of money he just casually passed to you. More than enough to cover rent and bills for the month and even next.

“You more than deserve it, after that spectacular performance,” he continues to watch you through his glasses while taking a sip of his cocktail.

Turning back to Nanami you clear your throat, “well, this is enough for a private dance for both of you and then some. So, what will it be, birthday boy?”

“Uhm… I’m good.” He says, taking a sip of his drink, looking away.

You scoff and roll your eyes at him, “oh, come on. It won’t be that bad!”

Both of them turn to you, surprised. Gojo grins and Nanami begrudgingly agrees.

“Okay, great.” You say, getting up as you see Chastity walk by, and grab her arm, motioning for her to dance with Gojo. She’s elated.

“My prices-” you hold up your hand cutting her off.

“I got it.” She’ll think this gesture is for you to help her get closer to him, she doesn’t have to know it’s because he paid you so much.

He smiles widely as he opens his legs for her to enter and she starts dancing, swaying her hips around him. You do the same with Nanami, though he’s more reluctant to get into it. You swing your hips, and dance around to the beat.

At the end of the dance, Nanami still looks uncomfortable. You tried, really tried, but he wasn’t having it.

Peeking over, you notice Gojo handing Chastity a stack of bills. She graciously accepts them before squealing and running to the back. You roll your eyes at the thought of how much money he’s throwing at the two of you tonight.

As icing on the cake, and because Gojo did pay so much, you decide to sit in Nanami’s lap. Not because you thought his reaction would be hilarious. That had nothing to do with this decision at all. As soon as your ass hits his crotch, his face is beat red. And as much as he’s pretending like your little dance didn’t affect him, you can clearly tell that’s a big lie. But you won’t say anything, he’s clearly already embarrassed enough.

You place an arm over his shoulder and around his neck for support as you drape your legs towards Gojo, letting your feet touch his knee. He doesn’t move or flinch away from your touch. In fact, he leans in a little closer.

“So, endless amounts of fun, huh?” Gojo says, eyeing you on Nanami’s lap, enjoying Nanami’s uncomfortable reaction. He’d enjoy it more if you were on his lap.

“Mhm. Unlimited, immeasurable, limitless fun,” you smile as you rub Nanami’s cheek. “But, Infinity works better as a name.”

“I’m very familiar with limitless.” He says cracking a perfect smile, his voice like honey as if he’s telling an inside joke, you’re not a part of.

“Oh? How so?”

“That’s a secret.”

You chuckle as you stand and walk over to the white-haired man you haven’t seen in seemingly forever. Bending down in front of him, he doesn’t move away, just continues to smirk as your noses line up, lips very close to one another. His sweet breath is intoxicating and he smells like bergamot, mixed with a little honey.

“Something tells me you’re full of secrets,” you wink back before shimmying away to the back of the club as he continues to watch the way your hips sway, without turning back to him.

That interaction with Gojo and Nanami has left you hungrier than you were before, so you head to the bathroom to splash some water on your face and take a moment to calm down.

Once you’re calm, you decide to change into a black flowy dress, thinking about where you can go and feed tonight. You’ve been hanging around a shady bar near the club for a few weeks, and it’s time to change things up a bit, to throw the scent off your trail.

Since Gojo did pay you so much, you’re able to leave early, so you poke your head out on stage again to see the two men leaving. Sighing, you decide to head out the back entrance and cross town to feed, before heading home.

“Hi, Infinity. You’ve been very naughty, haven’t you.” A gruff, annoyed voice greets you as you exit the club from the back-alley entrance.

You turn to look at the man, a regular, drunk, and waiting for you. “I don’t know who you’re looking for, but-,” he cuts you off, with a knife at your throat. “Oh.”

“Don’t play dumb with me, whore!” He grits his teeth, “I know you’ve been doing something to me, to get more money outta me!”

Clearly he’s a lot more perceptive to your touch than you gave him credit for. Maybe you did it one too many times on him.

Unfortunately, Gojo and Nanami are still close, and you’re unsure if they can sense your presence, like you can theirs. Best to continue to play it safe.

“I’m sorry honey. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” You say as sweetly as you can, but he’s not having it. He grabs your hair and pulls your head back, exposing your neck.

Lifting your left knee, you kick your foot back, hitting him in the crotch. He hunches over, so you elbow him in the face causing him to back away, holding his now bloody nose. You start to run out of the alley, towards where Gojo and Nanami seem to be.

“You bitch!” He screams, running after you, knife in hand. You turn to see how close he is as you round the corner, bumping into someone.

“Hey,” Gojo says as you turn around, the man comes around the corner with crazed eyes and tries to throw the knife at you, but it stops short and falls to the ground, despite the perfect aim he had.

“Excuse me. What’s going on?” Nanami asks, glaring at the man who threw the knife.

“This bitch is doing something to me! She’s drained me of almost all my money!” He spits pointing at you.

“Maybe she’s just good at her job.” Gojo says as Nanami gives him a discernible look. Gojo pulls you close, walking you out of the alley while Nanami stays behind.

“You okay?” Gojo asks, holding you by the chin and turning your face in various angles looking for any cuts or bruises. Satisfied, he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, causing you to blush slightly.

“Um, yeah. Just surprised. I’ve had crazy customers before, but not like that.”

After a few minutes, Nanami is by your side out on the street. “He already had a bloody nose. Did you do that to him?”

“Yeah. When I came out, he held the knife to my throat, so I kicked him in the dick and elbowed him in the nose.” Gojo laughs quietly.

“That was reckless.” Nanami states.

“Where’d you learn to do that?” Gojo questions despite being impressed with your quick reaction.

“Well, I’m a woman, working a job where weird, creepy men come to see my half naked body. It’s in my best interest to know how to throw a punch.” They both think for a moment and nod in agreement.

“Well, Infinity. It’s nice to finally see your face.” Wow, such a gentleman.

“I hide my face while working to prevent the creeps from following me or talking to me in public. Most don’t recognize me without the masks on. Clearly some still do.”

“I’m Nanami Kento and this i-”

“Gojo, I know. I’m y-”

“y/n.” Gojo finishes with a smile, making you laugh at the awkward exchange. “I remember.”

You smile at him, surprised he remembers after so many years, because earlier you were sure he didn’t. Nanami looks at you both confused.

“Looks like you’re my knight in shining armor again. I’ll have to find a way to really thank you this time.”

“I’ll leave you two to catch up, then. I’ve had quite enough of this evening.” Nanami grumbles making you laugh.

“Uh, thank you, Nanami. I appreciate the help and sorry for making you uncomfortable earlier.”

“You were just doing your job. Also, leave him in the alley. The police will find him shortly. Gojo, if you need assistance, don’t hesitate to call.”

He nods and turns his attention back to you, “want me to walk you home?”

“I was actually thinking of going out tonight.”

“Mind if I join?”

With the club so dark inside, you couldn’t make out what he was wearing earlier, but you look him up and down now, shamelessly as he does the same to you. He’s in khaki pants with a white shirt and black blazer over it. And he looks good in it. You wonder if it’s tailored. With the money he was throwing around tonight, you wouldn’t be surprised.

“Why?” you narrow your eyes, confused.

He shrugs. “You were just attacked. Could probably use some company.”

You did just find who you came here for, waiting another night should be fine.

“Sure. I’m still new around here, and don’t really know where to go. Since I have a local with me now, why don’t you show me a good time?”

“A good time is always guaranteed with Gojo Satoru.” He grins back, motioning for you to hook your arm around his.

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namesmox · 2 years ago

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Pillows

Ok so it has been well over a year since I've written anything or been involved with the Lucky Batch so please leave me some writing tips<3

"I swear to Maker, if you skip one more briefing, I will feed you to Loth Wolfs." hissed Raffle as he dragged Skip by his ear down the hallway of the Republic base the Lucksters were currently stationed at. "Kriffing hell Raffle! Let go of my ear! You're gonna- ow oW OW" "You wouldn't be getting dragged by your ear if you just went to a briefing, you di'kuit." Ignoring his vods protests, Raffle finally made it to the briefing room, where he shoved Skip into the room ahead of him, finding the amused faces of his brothers, who had seen Raffle storm off less than three minutes ago. Jackal and Foxy snorted when the very offended trooper slunk off to the corner to sulk, Kenhla quickly regaining the squad's attention. "Oh, a newcomer, welcome!" she joked and was met with a stuck-out tongue.

Once the batch had retreated to their barracks, still amused by the small scene from earlier, Skip asked, "If you're gonna drag me to meetings can it be by a different part of my body next time?" Jackal had snuck up behind Skip and pulled his little bun. "That work?". Raffle, who Pepper was scolding, smiled. "That's a great idea Jackal thank you." "All I do is shoot down D-1s. I don't get why I have to go to those meetings." Skip muttered, knowing full well why he was supposed to be there. "Maybe in case Jackal has another one of those 'emergency landings' again." piped Ryder on top of his perch on Goose. Now it was the pilot's turn to be offended. "Would you rather be a giant fireball in the sky?" "I'd rather stay on the same ship for more than a month." Jackal gasped, pretending to be overdramatic. "How dare you!". "I gotta agree with Ryder" Cypher cut in, who had his back turned, looking at his data pad. "Cypher turn around." The trooper did and was promptly met with a pillow to the face from Jackal. Foxy, who had been silently laughing at the situation, burst into laughter from the confused look on Cypher's face. Snapping out of his confusion, Cipher grabbed the pillow just thrown at him and the one on his bunk. Foxy bolted off the bunk he was sitting on to find cover. Jackal barely dodged a pillow by diving behind Goose, only for Ryder to tumble on top of him with the pillow. "Pillow fight!" yelled Skip as he ran up and whacked Raffle behind the head. The entire squad scattered throughout the barracks; before long, pillow stuffing flew through the air. Eventually, all the pillows were in less than optimal throwing condition, and someone (Thumbs swears it was Rane) pulled the mattress off a bunk and chucked it into the fray.

The following morning Kenhla, accompanied by her Padawan's Luna and Brisk, arrive at their squads' barracks only to find them utterly destroyed. The remains of pillows were scattered around the room in the form of wads of fuzz and scraps of cloth. Mattresses were pulled off the bunks and spread around the room, with the clones fast asleep. The trio stood still for a minute, wondering what must have happened for the space to be in this state. Finally, Luna was the one to break the silence. "Master, why the hell weren't we invited?".

Tags (lmk if you want to be added or removed):

@lynnpaper @foxlocke @maygalodon @oo-hazel-oo @letsunity @burnthashbrown27 @generaltano @cosmicghostie @monako-jinn-stories @longearedowlfromouterspace@lusiawonder @just-another-dreamerr

#the lucky batch #cf 37 #thebadbatch #the clone wars #clones #clone force 37

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leseigneurdufeu · 3 years ago

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So, to new users, you probably have seen posts about how there’s no algorithm, how you should have a header and pfp other than the default ones, how you should reblog everything, how blocking is not a moral thing but a convenience one, etc. But let’s talk vibes.

- There is a culture in Tumblr. We are a civilization. We are nice but the ecosystem isn’t, it’s ruthless and unforgiving. You shall adapt or you shall perish.

- There are important holidays. Some are more important than others. Out of touch thursday is commonly accepted, and Sad-ant-with-a-bindle-monday is a nice one to participate in. Do not speak ill of the 5th of November, which is the international day.

- You are not obliged to have watched the series or read the books everyone else has. But it would give you a headstart to know what Destiel, Superwholock and Dracula Daily mean. More specialized slang, like Horse Plinko, Blorbo, Eeby Deeby or Jonmina, will come later.

- We don’t have the same kind of personnalities as Twitter has: our pantheon is composed of President Smellborp, Glup Shitto and my cousin Throckmorton, to only talk about the most notorious.

- Traditions such as the Sexyman Bracket, the Colour Theory comments, etc, might seem outdated or outright weird to the common newcomer. You are completely free to ignore them, and completely free to find them stupid. Be warned however that if you smear them, you will be stoned to death.

- If you want the question and the answer to be public, you can ask people things through the askbox. If you want it to be private, direct-message them.

- As for the header and pfp problem, you should know that there is a neversleeping plague in here: they call themselves sugar daddy or sugar baby, lonely girl or even mature teen, but we call them PornBots. We recognize them at a default header and profile picture, and their blogs are full of porn. However, they started evolving and sometimes have not only a credible username, but also a profile picture. You WILL be blocked on sight if you have never reblogged anything and/or if you have the default header and pfp. When we fight a war, we don’t care what brought you to wear the ennemy’s uniform, we care only to make you bleed.

- The Shibboleth if you think someone you know is on Tumblr is “I like your shoelaces”. The addressed shall, if they are from tumblr, answer with “Thanks! I stole them from the president”. Few are still living who remember the meaning or the origin of those words.

- If there’s a flashing gif, tag it as “tw flashing” or “flashing”. Do NOT tag as “epilepsy”, or epileptic people in quest of informations will open the tag and die promptly after being exposed to twenty flashing gifs all at once. This is not a joke.

- You can block tags and post contents in your settings. Be warned that the post contents will also filter the usernames: so if you filter “fire” because you don’t like fire or because it generally comes with flashing gifs, know that it will block anyone with a username saying firelord, firefighter, brighter-than-fire and such.

- Anon hate is for cowards and for fools. Who would come, however well masked, to a king’s very throne room, in order to insult them? When the king is accompagnied by his most trusted advisors and most devouted subjects? It’s also not a nice thing. You can be blocked even if you’re on anon btw.

- There are posses and groups, factions if you like. Some are politicals, some are religious, some go by hobbies... You can go wherever you like but be sure to be armed before you ever go near an unfamiliar Fandom. Those are dreaded even by the most valiant heroes.

- The current climate is midly xenophobic. No one cares where you come from, mind you, in real life. But if you’re coming here from Twitter, hide the signs. Pick up the lingua, talk about reblogs not retweets, try to put “rebagel” at some point and talk about SPN and how dreadful the Superwholock fandom are just as if you belonged. Lie low. You’ll be able to joke about that later with your mutuals. For the moment, you might want to be safe rather than sorry.

- This is a lawless land. You make justice by yourself, by blocking people or by reporting them. I’d recommand only to report people actively encouraging crime and the Ennemy (the pornbots), but you do you, and you know better than me when it’s time to unsheathe your weapon.

- For the love of all that is holy, tag your posts. If you don’t, they will find you.

- On that note, try to tag the trigger warnings/content warnings with tw or cw tags which already exist. Because blocking the tag “tw incest” doesn’t block the tag “tw: incest”. And if you ever try your hand at censoring your tags (ex: “tw e4t1ng d1s0rd3rs” or “tw r*ape”)... not only will you harm people, you will probably be harmed in return. DO NOT CENSOR YOUR TAGS, and except if relevant (if you really want people who censor those words to still read this post) do not censor the words in the post itself.

- Rogue knights who fought under the banner of the Blue Bird prior to its castle’s conquest by the Elongated-Muskrat-blason man, are not seen with a kind eye right now. But boy oh boy, if you betray that you’re from Tiktok, for example with the use of words such as “unalive”, you will wish that someone would use such kind words to describe what will be left of you. Don’t censor yourselves. For the above-mentionned problem, and because using words such as fuck, kill, murder, arson, disembowelment, have no algorithm charged with tracking it. You won’t be censored by the ecosystem: don’t censor yourself.

- The Tumbeasts are the official emblem of the Hellsite. You can use this nicholasname in a derogatory, affectionate or flirtatious manner. Don’t try to hunt the Tumbeasts to extinction. Much like the hydras, you will only find yourself with more ennemies than you could count before starting your quest.

- No one cares for the name, address or age of the mysterious guy who stepped in the saloon. It will actually be sus of them to wear a badge with their real name, age or city, on their chest. Sus people will be taken advantage of or blocked. There’s a third, secret thing, but you’re not old enough to know about it - old in tumblr days of course, not in real-life days.

- The Tumbeasts eat electronical circuits. However if you disturb their sleep they will bite, and they will add to their diet any living moving thing, from blue birds to tiktokers. Ye be warned.

- Don’t try to change us. Others tried before and are no longer around to flaunt their unfortunate attempts. Assimilate. If change has to happen, it will happen organically.

TL;DR: Don’t censor your tags nor yourself, both because it’s useless and because it will actively harm people blocking the full words, and put a pfp and a header. Block liberally. Stay clear of the Fandoms if you’re not ready, there’s no shame in it.

Welcome to the Hellsite, you weeaboo little shits. Sleep tight, tomorrow your first day of hell starts. There’s no exit. They took the bridge.

#to new users:

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a-lilyinthevalley · 1 month ago

Text

The rest of the sprites crowd around the dusty blue glass, clambering over each other to catch a glimpse of what's inside.

With a little bit of effort, the sprite who found the shard manages to wipe the rest of the dust off, and out comes White Lily's voice, "...at were you doing in the library?"

A laugh from a younger-sounding Pure Vanilla, "I could ask the same of you! But I was, um... looking for a book."

"It's a library...I, uhm, think that's what they're... for. What book..?"

"Nothing in particular... Why, did you have a recommendation?"

"Oh-!" squeaked White Lily, "Um- Well, there's this one book that I like... it's about magic theory, but... uh... maybe you don't like that stuff... sorry..."

She looks down at the book in her lap, finger fidgeting with the edge of the cover. When they look up, they don't expect to see Pure Vanilla looking at them with a glint in his eyes.

"...Tell me more?" he asks, and White Lily - for the first time since she had arrived at the Academy - beams.

The shard stops the memory there, but instead of the image looping back, it skips forward; the two friends are older when it starts playing again. They're exchanging stories over a campfire.

"...And that's the scariest monster story I have, I think..!" Pure Vanilla says with a sheepish smile.

White Lily blinks, "Your scariest monster story is about... not being able to talk to people."

The healer nods solemnly, "The most horrifying thing of all: bad communication."

They can't help but giggle at their friend until a rustle from the bushes cuts her off. Subtly, she grabs for her staff - a simple branch, really, with only a green ribbon for decoration. They had gotten it to match 'Nilla's after his vision had gotten worse.

Lily had expected cake hounds, or similar creatures... not a dark-haired figure who looked perpetually exhausted. He scowls when he sees the two.

"...What are you doing in the woods this late..?" he grouses, eyeing their campsite, "It's dangerous."

"We're adventurers," Pure Vanilla cuts in with a smile, "And I think we could ask you the same."

The stranger ignores the question, "Where are you headed?"

"Wherever the road takes us. That one," he says, pointing a finger at White Lily, "Loves learning from cookies across all Earthbread."

She blushes, but doesn't duck her head into her sleeve. Instead, she looks up at the newcomer, "You could join us, if you don't have a destination in mind."

The dark-haired cookie thinks for a second, before sighing, "...I suppose I can accompany you for a while."

He introduces himself as Dark Cacao Cookie, and their little group grows from two to three.

The memory skips again, stopping during the day, near a stream. Pure Vanilla Cookie's robe is laying off to the side, his feet kicking back and forth in the flow of the water. Dark Cacao sits nearby, worn sword to a whetstone as he whistles some kind of solemn tune.

White Lily is sitting with her back against a tree, writing the occurrences of the past few days into her research journal when a yell echoes through the woods.

The three share a glance.

Dark Cacao inspects his sword before rolling his eyes and saying, "Let's go, then."

They find two cookies - one pink-haired, the other winged - facing off against a tree spirit. They're holding their own remarkably well, but they look to be getting worn down as the fight drags on.

To Lily's left, 'Nilla casts a healing spell on the two, who glance over at the new cookies before remembering that they are in the middle of a battle and promptly turn back to the problem at hand.

With the three's help, the two strangers are able to subdue the tree spirit. Breathing hard, the pink-haired cookie shares a grin with the gold-haired one, before looking over her shoulder at the new arrivals.

"Hello!" she calls in a cheery voice, "Thanks for the assist, strangers!"

"Happy to help," Pure Vanilla calls back, "And please, just call me Pure Vanilla."

"Only if you call me Hollyberry!"

The two cookies walk closer, the gold-haired one looping her arms over her spear as she walks up to White Lily.

"Good work," she comments, "I'm Golden Cheese."

"Uh- White Lily," they say.

Golden Cheese dips her head in acknowledgement, "Nice ta meet ya."

Dark Cacao appears at her right shoulder, eyeing the newcomer before nodding to himself and sticking out his hand, "Dark Cacao," he grunts.

She shakes it with a laugh.

Their group grows from three to five as they share stories of their travels over smoked fish and jellies that night.

White Lily, surrounded by her friends these cookies, feels... happy. Well and truly happy. It wasn't a foreign emotion -- they had experienced it with 'Nilla, with the thrill of uncovering new truths about the world, but...

They had never felt so much happiness that their heart felt it would burst from it all. They didn't want to forget what this felt like.

There was something nagging at the back of her head, though.

Something she was missing.

They pay it no mind, and begin to interject on Pure Vanilla's tale of a particularly interesting science class with the "true" story.

The memory ends there and loops back to the beginning.

The rest of the sprites comb through the glass, but nothing catches their eye. Looks like they'll need to do something else first.

[3/6]

[You can look at the tags for this post to see what happens here. This one will be MAJORITY VOTE. Only one action will occur! This determines how the rest of the shards will be found.]

[7/21]

[Prev]

The Nebula Highlands, 3 weeks after White Lily's death:

As the group heads up the hill, the air grows quiet. Still. Devoid of any murmurings or dancing stars.

Just... silence.

The ground begins to clink under their feet. When the group looks down, they see thick pieces of glass, all vaguely triangular in shape, covering the ground.

They've made it to the top of the hill.

[Mod Note: Hi again! These next polls for this thread will work differently. Instead of it being One Action, all actions will be done, as long as they are voted for. The more votes for a specific action, the more successful an action will be. Happy choosing!]

[Mod Note 2: There's also a time limit, in the form of asks/reblogs made. Y'all's have a time limit of 20-25 reblogs/asks. It sounds like a lot, but... um... you'd be surprised.]

[1/20]

#rp ask blog #*#valley of shattered dreams #:fingerpoke: blinks at you with my biggest eyes. colon three. teehee #one of these options leads to fluff and lily gaining consciousness (becoming aware)#another of these options skips the fluff but she still wakes up so yippee #ANOTHER of these options is what i like to call “interesting”. because it's the lore option #so really you have:#fluff x2 #the normalish one #and the lore option #oh and the asks which can range anywhere from fluff x2 to devastating depending on my mood so have fun with that

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itsstrangelypermanent · 3 years ago

Text

Well then. I meant to post this hours ago but then I fell asleep because... well, that’s how I roll.

I got @holding-hands-and-hearts for the SW OC exchange. Dale is precious and I want to add him to my collection of medic OCs... but then again, I feel like I’m getting into the Pringles, Pokemon, or... well, let’s be fair, cat situation.

You can’t just have one.

So. BEHOLD.

Dale.

(No, this has no name because I named it Dale.txt and had the best name for it ever which promptly vanished from my mind like grains of gossamer on the wind)

“Carrion, Fox.”

Carrion groaned, rubbing over his eyes as he shoved his datapad away. He was trying to catch up on some journal articles, but it seemed that every karking member of the Guard had it out for him today.

He snatched for his commlink, regretting wearing his scrubs instead of his armor. “Carrion. This better be good.”

“... did you order a new medic?”

He stared at his commlink like it was something offensive. “... No?” At least, he didn’t think he had? He had Poke, Sticks, Syr, Hem… he listed off names. There hadn’t been any accidents, any transfers out… for once, he was fully staffed? Or as fully staffed as the Guard’s medical staff got?

He wasn’t going to tell Fox that he really had no idea though.

He’d never hear the end of it.

Fox, who meanwhile, was busy cursing in at least three languages into the open commlink. Must be in his bucket to be talking like that.

“Can Hutts even do that?” he broke in, placid, even as he snatched his datapad back up to jot down that particular insult. He was moderately sure that their anatomy didn’t allow for that sort of positioning, but… he’d look it up. For science.

Fox’s sigah was a visceral sound of disappointment.

It made him grin.

“Get up to the flight deck. Seems like someone screwed up transfer orders, we have a new medic for you.”

“I don’t need another one, want me to see who’s-”

“Carrion. Get up here. Please.”

He stared at the commlink for a moment, then another. Fox… using manners? “I’m in scrubs,” he warned, already shoving his datapad back into his belt pouch.

“Don’t care. Get up here.”

Well shavit. So much for those articles.

–

Dale wouldn’t admit it, but he was absolutely terrified. He’d thought he was destined for the 501st? But the shuttle they’d shuffled him onto, leaving Kamino, was now on Coruscant? He was so nervous about everything he wasn’t even mourning the lost opportunity to see Tup again.

And Marshall Commander Fox was standing in front of him, hands on his hips.

At least his helmet was still on.

He got the distinct impression his new commander was less than impressed by his presence, especially after he’d outright demanded exactly who he was while looking over the transfer orders.

Coruscant was huge, and it was loud. Above the open landing platform he was still on, veritable stories of traffic stretched above them, and below. It was enough to give anyone vertigo.

Of course, it wouldn’t be so bad if he wasn’t alone. All the other newcomers had apparently been expected, and other troopers had led them off the platform to get them situated.

It was just Fox, himself, and the two pilots who were ignoring everyone as they supervised the refueling of their shuttle.

At least Fox hadn’t made him hold his salute - his trembling would have given him away.

A few impossibly long minutes later and there was a new figure, striding across the blast-scarred landing zone. He was in scrubs, looked impossibly tired, and looked… ruffled.

“Fox,” he started, barely casting a glance at him. “I don’t have space for a new medic, not since the barracks on the lower levels-”

The commander just held up his hand, placating, and shoved his datapad to the medic. CMO, Dale realized, bile rising in his throat. His new direct superior?

The medic glanced over the formwork, eyes narrowing so sharply a furrow formed between his eyes.

“A shiny.”

His words were like a bucket of cold water, and never before had he been glad to be wearing a helmet. He barely processed the medic’s next words, just fount back a full-body shiver at the tone. “Not only are they sending me a medic who I don’t have quarters for, but they know kriffing full well if I’m requesting one, it can’t be a shiny. I don’t have time for-”

His hearing went to static as he tried to breath, started mentally reciting concussion symptoms, started going over treatment protocols. Always suspect a concussion, the trainers had said. Better to treat for one that isn’t there than to have a brother go down bleeding out of their eyes.

Fox was speaking, hand waving, the medic’s face getting flushed as he made snarky comments back.

Dale just stayed still, trying to force himself to breathe.

–

Carrion realized his mistake as soon as he realized the new medic hadn’t moved, hadn’t so much as twitched, during their ranting.

The trooper was just a bit below standard height, their armor completely white save for their medic sigil on their shoulder bell. That was it. Not a single mark of paint, not even any dirt.

The trooper was shinier than shiny.

Fox had shoved the datapad with the trooper’s records at him, ending their conversation abruptly as Thorn buzzed his comm, needing help with dealing with one of the more… aggressive… Senators.

“Take care of him,” Fox had snapped, his external comm cutting off in a hiss of static as he switched back to talking to Thorn. He’d strode off, almost double-timing his way across the landing zone, leaving him alone with…

… his new medic.

Who was trembling from how rigidly they were holding themselves.

Well, wasn’t he just a karking di’kut, now wasn’t he?

“Trooper-?” he asked, forcing his voice back to a normal speaking tone, forcing his breathing under control. He glanced down at the datapad. “Dale? CT-?”

There was a recitation of numbers somewhere in the words that tumbled through the shockingly white bucket, but he’d be damned if he had any idea what they were.

He sighed, very much aware that he’d already screwed this up. This new medic didn’t deserve being the target of his temper, not when they were probably exhausted enough from traveling from Kamino.

“Come with me, we’ll get you set up.”

–

The trooper followed him at a perfectly measured pace, the entire way to his medbay. Two paces behind, one to the right. It was shockingly precise, shockingly by the regs, and shockingly uncommon. In the private spaces of the Guard building, the Corries let themselves relax, just a bit, around their brothers. As long as there were no natborns, this was their safe place, where they could be.

His new shiny would need time to settle in, apparently. Of course, he had no idea where he was going to put them yet, but that was a problem for later Carrion, not now Carrion.

He ushered Dale inside and sent off a quick message, putting his medbay offline for a few hours. Sticks was on duty, he was a good, steady medic, he could handle it for a while. After the short acknowledgement, he tossed his commlink and the datapad Fox had shoved at him onto his desk and dropped onto his chair, waving Dale to the nearest biobed.

They stayed stiffly upright, almost rocking onto his heels with his clear nerves.

He managed to not sigh, that would just make this worse.

“At ease, Dale. Sit.”

The trooper obeyed, at least in part. There was absolutely no easing of their position.

Again, he managed to not sigh.

“Bucket off.”

Later, when having latemeal with Stone, maybe he’d be able to express how much of a shabuir he felt in that moment. Maybe, he’d be able to express his shock, his horror at the helmet coming off.

His answer as to why Dale was a bit shorter than normal was pretty evident.

He was also a bit younger than normal.

Kriffing. Everything. Seriously. Kriff the war. Kriff the Kaminoans. Kriff the Seppies. Kriff the ka’ra bedamned sithspawn Senate.

Shiny now apparently meant baby.

Dale was a baby.

“... how old are you?”

His cheeks were still slightly rounded, and if he had to guess, Carrion would put him on the tail end of his final growth spurt. His mind was already running through topical pain killing ointments and the like, remembering his own misery as he reached his full adult size.

Dale wouldn’t meet his eyes, staring down at the helmet clutched between his hands. “... just nine, sir.”

Just nine. Kamino wasn’t supposed to send cadets out into combat positions until they were ten, though it wasn’t uncommon or unheard of for them to go to support positions as young as eight.

Coruscant was not a support position.

The Guard’s casualty rates were just as high as the front-line combat units, in a far more confined space. Added to their shortened supplies, since the Senate thought it was a cushy posting, that resources could be used better elsewhere…

No, Coruscant was very much not a support position, and a shiny didn’t belong.

At the same time, he couldn’t in good conscience send the kid off with the only combat group on planet. They were destined to cross the blockade, to join Bacara… and that vod most certainly did not want a baby there.

Well kark him and the eopie he rode in on.

Looks like he’d found himself a new medic.

–

His new CMO didn’t look terribly impressed at his age, and keeping his face smooth was testing him. At least his helmet was a familiar weight in his hands, though his fingers twitched, wanting to pull out his datapad and start going over his holobooks.

“Dale?”

Oh, his medic was talking to him still… had he been told his name yet? He panicked, searching his memory and coming up with a blank.

His panic must have showed, because the older man held his hands up, the universal sign to calm down. “Breath, vod’ika,” he soothed, just sounding… tired. “When was the last time you ate?”

“... few hours ago, sir,” he guessed, not really having a sense of time since Kamino didn’t use Galactic Standard, and not having had time to sync his bucket’s HUD to local time.

The other’s expression suggested he knew that, but didn’t call him on it. Instead, he pushed his chair, and he rolled himself over to the battered desk in the corner of the room. Opening a drawer, he pulled out a ration bar, one of the coveted green ones, and tossed it to him.

He caught it, just barely, only juggling it twice. “... sir?”

His medic rolled his eyes. “Fox is a sir. The other commanders? They’re sirs. I’m just a lieutenant. Carrion, by the way. I respond to most things you’ll call me, except sir.”

He froze, the wrapper only halfway torn down, and just couldn’t help himself. “... yes… not-sir?”

For a long moment, he’d thought he’d misjudged, that his CMO was about to rip him limb from limb… not proverbially.

Then his face lit up, grinning. “You’ll do just fine kid. Now eat.”

–

Carrion had pushed the kid onto a biobed with a datapad, then spent the next few hours quizzing him on basic knowledge. Typical of the Kaminoans to send over his full decanting and medical records… and not a single one regarding his training or skillset. Abso-karking-lutely typical.

The shiny seemed to know his stuff though, having at least a theoretical knowledge of most things he threw at them, and puzzled his way through some of the random shavit he tried, just to see if he could throw them.

He hadn’t been able to yet, Dale verbally puzzling out some of the harder scenarios.

He was fairly impressed, and already he had some ideas on where to put him in the rotation. Hem and Syr were both experienced, but neither really had the temperament to handle a shiny. Dale… he asked questions, seemed to have a genuine need to know the why of things. Poke might be a bit… much… perhaps a smidge overboard. Sticks, on the other hand… completely unflappable, mellow… not the snarky shabuir most of the older medics tended to transcend into. Between him, and his partner Ludo, that should be a good place for him.

But their bunkroom was full already. All the enlisted bunkrooms were full, and with their lower levels co-opted by the Senate Guard for… who even knew what anymore… even most of the officers were double- or triple-bunking.

He sighed, rubbing his temples. Good thing Stone was as mellow as Ludo.

–

Being CMO had its perks, Car reflected as they stripped off their duty scrubs and hung them on the back of his chair.

A room slightly larger than a closet, for one.

Stone was snoring already, draped on the far end of the bed. His armor was stacked neatly on the rack, his DC-17s in various states of the cleaning process, set on a towel covering his desk.

His own armor was stacked haphazardly on wherever he could find space for it, his bucket perched on top of Stone’s like it was a weird Mandolorian tiki sculpture.

… Dale’s was in his own usual space on his armor rack, carefully arranged to keep the still tacky paint from smudging. The brush and small pot Carrion had liberated from Supply were set back by the terminal’s keyboard, out of danger of being spilled.

The bold lines of Guard red stretched across the previously austere plains of white plastoid, nothing terribly special… a typical Guard medic’s paint.

Dale had grinned like a madman putting it on, his discomfort at being tucked between two senior officers, all crammed at the same desk, quickly forgotten. Stone, being the soft lump he was, had even taken it upon himself to clean off the streak of paint that had somehow ended up on the kid’s cheek.

He was pretty sure he’d save that holo forever, and had already downloaded it into the memory of his helmet.

For reference, of course.

Now, Dale was laying, stiff and uncomfortable, down the center of the mattress, not quite touching Stone, and not quite touching himself, his hands mashed under his pillow in a clear attempt to hide his fidgeting.

He rolled his eyes as he pulled off his socks and tossed them to the side.

“Kid, move over,” he pulled out his best gruff, mildly-irritated voice as he dropped to the end of the mattress and bodily dropped down onto Dale.

As expected, the kid squawked like a howler monkey and rolled over… into Stone’s side.

This wasn’t his first rodeo, and the light was off and Carrion’s feet were off the deck and under the blankets before Dale could wiggle his way out from between the pair of older clones.

A single finger, barely visible in the dark, held up had him quiet before his panicked words could actually come out.

“It’s fine. Go to sleep, ‘lek?”

Stone’s grunted response about di’kut medics and their di’kut ways had them both laughing, the tension broken even as it formed. They settled, their breathing growing slower and deeper as they all dropped into a warm, comfortable sleep.

#Dale the OC medic #SWOCexchange #starwarsocexchange #Dale is precious and I love him your honor #Carrion is just so done #Fox is an absent father?#kinda #it somehow works #Stone is just along for the ride #beff writes #I can't believe I didn't post this earler #I am #the worst

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hyuckssunchip · 4 years ago

Text

눈빛

~the expression of one’s eyes

Pairings: Mark x Reader, ft. Johnny

Words: 3.3K

Warnings: Language (there is almost always language in my writings), angst, unrequited love

Synopsis:

It wasn’t as if Mark couldn’t see it, in fact he was almost sure that Johnny could see it too. The way that you looked at him. At Johnny.

“Horror or Rom-com tonight?” You turned to face Johnny, dressed in his familiar pajamas, plaid didn’t do him justice.

“I dunno, it’s your night to choose.” Your eyes followed his figure, and you admired the messy hairdo you had gotten so used to.

“Horror? Are you up for some nightmares tonight?” He laughed, and your heart skipped a beat at the sound.

You giggled at his response, but he recognized the nervous look on your face.

“Don’t worry I’ll keep you safe, just like old times.” He plopped on the cushion next to you, his body flushed against yours. This was nothing new, his warmth was a familiar feeling, but you could never get used to the butterflies that the contact sent through you.

“Remember that time you thought that Pennywise was hiding under your bed?” He snorted at the memory of you huddled on the couch in the middle of the night, begging for him to stay up with you.

“That was stupid, and I told you I didn’t like clowns.” You grumbled, wrapping the blanket around you tighter, trying to ignore the teasing looks.

“Sure, so I’m guessing you don’t like ghosts either?” He nudged you, raising his eyebrows.

“No, I’m fine with ghosts.” You mocked back, but the hint of fear was evident in your voice.

“Great! I know a great movie then!” He moved towards the remote, checking out your reaction from the side of his eye.

“Yeah…” You mumbled, sinking further into the couch.

You were interrupted by the soft slam of the front door.

“Johnny?” You turned at the sound of a new voice.

“Oh, hey Mark. We’re about to watch a movie, wanna join? It’s horror.” He sang the last part, taunting you.

“Oh.” The awkward tension didn’t leave, and you turned to face Johnny, indicating you wanted to be introduced.

“Oh. Y/N this is Mark, Mark Y/N.” Johnny went back to the TV searching for the movie and leaving you and Mark to awkwardly acknowledge each other.

“Hi.” You let out a soft whisper, waving a shy hand at the newcomer.

“Hi.” But all he could do was stare back, a tiny smile adorning his face. You returned his smile, and turned to Johnny, digging your elbow into his side.

“Ow! What?” He flinched, rubbing his ribs and giving you a teasing glare. You nodded your head in Mark’s direction.

“Mark, you gonna join?” He raised his eyebrows in question.

“Oh, yeah, I guess.” He stuttered out, glancing between the two of you as he fell into the seat adjacent from you.

The starting credits of the movie began, lighting up your faces. Throughout the movie you had dug yourself into Johnny’s side, his arm making its way around your shoulders, laughing at the way you used him as a shield.

“You could’ve said no to ghosts.” He whispered in your ear, with a teasing grin on his face.

“Shut up.” You smacked his chest.

From the other couch Mark watched your interaction, the way that you looked at him, the way that you held onto him.

“Oh, hi.” You were startled, looking up from the comfortable position on the couch.

“Hi.” You winced at the awkwardness, suddenly wishing you hadn’t showed up to Johnny’s place early.

Mark slowly sat down on the other couch, as if he was worried that you didn’t want him there. Which wasn’t exactly true, but also not far from the truth.

“Are you waiting for Johnny?” He asked, choosing to look at anything but you.

“Yeah, it’s movie night again, but he said he was running late.” You rolled your bottom lip between your teeth, staring at the plant on the coffee table.

“Oh.”

The silence was heavy. Normally you weren’t this awkward, but apparently your social ineptness and his just made things worse.

You giggled at the thought and as a way to relieve the tension.

“What?” He furrowed his eyebrows, worried that he had done something.

“Nothing.” But you couldn’t help but giggle again. The laughter was contagious and soon you found each other’s company comfortable.

You wiped the small tear that was threatening to escape, “Oh my god, my cheeks hurt.” You shook your head, the last half an hour you and Mark had been laughing non-stop, bantering as if you had known each other as long as you and Johnny had.

He had the biggest grin on his face, a goofy look that you thought was sweet.

“What’s going on here?” Johnny entered, chucking his back by the entrance. He commanded attention, pulling you and Mark away.

“We were just talking about you actually.” You smirked, winking at Mark.

“Hey, that’s not nice. What’d you talk about?” At the sound of the both of your laughter Johnny had wielded one of the biggest smiles you had ever seen. He felt content at the sight of the two people he loved most being happy.

“Oh, just some things… like that time where we went swimming and you-” His hand slapped over your mouth as he sent you a glare.

Mark doubled over in laughter, as you ripped his hand away from your face. “I already told him, it’s not new news.” You laughed at the look of horror on his face.

“You said you’d take that to the grave!” He threw an accusing finger at you.

“Oops. I lied.” You giggled at his face.

“Whatever. Horror night again I guess.” He smirked at the way your face fell.

“No, it’s my turn to pick.” You whined at him, to which he promptly shook his finger at you.

“Uh-uh, you lost that privilege the moment you opened your mouth.” He reached for the remote, quickly trying to find the movie.

You pouted, crossing your arm over your chest. “Whatever.” The smile grew on your face as you made eye contact with a very red-faced Mark, who looked as if he was going to combust from holding in his laughter. “It was worth it.”

Mark snorted, unable to keep it in. “I can’t believe you-” But the rest of his sentence couldn’t be heard, his own laughter ruining the story.

“Whooo.” He calmed himself, dabbing the undersides of his eyes dry.

“Okay. You done now?” Johnny teased sarcastically. He rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help the grin that stretched over his face.

“Yeah.” But the tips of Mark’s lips never went down.

“Where are you going?” Johnny shouted at your back as you tried to leave the apartment.

“Mark’s taking me bowling. We’re going to practice so we can whoop your ass next Friday.” You shouted back, shoving your feet into your worn shoes, victims of your lack of patience.

He smiled at the sound of the door slamming, pleased that you two were getting along great. He wanted so badly for your friendship to work out, and possibly move to something more. Mark wasn’t exactly shy in the way that he looked at you, or talked about you. And Johnny could think of no one better he would approve of.

But the problem wasn’t with Mark, it was you. You were oblivious to his feelings, and even more so to your own. No matter how much time you spent with Mark, you told yourself that your heart belonged to someone else. No matter how wrong that was, you had convinced yourself that what you felt was love, and it wasn’t possible to feel that way for anyone else.

“You know I think you should get out there, I mean I know a really great guy that would be perfect for you.” You frowned at his words, not liking the sound of it.

You hated the way he was pushing you into a random relationship, especially when you just wanted nothing more than for him to reciprocate your feelings. But he was doing the opposite.

“I don’t want to get with a random guy.” You tried to push the idea away and move away from the topic.

“But you can’t just keep hanging out with me,” He frowned at your scowl, “I just want to do you a favor, I think you’ll really like him.”

“I don’t want to, Johnny. I’ll get into a relationship when I want to.” You pushed back, grabbing your phone as a distraction.

“When is that gonna be? You can’t just wait forever.” He tried to get your attention.

“Who says I’m waiting? I don’t need to be in a relationship to be happy.” You snapped at him, his words now hitting a little too close to home.

“I’m not saying you’re not happy, just that you should find someone that can love you the way you deserve.”

You tensed at his words, not quite yet understanding where that was coming from.

“I know, and I’ll find that when it comes along.”

“I can’t do that for you.” He let out, biting his bottom lip.

Your heart stopped and suddenly you felt your chest tighten.

“So you knew.” You felt hot tears of embarrassment threaten to fall.

“Y/N…” There was a pleading tone as he realized your hurt, but that didn’t stop him from his next words, “It was hard not to.”

You swore you heard your heart break. “How long?” You croaked out.

“A long time Y/N.” He faltered out, watching your expression fall.

The feeling of betrayal hit you hard, and unable to reach his eyes anymore you turned on your heel, just narrowly missing his outreaching grasp.

“Y/N…” He paused, noticing the way you hesitated. It was hard not to, after all your feelings were still so strong and so real.

But he never finished, and you took that as a sign that the conversation, or whatever this situation was, was over.

It was only natural for you to find comfort in the person that seemed to know you best after Johnny. Mark.

“I was talking to Haechan yester- hey, what’s wrong?” Mark immediately found your eyes, a pool of empathy that you longed for.

You sniffled and your bottom lip trembled as you tried to speak. “He...Johnny.” That was all you got out before your voice was swallowed by a sob.

He reached out for you tentatively, wrapping an arm over your shoulder. You automatically melt into his embrace.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, softer than before, but just as genuine.

“Johnny found out I like him…” You faltered, not wanting to come to terms with his rejection.

You were terrified at the sight of his face, he wasn’t at all shocked at your confession.

“Was I that obvious?” You asked, moving to wipe the streaks off your face.

He sighed, trying not to meet your desperate eyes. “I mean…”

Your shoulders dropped, face heating in embarrassment. “Does everyone know? Am I just that transparent?”

“So what if you wear your heart on your sleeve? What’s wrong with that?” He leaned down to make eye contact, trying to console you.

“He doesn’t…”

You didn’t finish, but he didn’t need you to. Once again, his arms wrapped around you and he swayed you in embrace for a moment of silence.

Although he hesitated to ask, he desperately wants to know the answer to the question on his mind. His timing wasn’t great, but he’s human too.

“Do you… still like him?” He asked the top of your head, not daring to move as he felt you stiffen.

“Yeah…”

Neither of you spoke.

“I don’t want to though.”

“Sometimes you can’t help it.” He mumbled, some of his own truth behind his words. “The heart wants what it wants right?”

“Yeah.”

“Y/N.”

You froze, it was too early for you. You knew the moment you laid eyes on him you would break again.

“Are you mad?” He asked gently to your back, although you couldn’t see him, the Johnny you knew was genuine.

You sighed, it was soon, but you wanted to be able to hold yourself together for this conversation.

“No.” It came out as a squeak and you flinched at the sound of your vulnerable voice.

“I don’t want… I don’t want our friendship to be like this. I don’t want things to change.” Your heart sank at his words, although he had good intentions you knew the meaning behind them. That anything more than a friendship was never going to happen.

“I can’t do this right now.” You whispered out, sliding past the door. You felt your throat tighten involuntarily and a sob escaped you as you ran down the hallway, bumping into Mark on the way.

“Y/N?”

You continued past him, not wanting to take the chance that Johnny had followed you.

But the steps caught up with you, and you found a pair of arms enveloped you from behind and your shoulders sank in defeat.

“Y/N?” You relaxed at the familiar voice. You turned around in his arms, choosing to wrap your arms around his waist. You fit snug against his chest, the warmth and his heartbeat calming you.

“Shhh…. It’s okay.” He patted the back of your head, raking his hands slightly through your hair.

You simply hummed, not able to formulate a sentence yet. Together you rocked silence, slowly but surely calming you.

“I’m just not ready.” You answered eventually, muffled into his chest.

“It’s okay.” He murmured back.

“I want to be ready to face him, but it still hurts.”

“Y/N, just take your time, you don’t have to be ready yet.” He comforted you, ignoring the own pain that he felt.

“Thank you.” You whispered into his chest, sniffling as you pulled away. You laughed nervously wiping your nose, “I’m sorry about your shirt.”

He giggled back, trying to make you feel better, “My shirt isn’t worth your apology. I’ll be your human tissue any time.”

You smiled shyly at his words, and you felt a small flutter in your stomach.

Another week had passed before your dreaded conversation with Johnny arrived. You finally felt ready to face the truth, but it didn’t mean you weren’t scared for the change that came with it. You weren’t stupid, awknowledging this meant that things weren’t going to be the same between you two. As scary as that was, nothing was going to get fixed if you avoided it.

“I- I don’t know where to start.” You had never seen Johnny so shy or confused. You were used to him being the powerhouse, the moodmaker. And it hurt you to see him look so defeated.

“Then let me. I have some things to get off my chest, and I honestly don’t know if I can do it if I don’t say it now.” You sighed, taking a deep breath to calm yourself.

He nodded, letting you take your time.

“It just hurt, you know. Like not only was it one-sided, but I just kinda felt betrayed that you played along with it. If you knew the way I looked at you and you didn’t feel the same, you didn’t have to play into it so much.” You paused, still looking at the ground. “You could’ve told me.”

“I didn’t want things to change. I love our friendship, and I never wanted something to come between us. I thought for sure things would get weird if I said something. I mean, look at us now.” He let out a nervous laugh, something that you couldn’t reciprocate.

“But don’t you think it would’ve been better to let me know, so I didn’t feel like you played with me and my feelings?” You felt bitter when reminiscing the moments he made your heart flutter.

“I never once meant to play with your feelings, I swear. I know it looks really bad, and it didn’t help stop your feelings when I acted like that. But I truly didn’t do it to mess with you, or purposely hurt you.” He reached for your hands, grasping you softly. “I didn’t want things to be like this, I just figured that you would find someone else and forget about me. I mean that’s what I hoped.”

You faltered at his words, heartbroken that he wished that your feelings would just fade.

“I know it was stupid, and it was harsh, but I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to hurt you and I thought this was the best way.”

You pulled your hands from his, fiddling with your fingers. But slowly you nodded, starting to understand him. Of course Johnny wouldn’t do that to you on purpose, you could trust him.

You watched as his expression visibly fell, and you wanted so badly to comfort him. “I know that you meant well, I just wish it didn’t come out like this, I wish you would’ve just told me. But I get that you didn’t want to hurt our friendship and I know this is probably better. I don’t think that there would’ve ever been the right time to tell me. It just hurts, you know. It would’ve hurt at any time though.”

You sighed at your admission, realizing that this was inevitable. With your feelings and your relationship with Johnny, this was inevitable, it was only a matter of when and how.

“I don’t want to say sorry for being hurt, or say sorry for having feelings for you, my feelings were valid. But I do want to say I’m sorry for reacting the way I did. I should have come to terms with it a long time ago but... I didn’t want to.”

He smiled sadly back at you. “Can things go back anytime soon? I don’t want things to be weird between us. I would hate our friendship to end.”

“Me too. I do think that it’ll take some time for things to go back to normal, if it will. But I want everything to work out the way it did before, and I’ll try.” You gave him a small smile, a means of offering your attempt in saving your relationship.

“Don’t be stupid. I told you it’ll never work, you’re just wasting your time.” You snorted at the loud thud that followed your words.

“I’m telling you, balancing upside down won’t get rid of your hiccups, what kind of logic is that?” Mark moaned in pain from his position on the floor, now sprawled out.

“Then what do I do?” He rubbed his head, face still red from the blood rushing to his face.

“Uh I don’t know, learn to live with it?” You snickered at the look he gave you.

“Uh… why is Mark on the floor?” Johnny walked in, staring between the two of you with a weird look on his face.

“He’s trying to get rid of hiccups.” You replied, leaning over the back of the couch to get a good glimpse at Mark.

“That doesn’t work.” Johnny said confidently, “I’ve tried.” He plopped on your right, staring down at the hiccuping boy, who glared back.

He wrapped an arm around your neck, pulling you into a soft headlock.

Things were still different than before, but you were starting to go back to normal. His touch no longer sent flutters through your stomach and you smiled at the interaction.

“What you need to do is hold your breath.” He motioned to the way he was holding you, “I can help you out with that.”

Mark glared at the older boy, “No thanks, I rather enjoy breathing.”

He rolled over and slowly sat himself up, leaning back on his hands. He cleared his throat, sparing a glance up at the two of you. “And hands off my girlfriend.”

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witcher-and-his-bard-archive · 5 years ago

Text

written for the wrong prompt, but it was already mostly done, so here we are anyway ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Jaskier knows how Geralt hates when he sleeps around. It's not at though he means to get them in trouble - he doesn't go in intending to be chased out of bed by an angry spouse. He just has a lot of love to give and very limited time in which to give it so he finds whoever is willing to have him and maybe doesn't ask all the necessary questions beforehand. Are you married, for example.

Which is how he's ended up here, sitting in a tavern across town from the inn they're staying at with a mug of ale, hiding. Well, avoiding really, he could never actually hide from Geralt if he wanted to find him. But the left side of his face throbs as it swells and he knows it must look just as bad, if not worse, than it feels. He just needs to wait a little while for the swelling to go down before returning to Geralt. He doesn't need another lecture about who he chooses to spend his time with.

But his skin is still hot to the touch and it's been an hour since the altercation. Jaskier's ale is sitting unsipped and he's growing tired. All he wants is to go curl up in his bed and move on to wherever they're going next - hopefully a densely wooded forest with no angry husbands to speak of. But how was he to know the stablehand was married! Jaskier had simply taken Roach to be stabled and had promptly been swept off his feet by the handsome young man. It was hardly his fault. And yet he's the one with the swollen face.

Across the room, the door swings open but Jaskier pays it little mind. The man made it clear he didn't want to see him again and is therefor unlikely to come after him especially after so long and in such a public place. He isn't worried. Not, at least, until the newcomer plops down across from him.

Jaskier jerks his head up quickly - too quickly, as his face begins to throb again - and comes face-to-face with Geralt looking unimpressed but unsurprised. Jaskier suddenly feels very small and very guilty.

"Who gave you that black eye?" he asks and Jaskier turns his head as if to hide it. "Jaskier, I've been worried, I thought- do you know how late it is?"

"I was hoping the swelling might go down some before I came back. I didn't want you to be upset with me."

"Upset?" Geralt asks, "Jaskier, there's a werewolf running the streets at night, I thought you might be dead." Oh. Jaskier doesn't have time to consider any of that before Geralt is reaching across the table and touching his chin. He turns his head to better see the damage and sighs. "Come back to the inn, I'll get this fixed up for you."

"O-okay."

Jaskier lets himself be led from the tavern and back across town, Geralt never getting more than a few feet away from him. When they reach the inn, they head upstairs together and Geralt sits him down on the bed as he digs through his pack.

"Why didn't you just come back? I could have saved us both a lot of suffering if you'd let me fix that up for you when it happened." Us both. Suffering. Meaning Geralt was suffering when he was gone? That doesn't seem right.

"I know you don't like when I sleep with the wrong person. I didn't know he was married Geralt, honest."

"You could try asking," Geralt mutters. It's quiet enough that Jaskier isn't sure he's supposed to hear it, but it's what Geralt says next that really catches his attention. "I don't like when you sleep with anyone." It's deliberate and Jaskier panics for a second before realizing it was intended as a joke. Probably. But that's not at all how it comes across.

"Well, I'm sorry but I do have needs, Geralt." He huffs and turns away, but Geralt crouches at his feet, gently tilting his head again.

"You choose terrible partners."

"And I suppose you'd be better?"

"Yes." Geralt's head snaps up like he's only just realized what he's said. Jaskier's heart stops for a moment before overcompensating and thudding against his chest. Oblivious or ignoring him, Geralt has already turned back to his task. But Jaskier isn't done with this conversation, not by a long shot.

"Geralt," he says carefully, peering down at him as Geralt opens a jar of salve and dips his fingers into it. Jaskier chokes at the smell of it. "Are you implying that you would be a better partner?"

Geralt remains silent other than the sound of his breath, steady and even as he spreads the salve over Jaskier's cheek. It's not until he's screwing the cap back on the jar that he speaks again and Jaskier realizes he's been holding his breath.

"You wouldn't come back to me in pieces."

This is all more than Jaskier knows how to handle at once and he acts without thinking, grabbing Geralt's arm as he move to walk away. Geralt's on his feet now so Jaskier has to crane his neck to look up at him and it hurts a little.

"Do you mean it?" he asks and Geralt's shoulders stiffen for a moment before relaxing and he nods then ducks his head.

"I don't like seeing you with them. Any of them. I always-" He curls his hands at his sides and huffs but Jaskier draws him back, tentatively pressing his hands against Geralt's stomach.

"That's why you get so angry with me? Not because you have to protect me but because you're jealous?" Geralt grunts at him but Jaskier huffs a relieved laugh and tugs Geralt down into his lap. "The only reason I fuck them is to stop thinking about you."

He presses up, intending to kiss him, but Geralt surprises him and does it first. It's quick and chaste, but the feeling of Geralt's mouth against his own sends shivers down his spine. When Jaskier opens his eyes again, Geralt is right there.

"If that's the case," he breathes, "I would very much like to take you to bed with me. So long as no one is going to chase me out of it and bruise my other eye."

"I won't let them," Geralt hums, dipping down again to catch Jaskier's mouth in a kiss.

#this one got kinda long too #good news #I can only write via prompts now #at least this week #geraskier #the witcher #rex writes

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eirist · 4 years ago

Text

Little Bits and Pieces of Heaven

OTANJOUBI OMEDETOU!

One-shot #: 28

Disclaimer: One Piece (and its characters) belongs to Eiichiro Oda-sensei.

Reminder: I have no beta-reader. Any grammatical and spelling errors are solely mine.

Warning: OOC possible. One shot.

Rating: T

Note: This was supposedly for Nami’s birthday last year but I didn’t get to finish it on time. Not that I did as well this year. But I don’t want to drag this for another more year or so. And since it’s still July, I figured I can still make it work. Better late than never right?

This is for @redpakwan. AU setting. College zeitgeist. Yet super late. Forgive me. I hope you still enjoy this.

The omedetou in the last part actually has two meanings. In case you are familiar with the Japanese language, you’ll get the implication. *winks*

Summary: All of their friends are present at the party tonight! Even those who she barely knows and acquainted with her only through common friends. Yet Zoro who was supposedly close to her, wasn’t here!

“Ssshhhh! Quiet now!”

Usopp shushed the fidgeting and whining Luffy beside him.

“Quit squirming like an ant is biting your butt!”

“But Usopp…” the black-haired lad bemoaned. “It’s taking too long. I’m starving!” His stomach made a rumbling sound and a horrified expression crossed Usopp’s face.

“Shut up. Just wait for a few more minutes!”

“I can’t! I can smell all the meat that Sanji cooked!” A drool dropped down the side of Luffy’s mouth. “I can’t resist anymore!”

“Oi! Can somebody put a fucking gag on that moron’s mouth?” Sanji hissed somewhere from behind them. He had pushed the swinging door leading to the kitchen (where he was hiding) open to glare at them. “He’s gonna ruin our surprise!”

“Sanji! I can’t wait anymore!” Luffy shouted from his hiding spot.

“Aho! Don’t you dare move from that spot or I’ll tie you to a chair and make you watch us eat all the meat you specifically requested that I cook!”

“Demo…”

“Uruse!”

“Shhh! Quiet down guys!” Franky called out from beneath the bar counter. “She’ll be here any minute now!”

“Usopp,” Sanji drawled, throwing a handkerchief at the curly-haired lad. “Gag him if needed.” He nudged his chin at the boy beside Usopp, who was pouting at being denied food.

“But he bites,” Usopp complained even as he caught the hanky.

“We all have to make sacrifices...”

“Damn you!”

“She’s already here.” Robin announced from her position at the bar’s window. The raven-haired woman was acting as their lookout. “She’s about to cross the street,” she added before sauntering away from her location to join Sanji in his hiding place.

“Robin-chwan,” the cook greeted suavely as he opened the door wider to let the older woman inside. Then he turned and barked at the others. “All of you quiet down now! Anyone who makes any shitty noise will not be allowed to touch any of the food!”

“But, San—mmph!” Luffy opened his mouth and Usopp promptly shoved the small cloth inside.

“Everybody shut up and get ready!”

The bar door opened with a soft tinkling sound.

“SURPRISE!!!” They all shouted simultaneously as they popped out of their respective hiding places… well except for Luffy, who had to spit out the handkerchief in his mouth.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY NAMI!!!”

The sound of confetti poppers exploding alongside the hoots of party horns and lots of clapping and cheering immediately followed the greeting.

It was Nami’s birthday. And they had planned a surprise party for her at their group’s favorite bar. It had been a real challenge to pull it off since everyone was busy preparing for the university’s ‘hell week’—those torturous days before the summer break officially starts.

Plus, it was kind of hard to keep it hush-hush since some people in their circle are terrible secret keepers (namely Luffy).

But somehow they did. And Nami—as sharp as she is—didn’t have any inkling on what was going on, given the way her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open.

“Ah ma cherie!” Sanji crooned as he twirled across the room, kneeling down on one knee in front of the newcomer. He presented a heart-shaped cake with flourish—with all the candles lit up. “Otanjoubi omedetou!”

Nami looked genuinely astounded as her brown eyes wandered at the grinning faces of her friends.

She blinked a few times and her lower lip quivered slightly. “You guys…” she whispered, bringing a hand to cover her mouth.

For a moment, she looked like she was going to cry.

Then her face broke into a largest smile.

“Minna! Arigatou!!!” She squealed, clapping her hands together delightedly.

The loud hoot of the party horn filled the room as Franky blew on it again before bellowing, “Supeeer Happy Birthday Nami!!!”

That signaled another round of applause and shouted greetings as the well-wishers approached Nami to greet her up close.

Sanji—who remained kneeling on one knee before her with her birthday cake—nearly got shoved to the side by Luffy and Usopp as they both sprang towards the orange-haired girl to give her a hug.

“Oi temee you idiots!” Sanji shouted. He was barely able to save the cake from the two morons.

But the two were oblivious to his swearing as they launched into a rather off-key happy birthday song, which the others soon followed.

Nami winced slightly as Usopp and Luffy belted out the song just right at her ears. They were saved from her punches by Robin approaching and placing a party hat around her head.

“Happy birthday Nami!” The older woman greeted and Nami grinned at her, holding the party hat with one hand and trying to shove Luffy and Usopp’s faces away from her.

“Thank you Robin!”

The birthday song ended rather exaggeratedly high and Nami tried very hard not to wallop both of her idiotic friends who had made it a contest to see who can sustain the last note longer.

“Enough! Both of you!” Sanji roared as he stood up and kicked Luffy and Usopp out of the way. He presented the cake to Nami again and said charmingly, “Nami-swan if you please.” He motioned to the cake he was holding. “The birthday girl has to make a wish first before blowing the candles.”

“Arigatou Sanji-kun,” Nami smiled at him and leaned forward, tucking a strand of orange hair behind her ear. She closed her eyes, silently stating her wishes before blowing the candles out.

“I hope you wished for your prince charming to—ooof!”

Luffy excitedly elbowed him out of the way to greet her again, almost toppling the cake off the blond’s hand again.

“Nami! Happy birthday!”

“Damn it Luffy!” Sanji desperately and comically tried to save the cake before it falls flat on the ground… and luckily succeeded.

Luffy ignored him and the ever-enthusiastic lad yelled. “It’s finally time to eat!!! Sanji serve the meat!”

“Aho!” Sanji bellowed and hit him in the head. “You nearly made me dropped Nami-san’s precious cake!”

“Ooops sorry!”

Robin giggled as Nami smiled wryly. Even during her birthday these morons just can’t stop themselves.

“Alright you guys!” Usopp suddenly hollered from her side. “Start calling the others! Nami’s happy 23rd party’s about to start!”

Nami whacked him on the head… hard.

“I’m just twenty you idiot!”

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

It hadn’t taken long for the bar to be filled with guests. Almost all of their friends and colleagues from the university attended the celebration. Not to mention, those friends also brought their own pals to enjoy a night of overflowing free food and drinks.

Not that Nami minded. She knew most of them anyway. If not, her friends definitely knew them.

Plus, you can bet she’s gonna charge their freeloading asses anyway.

Her eyes roamed around the room, noting the individuals who were present. She was enjoying her beer at the bar counter and taking a break from all that socializing and thanking her birthday guests.

Usopp had taken the responsibility of acting as the DJ for the night. An upbeat music was now playing and Luffy’s attractive older brother Ace had taken over the dance floor with his buddies.

Brook has just arrived from his band practice and Luffy ran off to greet him. Sanji was busy flitting around the female guests, crooning and spewing praises at them while Robin and Franky were sitting near her and was chatting with the bar owner, Shakky.

She gave a small wave at Kid and Killer when she spotted them. Both raised their beer bottles at her—a sort of silent birthday greeting. She mouthed thanks just as Luffy’s attention went to them and he launched himself at the two men much to their chagrin. She wasn’t really that close to the two seniors students but they’re both in the same fraternity as Luffy and Zoro.

Speaking of Zoro… is he still not here?

A frown suddenly appeared on her face and it deepened when she noticed the beer coolers stocked near the kitchen doors.

“Hey,” she turned to Robin, Franky and Shakky who stopped talking. “Why do we still have so much booze?” Nami pointed towards the large, still filled with beer coolers. “Considering we have a lot of guests tonight and most of them are drinkers… I’m surprised we haven’t broken the fifth one yet.”

“Huh?” Franky lifted his sunglasses and gazed at her curiously, before shifting his eyes to where she was pointing. Nami really doesn’t get it why he still wears them indoors. She just dismissed it as one of his idiosyncrasies… they all have one after all.

“Is there a problem Nami-chan?” Shakky inquired with a smile.

“Nothing. It’s just that… it’s nearing midnight and we still have that many,” Nami observed. “Hmm… never mind,” she waved her hand dismissively. “It’s probably just a slow night.”

“Maybe those guys are still warming up.” Robin observed Ace’s group and the Luffy’s fraternity acquaintances, who were all shouting and hopping on the dance floor. Good thing Luffy and Ace’s other brother, Sabo, is out of town. Or there’ll be chaos in that floor now.

Shakky leaned down the counter and propped her chin on her hand looking at Nami with a glint of amusement in her dark eyes. “It’s probably because Zoro-chan’s not here to start a drinking competition.”

Nami’s eyebrows disappeared behind her bangs. So that confirms it.

“Oh? He’s still not here?” she asked, trying to be casual about it—even if she already noticed that her green-haired friend was nowhere in her party. “Really? Of all days to be M.I.A?”

“He’s probably late just like Chopper,” Robin said with a soft smile, refraining from teasing the younger woman since it was her birthday. She had seen the disappointment flashed across Nami’s brown eyes earlier. It was for a fleeting moment but it is there.

“He better have a damn good reason why he’s not here,” Nami grumbled, folding her arms across her chest. The nerve of that guy, missing one of the most important days of her life.

“Just relax girly…” Franky winked at her as he handed her another bottle of beer to replace her empty one. “He’ll be here. This party’s compulsory and has booze after all.” He guffawed, opening another beer bottle for himself and taking a drink.

“Compulsory?” Nami repeated, cocking one eyebrow.

“Yep,” Franky nodded. “We made it mandatory for all invitees to attend so we’d have more heads. As we promised Shakky when she let us use her bar for your party’s venue.”

Shakky winked at her. “Once the supply beer runs out, you have no choice but to buy here.”

Nami snickered. “I’m surprised you even let them bring beers from outside.”

“Not really,” Robin chuckled. “Those are from Shakky’s as well.”

Said bar owner winked at Nami again.

“Damn,” Nami just shook her head disbelievingly. Shakky’s negotiation and money skills are way beyond awesome!

Franky grinned. “So let’s just wait for him. Besides, what’s a party without any drinking competition started by Zoro?”

Nami nodded her agreement even as she huffed. “He has to get his ass here first before anything else. Or I’m gonna start charging by the minute.”

Franky winced at that while Shakky and Robin giggled. Nami was notoriously known for her habit of charging outrageous amount of belis whenever she thinks the situation calls for it. Almost everyone in their circle owes her a certain amount that just keeps increasing as time goes by.

“Hey!”

Usopp suddenly appeared near them. “Got any more beers?”

Nami eyed him warily. “Weren’t you supposed to be on the other side playing songs and entertaining us?!”

Usopp made a face at her. “A guy could use a break you know. You’re not exactly paying me for my services.”

“I thought you said you’d do it free for Nami since it’s her birthday,” Robin reminded him as Franky went to the coolers to get him a drink.

“I did?”

Nami narrowed her eyes at him. “You still owe me my gift you idiot.”

A sheepish laugh escaped Usopp. “Well consider my dj-ing skills your present then.”

“Cheapskate.”

“Oi!”

“Here ya go long-nose,” Franky handed him his request.

“Thanks Franky!”

“Aren’t you going back there?” Shakky inquired as she lit up a cigarette.

“Nah. I’ll take a break.” Usopp answered. “I just auto-played a playlist. It’s not like those guys really care about what’s blasting on the speakers.”

He shifted his eyes towards the dance floor where the crowd was getting louder and rowdier. “Besides… I swear I’m not gonna be surprised if a fight breaks out in a few seconds.”

“Why?” Robin queried with an amused smile. “Too much testosterone?” As unruly as the guests may get… they wouldn’t dare or lest they acquire Shakky’s wrath and forever be banned in the place.

“More like too much Luffy.”

Everyone nodded in understanding.

“Thank Kami Zoro’s not here.” Usopp gushed. “One less of a headache.”

“You do know if he’s here someone can actually rein Straw Hat in?” Franky said matter-of-factly.

Usopp waved his hand dismissively. “I know that of course. Anyway… Zoro’s like really, really late isn’t he? Has anyone tried to call him?”

Both Robin and Franky shook their heads.

A horror-stricken expression crossed Usopp’s face. “Oh shit wait! Did someone inform him about today?!”

Nami eyes were sharp as they zeroed in at her curly-haired friend. “You didn’t tell him about today?”

Usopp looked guilty. “I think I forgot,”

Robin raised her hand. “I did tell him. And I’m pretty sure Luffy did as well.”

“Whew! Thank heavens for you Robin!” Usopp sigh in relief as Nami punched him on the shoulder.

“Ouch!”

Robin just smiled. “Luffy wouldn’t let Zoro miss Nami’s birthday of course.”

“Yeah. That’s why he isn’t here now. That moron.” Nami complained, glaring at Usopp who flinched under her gaze.

“Hey I said sorry,” Usopp rubbed the back of his neck. “He’s just been kinda busy lately it’s hard to catch him. Honestly, I haven’t seen him for like a week now.”

“That’s what cellphones are for you idiot,” Nami groused. “So you can send him a message to remind him of important stuff!”

“Like your birthday party?”

“Yes!”

“But Robin said she already told him,” Usopp whined. “So he should be getting his ass here by now. He’s a grown man after all.”

“Unless of course he got himself lost…” Franky reminded them. “Anyway well know if he’s here. Sanji’s been blissfully happy all night. Let’s just wait for his—”

There was a noise coming from the entrance as another group entered the bar. The sound of Chopper’s voice excitedly calling for their names got their attention.

From the looks of it, the medical students had just been released from Dr. Kureha’s clutches and they all headed straight to Shakky’s bar for the party.

“Oh wait there’s Kaya!” Usopp perked up when he spotted his girlfriend just right behind Chopper. “I’ll talk to you guys later.” And just like that he ran off.

Nami sighed inwardly. Of all days not to show up and it looks like Zoro will chose this one which means a lot to her. She had been looking forward to this day too. It’s always fun to see her friends try to make it fun and special for her in their own clumsy ways.

Especially Zoro.

Ever since they’d known each other, he never missed her birthday. It doesn’t matter if he had no gift for her… he always make it to a point to be one of the first to greet her.

And sometimes the last as well.

But today… she still hadn’t heard from him. No call… not even a message!

It wasn’t easy to miss. Not when you’ve been waiting for that particular person to greet you.

Nami squared her shoulders. Now is not the time for the birthday girl to be down in the dumps.

There’s still time before midnight after all.

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

The party was already in full swing. The sixth beer cooler was already opened. There was a lot of drunken shouting, singing and dancing happening inside the bar. Nami was pretty sure that they’ll be seeing Luffy’s brother Ace dancing on one of the tables along with Franky any minute now.

Yet no tall, scowling, green-haired man made an appearance.

She glumly stared at the sprinkle-rimmed birthday martini in front of her. Shakky made it for her birthday. But neither the cute-looking, celebratory beverage nor its taste can make the sinking feeling in her stomach disappear.

It was past midnight. And Zoro is no show.

No calls, no messages… no anything!

Idiot probably forgot her birthday!

All of their friends are present at the party tonight! Even those who she barely knows and acquainted with her only through common friends.

Yet Zoro who was supposedly close to her, wasn’t here!

Nami clenched her fist and gritted her teeth. He’s gonna owe her for this big time!

She didn’t realize that Shakky was just right in front of her, chin resting on the palm of her hand, watching her.

“Don’t worry about it Nami-chan,” Shakky suddenly spoke up. Her eyes were still glinting with the same amusement as before. “I’m sure he’ll show up.”

Nami instantly turned red at that. “It’s not…. that’s not…” she stammered. But then she gave up. No use trying to hide it. The look on Shakky’s face clearly tells her that she knows what’s in her mind (or who, to be exact).

A determined look crossed Nami’s features. “If he doesn’t… I swear I’ll charge him so much, he’ll sell his soul to the devil just to pay me!”

That made Shakky laugh out loud. Luffy’s friends are always so interesting. That is why she is fond of them.

“He wouldn’t miss this for the world. Late he may be,” Shakky stated in a mysterious tone and smile like she knows something that Nami doesn’t.

Nami just gaped at her.

Then Luffy was suddenly hollering at the other end of the room.

“Zorooooo!” He was bellowing loud enough to drown the already deafening noise in the bar. There were shouts of protests and swearing as the young man pushed his way across the crowd to greet his friend. “Zoro’s here!!!” Zorooo! Oi did you got lost again?”

“Shut up Luffy and get off me!” A voice growled.

Nami perked up at the familiar gruff tone.

“Better late than never you dumbass,” Sanji was saying from somewhere. “Thought you got lost and ended up dead and decaying on the other side of the town. Tch! Too bad.”

“You wanna go cook?”

“Unfortunately I’m busy and don’t have time for you. Go scat.”

“Temee…”

“Zorooo!” Luffy whined, pulling the taller man away from Sanji and towards the bar counter where Nami was. “Why are you’re sooo late? Come on! You have to greet Nami or she’ll be mad at you and charge you so much money it’ll break you!”

A vein popped on Nami’s forehead as Shakky chuckled.

“Nami! Nami!” Luffy all but dragged Zoro towards her as Nami schooled her face into a neutral expression. “Look who’s finally here!”

“I can see that Luffy,” she huffed and narrowed her eyes at Zoro. “You’re late.”

Zoro scratched the back of his head as Luffy released him and started pestering Shakky for a drink like the one she has. “Sorry… got tied up.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. He was still in his after training ensemble—track pants, zip up hoodie, sports bag. It looks like he just came from Mihawk’s dojo or his gym workout or both.

“I just needed to take care of something,” Zoro was saying. “Anyway, happy birthday.”

“It’s already past midnight idiot! Technically my birthday’s done.”

Zoro glanced around him. The party is still at its height. “Apparently the celebration is not.”

She pursed her lips at his observation. “You better have a good reason why you just got here.”

“Shit. I’m gonna owe you big time for this aren’t I?”

“You bet your ass you already do.” The grin on her face was so evil that Zoro couldn’t help but think she really is the devil incarnate.

“Hey Zoro!” Luffy suddenly appeared between them. “Jaggy’s looking for you. Come on! Come on!” He was referring to Kid whom he fondly calls by that nickname. He hooked an arm around Zoro’s and pulled him towards where their other friends are and away from Nami—much to the latter’s disappointment.

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

“So why are you late?”

Zoro flinched slightly as Nami surreptitiously appeared beside him. He was standing outside Shakky’s bar, enjoying a few minutes of silence while drinking his beer. He had sneaked out of the party to get away from an already sugar-high and tipsy Luffy and the boisterous, smashed guests as well.

“Thought I already told you I had something to take care of.”

“Important enough to miss my party?”

He paused halfway to bringing the bottle to his lips. From the corner of his eyes he saw a displeased expression appeared on Nami’s face.

Zoro sighed inwardly. He should’ve known she was not going to let him off the hook that easy.

“Hey if it’s that important, then I have no complaints.” Nami raised both of her hands in mock-surrender.

He didn’t answer and instead took a swig from his drink.

“Just thought you were out busy with a date.”

Silence.

“WHAT?!”

Zoro had sharply swiveled towards her that Nami took a step back, hands still raised up in surrender. He was practically snarling at her.

She was teasing him of course. It was always fun to rile him up. Besides, he deserves it after making her wait for such a long time… intentionally or not.

Plus… she kept hearing snippets all night from their friends about why he’s been so busy recently (to the point that nobody has actually seen him) and why he was constantly absent at their recent group gatherings.

He’s dating someone. Stupid Usopp has whispered to Kaya and Chopper just as she was passing them on her way out to answer a phone call from their friend Vivi.

It made her insides twist and turn when she heard it.

To think he’d pick his date over her—his long-time friend?

What a jerk. She will wring his neck. Definitely.

She was so distracted with what she heard that she wasn’t able to enjoy Vivi’s enthusiastic greeting. And when she saw him stepped outside the bar to quietly enjoy the beer in his hand, she decided not to let the opportunity slip.

Zoro’s face was scrunched into a frown as he glared at her. “Where did you even get that idea?”

Nami bit her lower lip. “Usopp.” She unapologetically throwing her friend to the sharks… or shark.

Zoro’s face darkened. “What did he say?”

“He said you were dating someone. So I assumed that’s the reason why we weren’t seeing much of you lately and also the reason why you are late for my birthday. And not just because you were running around in circles again.”

The green-haired man studied her for a moment. His lone grey eye fixed intently on her. “Is that stupid long-nose making fun of me again?”

Nami blinked dumbly at his question. She’s not really sure what he meant by that.

This time Zoro’s frown had turn into a full blown scowl. “What the hell is that idiot up to now? I’m not dating anyone!”

And Nami’s face brightened at that. Good thing they were outside and the entryway of the bar was dimly lit or he will see it.

So Zoro was not really dating anyone? She fought the urge to smile. She’s gonna choke Usopp’s neck so hard later.

“Nami,” Zoro growled out. “Is that idiot making fun of me again? Because I swear I’m gonna hang him by his feet and we’re not talking about a tree this time!”

“Uhm… I don’t think so Zoro,” Nami’s lips trembled and she threw back her head and laughed. She recalled how Usopp spread a gossip about the older lad’s dating his ‘bokken’ before and Zoro literally strung his feet together and let him dangle from one of the trees lining up the front of their complex.

Zoro let out an irritated ‘tch’.

“So you’re really not out with someone?” Nami probed when she finished laughing. Of course she had to be sure. She still doesn’t know the reason why they’ve been seeing less of him lately or why he was late for her birthday party.

“No,” Zoro muttered. “I don’t have time for that.”

“Oh good,” Nami folded her arms across her chest, eyeing him sternly. “Because it that’s the reason why you showed up late for my birthday, I will raise your current debt amount so high you will be serving me eternally.”

He just smirked at her threat.

“And I’ll never forgive you.”

That made him glower at her. An unforgiving Nami is hard to appease after all.

She gave him a cheeky grin before swiping the bottle from his hand and taking a drink from it.

He glared at her, unimpressed with her antic as she childishly stuck her tongue out at him.

“Be glad it’s your birthday witch.” He muttered as he grabbed the bottle from her.

“Like I said Zoro, it isn’t anymore,” she reminded him. “That’s how late you are. You missed the whole day of it.” She was still peeved at him for that. Just a bit though.

She watched him as he exasperatedly rubbed the back of his neck.

And she smiled.

She was still glad he was personally here for her birthday. She can live with that.

There was a sound of pitter-patter coming from above them. And it didn’t take long for them to realize that it started raining.

They remained silent, watching the rain splatter on the street and on the pavement. Inside the bar, they could hear someone hooting. Probably Franky as he was on his eighteenth bottle when Nami stepped outside. And that was minutes ago. He’s most likely on his twentieth or twenty-first.

"Oi." Zoro nudged her shoulder with his own, prompting her to look at him. He was suddenly standing a lot closer to her than before.

"What now Zoro?"

He pulled his hand away from the pocket of his jacket and almost shoved it in her face. "Happy birthday," he mumbled, diverting his gaze straightaway to avoid looking at her.

Nami was taken aback at the object in his hand. It was a small light orange box with a silver ribbon tied around it prettily.

She stared at it, then at him. Even in the dim light she noted the blush that appeared on his cheeks. Truth be told… a blushing Roronoa Zoro was gift enough for her birthday.

But of course she wouldn't say no to the present he was handing her.

She made a grab for it before he decides that she's taking too long in accepting it and retract his hand.

"Aawww... you didn't have to," Nami cooed and laughed when the blush on his cheek deepened and spread all over his face.

Cute.

"Shut up witch and just open it!"

"I’m really surprised you’re able to get me a present to be honest," she giggled. "And a fancy one too I might add."

Zoro grunted something that she didn't quite catch. She was far too busy untying the ribbon to pay any mind to whatever it was he's grumbling about.

When she opened the box, she didn't fight the gasp that escaped her lips.

Inside was a necklace. With a dainty thundercloud pendant.

She took it out… and a warm feeling suddenly washed over her making her cheeks tingle.

It was beautiful. It was perfect.

Nami lifted her eyes so she could look at him. Zoro was still engrossed on the empty street across them, watching the rain splash down on the ground with the droplets exploding everywhere.

It was really thoughtful of him. "Thank you Zoro."

He gave her a flinty side-glance. There was a smirk on his lips as he turned his attention back on the road. "It's nothing witch."

She glanced at the necklace again. She recalled they have a private joke back in high school that started one afternoon while watching an animated series on the old television set in Luffy's house. Nami loved one of the characters who had a knack for predicting the weather and whose weapon can conjure thunderclouds that produce lightning which the character uses to electrocute her enemies. "It'll be really handy to wield that. I can use it to electrocute your asses whenever anyone of you pisses me off. Especially you," she recalled poking his cheek harshly. "You're so goddamn hard to wake up whenever you are asleep." That had been so long ago. She honestly forgot all about it.

But Zoro remembered. She blinked rapidly as she felt herself tearing up.

Such a sweet gesture. And on her special day too!

Maybe she’s not gonna raise his debt and damn him into eternal servitude to her after all.

She lightly punched Zoro on the shoulder, earning a surprised glare from him.

"What the hell are you hitting me for?” Zoro hissed at her, rubbing the abused part. “I already gave you a present!" "That doesn't mean you get a ticket away from my knuckles!" Nami countered. “That was for being late today of all days!”

"Oi! Gratitude you wicked witch!" He complained. "Do you know how many nights I've stayed behind to clean up Mihawk's dojo just to get you that?!"

Nami's eyes widened. And so did Zoro’s when he realized his slip.

She finally understood now… the real reason why he was not hanging out with them lately.

Why no one had seen him these past few days.

“Sooo…” she intoned as she glanced him mischievously, loving the expression on his face when as he realized that he just idiotically revealed what he was supposed to keep a secret from her. “You actually went to such lengths just to get me this?”

She almost burst out laughing when Zoro’s face turned so red and he stuttered his objection.

"N-no...I... ju-just..."

"Hmmm..." Nami hummed teasingly. "That's what you said."

"Fine!" He bit out. "Thought that gift would be good enough to cover three more future birthdays."

Nami chortled and tried to ignore the way her heart was doing cartwheels inside her chest from too much happiness.

"Do the honors Zoro," she requested as she handed him the necklace, turning around and pulling her hair over her shoulder so he can clasp it around her neck.

He didn’t protest and did what she asked. His fingers felt warm as they brushed her nape, as warm as the heat that was spreading on her cheeks and sending shivers running up and down her spine.

“There.”

She immediately whirled to face him. "So? How does it look?"

Zoro rolled his eye at her as she tried to dish out a compliment from him. "It looks... fine."

"Fine?!" Nami snorted in disbelief. "I swear Zoro, you can do better than that!" She looked down to check the necklace, touching the pendant while a pouting.

When she tilted her head up to look at him to chastise his lack of aptitude when it comes to flattering women… Zoro was smiling at her in a way that made her heart skip a beat.

“It really suits you.”

The way he was looking at her right now made her want to kiss him.

Just like she always wanted to do.

Suddenly the bar door burst open and Luffy and Usopp ran out, excitedly (and drunkenly) shouting that the rain finally let up. Zoro immediately stepped away from her to prevent them from barreling into him.

And just like that… the one, rare moment between the two of them disappeared in an instant.

They both turned to watch the two hopped and danced in the middle of the street like a pair of lunatics. Chopper hurried past Zoro and Nami to join them.

“Oi get back here you dumbasses!” Sanji was shouting from inside.

Nami sighed. It was finally time to rein in the inebriated ones.

“I got it,” Zoro said nodding at her. The corners of his lips quirked up to give her a small smile, then he stepped out on the street to restrain the three before they can create anymore disturbance that might get them all in trouble.

“Oi Nami!” Franky called out to her from the bar. “You and Zoro both get your asses here! There’s a lot more to drink!”

Nami nodded as she glanced again at the green-haired man who was now effortlessly hauling up Luffy, Usopp and Chopper by their collars back to the bar as they whined and griped.

"Nami-chan?"

She looked back to see Shakky standing on the doorway. "Problem?"

"Nah." Nami grinned. “Zoro’s just trying to contain the troublemakers.”

Shakky chuckled. “Zoro-chan’s really handy.” The woman paused momentarily, as if she was studying her. Then she said, "What a pretty necklace."

Nami’s hand automatically went to touch her necklace again.

“Omedetou.” Shakky gave her an insinuating smile. “Now come on. You and Zoro-chan’s still got a drinking competition to start.”

#zoro x nami #ZoNa #zonami #zonalove #zona one-shots #zona fanfiction #zona prompt requests #zoro nami fanfiction #roronoa zoro #nami

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daybreak-academy-fanfic · 3 years ago

Text

The only one to cheer me up.

Summary: Three times Sora annoyed Sabrina, and the one time they found solace in each other. [Written to celebrate 20 years of Kingdom Hearts!] Word Count: 3,030 ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆

Sora tried his best not to forget anyone’s birthday. Even if he hadn’t seen the person in years, he could know the date by heart and wonder for a moment or two on why it was special. Ironically enough, the only birthday he ever forgot was his own.

The next birthday on his list of friends was one belonging to a certain newcomer. Someone who liked being grumpy and hiding how much she actually cared. With those big dark brown eyes, wavy ebony hair, and light, neutral skin tone. It was going to take a lot of effort to get her ideal birthday wish out. But Sora was determined. He just needed a good day, a good feeling, to coerce her.

Of course, he was also a man of equal opportunities.

Sora passed Sabrina in Radiant Garden one afternoon. He didn’t really know why she was there, but he wasn’t going to question it. A wide smile stretched across his face as he carefully approached her. She never saw him coming- she had been too busy paying a moogle for some synthesis ingredients.

“Well, hello Sabrina. Funny meeting you here.” the boy charmingly greeted, maintaining a distance far enough to be polite but close enough so she couldn’t ignore him. She still tried to. Sabrina packed her new things away, promptly turning her back to Sora to make a statement, then started to walk away.

Sora puffed a bit of hair away from his face. So this was going to take some work. He didn’t let her get too far away, skip-running to walk beside her.

“So,” he said to her again, “I heard that it’s going to be a certain someone’s birthday soon. Is there anything she’d like to have?”

“No.” came the short reply.

“Oh, come on.” Sora sighed. “There’s gotta be something. Why won’t you tell me?”

For this, Sabrina scoffed. Not once did she slow her steps. “Why don’t you ask someone else what I want?” she questioned. “I’m sure plenty of people know me well enough to tell you something.”

Sora stopped walking just to glare at her. “Sabrina,” he said, in a rather blunt tone, “You only like three people. Who would I go to?”

She shrugged the comment off. “You’d figure it out.”

Sora scowled, just slightly, before catching up with her again.

“I’m not going to ask anyone else but you. I need to know you’re going to like what I give you. Having someone else tell me isn’t the same as you telling me.”

“Tough.”

What a terrible crowd. Maybe it was time to switch tactics; it was time to be the ultimate pest.

“Would you like a puppy?” he asked. “Or a TV? Or a Gummi Ship of your own? Oh! I know! Sea salt ice cream!” “No.” she disagreed in a flat tone. “No. No. And heck no.”

“Whatta ‘bout drawing?”

“No.”

“Painting?”

“No.”

“Writing?”

“No.”

“What about a BIG cake where we hide someone inside, and they jump out to-”

“Sora!” Sabrina shouted, finally stopping in her tracks and glaring directly at him. “Just shut up! I like haute couture! I like dancing lyrical with jazz shoes! I practice calligraphy when I’m mad because the constant motion helps me think clearer! And sometimes watching Ven stand his ground and defend himself -or me- like his life depends on it makes me want to-“

She cut herself off there. Her face was a weird shade of horrified white and flustered red. Gathering what little she had of her patience, and making sure she still had her purchased items, she shoved Sora out of the way to get away from him. Several unkind words were mumbled under her breath as her steps were quite obviously unnerved.

“Well…” Sora mused as he adjusted himself, “That was a lot easier than I thought.”

. . .

“Sabrina, you’re stalling the engine.”

The news didn’t come as a surprise to her, and so she didn’t react. Sora had turned the captain’s chair around to wait for an apology, or at least some attempt to be happier. Neither happened.

“What annoyed you this time?” Sora asked. He genuinely didn’t know. Conversations never happened in the Gummi Ship when Sabrina was there and Sora was piloting. She liked the silence. It wasn’t like Sora had sneezed or anything before now either. You could have heard a pin drop up until this moment- he was sure of it.

“I like being bitter.”

“No you don’t.”

Sabrina rolled her eyes and refused to look at him. Sora sighed. He looked over at the ship’s console to see how far they were from Twilight Town. It wasn’t much. A good jolt or two would get them there instantly. Why did she have to choose now to be jaded? Did she remember a bad experience last time she was there? Was there someone she wanted to avoid? No matter the petty reason, Sabrina needed to think happy thoughts or else they weren’t going anywhere.

“I know!” he suddenly declared. Sabrina jumped when she realized that he had darted next to her seat. His elbows were on her armrest and his eyes looked up at her with a mischievous gleam. Before she could question what he was doing, or even thinking, he delightfully said to her, “Maybe you should think about Ven.”

It took all it had in Sabrina not to punch Sora right then and there. Instead, she retracted her body as far away as she could from him like he had presented her with a spider instead.

“That’s not going to work.” she spat.

Sora curiously titled his head. “No?” He grinned so wide that Sabrina recoiled again. “You didn’t notice that the Gummi Ship moved forward a bit when I mentioned him?”

She certainly did not, but that was well beside the point. Sora was getting closer now. That stupid grin on his face was only growing more mischevious.

“We’re close to our destination anyway.” he went on to muse. His voice holding just as much mirth as his expression. “Just a little bit of power, Sabi. It’s all we need.”

“I hate it when you use that nickname.” she hissed. Sora just pouted.

“Oh!” he then declared. “Maybe Kairi and I, and you and Ven, could go on a double date sometime!”

“No!” Sabrina immediately shouted; her face growing pale even faster.

“It would be great!” he went on, ignoring her reaction. “I’m sure Kairi and Ven would like talking outside of training. She’s always talking about not getting to know you outside of practice too, you know. I, for one, would like to see if Ven does that thing when he thinks about you when you’re actually in the room. You know what that thing is, don’t you? You must. Your face is getting red.”

“You’re terrible.” she hissed. “The most horrible, embarrassing, arrogant-”

“Hey look! We made it!” Sora suddenly declared, cutting her off. He jumped back into the captain’s chair in record time. Sabrina continued to glare at him as he landed the ship.

. . .

Sora knew a lot of powerful Keyblade wielders. He was impressed by all of his friends and how far they have come in their journeys. One friend, who he prefered to watch from afar, was Sabrina. Sabrina was… not quite impatient, but definitely pushed herself when she wasn’t making the progress she wanted. Today was shaping up to be one of those days.

Sabrina was told to take a break. She came to get a bottle of water and opened it with hostility. Taking a deep breath in, Sora moved toward her.

“You’re doing great out there.” he told her, using his usual optimistic tone. She rebuffed it with a grunt. It wasn’t going to stop him from making conversation just yet. He gave her a grin before adding, “Maybe we’ll spar together later! It’s been awhile since we’ve gone one on one. I’m sure you’ve learned a lot.”

At this, Sabrina finally graced him with a side glance. His smile was still bright, but wavering ever so slightly. He then summoned his Keyblade and looked over it. The smile quivered a bit.

“It’s going to be great seeing you guys all become masters.” Sora said to her- although his voice sounded a bit far off. “You’ve always worked a lot harder than I ever did. Not to mention being chosen by the Keyblade to begin with.”

Sabrina glared as Sora continued to wistfully look over his Keyblade. He thought back on the time Donald and Goofy left him because Riku revealed that Sora wasn’t meant to have it. Then there were all the times where he had all his abilities as a wielder stripped from him because he had been careless; falling into Castle Oblivion’s trap, and almost allowing Xehanort to take his heart as a vessel during the Mark of Mastery. He didn’t know why the Keyblade still wanted him. Everything seemed to point to his heart always being too weak to retain anything useful.

Without any warning, and perfectly stopping his train of thought, Sabrina slapped Sora.

“Owww.” he whined as he nursed his cheek. “What was that for?”

“You needed a reminder on how terribly annoying you are.”

“Thanks.” he grunted.

As Sora continued to lightly whine about his new bruise, Sabrina glared even harder at him. She couldn’t believe he had the audacity to tell her that. Part of training was learning about enemies Sora had generally encountered first. Her body started to get stiffer as she considered her next words to him. He almost ignored her because the tone she had made it seem more like berating.

“You need to give yourself more credit. Just because you keep losing your abilities doesn’t mean that you’re weak or useless. Poor management skills, maybe, but not a lost cause.”

Sora paused for a moment. He looked over at Sabrina with a curious tilt of his head. Her words mulled over in his head for a long time. There was a certain reason behind her words. But what was it? When it came to him, a wide grin stretched across his face.

“You care!” he happily declared without caring who could hear.

Her face immediately soured. “I never said-”

He wouldn’t let her finish. Sora had pulled Sabrina into a tight hug that he refused to let her wiggle out of. She did put up a good fight- he had to give her that. But he didn’t let go until a solid minute had passed, after that Sabrina immediately got away from him like he was a snake instead.

“You’re a good person, you know.” he reminded her. “That’s why the Keyblade chose you. Chose all of us.”

“Well lucky us.” Sabrina huffed before turning on her heel to resume training.

. . .

She cursed the moment she woke from her dream. It was the kind that only occured when she wasn’t home- the kind that made her fear for everything she held dear. But it was just a dream, Chirithy would reassure her of that. Despite this, Sabrina worked her half awake body out of bed and into the kitchen. Tea would make her feel better; chamomile and peppermint.

The only sound in the kitchen was Sabrina herself. She never knew when Sora wandered in. She certainly wasn’t expecting to see him as she started to leave. It also elicited another curse from her lips. The boy just blinked. A sleepy yawn escaping his lips.

“Couldn’t sleep too, huh?” he mused.

“Bad things happen when you leave the world your heart is tethered to.” she shot back, taking a sip from her tea, before moving over to the kitchen’s window seat. It was far enough away from him, and that was all that mattered. “Like nightmares.”

“Our Dream Eaters are severely lacking.” Sora lazily nodded. He drifted over to the island counter and rested an elbow there. “Haven’t been able to sleep in awhile too.” He then gave a lazy smile as he rested his head in his hand. “Riku’s s’posed to be my Dream Eater, but he’s doing a crummy job at it.”

“Riku’s human too, you know.” she reminded him. “Not that anyone knows just what it means for him to be a Dream Eater right now anyway.”

“Guess that’s true…”

Sabrina nodded before taking another sip of tea. A part of her wanted to just take it back to her room. On the other, the piece of despair her dream brought her seemed a bit dimmer as she remained with Sora. She wistfully thought of him having some Dream Eater tendencies in that case. It certainly would have been amusing.

Meanwhile, possibly because of the half sleep, Sora thought Sabrina to be very beautiful in this moment. She took each sip from her cup like a queen entertaining guests. Each move was purposeful; practiced. If he wasn’t so drowsy (and more confident in his ability to form a coherent sentence on the matter), he probably would have called her out for trying to hide her worry. Everyone knew she put on a show if she was hiding something. Not that he had any way of telling what it was. Ven probably could, if Ven wasn’t fast asleep right now.

“You know…” Sora yawned, “Sometimes Ven talks about you like Aladdin talks about Jasmine. He has a lot of trust in you. A whole lotta love.”

Sabrina cocked an eyebrow at him. “Jealous?”

Sora shook his head. His face puckered like he had tasted something sour. “He can have you. Just don’t hurt him. Something tells me his heart isn’t… quite…”

He trailed off as his head started to dip lower and lower. Sabrina watched him, almost mirroring the gesture, before he accidentally whacked his head on the counter. It woke him enough to sit straight up again. Sabrina cackled a bit as she took another sip of tea.

“How about you come sit?” she suggested, gesturing to the spot next to her. “That way you can avoid another bruise you can’t explain tomorrow because your brain isn’t forming memories.”

Sora sleepily nodded before coming on over. Sabrina finished the last of her tea just as he plopped beside her. She then sat her now empty cup on the nearby dining table. It was easier to glare at Sora that way. More energy to spend on maintaining her cold aura. He was almost too close. It unnerved her. All unease from her nightmare was almost gone now.

“Sorry for burning too bright.” Sora said in between another yawn. “I can’t help it. Everyone knows that’s why you always think I'm annoying.”

“That’s… not the only reason.”

Sora did his best to raise an eyebrow. He was genuinely curious on what she meant. Sabrina rolled her eyes at him.

“Don’t act like you don’t follow what your heart says without thinking.” she told him. “It’s led to more disasters than what you’re even able to remember. You annoy me. It’s not just because of the light in your heart- it’s what you do with it. Then you have those moments when you let yourself down because you follow your heart. Sure, your plan is usually none in those cases, but at least you have the conviction to follow through. Not all of us have that.”

“You don’t hate me?” Sora asked- his voice so tired that it almost sounded like a plea.

Sabrina could feel her body clench at the question. With a grimace, she told him in a small, begrudging voice, “No. Just easily annoyed.”

For this, Sora gave her a grin. He could bet she’d say that for a lot of people. That was where they were kinda the same: he and her. They both listened to their hearts, but in different ways; Sora trusted blindly because he could see their light, while Sabrina used it to determine character. It led them to clash more often than not. But they would still defend each other when the time came, too. Deep down, they knew they could trust each other because they clashed so often.

“I have an idea,” Sora yawned. “Let’s be the only people allowed to cheer each other up. If anyone else tries, we stay mad.”

It took a while for a response, but to his surprise, Sabrina didn’t oppose it.

“Sure.” she snorted. “I’ll beat you into happiness next time you start doubting yourself.”

“And I will annoy you until you remember to smile again.” he agreed with a grin. “Ven can’t be the only one fighting for you.”

Sabrina rolled her eyes again- this time with a more playful air. Sora continued to grin. His body was swaying slightly now as he struggled to stay awake. He might have nodded off again- it was hard to tell. All he could think about was how odd it was Sabrina had chose to wear green socks to bed. Or did she put them on when she left her room?

“Promise to keep a secret?” he asked, looking up at her with half lidded eyes. “Don’t tell Ven about what I’m gonna do. He’d get reaaaaal jealous.”

“What…” she started to say but was instantly cut off when Sora’s head plopped right onto her lap. Her first reaction was to shove him off. Oddly enough, she didn’t. Instead, mechanically, she placed her hands on top of his head. Compared to Ventus’s hair, Sora’s was more scratchy. There was still plenty of it, though. It still had a certain comfort from just running your fingers through it.

“As if I want him to know you drooled all over my pants.” Sabrina snorted, more to herself than to anyone else. She leaned forward, as close as she could without touching him. “I’ll give Riku a hard time too if you don’t sleep well now.”

Sora shifted in his sleep- not enough to make her assume he was awake enough to answer though. He was out like a light. Sabrina allowed a small grin to slip through. She adjusted herself a bit so she could lay on him as well, and then she too returned to a dreamless sleep.

#kingdom hearts #kingdom hearts fanfiction #Sora #Sabrina

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