#Dilly Crowe

[dailyjustified]

[pctedcurse]

tags malphas & anammelech

[meownotgood]

let us live, if we must die. / chapter one: fate entwined

You are a witch, and since the purging of all magic, you've been forced to live a life of solitude and secrecy. Your destiny was always beyond your control — until, by a pure twist of fate, you unknowingly fell for the kingdom's only prince. 

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pairing: prince!aki x witch!reader

word count: 5.3k

tags: fantasy au, royalty au, reader is fem, lots and lots of initial worldbuilding, essentially reader is a mage in a world where magic is forbidden, reader has a very well-established backstory, aki is there but you'll be seeing more of him later. warning: some darker themes in this chapter + blood mention

notes: here we go!! mostly establishing reader and the world here... you'll be seeing aki's cute face more after this, I promise. I hope you like it, and please look forward to the chapters to come... 💞

masterlist read on ao3 join the taglist here!

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is love like the sea 

will it wash me to the shore 

or drown me with it? 

—

You knew you should have cast a spell for better weather. 

As crows shake the swaying trees when they flutter into the air, cawing and dotting the sky with speckles of black, you're drawn to tilt your head upward. Dark knots of gray clouds obscure the sun, blocking its light. Thunder rolls ominously overhead. You breathe a quiet tsk to yourself. The cool air smells of that familiar, earthen promise of rain. Turning back to your work, you hurry to collect the rest of the patch of colorful mushrooms, grabbing fistfuls and stuffing them into your pack. 

It was a beautiful day mere hours ago. Sunshine warmed your skin in plentiful rays, before the clouds had taken over. If you were at all aware of a coming storm, you wouldn't have spent so much time dilly-dallying. Your preparations would have been completed way faster. You would have made sure to leave the cottage much, much sooner — No, if you'd known about the rain, it wouldn't have stormed to begin with. 

You can't cancel out a downpour entirely. Such a feat is impossible, even for the most experienced of mages. The world can't be broken, no matter the strength of a mage's will — but it can bend. You could have pushed the storm back to the next day, at the very least. It would have given you the time you needed to forage, and you simply would've opted to stay inside tomorrow. 

Damn it all. It's no use worrying about what has already been done. You need to hurry. Your distraction spell will wear off in the rain. 

You snap the buckle on your pack shut, rising to your feet while clumsily slinging both straps over your shoulders. You shiver; the first droplets of water hit each blade of grass, they tap against your bare arms and the top of your head, but you're already running. You're taking off through the dense forest, following the well-known path you took on your way in. 

Leaves flatten under your feet. Running against the strengthening wind, you feel goosebumps kiss your arms and your legs. You run and pant and run some more, until you can finally see the faint, warm light of your cottage, shining through the forest like a beacon of assurance. Trees taper off into a large clearing, with your cottage at the very center. 

Your spell dispels on its own. A cool wave rushes over your body, the magic fading, before disappearing. Thankfully, you've made it home, just in time. 

The wooden door of your cottage creaks when you slam it shut behind you. Your kitchen is warm. Blessedly warm. You take a moment to catch your breath: your chest heaving, palms on your knees, the fireplace crackling. You toss your heavy pack onto the kitchen counter with a huff, and you plop down in a wooden dining room chair. Thunder splinters, the sound loud and forceful. Rain blankets the cottage's roof, pattering to a persistent, calming rhythm. 

You need to stop having close calls like this. 

What would have happened to you, if you were out in the woods for even a moment longer? It's not that you doubt your skills. Your magic is versatile. A damn good defense and offense, despite your chosen spells functioning passively, for the most part. Without anyone to assist you, you're still capable enough to hold your own against a handful of demons, should they choose to attack you. But a whole horde of them? 

The kind that live in these woods aren't like the ones you learned to deal with when you were younger. These demons are resilient. They're smarter. They stay hidden, until the chance arises to enter a fight they're sure to win. You've seen the prey they hunt. Despite their small footprints — six footprints for each, meaning six legs with clawed feet — they've been taking out magical beasts nearly twice their size. 

Great Elk, mostly. Nearly nothing is left of their flesh by the time you find them, making for quite the grim scene. No matter how many times you see it, your stomach still churns. The creatures boast a gigantic set of horns, and you'll harvest parts of them for yourself, to keep your mind off things. You're appreciative of what those elk can provide for you, in death. That'll be your fate, if you ever screw up. 

In a way, it's a double-edged sword. The forest is what protects you, those demons are what keep anyone from venturing close enough to discover you here. At the same time though, they prove a danger to you every single day. 

You wish this wasn't how you had to live. Of course you want to be safer, happier; who wouldn't? 

Gazing up at the long shadows on your ceiling, your mind brews with the same darkness as the rumbling storm clouds. The patter of rain only seems to worsen the longer you stay sitting there. Your stomach grumbles. Darkness looms in the expanse beyond your cottage, as the sun begins to set, allowing itself to be swallowed by the thick clouds and the horizon. Finally, you sigh. You stop your sulking to sit up, and you head for the kitchen to sift through what you collected. 

You were hoping to practice potion-making, so most of the herbs you collected are for healing, not necessarily for eating. A few edible mushrooms, and the potatoes you still have leftover from yesterday will have to do. 

Your knife chops the mushrooms swiftly and effectively, into small, square chunks that you scoop up in your palms to dump into a pot. 

When you were much younger, you lived in the city. You haven't been there in a long, long time. Everything you learned, you had to teach yourself: how to cook, how to fight. How to hone your spells. Books taught you most of what you know now. They were your mother's, once. After she passed, with no-one left to hide you, you fled. You've kept yourself stashed away here, ever since then. The threat of discovery didn't leave you with much of a choice. 

You built the cottage yourself. Magic made things relatively simple. It took some trial and error, sure, plus a few nights spent out in the dark when your preparations weren't complete yet. When it rained then, you were woken up by water dripping onto you, getting in from the gaps in the shoddy roof. It's been a long time since you first came here, since you found the farthest clearing in the depths of the forest, and decided to let it encompass the rest of your life. You've managed to make a rather nice home for yourself, you think. 

By all accounts, you should have perished a long time ago. The kingdom probably assumes you did. Without magic to help shield you, to feed you, to protect you, you doubt you would've lasted long out here. Perhaps that's why most people fear it. 

Where would you even go, if this wasn't how you had to live? Your hand freezes up, knife stopping midair before it can come down on a half-sliced pile of parsley. Suddenly, you realize you've hardly thought about it. Gods, if you could go anywhere, as free as the songbirds you've always been envious of, you have no clue where you'd want to go first. 

You could follow the sea breeze to the ocean, allowing the wind to rustle in your feathers. You've never seen the ocean before. Or maybe you'd want to soar over the kingdom, finally, and honestly free. There would be no-one to hunt you, not a soul that could catch you. It's peaceful there. For those unlike you, at least. 

To the people who live in the kingdom, the nobles and the knights and the common folk alike, you aren't human. You're less than that — You're a witch, a seer, a miscreant. You are the very reason for this world's ruin: the source of all demons, and to some, the sovereign who can lead them. Ridiculous rumors, every last one. Those creatures listen to you no more than they listen to the cries of the Great Elk they're feasting on. 

Still, you don't place blame on the fearful. 

More than anything, you wish things could be different. You would do whatever those people wished of you to prove you aren't what they say you are, but none of them would ever give you the chance. Your magic could help people. You want to help people, not harm them. And yet, if you were anyone else — if you were normal, if you weren't you — honestly, you'd be scared too. 

Demons are horrifying. They're soulless creatures, who can take a life away in an instant, only to break whoever they wind up leaving behind. And magic, magic in the wrong hands is just as frightening. 

It was innocent, at first. Elves were the first to compose spells, the demons simply came afterwards. Death plagued the land; the people's magic grew stronger, but the demons were already learning to adapt. Magic became selfish. No longer were spells used to protect, to flourish a field of crops, to create a light in an endless darkness. As the first war on demons came to a close, a new threat was quick to emerge: near unstoppable mages, wielding a darkness of their very own. 

Humanity nearly destroyed itself. In the process, the magic which once brought them the closest they've ever been to the Gods, that filled them with the strength of the sun, and fell into their palms like stars — That magic is all but gone, and forcefully forgotten. 

You never forgot, though. 

You were a child, you hadn't seen more than six winters, and already, the patriarchs were calling for what remains of the kingdom's spellcasters to be turned in and killed. Your birth was done in secrecy, your presence hidden. You stowed away in your mother's home, while you practiced conjuring simple illusions and small sparks of flame. 

Young or old, it hardly mattered to those who sought you. Your father ran. Your mother was burned. In more "lucky" cases, some people would be allowed to live — relatives of knights or officials, mostly. The regency had their tongues carved out, so that they might never speak an incantation again. 

Your jaw clenches, your hand tightened around the handle of a wooden ladle. You breathe in deeply, and you force your mind to wander elsewhere. Lest you lose your appetite. 

There's places you've heard of only in passing. Towns and cities where magic is not only accepted, but allowed to thrive. It certainly sounds nice. However, the logical part of you struggles to find the truth in such stories. No matter which way you look at it, everything is telling you those rumors are nothing more than traps. They'll do anything to find you, to cleanse the land of what they feel brought it to rot. They're luring you, their detestable songbird, just for the chance to finally cage you in and clip your wings, once and for all. 

To remain undetected, one's magic must be sharp, and their mind ever sharper. Those were your mother's words, at least. She taught you to stay focused, to be smart, and you most certainly are. 

You aren't unhappy, per se, when it comes to living like this. You're safe, and that's about as much as you could ask for. You've been content for a long while, living off the forest, practicing your magic by your lonesome. It's better than stifling what you were born with. Or trying to be someone you're not, allowing the imminent risk of capture to remain hovering over your head. No, you aren't really free. Perhaps you never will be. But this is the closest you think you'll ever get to it. 

The cottage is home. A lonely form of home, sometimes. No-one visits you. You'll talk to yourself when moments grow too quiet, just to fill the gnawing empty space. You aren't the kind of mage who can speak with animals, and even if you could, there isn't much to converse with; the demons have slowly begun to drive out most docile species. 

Gods, you miss the kingdom. You miss when you could see the castle from your bedroom window, stone towers reaching so high into the sky, you swore they were touching the clouds. Lanterns shone from every window once night fell, glowing brighter than any of the stars in the sky. A young and hopeful you would dream of becoming an honored guest, or a knight, or perhaps a princess. One day, you'd find yourself atop the heights in the castle, staring down at your old home instead. 

Foolish as it is, you miss the peace that came with those childish dreams. You never got to see it, but you remember reading books and hearing stories of the times where magic was nourished, not suppressed. Now, there is nothing. You have no-one but yourself. You miss when you didn't feel so alone. 

Though, for now, you should put the rest of those thoughts aside. 

Dipping your spoon into the finished stew, you breathe gently to cool it down, before taking a sip. Delicious. It warms you, chasing away the growing chill from the setting sun and the raging storm. Once you're done eating, you'll clean. Then, you think you'll spend the rest of the night rereading an old grimoire, until the complicated spell descriptions paired with the lull of the rain put you right to sleep. 

After fetching a bowl from the cupboard and filling it, you sit down at the dining room table. Your hands clasp in brief prayer — a force of habit, considering no plea is actually spoken, no blessing is internally asked for. You don't have anything to say to any God. Not anymore. 

Thunder crackles in the distance, like it plans to split the sky open. Rain drums and echoes against the roof. You take a moment to let your stew cool off, you manage just one bite, and —

Something's tripped the mushroom circle. 

With a single fast snap of your fingers, every light in your cottage goes out. The candles and lanterns flicker briefly, before they vanish. The roaring fireplace suddenly dissipates into nothingness, leaving ashen logs of wood behind. Instantly, you're enveloped in total darkness, save for the small, floating flame you produce at the end of your thumb, with a murmur under your breath of the spell ignis. 

It's been awfully long since the last time you've had to do this. Your heart begins to pound in your chest, in your eardrums. Your mind races, trying to picture the possible outcomes. 

Demons have been growing in number around these woods, but they wouldn't be here; they stick to the outskirts, where they've made their dens. With the rain washing away the scent left by prey, they'd go back into hiding, not wander out here. 

When you established your home here, one of the first things you did was create the mushroom circle around the clearing. Using your own blood and that of the demons, you fashioned it to inform you of anything hostile that walks over, barring any docile creatures. Wildlife wouldn't have set it off, so it's surely a stray demon, it must be. It will return to its horde once it realizes there's no food here. Unless… 

Flame flickering over your trembling hand, you fruitlessly try to stay deathly still. You can't hear a thing because of the rain, no footsteps and no demon snarls. Only the steady downpour, and the echo of droplets, splattering when they hit the roof above with loud, persistent thunks. 

Dammit. It's been an entire minute, and the spell is still telling you there's something within the circle. Just one presence; the spell can't tell you who or what is near specifically, but you can detect each entity inside. 

You sense your magic, keen and continuous, invaded by the scorching, resolute soul of another. A deep, brilliant ocean, rippling in the wake of a pebble thrown into it. And those ripples aren't stopping — They're surging through your brain and your body, with a forcefulness that bleeds nothing but blood-red danger. 

Your head spins faster the longer the seconds tick into minutes. You feel dizzy. The last time this happened, the last time anything stuck around this close to the cottage for more than a minute, it wasn't a demon. It was two presences, two men. They were lost, after they had traveled many miles into the forest from the main road, looking for one of their horses. Apparently, it was spooked on the trail, and broke away from their carriage to bolt into the woods. 

They didn't stay for long. You were in your cottage at the time, and you remember not wanting to open the door, but they wouldn't stop knocking and knocking. When you gave in, cracking the door open hesitantly, it was just enough to meet the first man's eyes, but not enough to let either of them see inside. 

Their tone was cordial, not suspicious. We weren't expecting anyone to be living out here, so far from any nearby villages, you remember one of them remarking. The first man ran a hand through his messy blonde hair, while flashing you an easy smile. You hardly noticed, because your gaze was focused on the sheathed dagger at his hip, and the glittering pendant hanging around his neck. A menacing shiver twisted up your spine and gripped you tight. 

Still, you held your ground. You told them you hadn't seen a horse, and only that. They thanked you for your time, and left soon after. 

Fucking hell, those men were knights. The pendant one of them was wearing — it was silver, engraved with text and a depiction of a lion. The knights in the kingdom have that same symbol on their armor, and out of respect, they'd be the only ones allowed to wear it as a necklace. 

Those men, despite the clear hostility you must have been showing them, spoke to you so kindly. They told you they'd be nearby for a while longer, and if you needed anything, you only had to ask. The blonde man gave you a polite nod, and told you to be well as the both of them left, May the Gods continue to smile upon you. 

If either of them grew suspicious, or if even one of them was capable of sensing the magic your cottage was surrounded with, they would have driven their daggers into your stomach right then and there. Townspeople might hesitate, before proceeding to slit the throat of their loved one while they slept, hoping to claim some sort of bounty for dealing with another wretched spellcaster. But knights do not. They are trained not to hesitate. 

Thankfully, sensing spells is something very few can do, and most never know they can. Perhaps they can feel something, but they'll attribute it to an odd uneasiness, to a brief spark they felt flicker across their skin. It couldn't be magic. Not a soul would risk an utterance of the word, because to feel magic is to be able to use magic, and for that, they are better off keeping their mouths shut. 

Either way, right now, you can't risk drawing attention to yourself. That day was almost a year ago. You lucked out last time. Anyone else who approaches your cottage next might not be so quick to leave. One wrong move, and you could easily wind up dead. 

So, you hold still. Very, very still. A lone cabin out in the middle of nowhere, in the pouring rain, with no lights shining from inside isn't likely to draw much attention. Anyone in their right mind would assume it was abandoned. 

Whatever it is, whoever it is, you only need to wait for them to leave, and you'll be in the clear. In the wake of your spell, you can feel the strength of the intruder's presence tugging at you, burrowing into you, cold like winter's breath and absurdly, ferociously sharp — but you'll be fine. They'll be stumbling back over the mushroom circle any second now. 

You're probably panicking over nothing, honestly. There's no way anyone would be this deep in the forest during this kind of storm. They'd have to be crazy, stupid, maybe utterly lost. A lost fool isn't your problem. If the storm doesn't deal with them, the demons most certainly will. 

Perhaps your magic is malfunctioning. Right, you haven't used this spell in so long that you've gotten rusty, and there actually isn't anyone here, you're simply mistaken. The storm is messing with you, is all. You shouldn't panic, because you have absolutely nothing to worry about. 

That would be true, if someone hadn't just knocked on your door. 

The sudden sound gets you to practically jump out of your own skin. You freeze up, your breath catching in your throat. When you hear the clear pounding of a fist against the wood for a second time, your concentration slips away, and so does your fire spell. The flame you held in your fingers goes out, leaving the cottage in complete and utter darkness. 

"Hello?" Oh, great, that someone is talking outside your door now, "Is anyone there?" 

At a pace that could rival only the most sluggish of snails, you shakily rise from your chair, and whisper another small flame into existence to light your way. You tiptoe over to the door ever-so carefully, directing the flame to follow with a wave of your finger. Briefly, you hesitate, before another set of knocks — more hurried, this time, as though whoever's on the other side is growing just as anxious as you — has your cheek pressing against the door while you peer through the peephole. 

There's a man leant on the door, your door, clutching his side, and supporting his weight with his other arm resting on the doorframe. The soft light of the moon and stars dimly illuminates him. He's shielded from the rain, underneath the roof's overhang. His clothes are simple: pants and a tunic with long sleeves, fabric clearly soaked from the continual downpour. 

It isn't anything you'd place as out of the ordinary. Even commoners would most likely be donning a necklace or a pin or something that'd tie them to the kingdom. You glance the man at your door up and down once, twice, but he seems to carry nothing of the sort. 

More importantly, surrounding the hand he has pressed into his side, the off-white of his tunic is stained a dark red you can recognize even in the obscured darkness. His chest heaves as he struggles to breathe, and you feel an ache twist in your gut. His hair is dark, shoulder-length, and tied in a half-up style, his messy bangs in his eyes, with a small ponytail on the back of his head. Poking out from his hair is a pair of distinct pointed ears. They're decorated by an array of studs and hoops, with black, star-shaped earrings hanging from his lobes, glittering in the moonlight. 

Your protective spell wanes. When you felt the chill of his presence, and the sharpness of his soul, perhaps you were feeling a fraction of his pain. 

You watch the man's jaw tighten, droplets of water dripping from his hair. He raises his fist to weakly knock at the door one more time, and when there's no answer, the bridge of his nose forms a troubled knot. 

"Please, I don't mean any harm, I was-" He winces, stumbling slightly, and he sucks a painful breath in through his teeth. "I was training in the woods… and the devils- I'm just an adventurer, I'm not a mercenary. I just want to rest until this storm clears, and then I'll be on my way. I swear it." 

Devils? 

Wait. Your gaze flickers back up to his expression, his brows pinched slightly as he attempts to hide his discomfort. Then, you look at his side, where his hand is pressed to an obvious wound, blood staining his fingers and speckling onto the sleeve of his shirt. 

This is your fault. 

When you head into the woods to forage, you always cast a distraction spell on the opposite end of the forest; it'll lure demons over to it, giving you a while of temporary safety. Sometimes there are stragglers, but nothing you can't sneak around or handle yourself. Most of the demons will head towards the area you've marked, drawn by the magical rune without their control. The spell is cast directly into the ground — hence why the rain on the soil causes it to disperse. 

This stranger sounds like he's telling the truth, and with the condition he's in, he doesn't have any reason to lie. About most things, anyways. You seriously doubt he's an adventurer. There isn't anything out here of interest. Just endless woods filled with endless demons. Still, he's clearly injured, clearly in need. And you can't help but take some responsibility. 

If he came to the forest to train, he must've been expecting a fight he could win. The demons here are strong, but mostly in numbers. If he's at all capable, a handful of them wouldn't give him much trouble. But you sent every single demon in the area to one location. A risky spell, but effective, as long as you know where it's been cast. He didn't. 

Even after the rain came down, even once the spell dispersed and the demons ran to hide in their holes, there would still be a ton of them gathered, all in one place. Hell, as far as you're concerned, if he found himself facing down hundreds of those bastards, he's lucky to be alive — let alone still standing. He might be the luckiest man you know, actually, to have escaped that forest with nothing more than a single injury, and all four limbs intact. 

But what if there are more wounds you can't see? 

Nervously, you take a single step away from the door, clutching the front of your shirt as your heart continues to pound. Rain drums overhead, seeming to only grow louder and louder. Although it drowns out most everything, you can still hear when the man shifts, mumbling a swear to himself through gritted teeth. Gods, your poor heart won't stop racing, and you don't know what to do. 

You're scared, for the first time in ages; scared of him, scared for him. You shouldn't let him in. That would be the stupidest thing you possibly could do. You shouldn't help him, shouldn't heal him. You should pretend no-one's home, and leave him be without letting yourself meddle. 

You know that, and yet, you can't help but tell yourself you have to help him. No matter how much you try and force yourself to believe the opposite, you can't shake this feeling that you're the only one who can. 

There isn't anyone else out here, not for miles. He won't make it out in this storm, and once he leaves the protection of the cottage, it's likely he'll get attacked again. From what you can tell, he doesn't even have a weapon on him. He'll get lost in the darkness. Demons will smell the sharpness of his blood the moment he steps back in the trees, and no matter how fast he can still run, he won't get far. And tomorrow, when you find what's left of him — 

Another faint knock at the door has you stirring, your lips parting, although you aren't exactly sure what you should say. It's been a while since you've last spoken to someone other than yourself, not since those knights almost a year ago. Instead, your legs seem to move before you've truly thought about it, and you rush over to the kitchen, fumbling through cabinets to search for whatever medicine you have left. 

Perhaps you can't let him in, that much is true. He walked over the mushroom circle with no problem, so you're assuming he isn't capable of detecting spells. Regardless, your cottage is covered in magical items. In potions you've made, and spellbooks that were supposed to be burned with the rest of them. You can't risk anyone sifting through your belongings. 

And you already know pressure doesn't bode well with you; if you can't keep your cool, if you say one wrong thing and he somehow figures out you're a mage, dealing with his injuries will be the least of your concerns. He could leave and come back by sunrise with an army of knights prepared to slay you, for all you know. 

You shouldn't be helping. This is dangerous. He is dangerous. You're foolish for caring about someone you haven't met, no matter how responsible you might be feeling. But that's the thing. You never get to meet anyone. And maybe, just maybe — 

No, it'll be best if you give him some medicine and let him be on his way: some standard herbs, nothing infused with magic. Just something for him to take to ease the pain, and some ointment and bandages to help with the bleeding. You'll crack open the door, tell him you can't accept visitors, and offer him what you can. That's the most you can do. That's what you have to do. 

You'll never see him again after this, but you know it's for the best. 

You gather the herbs from the kitchen, and the ointment and bandages from the bathroom. You place them all into a small, spare pouch you had lying on the counter, which you hastily work to tie shut. As you walk over to the door, you can barely breathe. Your hands are shaking, and you stop in place, attempting to gather the courage to open it. 

It'll be fine. I'm sorry, I hope this will help you. That's all you have to say. I'm sorry sir, you can't come in, but please, accept this. He'll leave, he won't know a thing, and you'll do just fine. 

"Okay," The man's smooth voice starts from behind the door, causing you to abruptly tense up. He sounds more out of breath than before: "I don't think anyone is home, so I'm… I'm going to try to come in now. I'm not going to hurt you, just need to get the hell out of this rain- Please, don't kill me." 

Shit. 

You're unlocking the door in a hurry then. You fling it open, coming face to face with him; the man sways forward, almost tripping. He's rather tall, even taller when he stands up straight to look at you. Deep, worried blue eyes meet yours. Blue like the drawings of the ocean you memorized from your childhood story books. His expression is a muddled mess of pain, relief, exhaustion — and you must be making a face, because he's quickly attempting to make amends. 

"Thank the Gods- It's okay," He says, giving you a reassuring look, and raising his hands defensively, his palms stained a dark crimson. His skin is pale, his eyes heavy, like he's lightheaded; "It isn't as bad as it looks. I'll be… fine, I'm-" 

With one last stumble, his eyelids flutter. Bright lightning rips through the sky in the distance, and you're watching his knees buckle, leaving him to fall into you. You squeak in surprise, just barely managing to catch him. He's already gone limp in your arms. You're hardly able to hold up his weight, struggling not to just drop him to the ground. 

Rain pelts the ground and the grass and your roof. In between the steady drone, tiny droplets of blood splatter onto the wooden floor of your cabin with a plip, plip. 

Damn. And you were hoping to eat your stew while it was still hot. 

[oct0lightsquare]

@corvidaecircus you beautiful gorgeous wonderful man you I’m gonna virtually smooch u so hard. All the homo 💖💝

@s1x-s1x-s1x

eheheheheh hulloooo <33333

[bingusbongu]

♡♡A/n: hey!!! I apologize, i lost the reply because for some reason my post deleted, in really really sorry! But this ask included a Royal Margarine Cookie x Shy but cuddly reader!!! I just had to do this one, cause Royal Margarine is my absolute favorite cookie, i love this silly and his dilly wyvern, hope you enjoy~!♡♡

Royal Margarine Cookie x Shy but Cuddly reader!

- Margarine Cookie has always been one for attention, he craves for it. Its not unusual for fans of his to crowd around him as soon as he makes a grand entrance

- you and him were already a couple, and of course, Margarine tried to show you off as his darling partner, wanting you to receive the same praise he would receive, besides, he liked showing you around, showing you off to other cookies who attempt to flirt with him

- What he didnt understand though is the way you backed up from the crowds, or hid behind him. Sure he liked the feeling that he could protect you, but he was confused on how you got all nervous when cookies would crowd around the two of you, and before he had a chance to show you off to his beloved fans, you were gone

- it would be Buttercream to go and find you. She didnt like the way that Margarine didnt go looking for yoi because he was to into making up fake stories to impress people. Sure she loved his rider, but she also loved you. You were so sweet to her, and even sneaked her extra snacks after supper, and you gave the greatest pets! She really liked you, so believe it or not, she is always the first one to find you

- once Buttercream tracks you down, and find you huddled away in a secure hiding spot, she is quick to make sure youre okay, before nestling her nose into your side to comfort you. She is the most understanding wyvern, she lets you talk to her and rant about how mich you hated being surrounded by people, with so many people talking at once.

- Buttercream understood that feeling, sometimes she gets overwhelmed with the cookies who keep trying to pet her and get her attention

- Royal Margarine Cookie would take a few moments to realize that not only you were gone, but realizing Buttercream was gone when a fan pointed it out. It was really uncommon for Buttercream to leave his side, let alone you.

- he definitely freaked out about it, pushing past the crowed of cookies to try and find the both of you. Calling out for you in hopes to findyou easier, trying to hide the fear in his voice, already imagining the worst

- he was extreamly worried, his two favorite things in the whole world were missing, he couldnt imagine losing you or Buttercream!

- he was about to have a breakdown, until he noticed a familiar looking tail in the corner of his eye, watching it as it disappeared into a hidden spot that he hadnt even thought to look. Instantly pipping his curiosity, why would Buttercream be there of all places? Maybe she was looking for something?

- once he finally trailed over to see what his faitful companion was doing, he was about to call out to her before completing stopping in his tracks

- Buttercream lay wrapped around you, As you nestled into the wyverns dide for warmth and comfort, shutting your eyes as you finally calmed down. Buttercreams head in your lap as you pet her, and she happily purring at the gentle affection

- Royal Margarine at the sight, feeling relieved that the both of you were okay. But still confused on why you and Buttercream were cuddled together in this little hiding space, where no one could find you.

- once you realized Royal Margarine Cookie was there finally, you invited him over to join the two of you, opening your arms as Buttcream looked up at her rider expectantly, for him to come over and join the little pile of affection going on.

- He was hesitant at first, but sighed and quickly gave in, how could he ignore his two favorite things in all of earthbread inviting him over to cuddle?

- he crawled in besides you, at first complaining that a room would be much better for this, more comfortable for the pile, but ignoring his blabbering, Buttercream dropped her tail into his lap, making him huff in protest.

- before he could make another comment, you had instantly cuddled into his side, making the words forming in his mouth come to a close as he looked down at you. His face seeming to warm up at how you nestled your head into his neck, making a small noise asif searching for comfort from him. And Royal Margarine Cookie was very happy to oblige. Wrapping his arm around you and pulling you close to him, shoving down his internal screaming to ask you what was wrong

- You finally ended up opening your mind to him, explaning how you hated crowds and being shoved into them for attention, how it made you nearly crumble on the spot just having so many eyes looking at you. Also, expressing how you weren't really a fan of being there and listening to the ladies fawn all over him.

- Royal Margarine Cookie listened intently, nodding his head, while on the inside he felt extreamly guilty. He hadnt ment to push you into that situation, he didnt know any better! He decided from then on to make it up to you

- after that, Royal Margarine Cookie was open to your feelings, constantly msking sure you were comfortable, abd if you werent, he would take you away somewhere else for you to feel better

- oftentimes, when he is busy, he would nake sure Buttercream would stay with you to make sure you were okay

- when his fans approach him, he wouldnt throw you into the mix. Instead, he would chat with them, before clearing his throat, and pushing past them

- "excuse me, i have a date with my wonderful partner, and i will not be late for it"

- after that, the both of you hook arms and walk to the nearest tavern, him having the biggest smug look on his face, before going to chat abd flirt with you like nothing happened

- always is touching you in some form of ways, whether it be holding your hand to wrapping his arm around your waist, he likes to keep you close to him

- when you are uncomfortable, he bring you to the side and lets you hold onto him as he tries his best to comfort you. (Usually cracking stupid jokes to make you laugh)

- especially loves after a long day, when you open your arms for him to fall into, and him grumbling about his day as you listen and play with his hair

- Royal Margarine Cookie can be full of himself, sure, but in all honesty, he really really cares about you. You are his greatest treasure, and he would do anything to make you happy! Even go on a dangerous quest if you asked him to.

- Buttercream may keep him in line, but i assure you, he is trying his best to make you happy ♡

[themerchliing]

continued from here - @brideofcdragons

“I noticed you struggling, yeah,” Wylan admitted as he joined her amid the chaos that was the marketplace at peak trading time. “I’ve been in this exact spot before.” Upon his arrival in the Barrel, he’d also been unable to figure out the best way to navigate the busy streets without increasing the likelihood of being caught beneath a carriage wheel. It was also scarily easy to lose all sense of direction and become lost amongst the swarm with nobody caring enough to stop and lend a helping hand.

“Oh, I’m actually headed there myself. I can take you if you like.” 

What business did she have at the Crow Club? Wylan wondered if she’d heard about Kaz and wanted to appeal to him in some way. Many people stayed away from the Bastard of the Barrel after hearing all the stories about him, but there were also a select few that tried their luck and approached him with the intention of receiving protection.

“Are you meeting someone there?” He asked as he turned to lead the woman through a gap in the traffic. There was a quick way to leave the bustle behind and slip down an alley tucked behind a stall selling fashionable Ravkan attire. Wylan’s steps were quick mainly due to the fact that taking a languid stroll through the Barrel wasn’t entirely recommended, even during the daytime. It was best to go about your day without dilly-dallying and calling the attention of unsavory types.

[1800duckhotline]

hi i was wondering if u cld tell us a little abt tisha ?

ah yes absolutely! although be warned there isnt like a lot of DEEP lore about him :-) i have snippets here and there of what will become eventually a more properly founded story.

his main setting as i imagine is the mid-late 90s in contemporary times. he was born in russia (for now not sure where exactly but canonically he also wouldnt know where he is from) and ever since a young age he'd developed a temperament geared towards violence - though not in the sense that he enjoyed it, but rather that it came easy for him to do especially in situations of self defense, mostly against strangers, but i imagined the familial situation also contributed to him developing that 'fight' response to most things that are dangerous. tl;dr he's good at hurting people but he doesn't like it. he just knows how to do it properly.

the family history is muddled 2 me for now, but what i know is that he had an older brother, ilya (still alive in current times where tisha is an adult) and they used to be close. tisha = carrion crow, ilya = magpie.

the big main thing is that due to unfortunate circumstances tisha's "skill" with harming others was amped up once he got involved with some shady folks. again here it's all very muddled, i haven't got a clear idea. but, he's 13 at this age, he's basically being shaped into becoming an assassin for hire. at this age he also starts doing drugs.

some accident happens here where ultimately tisha leaves his home and ilya behind, and i imagined it to be some kind of event where ilya is forced to help tisha hide some bodies - sloppy work for a sloppy newbie at this sort of stuff, but they both get scarred from it nonetheless. in different ways.

that said from then on Tisha grows to be... Tisha. the drugs and repeated exposure to criminal life and activities completely obliterated his memory btw, and as you might guess Tikhon (Tisha is the diminutive form of his name) Igorevich isn't his actual first and last name. He initially used this as an alias when joining in in an attempt to "shield" his family, but with time he genuinely forgot his real name, his family, and so on. personality wise he honestly hardly ever changes? he is a quiet individual who doesn't enjoy making a show of himself, but he gets the job done and doesn't like dilly-dallying more than he needs to. he has self-awareness about him and his situation, he knows most people think he's pathetic and lowly, and he like. genuinely doesn't give a fuck. he isn't proud of it but he has too much shit going on to care about it in a way that changes his life forever.

anyway i think after a good chunk of years he eventually quits working for this 'group' and the transition isn't smooth (which he expected) but he maintains his reputation as an affable and well-adjusted hitman who is available for hire for whoever's willing to pay the most. enters some kind of assassin union which is mostly me putting together my hitman and assassin ocs together bc they'd probably all know each other.

this situation allows him to travel outside of russia, and his situation also allows him to like, bring with him kuobakhaya, who has been present the whole time btw - but since the ask was about him i didn't elaborate on her much. all you need to know for now is that they've been friends since they were children and bonded over feeling like outcasts, so as adults tisha would help her move somewhere else where she can start a better life while he helps her with expenses of various kinds. they are like brother and sister ^__^ he would literally kill to make sure she stays safe and sound and the feeling is likewise. with his help she moves to brighton, UK which is where he also has his "main HQ" when not traveling

but ummm there's not much else to Add, it's a pretty simplistic edgy story i know i know but i was inspired a lot by The Crow for his design, as well as some edgeboylords from 90s comics.

his weapons of choice are mostly tourniquets (to strangle quietly) and silenced guns.

loves crows. literally attracts crows constantly. they LOVE him. he is a literal scarecrow man. they love him and it is mutual

his style and fashion is strictly 80s/90s trad goth. the pierrot eye markings are tattoos.

[rustpuppy]

crowe family + their associate and the marshal trying to get ‘em

[incorrectpersona-cianthemighty]

Ryuji: Dude-

Akechi: You just had your tongue in my mouth five minutes ago. Don't you dare call me dude.

Ryuji: Bro?

Akechi: NO.

[dailyjustified]

[crowisinthetrash]

WKSKXKSMZN KZKZMXMCMXX KAZUHA <33

I just think that corsets

[kthynes]

husband for hire (2)

18+

previously

There’s some ground rules and a sweet assemblage of affirmations. You’d hate to hear it.

warnings: course language, mentions of arranged marriage. fake husband/wife trope. Mafia!Lloyd x fem!reader (non-descriptive).

word count: ~2.1k

authors note: I’ve been going through a bit of a mental break and decided to write after a long time. It’s not written in my usual flowery flow so hopefully it makes sense and is coherent to some degree.

This has not been beta’d — any mistakes are my own.

Everyone had big little lies. Yours was just that and some. Maybe your dilly dally approach was untelling of time and place. But more so than not, Lloyd was an equal opportunist, playing your game with the same insouciant vigour.

“So what now?” He shifts against the vinyl seating, knees spread far apart, chin tucked in as he gazes through his lashes with a slight grin. It’s trifling how enigmatic his aura was around you. Almost as if to say that he’ll always have an eye on you. But he’s far more observant than that. “Nice baby gun by the way.”

He casually points at your thigh where the outline of your pistol that was strapped under your evening gown.

His face changes, genuine curiosity takes flight. “Do you always carry and conceal… poorly?”

“Only when I have to.” You reach under and yank out the revolver that was snagged in between the garter. Lloyd’s smirk widens as the small, toy weapon lands on the upholstery next to you. “But then again I’m not meant to be in this rodeo.”

“Well in that case I might have to get you something better then.” He hums. “Bigger perhaps?”

A double entendre? Gross.

“How ‘bout we start with a ring first.” You preamble, sniffing at his staunchness. Lloyd’s pinky ring admonished your ring finger in place of a lie. It was the least he could do given the circumstances and no one seemed to have bat an eye. “Something more shiner and made of diamonds, perhaps.”

“That can definitely be arranged.” He laughs, realizing the day has come for him to be somewhat of an honest man. But his signet band was a perfect fit minus the fact that it was a bit lacklustre and worn down.

“Why’d you agree to this?” You flummox while taking an unsteady breath. Everything’s uncomfortable, even his goading glare.

“Because you asked.”

“Just like that?” He simply nods and you let out an aghast little, “Huh?”

“I can see the wheels turning.” He crows. “It’s not that deep, mi luna.” His moon. Opposite of day and befitting to how you unscrew your beautiful face.

“Yeah right.“ You look out the window to be blinded by abysmal darkness. “Also is there a McDonald’s nearby? Because I’m fucking starving.”

Lloyd squints, there's some misjudgment and humour interlaced behind a slight grin.

“There’s a ruddy little diner coming up.” He answers with poise. “Does that work?”

“As long as I’m fed.”

“Hey Sergio, can you make a quick stop at Mama’s.” Lloyd says over the intercom that’s placed by the partition. Wordlessly, the driver reroutes and the ride becomes guided through your silent reverie.

Lloyd’s watchful as you fidget in a swathe of satin and sweat. You’re not used to being someone’s focus, attention, even desire. But he takes it upon himself to be dignified, to show some empathy for someone like you— a conning escapist and his best mistake.

He opens his mouth to say, more so ask something but then the town car comes to a stop.

“We’re here.” You relieve, already one foot out the door. Lloyd’s jaw shifts as you flit over to the abandoned establishment. “You sure this place is open for business?”

“It’s where I do business.” Lloyd patiently explains from a few feet back. He looks to Sergio and nods, their exchange is a little stoic, trained code that you don’t pay much attention to.

“So the food is probably subpar?”

“I wouldn’t say that earshot away.” He stifles a small laugh and guides you in, hand on the square of your back that immediately stiffens to the touch. “Have an open appetite and you might be surprised.” He comments under his breath.

The door chimes ping to a midsummer palladium. There’s mismatching futon and aisles of brown oak booths lined with floral seating. It was giving kitschy Dior.

“Onja.” Lloyd greets a quick working geriatric woman with silvery blonde hair and a moon shaped face. She appears out of nowhere, barely out of breath.

“Lloyd.” She fondly announces, arms wide open, fashioning a freshly stained apron. The exchange is uncalled for. But truly they were right at home and he’s beguiling her like old times.

“Is the kitchen open, ma?”

“For you?” She hums and haws, surprised he has to even ask.

“Not me. But for her.” He cocks his head towards you, slyly holding you to it as the exception.

“Oh!” She first looks at Lloyd a little too cheekily. Like a mother apprehending her son whose aimlessly asking for one too many favors. “Of course. Come! Sit anywhere! I’ll be right there.” Onja proclaims, hop skipping away as you both stand parallel to one another.

“She thinks I’m your bed mate doesn’t she?” You turn to the choosy mobster. His grin grows tenfold.

“Bed mate?” He snorts, inadvertently exuberant. “More like a growing pain in my ass.”

You huff and stumble into a random booth, furthest away from the window and right next to the kitchen. While tucking yourself in, Lloyd scans the area before sliding off his dress coat. Onja brings around a pitcher of water as he’s slowly undressing himself to some duress.

“Water.” She states, wiping her wet hands against the rag.

“Thank you, greatly.” Lloyd lifts his brows, expressing his highest gratitude. Onja shuffles on her feet, smiling briefly before seeding an apologetic grimace.

“So I just checked the kitchen and I have to inform you that we are out of a lot of things—“

“We’ll have whatever’s leftover then.” Lloyd interrupts and then quirks up. “Actually, do you have a pot of your French Onion?”

“Soup?” You croak, making a face.

“Yes!” Onja excitedly answers. “Two soups OK?”

“Just one. I’m good.” He confirms and the kind woman becomes relieved.

“Coming up!” She gusts, scurrying away. You’re soured, disbelieving of his actions.

“Fix your face.” Lloyd commands as he unrolls cutlery for you from across the booth.

“I don’t want soup.” You say in a nasally tone.

“Just try it.” He calmly coaxes you. There’s a quiet stillness, you’re irritated as can be. With quick work, Onja appears again with a small, antique cauldron and some serviettes.

“Here you are.” She places the piping hot bowl in front of you. “Is there anything else I can get you Mr. Hansen?”

Lloyd assured her all was good. For now.

“Have at it.”

“No.” You stubbornly state, arms folded across your chest. He lets out a loud exhale and starts plating your meal for you. The soup is aromatic and cheesy. Fresh and mouth watering. Your stomach growled. He ladles a small portion into a bowl and pushes it forward.

“One bite. Or slurp.” He corrects himself while slipping in a spoon. “You got this.”

“It looks like sewer water.”

“Delicious sewer water.”

“Is this what you get?” You start stirring the soup. Scooping and pouring the liquid into the bowl, distracted by your most intrusive thoughts.

“I don’t eat here.” He jokes, absolutely deadpanned. Meanwhile, Onja quietly settles by and places a small steaming Pinming cup in front of him. He thanks her yet again. “But Sergio seems to love it.”

“It’d make sense if you had a fondness for it.”

“I mean you and I don’t make sense yet here we are.” There’s a swift pause as he looks at you coyly. “Now eat.”

You’re far from humbled but reluctantly so you take your first sip. It’s good. Too good to speak as you shovel more into your mouth. Your hunger becomes insatiable.

“Have it with the challah loaf as well.” Lloyd comments into his mug. You obediently dip the Jewish egg bread into the savoury bath and take another bite. “How’s it?”

“Good.”

“Just that?” He snickers.

“Sooo good.” You exaggerate in between mouthfuls. He’s observing your every move like a silent pariah. And maybe it was time you broke the boughs. “Can we talk? You know, establish some ground rules.” You meander, swallowing down your pride with a tight grimace.

“Go on.” He nods, gesturing a lending hand.

“This isn't real. We’re not a couple. So that means there’ll be no kissing, no touching, no copulating of any sort.” You’re abrupt and he laughs, loud enough to put you in your place.

“Says the girl who was desperate for a fuck.” He respires while peering out the side window that glazes over a dark road strip and the alpines. It’s a lonesome plight where you said a lot of things. Promised nothing.

“That… that was out of character.” Your back straightens, clearing the uprising bile from your throat. Your appetite went away as quickly as it came. To say you were embarrassed was a ruddering understatement.

“You’re telling me?” He scoffs, running a steady hand through his perfectly gelled quiff that is stiff to the touch.

“I think there’s a lot of things we can keep to ourselves.” You insist.

“Of course Mrs. Hansen.” He jokes, the name itself rolls off the tip of his tongue. He likes that there’s a nice ticklish ring to it. “But I hope you know that our people will ultimately want more, expect more of us… from us, really.”

His wild blue eyes dilate, forehead creases patronizingly. You don’t falter.

“So we make an appearance.” Making an appearance was a very loose term. “Fake it till we make it.”

“No. We break rules.” He corrects you.

“I don’t like that.” You huff. He smiles. It’s a good thing he likes you.

“Help me help you.” He proposes and your frown deepens. He cocks his head to the side. “You did ask for my hand in marriage after all.”

“Fuck all I did.” You mutter to yourself while returning to your poor man’s meal.

“Look, I don’t like your old man either. So let me spite him a little.” Lloyd offers, jokingly. His phone rings, that overtures the mood. “Excuse me.”

He slides out of the booth with some unpleasant gruffness. “What is it Cyrus?”

His voice carries down the parlour as you slurp on soup. Nowhere to be. Indigestion on a slow prowl. Something about Lloyd Hansen fiercely kept you on your haunches. His coffered gaze. His strong unclenched jaw. The long legs that pace his stride as he takes to a far corner, earshot away.

“There’s no deal.” He hisses. The conversation comes out choppy that you desperately pick up on. “We need to… Yes I know… She is…. No we’re not… it’s complicated.”

It’s complicated. Those are the final affirming words before your eyes meet and he says a quick ‘I got to go.’

Your soup is cold now. He makes it back to the table, anew again.

“You good?”

“Here’s what I want from you.” He becomes stern, countenance changing in a snap. You match his energy by a hairs breadth. “Are you listening?” He raises his brows. You simply nod.

“I don’t like your tone but I’ll play nice.”

“You can’t be out of my sight.”

“Which means?”

“Which means I’m taking you home.” Your eyes thin out. “To my home.”

“I thought you were a recluse, y’know some kind of unexplored hermit.” You soured with some sass.

“I own ten luxury properties, two suburban complexes and a shantytown.” He emphasizes, irises dimming to a slight torment. “I need you around me, wherever I go.”

“Thanks but no thanks.” You object while kissing your teeth.

“This isn’t me asking.” He fiercely insists in a way that is paralyzing. One wrong move and you’d be bound. So you clear your throat, eyes cast downwards out of contemplation, jaw clenched. A slow steady breath prepares you for a grander comeback.

“How can I trust you?”

“You don’t. Now let’s go. We’ve overextended our stay here.” Lloyd hisses, eyes scouring the premise hastily. Somethings up and mafia men had their tumultuous moods. He perks up, hands readjusting the gun that’s hoisted in the back hem of his trousers. There’s a facetious look on his face, angered by suddenness and your calm presence.

When you walk out before him, he catches up in stride.

“Don’t question the things I do for you.” He mutters close in your ear. The night's dew exasperates the chill in your bones. It’s cold, embittering how you truly felt and every resurgence to be. The town car’s pulled up, running in ignition while Sergio has the back door open. He looks the other way as you turn to Lloyd with a challenge. “I’m not yours.”

“You’ll never be.”

[neurodivergent-loverboy]

[Image description copied from alt text: a drawing of a group of seven scruffy adolescents loitering by a short wall. The background has no rendered details.

On the far left, sitting cross-legged at the base of the wall, is a girl with pale skin and straight black hair that she is tying into a braid. Her tongue sticks out in concentration. Above her on the wall, stretching his arms toward his toe, is a boy with light brown skin and short curly reddish-brown hair. He is looking down at the girl with a smile, mid-speech.

In the middle of the scene is a boy with light brown skin and dark brown wavy shoulder-length hair. He is leaning against the wall with a carefree posture and holds a harmonica in one hand. He is playfully sticking his tongue out at the teen to his right, who is atop the wall on their belly, propped up by the elbows. They have pale skin and shaggy straight light brown hair and are sticking their tongue out in return with a mischievous smile.

On the right, sitting at the base of the wall, is a teen with pale freckly skin and straight shoulder-length red hair. They are looking up at the two kids teasing each other with an amused expression. Another teen is laying with their head in the red head's lap. They have golden brown skin and short straight black hair, slicked back from their face. They are looking up at a girl hanging by her knees from the wall, speaking to her with a kind smile. The girl has brown skin and curly black hair and is grinning. End ID.]

It's been TOO LONG since I posted about the patchwork crew - so long, in fact, that the last time I posted about them they were still in Scout's original D&D universe. Welp, here they are as regular human kids in regular human NYC - except for Ghost, because they're waiting for him to get out of work (ie, I couldn't fit him in the frame).

Left to right: on the ground is Charlie (she/her) and up on the wall is Rusty (he/him), Scout (he/him) is the gremlin in the middle, up on the wall is Bugs (she/they) and Dilly (she/her), and down below them is Crow (they/them), and Jasper, aka Jazz (he/she/they). At the time of this scene Charlie was 16, Rusty was 17, Scout was 15, Bugs was 13, Dilly was 12, Crow was 17, and Jasper was 17. Ghost (he/him), not pictured, was 18.

[daydream-believin]

Sure Took You Long Enough, Babe

Summary: (wlw) Reader pulls an all-nighter with coworker Zoe

Warnings: swearing, alcohol, uh i think i remember mentioning people doing drugs, that trademark wlw obliviousness

Word Count: 4374

a/n: g-g-gorlfren... *slaps roof of fic* this baby can fit so many gay fantasy tropes in it. yes, the bars in cali stay open till 4am idk

Your alarm blared it’s cheery tune, startling you awake. Strangely enough, the happy melody never inspired happiness, just rage. Yet, ever the eager beaver, you shot right up and slammed the button as you slid out of bed, not allowing yourself to dilly-dally. As much as you’d like to stay asleep for three more hours at the least, you forced yourself into a good start for the day. Today was the first day of your new part-time job at Hextech, and lucky you, you got the morning shift. Curse of being fresh meat, you supposed. As long as you could make it through the day without getting too terribly hazed, you’d be fine.

Back home in Arcadia Oaks for the summer, you’d needed a new job or you’d go crazy. What were you supposed to do? Relax? Nah. You’d start taking double shifts as soon as you could. It was a bit tricky finding somewhere that would be a good fit for you. Okay, that was a lie. It was a bit tricky finding somewhere that would even be willing to hire you, apparently. Really knocked your pride down a few pegs.

By a strike of fortune, you had been catching up with one of your old high school buddies over coffee yesterday. You know, the one you used to hang out in the graveyard and practice tarot reading with? Yeah, Evan. It was nice to be able to talk to someone who was just as excited as you were that My Chemical Romance was back. When you two ordered, he pulled out that old joke about taking his coffee black like his soul and it still made you laugh as much as it did in high school. Evan was doing good, new boyfriend, new job, new band. You felt happy for your friend. You were happy that he was happy. He deserved it.

After you’d lamented that you couldn’t find work, he told you about how lately he’d been working for that electronic store Hextech. Not subtly named, was it? He’d told you about how it was run by hedgewizards like you two. They only hired through connections, since they were a magical company run by magical people. You, thankfully, had one of those connections. Your buddy put in a good word for you and, just like that, you were in. They put you on the schedule crazy fast. Like, the first shift of the very next day fast. Good. You were going out of your mind having so much free time. Your relatives were starting to ask you *shutter* questions about your personal life.

You looked in the mirror, slicked back your hair into a neat style, and admired how you looked in your new work shirt. Of course, it would eventually join the trophy quilt of old work shirts you were making, but for now it was nice and new. A pretty baby blue, it will go well sewed next to the royal blue Domino’s shirt from last semester. You added about a dozen earrings to your ears as a finishing touch and headed downstairs. After downing your coffee and hastily scarfing down a still-warm blueberry muffin, you kissed your grandmother’s cheek goodbye as you headed out the door. You tossed a crumpled muffin to the crows waiting by the front door. The greedy bastards inhaled every crumb. As much as you loved having a job again, the sun was still asleep when you started your walk to work. Fuck that.

As you walked through the door at Hextech, you were astonished to see the absolute angel who was waiting there for you. An absolute angel who looked kinda hungover, actually. Well, it was 6 AM on a Sunday. The doors didn’t actually open to customers until seven, but you were here at the ass-crack of dawn so she could train you some before throwing you to the customer wolves. Said pink-haired angel introduced herself as Zoe. What a fitting name for someone as cute and feisty as her. You had to catch yourself from staring too much into her striking blue eyes, that reminded you of lightning, pure electricity, before she caught you. And really, they were distracting. It was hard to focus on what she was telling you, which was a bad thing since she was giving you vital information. You forced yourself to focus. As much as you could.

After going over the ropes of working the wizard-bar, she took you through a cool hidden door to show you around the back. The back had such wonderful rooms as the kitchen that someone microwaved fish in yesterday, workrooms, one of which had a poor guy who looked like her never left last night, tinkering away at some techy-thing, the room Zoe introduced as the room she went to scream in, and a common-room type thing with a sick floor to ceiling screen (or was it a window?), depicting a soothing nature scene. She told you that after you had been working in the front for a while and proved yourself, your bosses would move you up to the repairs and phone troubleshooting. Maybe even invention if you were talented enough. That filled you with dread, despite the inspiration it was supposed to be. You had to admit, you knew almost nothing about the technical/repairs side of electronics and you did not belong here. You were more of a coding/hacking type of hedgewizard. You’d have to fake it till you make it. You were sure Zoe could tell you were bullshitting through this, but thankfully she was gracious enough not to call you out on it. Although, you didn’t mind that impish grin that found it’s place on her face.

Damn. You did not need to get involved with a coworker. No matter how enchanting she was. Or how pretty. This was just a summer job. You would be moving back across California for school soon enough and you were not going to do long-distance again. Although, is a few hours really that long? Definitely not as long as your last relationship. Shut up shut up shut up. No. You don’t even know if this chick is into girls, don’t get ahead of yourself. Mmm, she is very pretty though. You can admire from afar. What’s the harm in that?

There was much, much harm. Stars, you had it bad. You had only been at Hextech for a month now and it felt like hell. Perhaps it was hell. Maybe you were dead, and this was your eternal punishment. Damned to forever pine after the loveliest wizard you had ever met. She took a liking to you instantly too, inviting you out for drinks that first night, and every weekend after that. And she’d invited you over to her place for movie nights and to hang out with her friends. Some nights she’d take you to go dancing with her. She’d taken to calling you Baby. Perfectly normal things for gals being pals right. You guessed this is what girl besties do. You wouldn’t know, you’d only ever really hung with guys. Really feminine goth guys, sure, but guys nonetheless. She seemed hellbent on spending time with you. Not that you were complaining, but it just made your emotions stronger. And harder to shove back into the abyss.

~ ~ ~

One Friday night, you two were just chilling up in your bedroom. A rest before one of coworker’s birthday party tomorrow night. Zoe was telling you that she really wanted to try out a new makeup technique. And you told her she could try it out on you. The joy that painted itself across her features is something that will be burned into your memory forever. But not as high a degree of burn as what came next. Zoe straddled your waist, eyeliner pen in hand, and pushed you back against the headboard so she could better reach your eyes. Your breath caught in your throat. You were helpless to do anything but stare at her face that was in super close proximity to yours. You were caught in a trance as you obeyed when she told you to do this or that so she could properly apply the makeup. Her pink lips were pursed in concentration, and her pink banged strayed into her face. Her signature pink style matched the pink of your cheeks. You were sure she could feel your heart pounding, her elbows were on your chest, basically. She moved on to eyeshadow. Weird, you were always an eyeshadow first kinda person but who were you to critique this goddess’s methods. As she rolled on the perfectly matching lipstick onto your lips, you couldn’t help but think about this being an indirect kiss. This lipstick has been all over her lips and now it’s on yours? Stars.

Once she was finished with her masterpiece, she leaned back to take a good look at it. You felt the heat blaze under your skin as her blue eyes scanned your face. Finally, she seemed satisfied and nodded. Zoe helped you up and you went to go check it out in the mirror hanging on your wall. It was brightly colored, garish even, yet perfect, in your opinion. Like Zoe’s personality distilled into something you could wear. She crept up behind you and put her hands on your shoulders as you both admired her skills.

“My best work yet if I do say so, Y/n,” She grinned like a Cheshire cat, “Hmm, I know it’s already like, 3 in the morning and we’re supposed to be relaxing, but we should go and show this off.”

You both had a shift in four hours but you didn’t know how to say no to those eyes. “Alright, Zo,”

You grabbed your jackets on the way out, careful not to wake any of the other inhabitants of the house, but unable to keep the giggles in. Zoe had thought it would be fun to swap jackets, and you weren’t going to say no to that. Her jacket was cozy, black leather, and smelled of her rosy perfume. You never wanted to take it off. When you put it on, her eyes lingered on your form, commenting how good it made you look. You were very thankful for the cover of darkness that hid your flush, rosy like her perfume. You thought she looked marvelous in yours too, but you weren’t as brave in order to say that out loud.

Suddenly you were in some club across town, being introduced to Zoe’s friend Mimi who was working the bar that night. Mimi looked you up and down, then cocked her brows and clicked her tongue, while nodded to Zoe? Who turned pink and angrily said something under her breath to her friend. You couldn’t make out what she said over the music, you were too busy trying not to put too much weight on this interaction. Telling your heart to stop jumping. Jumping just gets you hurt. Mimi snickered as she scurried off to the other side of the bar to fix up your drinks after Zoe finished her rant. She turned back to you and laughed nervously, leaning on the bar.

“That Mimi. What a card.” You nodded in response, not sure what to say.

You three chatted while you sipped at your drinks. Zoe had ordered you something fruity, sweet, and vibrantly colored. It was very tasty, whatever it was. Must have had a high percentage because your head was already fuzzy with just this one. You stopped after finishing it, not fancying being drunk at work, but Zoe got another. Her alcohol tolerance was way stronger than yours. You fucking lightweight. Mimi had started cleaning up since the bar closed soon. Zoe grabbed your hand unexpectedly.

“How about we dance until we get kicked out, Babe?” She said with a sparkle in her eye.

“Uh- y- yeah,” was all you managed to get out before she pulled you over to the dance floor. It was almost vacant, since it was nearing 4am and most people had either moved on for the night, passed out on one of the club’s couches, or were getting their fix in the bathroom. Nice. It was like the floor was just for you two. Zoe was really jazzed, spinning you around to whatever trashy party song was playing. It was infectious. Her energy, not the song. You were having a lot of fun with the pink girl dancing with you. She tossed her hair back laughing at one point. Right then and there, you decided to throw all those things stopping you out the window. If you missed her come fall, you’d just drive the trip to see her. It would be worth it.

The other trio of people who had been dancing left, and now it really was just you two. It would have felt like just you two even if the floor was full. As the current song ended, the DJ looked at you in sympathy. “Alright guys, this is the last song okay, we close in ten.” He switched it to a Viper song.

“OH! I love this song!” Zoe’s smile got even bigger. You didn’t know that was possible. Somehow, she got an energy boost too. You had completely no idea how the firecracker you were with could stay lit well into the morning. If it wasn’t for your manic pixie dream girl here, you’d be groggy by now. She flittered around you, having a blast. It was adorable. She mouthed the words of the song to you, which would have been rather cute if they hadn’t been considerably sexual lyrics. You felt that blush come back for the umpteenth time that night. And she had that impish grin plastered across her face again, like she knew what she was doing. Zoe had gotten closer to you as the song winded down, you hadn’t noticed until it faded out altogether. Your eyes were wide. She booped your nose, giggling. You blinked, surprised. You felt your heart squeeze at how fucking cute that was.

She took your hand again as she pulled you over to go give Mimi a quick hug goodbye before you two left. You still had two and a half hours to kill until your shifts started at six thirty. Zoe’s favourite coffee house wouldn’t be open until five. As much as a nap sounded good right now, you both knew that it would just make you sleepier. And grumpier from being woken up after such a short time. Might as well pull out an old goth kid staple.

“Wanna go hang around in the graveyard?”

~ ~ ~

Zoe tossed her head back laughing so hard she hit the gravestone she was leaning against.

“Oof, you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” She rubbed her head and turned back to look check the name on the engraving, “Sorry Howard.”

“It’s too late, he’s offended now and he’s gonna haunt us,” you snickered, “Nice going, Zo.”

“Don’t worry Baby, I’ve been working on my exorcism skills. You know, since a certain dumbass brought spirits into the party last week.” Ah, Douxie, what a guy. Of course he hadn’t meant to ruin everyone’s night and release those ghosts. It just sort of happened. He was accident prone and you didn’t understand why people trusted him with cursed stuff like that to begin with. Luckily, within the number of wizards gathered, you guys were eventually able to find a way to banish all the spirits before any real harm came of it. It wasn’t a bad way to spend a Friday night. You got to live out your childhood dream of being a ghostbuster.

You looked around. The cemetery wasn’t as spooky as most people thought it was. Sure, there were strange noises, and endless headstones with disembodied names that meant nothing, and creepy mausoleums that cast big shadows in the moonlight, and a creaky gate that swung back and forth whether there was wind or not, but it wasn’t scary. Well, maybe that was just because you’d spent most nights of your teen years here, so you were desensitized to it. Zoe didn’t seem to mind it one bit either.

You glanced up and saw three of your crow friends on the top of the mausoleum across from you and Zoe. If crows could smirk these would be smirking. Fuckers. They were always around whenever you’d go out with Zoe. Watching so they could tease you later. Damn nosy birds. Why did you ever start feeding them. They were even there in a set of three, just to mock you. They may as well be singing “Y/n and Zoe sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G!”

You ignored the crows, pulling out your phone and flipping to your ebook app. Because you know what would make this just like old times? Some dramatic goth poetry. What a way to woo a girl. Zoe was fond of the idea of some poetry reading too. She told you that you could pick. At first you thought to read some Poe, perhaps starting with ‘Serenade’, but decided against it lest the bastards on the roof started demanding you read them ‘the Raven’. It’s happened before. You settled on some Keats instead. And you knew the perfect poem. A poem you could put all your emotions into. The most sapphic poem ever written by a man, in your opinion. If she didn’t feel the same, you could always deny it and say that you were just getting way into character. Either way it was going to make work weird, but you didn’t think you gave a fuck anymore. Here goes nothing.

“Had I a man’s fair form, then might my sighs

Be echoed swiftly through that ivory shell

Thine ear, and find they gentle heart; so well

Would passion arm me for the enterprise:” You took a big gulp of air. Zoe’s gaze was locked on you, and that didn’t make this any less nerve-wracking. You could feel your hands shaking. “But ah! I am no knight whose foreman dies;

No cuirass glistens on my bosom’s swell;

I am no happy shepherd of the dell

Whose lips have trembled with a maiden’s eyes.” With those words, a sudden burst of boldness in your heart caused you to take her hand. Must be the alcohol. Yes, that which hath made them drunk hath made you bold. Zoe didn’t appear to be breathing anymore. You looked back into her electric blue eyes. “Yet must I dote upon thee, --call thee sweet,

Sweeter by far than Hybla’s honied roses

When steeped in dew rich to intoxication

Ah! I will taste that dew, for me ‘tis meet,” Your voice became breathy as you uttered these last verses. “And when the moon her pallid face discloses,

I’ll gather some by spells, and incantation.” You just froze there, breathing. The ball was in Zoe’s court now. Speak of the devil, she was really close, like really close. When did she get so close. You hadn’t realized. She lifted a finger to your face and brushed a loose strand of hair behind you ear. Your breath caught in your throat. She drew closer, your noses touching now. Her eyes slipped down into a half lid. Your eyes flicked to her lips and she watched you. It occurred to you that she was waiting for you to close the gap. So you did.

It was fireworks. Of course, you were kissing a firecracker herself. It was a sweet kiss, but laced with that fire. You both pulled back for air, but quickly returned to each other’s lips. Zoe’s hands drifted down to your hips and she pulled you into her lap, leaning back up against that headstone. And now you were snogging in the cemetery. Mary Shelley would be proud. Howard, however, was probably pissed off for sure now.

Your breaths mingled as you gasped for air. Zoe caressed your cheek, cupping your face. She chuckled, “It sure took you long enough, Babe. I was starting to think I’d have to spell it out for you.”

You all but collapsed back into her arms, exasperated. Stars, it sure did take you long enough, didn’t it. You could hear and feel Zoe’s snort through her chest. You raised back up to gaze into those baby blues. A pang of adoration shot through your heart like one of cupid’s cursed arrows.

“How about I buy coffee, for our first official date?” Zoe agreed to your offer. You got off of her, legs wobbling like a baby deer. Speaking of deer, you were happy to see that the herd that usually hangs out here in the graveyard in the early hours was peacefully grazing around you two. You hadn’t noticed them come in, too busy snogging. You reached out a hand and helped Zoe up. You two brushed the grass off your clothes and gave one last apology to Howard before setting off for the coffee shop. Zoe checked her phone for the time. It was 5:23, you two still had almost a full hour to spend lounging in the coffeeshop before you had to head off to Hextech. Zoe reached for your hand as you walked back to Zoe’s bike. You threaded your fingers together. Something as small as that shouldn’t have felt as nice as it did. But it did.

You completely adored riding on the back of Zoe’s motorcycle. You got to cling to her, arms around her waist, pretending that you were holding her for romantic reasons and not so you wouldn’t fall off a moving automobile. You wouldn’t have to just pretend any longer now. The thought made you giddy. And now that you think about it, that was probably why Zoe had insisted on giving you rides everywhere for the past month. You were so fucking oblivious. It was painful. Thank the stars above she was patient with you. You snuggled further into her back, inhaling that rosy perfume. It truly was intoxicating, Keats. A girl could get used to this.

~ ~ ~

The coffee house barista recognized you two as you walked in and started making your orders that he had memorized. He greeted you cordially as you handed over the cash. He looked down at Zoe’s hand joined with yours, raising his eyebrows teasingly but not saying anything. Did everyone in this fucking town know about you two before you did? You think you might have beaten that Parisian catboy at his own game. How embarrassing.

Zoe got cozy on you guy’s usual couch while you carried over the coffee. After you set the mugs on the coffee table and plopped down, Zoe swung her legs up onto the couch, and over your lap. Didn’t exactly take you by surprise. Zoe often sat like this. You were used to it. Wait, was this also flirting? Stars, you didn’t even know anymore. This was so confusing. She noticed the face journey you had taken with the internal struggle, and grinned, shrugging her arm around your shoulders to ease you. You snatched your cup of the table and downed as much as you could handle before it got too hot. You were still really nervous, despite her being very clear about how she felt, and Zoe thought that was pretty funny.

“So, we’re gonna have to say something to people tonight,” Zoe started.

You just nodded in response. Hopefully this wasn’t going to make anything weird. You hadn’t been working at Hextech long enough to know how the dynamics worked. Maybe someone had been pining after Zoe too and now hated you. Maybe someone was Zoe’s ex and now hated you. Maybe someone was just really homophobic and now hated you. There were plenty of possibilities, you could go on.

“I was thinking we should wear these matching dresses I found last week, and sort of bought already, to double our cute couple factor.” She had murmured that middle part but you still heard it loud and clear. You had to hold back a squeak. That was so sweet. And adorable. She just saw the dresses in the shop and thought to herself ‘I want to wear that with Y/n’? You could die right now. You settled for downing more of that coffee.

“Yes! That’s so cool? I- What color are they?” You didn’t know how to handle this.

Zoe pulled out her phone and leaned over to show you the pics she took of them. They were matching, made of the same brown floral-patterned fabric, but different styles. Either one would go great with Zoe’s leather jacket, which you were still wearing. You’d go for your denim one. Not the purple jacket that currently hung off Zoe’s shoulders. The colors wouldn’t clash but the style of it would. This was going to be awesome, anyways. Matching dresses, telling your friends the best news you’ve had all year, having fun at the party, not having to spend the whole night miserably shoving your feelings aside? You couldn’t wait.

“Which one do you want?” You picked the looser, more flowy one. Zoe was more comfortable with tight stuff that showed off her body. You had a sneaking suspicion she already knew you’d pick that one, and was giving you the illusion of choice. It was sweet, really. Your phone alarm went off, alerting you that it was time to start the walk for work. All the relaxing time was gone. A crying shame, but you’d still get to spend the day with your favourite person just the same, so not truly that big of a loss. Albeit, Zoe didn’t look too pleased to have to go back to work. Laughing, you stood to your feet, and held out your arm for her to link through.

“Shall we go milady?” You two waved to the barista as you headed out the door. “I think you should do our makeup for the party again, really show off this time.” Zoe perked up, excited at the prospect as Hextech neared.

“And I’ll show off my hot new girlfriend too.” There was that damned blush again.

[neurodivergent-loverboy]

[Image description: a photo of green and yellow bicycle with four wheels, four sets of pedals, and two wide seats that look to seat two riders each. End ID.]

Imagine your OC squad riding one of these tandem bikes

[eirist]

A Taste of Summer II

A TASTE OF SUMMER

One-shot #: 4

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: I did say I planned to finish the prompts from the ZoNami Week 2020 at zonamievents in Tumblr. This is Day 4: Lemons and Oranges. It took a long time since it’s been hectic in work these past months, I can only manage drabbles. I have a lot of work-in-progress stories waiting for me to finish them. Anyway, enjoy my better late than never one-shot.

Summary: The moment he stepped inside it, the fruits’ fragrances wafted towards him, surrounding him. Sweet. Citrusy.

The island was idyllic… quiet even. It feels like they were the only ones who are currently there.

Which turns out to be the case.

According to Robin—and the documents she unearthed from the enormous library of the island’s dazzling villa—it was once owned by a rich couple.

It was their own private paradise but they abandoned the place for a reason most could guess… they realized how susceptible they are—living on an island which was smack right into the path of sailing pirates.

What a waste. He wasn’t a fan of summer islands but Zoro had to admit, even he was awestruck with how divine the place is.

It was utterly exquisite and amazing.

The previous owners were fools to let such a gem go. It was the perfect getaway island. 

And all of his crewmates think so too. As they are spending another day docked there—exploring, relaxing and just taking everything in.

Heaven knows how the Straw Hats need a break from all that fighting.

Zoro left the others dilly-dallying in the villa’s patio overlooking the great view of the sea and the stone port with the Thousand Sunny docked beside it, bobbing idly above the blue water.

He strode towards a random direction despite protests from Usopp and the stupid cook that he will definitely get lost.

Damn them! He does not get lost. How many times do they have to go over this?!

Nami had done an ocular from the crow’s nest right after they had anchored. The island wasn’t that big, you can actually circle it in a day and a half.

How will he get lost in that? Idiots!

He grumpily trudged forward, following the graveled path that was leading away from the villa. He can hear Luffy's shouts of glee as Sanji announced a barbecue soiree some time later. 

Zoro shook his head. As much as the dumb cook hates to admit it, he'd been spoiling everyone rotten in this vacation of sorts... 

Not that he’s complaining. There is food. There is sake. He wasn't an ungrateful bastard after all.

The balmy breeze from the ocean swept across him, bringing in the salty smell of the sea. That, coupled with the warm temperature and the soothing rhythm of the waves crashing on the shore was enough to make him dozy.

Yawning widely, he decided to just look for a good place to nap instead of exploring the area like he initially meant to do. 

He'll do it later. Or tomorrow... as it seems like everyone was still willing to stay for one more day. 

The path he was following veered towards the left. He hesitated for a moment, his body unconsciously steering towards the opposite direction—one without a paved trail and bordered with thick foliage no one can pass through. 

He grunted and contemplated whether or not he would cut and make his own way... but he didn't want anyone nagging him about how not to destroy everything in front you.

Especially one loud-mouthed, orange-haired navigator. 

He doubts if he'd be able to take on her yapping from the way he was reacting to her as of late.

Running a hand through his hair exasperatedly, he sighed and did a double take. He didn’t realize that he was now near the villa’s wide back patio.

There were stone steps leading down to a garden below filled with trees and plants blooming with different summer fruits and flowers. A paved walkway snaked across the expanse of the area leading to a tunnel-shaped trellis with lemon and orange trees growing on them, providing shade to anyone who would dare walk into it. The branches were intertwined above, the fruits hanging like dozens of prized crystals on a chandelier—their alternating colors of orange and yellow among the green leaves were pleasing to look at.

Zoro grinned and made his way towards it. Would you look at that? He found a perfect place to nap.

The moment he stepped inside it, the fruits’ fragrances wafted towards him, surrounding him. 

Sweet. Citrusy.

Just like Nami.

He made a tch-ing sound. He was thinking about her. Again. 

Seems like he's been doing it a lot recently. A lot.

He couldn't understand it at first. It was all so foreign to him.

It had taken Zoro sometime before he figured out what was really happening. And it took an even longer period before he finally acknowledged it. 

When they finally faced each other after their two years separation... everything just came crashing down on him. 

She had greeted him with the warmest smile on her face as they ran into each other—both intending to take a break from the celebration party held at Fish-Man Island.  

In that moment... he just got lost in her. 

And Zoro didn't know if it was the same with her. Or if that is even possible with her. 

But he can clearly see now that it is. 

And that threw him off because he was honestly not expecting it. 

He scratched the back of his head in frustration. All this thinking is really making his head ache. Especially after the recent events where they both seem to find themselves in that specific moment before a kiss happens. 

Should it? 

Fate seems to be pointing to the fact that it should, given how the two of them always end up in the same situation every time they are near each other. 

He wasn't a firm believer of signs and such, but given the circumstances… it seems like it was really inevitable. 

And it's not like he didn't want to kiss her. He absolutely wants to. Even more now after the whole water gun spectacle and how their lips were so close… almost grazing each other’s right after they had resurfaced from the ocean with their eyes locked on each other’s.

They were interrupted by the idiot cook yelling threats and throwing one of the water guns at his head. 

Nami had moved away from him almost immediately. And the look she gave him had his curiosity piqued. 

It was the same one he saw on her face while they were hiding behind the makeshift shelter in the midst of the water gun battle—a cross between understanding and acceptance.

The slight thud of a fruit dropping near him broke his thoughts. He stared at the orange globe as it rolled a few centimeters away, surprised that it didn't explode from the height of the fall. 

He picked it up, toying with it for a moment, enjoying the firmness of it in his hand. He ran his thumb across its smooth surface. His lips quirked up. He always secretly enjoyed the fact that her hair was the same shade as this orange and her beloved mikans. 

Damn it to hell he's turning to that aho cook now.

He casually threw the fruit up in the air and caught it. He decided to throw those thoughts aside as well for now and enjoy this little snack before settling down for a nap. 

He proceeded to peel it and then did a double take again. 

He didn't notice it before, but the citrus tunnel was leading to another area. 

Zoro moved towards the end of it to check. His eyebrows rose and he marveled at the wide orchard of lemon and orange trees before him. It was smartly hidden from the view that you cannot see it from the villa, giving it a kind of a secret place ambiance.

A smile appeared on his face again as he took in the perfectly lined trees before him. There was an odd feeling of satisfaction at their alignment, at the interchanging colors of their fruits, their stark contrast against the swaying green leaves.

"Zoro?"

He dropped the orange he was holding.  

Damn he should have known the chances of running into her are high.

Really, really high.

He turned towards the direction of her voice. Nami was standing between the rows of orange and lemon trees, with one hand on her hips as she regarded him. 

“Are you my back-up?”

Zoro paused for a moment and cocked an eyebrow at her when he couldn't figure out what she meant by that. “Your what?”

Nami blew at her bangs in exaggerated exasperation. “I mean, are you here to help me?” She asked again, nudging one basket filled with fruits with her feet.

Zoro's eye hovered at the containers near her legs.

She's fruit-picking? Voluntarily??? 

But Nami had them for that. She can easily order every—and any—one of them to do it for her. 

Especially him or that stupid love cook.

Pigs must be flying somewhere on this island.

"What is that?" He definitely and dumbly had to ask that.

"Uh fruits?" Nami raised an eyebrow at him. "Specifically lemons and oranges... shall I introduce you to them? Feels like you still haven't made acquaintances of each other."

"Very funny witch," he growled. "And no I'm not your back-up."

A frown marred her features. "Then why are you here? Usopp didn't send you? I specifically ask him to send someone to help me!"

Zoro gave her an unamused look. "Like he can order me around."

"Hmm true but…" She tapped a finger to her cheek, pondering. Then she waved her hand dismissively. "Well since you are here, I guess I'll have to make use of you somehow."

"No thanks. I need to nap now."

She gaped at him. "Seriously Zoro? Are you a kid? How many naps do you need per day?!"

He just shrugged. Sure, they may be on the verge of acting on the attraction that they had for each other and kiss somehow in the near future...

But damn if he will obey her just like that. 

He wasn't ero-cook after all. 

"Tell you what, I'll just go and tell your stupid cook to help you out."

"But you’re already here..." Nami pointed out, her tone turning a bit whiny. "Besides you will just get lost and never make it to Sanji-kun or back to me!"

"Oi!"

“Just help me out Zoro.”

“Why?”

“Because I can’t carry them by myself!”

“Just drag them or something. I’m not your pack-mule.”

“What’s the use of those stupid arms you tone every day? For display only?!” Nami hissed at him.

Zoro threw her a smirk, fighting the urge to flex just to irritate her more. “Yes.”

“Zoro!”

"It's your damn fault for trying to do this by yourself," the green-haired man grunted. Honestly, why didn't she ask him or anyone else in their crew to accompany her?

But him… especially. 

Damn that dumbass cook is contagious!

Maybe she needed to be alone with her thoughts as well just like you. A tiny, eety, beety voice that sounded a lot like Chopper reminded him. 

Nami stared at him surprised. "You mean, I should've asked you to come with me earlier?"

That snapped him into attention as his ears turned red. "That's not what I meant!"

"But you said I should've asked you," she repeated.

“I didn’t say anything like that!”

The navigator pouted. “Well I’m pretty sure you were insinuating that.”

“Temee…”

"Anyway, you were napping. Thought it'd be better not to wake you up."

There was never a time in their lives that she was this considerate of him. Regardless of how deep he was sleeping, Nami will most definitely wake him up just to order him to do something. 

Her mischievous smile had his guard up. 

Cheeky witch!

“I’m heading back,” he grumbled. “I’ll go tell your idiot prince that you need help.”

“Zoro!”

He ignored her screech and turned away from her.

The less time he spends with her... the better. It lowers the chance of them finally kissing until it blows over and they completely forgot it even have a chance to occur.

Because honestly, he doesn't know what to do after it. Or what will happen after it. 

That is something he still doesn't know the answer as of yet. 

“Why you…” Nami seethed as he started walking away. He was really grating every single nerve in her body with his no-nonsense attitude, even after everything that happened these past weeks.  

She grabbed a lemon from the basket and threw it at him. Hard. Channeling all the bottled up frustrations in her on that action.

"Take that you idiot!”

It hit him on the back, putting a stop to his stride.

Nami seized another fruit and threw it again… this time hitting the stupid, lazy man on his head.

Zoro growled lowly when he saw the yellow fruits bounced down the ground after hitting him.

“Nami!” He shouted, pivoting sharply towards her…

…and promptly got hit on the side of his face, this time with an overripe orange.

The fruit splattered on contact, its juices dripping down his face and neck.

His jaw clenched as his eyes settled on a cheekily smiling Nami who had another fruit in her hand, throwing it up on the air and catching it.

And he knows, damn he knows this is her payback for ignoring her request and for his stunt a few days ago…

…and for hesitating to kiss her and acknowledging what was between them... all rolled into one.

She moved swiftly and threw the orange in her hand again.

This time he effortlessly caught it, before a sneer appeared on his face.

He crushed the fruit in his grip and threw it back at her.

Nami yelped as she tried to get away in time, but the fruit remains still caught her and splattered on her chest and face. In a split second, he had another fruit in his grasp, crushing and throwing it at her again.

She squealed when she saw him broke into a run, heading towards her looking like he was going to tackle her down the ground.

She immediately turned, but not before throwing two random fruits at him and ran, dodging the trees that lined the orchard as fast as her feet will take her. She randomly changed directions, running towards the left then switching to the right…

Knowing Zoro’s ability to get lost in a straight line, she’d be able to throw him off the chase.

Her lungs were burning, her breaths coming out in gasps. Her hair whipped wildly behind her as the ribbon she had tied on loosened and was blown away by the wind.

She should feel threatened, afraid somehow. She doesn’t know what Zoro has in store for her once he caught her.

But she was laughing.

She circled a random tree, trying to catch her breath. Carefully she peered back at the direction where she came from. The swordsman was nowhere to be seen.

It was all so crazy. Crazy yet fun. She ran a hand through her now tousled locks. The ribbon she had on earlier must’ve fallen away when she dashed along the orchard.

Oh she will make him pay for this of course. This is his fault anyway. He was the one who started chasing her.

The smell of the fruits filled her nose. She pouted a bit at the stickiness of the juices clinging in her skin and sundress. Yet, the scents brought comfort to her and she let herself relax for a moment. Zoro was probably on the other side of the orchard, given how he always ends up on the opposite of where he’s supposed to go.

Trust him to really get lost in a straight line.

It was silent now, except for her heavy breaths and the sound of the sea. The wind started to pick up from the ocean, blowing lightly along the expanse of the citrus orchard. Citrusy scent filled the air, reminding her of that it is summer.

The breeze tousled her long, orange curls and she closed her eyes as it blew stronger.

Almost immediately it stopped. At the same time a shadow loomed over her, blocking the sun and the wind as well.

“Found ya.”

Her eyes flew open in surprise. Zoro was now in front of her, grinning roguishly. She honestly thought she lost him in the maze of orange and lemon trees with all the twist and turns that she made.

On instinct, she automatically moved to ran away again. But Zoro caged her in his arms preventing her escape.

“Oh no you don’t.”

She squealed in protest when his hands—still sticky from the fruits—held her by the arms.

Nami tilted her head and laughed. There were remnants of the lemons and oranges she threw at him earlier sticking on his face and shirt.

Still chortling, she reached out to wipe them off his face. He did the same for her, plucking some bits and pieces from her hair.

They were standing so close to each other now—a sticky mess with their breaths heaving and intermingling with each other’s.

Her hands found themselves resting flat on his chest while his had slid down to both of her elbows.

They were looking at each other, painfully aware that they are in that instant before a kiss again, waiting on who is brave enough to make the first move.

It was Nami who broke the moment first.

“Ok. Ok. I give up!” She snickered and grinned at the sheer childishness of what they had just done.

They were supposedly ruthless pirates, weren’t they?

“I’m charging you for all these Zoro.”

Zoro chuckled and released her. “How about I lug your baskets back as you want then we’ll just call it quits.”

“No.”

“Damn woman!”

“Oh no, no,” Nami shook her head as she forced herself to she step away from him. “You ruined a sundress, cost me a hair ribbon and I’m not even touching the fact that you threw fruits at me and chased me all throughout this orchard.”

“Oi! You were the one who did the throwing first!” The green-haired man retorted.

“Dame.” She poked a finger to his chest.

“Fine!” He said grouchily. But to her astonishment, he smiled at her. “Let’s head back.”

Nami nodded. “Yeah. I need a bath. I’ve been here for hours. Plus I feel sticky. No thanks to you.”

Zoro just threw her a smirk.

She followed him along the rows of citrus trees. It seems like now is still not the right time for them. There was still that hesitation… an uncertainty that lingers on the air between them, mostly from Zoro’s part.

And Nami had decided that she wouldn’t make the first move. She would wait for him. Because when he does… that means he is finally ready to deal with what’s between them and everything that comes with it.

For now she’ll just bask in these little, special moments with him.

The wind blew around them again, the citrus’ scents drifting up in the air once more. She was quite amazed that he was able to make his way back to where they had left the baskets of lemons and oranges.

Zoro was about to grab one, then he stopped.

Nami stared at him with a curious gaze. “Is there a problem?”

He looked back at her. With a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips, he shook his head. He had this expression on his face that clearly indicates he just realized something.

Taking a step closer to her, he watched her warm brown eyes widened in a mixture of surprise and excitement. 

"Zoro?"

The swords will dull if you do the opposite of what you really feel. 

Of course. He really is an idiot.

He bent down, finally claiming her lips with his. His arms went around her to pull her close so he could savor the feeling, the moment, the reality that he finally came to terms with what he really needed to do and what he wanted to do. 

She sighed softly and he felt the smile tugged at the corners of her lips as her own arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer to her and deepening their kiss. 

The essences of the fruits had found their way to her lips at their antics earlier. He savored the taste on her—the sweetness of the oranges, the tanginess of the lemons...

It was summer on her lips. 

And he was now addicted to it.