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hardstrawberrygardener · 8 months

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HOUSE CALL

Tags: Zayne x reader, fluff, domestic, beginnings of a relationship?

Warnings: mentions of blood, reader gets a wittle hurt

Synopsis: So grocery shopping went a little crazy, nothing a little house call from your primary care physician can't fix.

Author's note: hiyah! First time writing and posting a complete fic, sorry for any mistakes, and uhhhhh Zayne is my pookie, what can I say?

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

The rain had gotten temperamental over the last hour, swinging from drizzle to torrential in a matter of minutes. On any other day this would have lulled you to sleep but the itch of the cuts on your ribs and the flecks of dried blood under your fingernails were a sensory nightmare.

You’d spent the last half hour just catching your breath on your now slightly blood-stained couch, recounting the incident that left you oh so pained and disgruntled.

A wanderer attack in the middle of your grocery shopping disrupted you mid deliberation on which snack to treat yourself to, and in the flurry of dodging claws and diverting the wanderer’s attention from terrified shoppers you slipped on the slick, just-mopped, floors, allowing the monster to graze you with its serrated pincers.

The pain was akin to the worst papercut you’d ever had, times a billion and as wide as a discount banana. It really hurt. And the oncoming migraine was really not ideal. The knocking in your head was becoming louder, too loud. Like, someone actually knocking on your door.

Begrudgingly you push yourself off the couch and walk, or really hobble to your front door; the source of the knocking. A confused peak through the peephole and your stomach drops, cause if there’s one thing worse than getting hurt, it’s your primary care physician catching you getting hurt.

“Hey...” You crack the door open, enough to show your face, which you hope didn’t look as bad as you felt. “I wasn’t expecting you here…”

He’s sporting the usual aloof look, scanning what he can see and deducing that you’re hiding the worst from him.

“Your wound will get infected if you don’t clean it.” Blunt and on the dot. As expected of the infallible Dr. Zayne.

He doesn’t wait for you to respond and pushes the door the rest of the way open. Too exhausted to deny it, you simply step aside and follow him to your kitchen like a little duckling.

He’s already pulled out a first-aid kit, the one he gifted you himself after the last late night house call. You walked in while he was washing his hands and he’s not looking at you when he tells you to sit.

You plant yourself on the closest chair and he brings a bowl filled with water and a rag soaking in it.

“Lift your shirt.”

“Is this covered under my insurance plan?”

“Unfortunately, this is out of your service, you’ll have to pay out of pocket.” He gets on his knees so he's eye level with your wound.

“Gasp! Can I afford this? Doctor, please I hav-” Your monologue was interrupted by a candy he had unwrapped and popped into your mouth. Mhmm strawberry flavored.

“The patient needs to behave.”

Given that he’s still bantering with you, the injury must not look that bad.

Any response you would have had is cut off by the sting and shock of the cold rag he’s gently wiping across your ribs.

Silence fills the air and in the calm it finally hits you.

“Wait, how did you know I got hurt?”

He doesn’t answer at first. Opting instead to search for a gauze and scissors to cut it to size.

“I didn't. It was a lucky guess.”

“Huh?”

“I heard news of a wanderer attack near your place. ”

“That doesn't necessarily mean I'd get hurt?”

His fingers ghost over your skin as he finishes taping the gauze. Your eyes follow the trail of his hands. Large and littered with scars from his time on the field. Hands that have saved so many lives. Lost in your thoughts you almost miss the next thing he says.

“-Take off your clothes.”

“Excuse me?!”

He sighs and gets off his knees, now towering over you. He looks down and you think you see just the smallest hint of amusement on his face, but you blink and it's gone.

“I said,” he pauses and leans in closer, “you're still in your bloody uniform, you need to take off your clothes.”

“Ah.” Your mouth is dry as you mentally reprimand yourself for assuming he had meant something else.

“Do you need me to carry you to your room?”

“Nope.”

And with that you are on your feet, scurrying over to your room. You're changed and in much comfier attire in no time. Meanwhile, Zayne has since been inspecting your fridge.

He closes the door and you can already hear the lecture he's about to give.

“Before you say anything, I was going to buy groceries, BUT, the wanderer sort of distracted me.”

He sighs and closes his eyes for a moment before pulling out his phone. Deft fingers tapping on the screen.

“The food will be here in 30 minutes, you should drink water and rest in the meanwhile.”

“Huh?”

He walks off to grab a glass and fills it with water before coming back to escort you to your couch. Instructing you to finish the drink. His eyes hone in on the blood stains and his brows furrow but he doesn’t say a word.

He walks back to the kitchen, dampens another rag, and squeezes a few drops of soap on top. Before you can stop him, he’s kneeling on one knee and making quick work of the stains and patting the spot dry.

“Zayne, you’re being so domestic. Do you do this for all your patients?”

He places the rag on your coffee table and turns to you, and for the first time you’re actually looking down on his face.

You stare, taking in his eyes, a shade of honey green that you could spend hours poring over, like an ever-shifting image of a galaxy. When did you get so poetic?

The rain’s pitter patter and the soft ambience of lamplight make this feel like a scene out of a movie, the yellow glow softening his sharp features. He reaches over and palms your cheek, his thumb gently rubbing over your cheekbones.

“Only for my most reckless patients.”

You can feel the rise of your chest, the fluttering of your heart, and swallow slowly; eyes wander all over his face.

It’s only now that you notice that his hair is a little damp. You inch closer and you catch his eyes lower to your lips. Time moves at that infuriatingly slow speed like you’re dreaming, and the- DING DONG!

Delivery. Mood shaken, and sudden realization of what was about to happen, you both stand and look away. Zayne beats you to the door and grabs the food from the clueless delivery guy as you try your best to not stare daggers at him.

You go to set the table for two, but Zayne interrupts you.

“I have to go soon.”

“What?” Your disappointment clear.

“I just got a message, there’s a patient under critical condition I ought to check on.”

He places the food on the table, and you grab his hand to stop him.

“Wait, you ordered the food, you should take it.”

“I ordered it for you.” He replies cooly.

“Zayne!”

You can see that he has no intention of taking any of it with him and admit defeat.

“Fine. But I’m taking you out to lunch tomorrow.”

He smiles and gently pats your head. “I look forward to it.”

You walk him over to your door and hand him an umbrella, the rain still pattering outside. He turns to you and gestures for you to come closer.

Confused you inch closer and lean into him. His hand finds its way back to your cheek and he places a quick soft kiss on your forehead.

“This will do for now.” He smirks and walks away before your brain is able to process what just happened.

“For now?!” You barely manage to yell at him before he rounds the corner and disappears down the hallway.

Mouth agape, you’re about to go running after him but are promptly reminded of your injured state by a sudden stab of pain.

“Zayne!” You’re not sure if he can hear you, but you don’t care. The fluttering in your heart has you almost floating as you giggle and close the door.

You grab your phone and shoot him a message.

You: You’re bad for my heart.

Zayne: Good thing I’m your doctor.

#love and deepspace #zayne love and deepspace #zayne x reader #oneshot

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mothiir · 2 months

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a great kindness done

this is a sequel to the fic words rarely spoken but you don’t need to have read that to understand this. the only background is that the POV character is a serf who said one nice thing around peturabo, who responded — calmly and rationally — by dragging her off and jerking off onto her face. @moodymisty hope this is okay I wrote it in one go and couldn’t be bothered to proof read it so it’s not my finest work 😅

cw: power imbalance, dubcon in that no one reallyyyy gets the chance to say no.

—

It was not the Men of Iron who felled the corrupt government that held dominion over your planet, but the yellow-clad Imperial Fists, led by their father Dorn — and yet it was the Iron Warriors who rebuilt afterwards, smelted ore from the. cavernous depths of the planet, built barracks and cities and factories, and it is the reconstruction that matters more. Anyone can siege — it takes real talent to build —

“No,” Perturabo says, tearing your dress open with one flick of his wrists, your breasts spilling free. He kicks the door to his quarters closed, hard enough to dent the durasteel. “No, it’s — hard to siege —“

“Of course my lord,” you stammer, rewriting your internal script. “I’m so stupid, please forgive me —“

“Not stupid,” he growls. “Just human, foolish — “

He lifts you up with one hand, effortlessly strong, palm large enough to almost cover your entire arse as his fingers bite into the meat of your thighs. With his free hand, he fumbles at his armour; removing the entire suit would take time, and the assistance of the Iron Circle (he allows no serf near his armour), but he’s in a hurry, and so only bothers with his codpiece. It clatters to the floor with an uncharacteristic lack of care. You imagine the machine spirit within fuming at the ill-treatment.

“—sieging is hard, and rebuilding as well, and the people who hail the Fists are — are misguided, silly little children with shiny trinkets and —“

You don’t get any further into your mollifying speech; Peturabo’s tongue fills your mouth. He doesn’t kiss so much as attempt to lick your skill clean from the inside, his gauntleted hand biting bruises into your buttocks.

“You’re mine,” he says, pulling away. A strand of saliva stretches between his mouth and yours.

“Always,” you say, privately wondering what his reaction would have been had you done more than simply thank the Imperial Fist. For that is what set this whole affair off — all you did was smile, and thank the Astartes, because he had held a door for you. That was that. And here you are.

“Mine,” he growls, again, his voice slipping lower, into a register that sounds more chainsword than human. It frightens you on an instinctive, primal level — like standing before the merciless churning of a great furnace, and knowing that should you fall in, even your bones would be reduced to ash.

“Yours,” you echo. “All yours.”

It has been barely three weeks since the start of your — well, relationship is a strong word for what amounts to kidnap and a permanent assignment to Perturabo’s service. Rather: a permanent assignment to service Perturabo. The work is certainly easier than your previous role — cleaning, some mending, plenty of time on your back — but although the rations are better, you do wish that some of them were not routinely painted across your tits.

“Yes,” he says, and buries his face in your neck, inhaling deeply. His forehead crumples, as he huffs annoyance. “You smell wrong.”

“I’m — I’m sorry —“

You can’t help your gibbering apologies, even though you know it irks him when you show any outward sign of fear (“I’m not going to hurt you, you foolish little whore,” he once thundered, in a surprisingly unsuccessful attempt at comfort).

“No. Not your fault. Mine.”

He drops you onto his bed, standing before you, his cock level with your face. He strokes himself — once, twice — then shoves it towards your mouth. It bumps against your slack lips, and he grunts in frustration.

“Open. Now.”

You let your tongue loll out, slurping around his prick; he likes it when you’re messy and wet, drinking him down like he’s the only nourishment you’ll ever receive. For the first three days, you had thought this the case, until you realised that no, he’d just forgotten how often humans were meant to eat — he wasn’t planning to force you to subsist on a diet of Primarch ejaculate.

He rubs his length over your face, almost poking you in the eye a few times, deliberately working his pre-cum into your hair. He likes that as well: leaving you covered in the remnants of his pleasure, often refusing to allow you to wash it off afterwards. You keep your mouth open, like a mindless hole for him to grind against and spill inside.

“Not enough,” he mumbles, and catches your jaw with his index finger and thumb. “Need to be inside — this will hurt.”

You don’t have time to protest, or even ask what he means. He pulls smartly down, forcing your jaw open, and something clicks. Pain streaks up to your ears, and suddenly you can open wide enough to accommodate his cock. He moans satisfaction, and forces himself deeper into your throat, heedless of the scrape of your blunt, human teeth. Your body starts to panic at the lack of air; you want to pull away but you can’t; you want to breathe, but you can only manage strangled sips through your nose, and hurking gasps through a jaw that feels fucking dislocated —

And then it is over, and Perturabo pulls out, and the dark wings of terror beat a little softer. Drool drips from your abused mouth; your eyes stream. You want to ask him what the hell was that, what — and before you can think how to form the words he’s pushed in again, his fingers holding your mouth open, one hand cupping the back of your head to angle you to his liking. It takes him a few bruising thrusts to the roof of your mouth before he gets it quite right, and slides down your gullet in an implacable surge.

He continues like this for long enough that you lose track of time: your world reduced to the thick, sloppy sounds of him fucking your throat; the pain in your jaw; the slap of his balls up against your chin; the smell of him, like gunpowder and hot steel and something else, something completely inhuman. He takes you to the verge of blacking out — your vision blurring, your thoughts growing disjointed — and then permits you a hard swoop of a breath, before pushing back in. When he does eventually cum, it’s as you breathe in — you end up inhaling some of his cum, coughing and sputtering up the last little bit of your dignity, along with a wad of white gunk.

“My — my lord —“ you gasp, trying to form words: give me a moment to breathe, let me rest —

“You’re mine, aren’t you?” There’s an edge to his voice now — needling and hungry. “You’re all mine.”

He wrenches you up by the hair, catches your jaw and feels along the sides. You’re as delicate as a bird next to him, and just as fragile.

“Nothing broken. You’ll be fine.”

“Yes my lord. Thank you my lord.”

He grunts irritably, and you scramble to think what you could possibly have said — and then it occurs to you. Thank you my lord. Exactly the words you’d spoken to the Imperial Fist.

Before you can think of a better way to convey your appreciation, Perturabo has shoved your face back into his groin, this time forcing your lips against his balls.

“Suck,” he says, and you do: rolling crinkly skin against your tongue, taking the warm weight of them in your open mouth. Perturabo, a man of few words at the best of times, directs your mouth back to his cock by dragging at your hair.

The second time he cums it is all over your face. You get a brief reprieve as he wrangles off some of his armour, enough that he can clamber onto the bed without his limbs being held to stiff attention.

Then he flips you onto your hands and knees, slots his cock against your cunt — you feel him snigger at your panicked clench — then slides himself to his more accustomed place: fucking between your bruised, tender thighs.

“One day soon,” he pants, as he thrusts, “I’m going to fill that tight cunt up.”

“Yes — please —“ you reply, exhausted and sticky and barely able to string the words together. “But let me prepare — first —“

He leans over your back, hunching awkwardly so he can lick at your neck, his breath humid in your ear.

“Yes — will split you open — split you open and fuck you full and everyone knows that you are mine —“

He flips you back over before he cums, milking his release onto your chest. You feel his cum starting to dry in your hair, cling to your skin; you feel absolutely disgusting. And yet Perturabo looks at you with a bizarre mix of hunger and tenderness. Like you are just the most precious thing he has had the privilege to own.

By the fourth time, you think he’s starting to calm down. The rest of his armour discarded, the Iron Circle tidying as discretely as war machines can, and he has you stroke him off with your sticky, trembling hands.

“Open,” he says, and you let your jaw hang slack, the hinges still aching. His release spills all down your front as you make a lacklustre attempt to swallow what catches on your tongue.

You don’t think your throat will ever work properly again. Maybe he’s ruined it entirely, shaping it into nothing more than a cocksleeve for his use.

The tenderness is back in his eyes as he lifts something up to your face. Too fucked out and bleary to register what it is, it’s the camera flash that alerts you to the pict he’s just taken.

“Hey!”

“Shhh. This is just for me. Just to see how pretty you are. Just to remind me.”

He strokes your hair, heedless of the cum drying in it, and inhales deeply, grinning at how thoroughly you smell of him. No one will ever mistake you for anything other than his.

“And no more thanking Imperial Fists, yes ?”

“Yes my lord,” you say.

#perturabo/reader #my writing

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cmdrfupa · 8 days

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Balance

“Life is a balance between holding out and letting go.” —Rumi

3rd installment of Upheaval

cw: all chapters and content warnings are listed in this post.

an: My chest burned while writing this chapter but I had a wonderful time creating domains that I really resonate with. I hope you enjoy it. Thank you for reading!

May 20th, 2020

1, 2, 3, 4, 5

The wind picked up as you cleared the second story of the school. Your decided approach of coming in from the ceiling was proving to be a fine one, fortunately.

2, 2, 3, 4, 5

A cold gust blows through the cracks in the walls, sending a chill through the hall. The dampness of the air produced a clammy feeling on your skin.

Heavy rain collided against the side of the building as the wind picked back up, creaking floors creating a more intense eeriness that filled the space. There is a sense of desolation, amplified by the cold weather and the vacant feel of the once-thriving primary school.

“Service is horrid out on the island. But I'll send confirmation once I'm heading back into the city. And can someone tell Kento I know he's calling? We’ll talk when I'm back.” You stepped down to the middle of the stairs, Sliding your phone back into your pocket when your ears popped simultaneously.

3, 2, 3, 4, 5

You activated ocean requiem, summoning a tight, shimmering barrier of water around you as a shield. This didn't feel like a grade 2 curse in the slightest and knowing Mei Mei… caution was a necessity in this situation.

The air felt like it was being taken from your body in a snap as the gravitational pull increased, attempting to crush you under immense force.

The walls crack, and debris falls, the sheer panic thickens your water barrier in response to the stress. Your emotions—fear, determination, anger—fuel the cursed water. As you push forward, the water pressure increases, forcing the gravitational force to push harder.

“You can't breathe. You can’t move. Let it kill you.”

“What the fuck are you!! Where are you!!”

A tentacle lashes out, stretching to pierce through the barrier. The immediate moment of contact and the curse violently reacted. You stepped forward, waving your hand counterclockwise, splashing back at the curse and sending it across the room with a thud.

Your frustration grew with each heaving breath— you're fighting a special grade curse. An opponent beyond your usual limits. You couldn't even pick this up from your sweep. They were hiding, fluctuating their energy until you were within their reach.

“You fucking pussy.” Emotions spiked, and your water barrier began to churn wildly. The abandoned corkboards flung to the floor as you approached your mark. “Hiding in the shadows until you could grab me?” eyes wild with rage-induced panic as the pressure inside the barrier is so intense that even touching it would cause immediate damage. Staking a chance to grab you again, a tentacle is pulled into the barrier’s vortex. The water wraps around it, dragging it deeper as if to drown it. “All over fucking Mei. That two-faced, bitch.” The dangerous parameters of overwhelming emotion caused the barrier to become unstable, allowing Arkugetsu to find a weak point.

4, 2, 3, 4, 5

Regardless of your attempt to drown it, it retaliated with something that increased the gravitational force to near-unbearable levels. The floor beneath you both shatters and your barrier starts to buckle under the intensity. Arkugetsu looms larger, its body shifting and writhing as it prepares for what seems like a final attack and panic like no other sets in until you hear a familiar voice calling you.

“Dove!”

“Kento!“

The rushed sound of heavy footsteps approaches the wide-open basement floor as Kento goes in for a direct slash.

You close your eyes, feeling the tentacle wrap around your torso with a vice-like grip but take the distraction as an opportunity to take a deep breath as you envision the tentacled beast.

“Silence the World.” gently spilled from your lips and instantly the atmosphere is changed.

The air grows thick with static-like energy, and suddenly, all sound vanishes. Arkugetsu’s screeching and rumbling of its gravity-induced destruction are silenced. The battlefield was swallowed by complete auditory stillness as if the world itself had gone mute.

Dark, hazy mist rolled in, trapping You and Arkugetsu within.

All is dark for Arkugetsu as it twirls around swinging its tentacles, the usual sound of air rushing past is absent, throwing off its sense of direction. Without sound or spatial awareness, the curse is unable to precisely aim its strikes as you take note of the silence surrounding the curse.

An inaudible whisper flowed from your mouth as a silent, focused whirlwind of energy surrounded Arkugetsu’s body.

“He doesn't love you. You're just... Comfortable for him. And he can find comfort anywhere.”

With precise control, you direct the whirlpool toward the curse, increasing the pressure on its massive form. The thickened cursed water presses down from all sides, trapping the curse in a suffocating vortex. It writhes, trying to break free, but the silence disorients it.

“If you die. He’ll move on pretty quickly. Mei Mei seems to have always had her eyes on him.”

5, 2, 3, 4, 5.

There.

“Silence.” bellowed across the hazy plane, you stared down the curse, giving your final command in the soundless void.

The whirlpool tightens around Arkugetsu, and your water barrier condenses into a seven-prong harpoon made entirely of cursed water. You launch it toward the curse’s core, focusing every ounce of energy on its demise. As the spear pierces through, the silence deepens.

For a moment, the curse freezes in the water, its form warping and breaking apart under the immense pressure as you pull it back towards you as if you'd lassoed a bull.

Arkugetsu tries to let out a final roar, but in Eternity’s Silence, that sound is swallowed whole.

Falling to the ground with utter exhaustion coursing through your body, puffs of water vapor shakily leave you as your domain comes to an end. The silence fades and the sound of the heavy rain pouring brings you back to the ruined school.

Cold. Hard to breathe. Stuck.

“And when he’s done with you, you'll know.”

“Dove.” Kento rushed to your side, wrapping his jacket around your shoulders before he helped you to your feet. His attempt at looking in your eyes failed.

“I'm sorry. She told me you could handle it and I-“

You saw Ijichi standing nearby, ignoring Kento to make your way towards the car.

August 13, 2021 (Present Day)

Saying you felt exposed would've been the understatement of the century. Your second couples therapy session started so calmly, promising. This felt like your diary being read in front of the class.

Ootaishi gave you a moment to gather your thoughts, pouring both you and Kento glasses of water as she asked her first question.

“You okay?”

“Yea. I'm alright.” your voice was dry, uncomfortable from your memory.

Kento looked over at you as he took in what he just witnessed. He'd never seen your domain, for obvious reasons. But to have seen it and heard what made you push through that fight. That's where you go when everything else is too much.

“The counting. May I ask what that’s for?”

“It's a time signature.”

“Any particular reason why you use time signatures to keep your anxiety at bay?”

There was a time you could answer this question and it made your heart skip a beat. Where you could start the story and let Kento tell the rest.

“I suffer from panic attacks when I find myself in questionable situations. Kento noticed this back when we were just dating and of all things, numbers being absolute helped me reel myself in.”

Kento looked down at the wing tips of his shoes as you stared off into the distance.

“When I told him I suck at math, he told me to use my favorite song or time signature to keep calm and keep me from overloading myself to avoid my barrier buckling.”

Ootaishi made a quick note as she listened intently. The room began to shift energy as you silently watched her pen scribble. “Mr. Nanami?"

“Yes?” He came back from his own passing thoughts, looking at the therapist who was now holding the talisman in her hand. A purple glow radiated from the stone as she ran her fingers over the grooves.

“Do you mind telling me who Mei Mei is? To you exactly.”

The talisman seemed to really enjoy the mention of her. It flickered a hue of silvery blue.

Kento should be use to the bluntness of the words Ootaishi spoke but every syllable made him want to jump off the couch and throw the damn talisman into a pit.

“Mei Mei was an acquaintance of mine.”

“Was or is? Do you still keep in contact with her?”

You turned your torso towards Kento, not knowing the answer to this yourself.

“Yes.”

Nose flared like a bull, you gulped to keep yourself from overreacting.

“What does she have to do with the incident on Ikijima Island that your spouse was sent to?”

“She was assigning missions that day as it was part of her role.”

The side eye you gave him was lethal. You could only laugh to keep the immense amount of energy from allowing you to combust.

“She gave the assignment. She told me it was a grade 2 after a few locals reported some disturbances that aligned with recent incidents on nearby islands.”

The antsy energy began to build and you couldn’t sit anymore. “But even those weren’t grade two. And you know who went to handle those? More than one person.” The room felt like it was only growing smaller as you leaned against the built-in bookshelf next to the door.

This memory being the first time you felt the shift in your relationship wrangled up a slurry of emotions you didn’t expect.

It was your first solo mission after Kento expressed discomfort with Yuuji and you being on the same mission. His alleged rationale was that he didn’t think you’d work well together but he didn’t have it in him to say the true reason then.

Ootaishi watched you with a close eye. The energy began to fluctuate in the room as her barrier hazed every time you stepped closer to the walls. Trying her best not to alarm you, she brought the talisman to her chest, prepared to curtain if the opportunity arose.

“Do you feel she sent you there with ill intentions? Or simply miscalculated the situation at hand?”

Kento should’ve been smarter about his way of handling this conversation. He grew to see Mei Mei as someone more of an acquaintance who knew him at every pivotal moment of his life. Part of his past that kept him there. Where he was comfortable.

Every suspicion you had since the moment you met her built up inside you like a volcano waiting to erupt. And Kento being honest about who she was to him could’ve saved you the trouble of feeling this way.

“She didn’t know it would be that bad. I even ripped into her about the poor communication and lack of information. If she knew a special grade curse was in that school-“

“She would’ve sent me there just the same and had you out to dinner by her side before my body even began to go cold.”

“Don’t. You don’t know Mei like that. That isn’t the kind of woman she is, dove.”

“Don’t dove me, Ken.” You stepped towards the couch. “When I’ve tried being cordial she is incredibly cold. And for fucks sake, she ran at Shibuya. Ran and made a profit while you almost lost your life. And you can take up for her?”

“She had reasons and you can’t be upset-“

“Like hell, I can’t.” The pain in your voice made him Kento hurt. Your eyes were glossy fighting back tears. “Don’t tell me that when I had to watch you struggle to live in a fucking hospital. Don’t tell me shit.”

Silence fell across the room. Your heart beating in your ears as you felt it . The lingering pain of what you knew would come next.

Ootaishi placed the glowing piece down on the table and Kento knew lying would be the worst choice. “Do you confide in her, Kento?”

He stood up, the desire to grovel pending as he reached out to you. He held your hand firmly.

“She has known me since I was a student. She and I are different in every single way but she knows me and has seen my evolution from some teenager with no idea of the potential I had to a man who found himself.”

“Just say yes or no. Do you or have you ever confided in her more than you have with me since we’ve been together?” Your eyes pleaded as Kento fought internally.

Searching. He was searching for grace. Where if he told you everything, would you still have the same grace you had with him before? His lips parted, but Kento could only nod.

You pulled away as if you’d been touched by a plagued man.

“Nothing is going on more than talking. I haven’t ever slept with Mei Mei, I have never even thought about it, it has never been something I have ever wanted. I swear.” He saw the display of discomfort and didn’t take a step toward you.

“This feels just as bad.”

“Honey I swear. I haven’t ever spoken ill about you to her.”

“That doesn’t even matter, Kento. You tell her everything else. That feels like...” You blinked profusely, losing to the tears that fell down your cheeks. ‘Do you not trust me? Have you fallen out of love with me?”

His worst fears came to life as he watched you second guess yourself with each moment that passed. He reached out for your hand not allowing you to pull away. “I trust you with my life. You have my heart, my soul. I would give my last just to have you look at me the way you do. Please. Look at me, dove.”

“Have you ever expressed unhappiness in your marriage to your spouse, Kento?” Ootaishi tried to get your session back on track as the tension didn’t have an end in sight. “Since you both separated earlier in the year.”

“No. I was never unhappy. Happiness was never a question.”

“Does Mei Mei encourage you to work out your problems at home?”

“She is more of a listening ear for the things I don’t want to burden them with.” Kento drug his hands down his face, his body was still in a numbing shock as he mindlessly sat back down. “When I was a salaryman, Mei reached out to me. We reconnected then and it’s just me getting out the frustrations of my life. But my limit is the intricacies of my marriage.”

“Ken, what do you mean burden me? We’re married. Your burden is mine to carry with you and defeat together.”

“The night we met. We went to the late-night diner and talked. I mentioned my reason for leaving sorcery behind the first time.”

“Of course. Your friend Haibara. You told me how much that affected you then.”

Kento brought his hands to his eye, breathing deeply as the emotions rushed back to him. The feeling of existential dread nipping at his sanity if it was that day all over again.

“It still does. That burden is mine to carry and I think about him so much. Every single day.” He finally looked at you. “I almost died in Shibuya and I accepted death because the guilt of surviving this long. If I died, it would no longer consume me.” He shook away the thoughts. “I see Yuuji and see success and he doesn’t need me. I see you in combat. I see you in how you teach your courses and I tell myself you don’t need me. I didn’t think Haibara needed me but here we are.”

“Kento,” you scoot to his side, bringing his hand to your lap and running your thumb across his palm. “You were children. Children who were given very little to be successful in that mission. You can’t fault yourself for a mission that was flawed from the beginning.”

His free hand clawed his knee. His jaw clenched as he stared at the floor, eyes glassy, unfocused. He blinked rapidly, trying to push away the burning sensation behind his eyes, but it only made the tears well up more.

“Kento. Is this why you push your wife away? Have those memories been coming back?” Ootaishi placed the box of tissues closer to you and you pulled a few out, ready in case he needed them. “When you’re ready, talk to us.”

“Yes.. No..” Kento drew in a shaky breath, the weight of everything crashing down on him all at once. His chest tightened, and he shifted his weight, trying to find a distraction, any distraction. But the room felt too small, the silence too loud. The thoughts he'd been burying for years now clawed their way to the surface, too strong to suppress anymore.

“Take your time, Ken.”

“Yu is eternally 17 and I’m 31 and losing the only thing that has shown me grace in my life because I’m stuck.” His shoulders trembled slightly as the first tear slipped down his cheek. He wiped it away quickly, almost angrily, as if he could stop the flood by sheer force of will. “I didn’t want pity or a solution. I just needed someone to listen. Mei Mei just listens and doesn’t say anything and that's what I needed. To just have a wall that knows me and listens.”

You kept your reservations to yourself about Mei Mei, seeing that this is the vulnerability you’d been begging for. “Did you think I couldn’t handle your turmoil?”

He shook his head “I know that you can. That’s the problem.”

Searched and searched his face for what he meant. “The problem?”

‘You were forcing my peace to be disturbed so I couldn’t be complacent. You were forcing me to heal when I wasn’t ready to move forward.”

He leaned forward, pressing his palms against his eyes as if the pressure could stop the emotions from spilling out. But it was useless. Kento’s breaths became more labored, hitching in his chest. His body began to shake, and before he knew it, a soft sob escaped him.

You offered a quiet but powerful gesture of support by placing your hand over his heart as you gently rubbed his back. “Kento. You’re needed, but not for your strength or agility. We don’t need a warrior out of you. We. I.. I just need you and who you are.”

It was quiet, almost imperceptible. But it broke the dam. “I came back to try and prove a point that I’m needed. But I’m tired of carrying it all. I want to grieve and finally move forward.”

The weight of his words settled in the room as Kento let out soft, quiet sobs that seemed to seep from deep within.

For the first time in weeks, he let himself feel it all—every bit of pain, sorrow, and regret that had been gnawing at him. And as he sat there, his quiet sobs filling the room, Kento realized how tired he was of pretending to be strong.

August 19th, 2021

The familiar comfort of your once shared home made your heart feel light. Photos and furniture were still in their place as you walked down the hallway and to the kitchen.

Ootaishi suggested taking a few days separately to think and then talk outside her office about what the next step could look like before your upcoming session as you’d officially had a “breakthrough.”

Borderline emotional cheating and survivor guilt. Kento wrapped his head around two concepts he would’ve written off as some type of empty psycho-speak if he was ignorant to the practice. But there it was. Avoidance, guilt, pouring his emotions into someone else, heightened sense of fear.

He planned on finding a way to implement therapy into the jujutsu world when he could do so. But for now, he was looking forward to dinner.

The automatic lights came on in the kitchen as he thanked you for the 5th time since agreeing to cook dinner for the both of you.

“You really don’t have to do this. I would’ve been fine with grabbing leftovers or ordering takeout.” He unbagged the groceries onto the counter as you took the opportunity to look inside the refrigerator.

A six-pack of beer, a third of a steak with two Brussel sprouts, and a sliver of Guinness cake sat on the top shelf as the rest was filled with various condiments and half-eaten leftovers that had met their end. “No offense Ken, but this is not enough food for a grown man. You’re eating like a university student.”

His hoarse laugh filled the kitchen with yours as he began to wash the vegetables while you grabbed the cutting board and knife. “I haven’t been eating at home as much the past few weeks. It’s been either grabbing dinner with the guys or a late-night concoction that I half eat at 2 in the morning.”

“I can tell. Thank goodness for today.”

The sounds of the kitchen being brought to life were the background music to your conversation. Small talk that led to being taught to quick pickle for the best side of pickled garlic you could make. Kento glimpsed at you as you julienned the carrots with deep concentration. Your hands move with care and precision with each slice. Hips acutely swayed as you hummed a tune he knew all to well and he felt the emotions he once swore off for eternity now rushing back for the now fourth time this week.

There was no doubt in his mind that you saved him. And the only thing he had to show for it was how cold he had been to you over the last year. Your spirit never wavered as you stayed patient. He didn’t deserve you.

“Dove?”

“Hm?” Not one to look away from your cutting, you hummed to show your attention being given.

“May I have a hug?” His voice was soft, shy like a youthful schoolboy.

You sat the knife down, looking up to find his warm eyes as you dried your hands. “A hug?”

He nodded with slight hesitation. “Yes. If you feel up to it. I know it’s an odd request, but I’d really like a hug.”

There it was.

Vulnerability looked you in the face as Kento stood there feeling uncertain and anxious for the first time in years. Shifting on the balls of his feet as the night stood still.

You opened your arms, welcoming him in like the warmest sweater that money couldn’t buy. His face immediately went to your hair as he engulfed you like a flame. His warm chest greeted you with his tightening hold around your waist. “I’m so so, sorry.”

“Ken.”

“You’ve given me all of you. For so long without question because you’re an angel.” His large hand came up to the nape of your neck, gently cradling your head as he staved off the part of him that wanted to shut you out.

There was the feeling of unquestionable love that was shared in your embrace. His eyes were tired, showing remorse, grief, and pain all at once. “I’m not an angel by any means. I let this go on for too long without talking about it until I couldn’t even be in the same room as you. I don’t want you to ever feel like you can’t come to me. I’m your partner, your wife. I knew what I was signing up for when we met.”

“You didn’t sign up for holding me while I drunkenly cried in our bathtub.”

“To be fair, we were both drunk and crying that night. And it was my idea to get in the tub in case I couldn’t make it to the toilet in time.”

Kento huffed a laugh at you as a tear rolled down his cheek and onto his shirt. You wiped the trail away with your thumb. “I want to make us work. I don’t care how long it takes to get through every session with you. I want to spend the rest of my life making up for the past 135 days of being away from you and 483 days of being a complete fuck up.”

“It won’t be easy or kind to either of us.”

“I don’t expect it to be. And I don’t expect you to forgive me for my transgressions. I can only hope to earn your friendship and love again.”

Kento went downon his knees, those brown eyes that held pain and desire looked up to you. He no longer contains his emotions but allows the floodgates to release all that he felt.

“I’m so sorry.” lips like hot coals pressed right about your belly button, his hands bruisingly at your hips as he nudged your shirt up with his cheek.

“Please forgive me.” you ran your fingers through his hair as the languid brush of his tongue across your torso made your body tense up. “I will grovel.”

“Ken. This isn't necessary.”

Disagreeing with your comment, he shook his head. “Yes. It's more than necessary.” A puppy lost, needing his owner, his tired eyes looked to find you looking down on him like the goddess of forgiveness. “Every breath I take is a gift from you. You are my way of life. My breath. The beginning and end of my being. I will withstand the depths of hell to have your forgiveness. Faust harbors my soul if it’s you I have in return.”

He unbuttoned his shirt as he slowly rose from the floor. The soft, blonde hair that was sparingly spruced on his chest caught the light as his weight pushed you against the counter. Breathing hitched, you tried to remain exceptionally placid. “Kento. Only if you’re ready.”

“179 days.”

Your brow furrowed as you tried to comprehend his words.

“The last time I was inside of you was 179 days. And I don’t want it to become 180. But only if you’re ready, my angel.” His husky voice made your thighs instinctually squeeze together. “I want to start my apologies while I give you every part of me.”

lovely graphics by the lovely @/saradika-graphics! <3

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #nanami kento #nanami x reader #nanami kento smut #nanami angst #jjk nanami #nanami x you #nanami smut #jujutsu nanami #jjk angst #jujutsu kaisen fanfic

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dross-the-fish · 3 months

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"So, you're Doctor Henry Jekyll, are you?" John Watson gritted his teeth and did his level best to stay calm despite the very sight of the other man's face inspiring within him a deep seated loathing the likes of which he'd never experienced in his life. No criminal he and Holmes has put away had ever incensed him like the wretched canker of a man staring up at him now with mocking, avaricious, green eyes. "Was Henry Jekyll. Don't ever call me by that name," came the testy reply between long drags of a cigar. Something in the way the man was puffing and tapping his foot and fairly bouncing in place made Watson want to kill him on the spot. Ignorant or indifferent to Watson's discomfort the man continued."You know my secret but don't forget I know yours too. I've seen what that boy turns into once the sun goes down and if you want me to cook up a serum that will keep him human you'll be a little more accommodating," the odious little Scotsman blew a puff of rank smoke into Watson's face with a grin that made the old doctor want to knock his crooked teeth to the floor. He was an absurd creature, barely taller than five feet, in an audacious, oversized fox fur coat and a suit that seemed far too fine and expensive for a man of such rough and vile countenance. Despite this Watson felt as if the room around them had grown smaller; cramped and stifling under the weight of of the fiend's presence. Watson exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to ward off a growing headache. "What do you want, Mr Hyde?" "Room and board, my own quarters in this fine manor. Nice ones, the best you have with a modern bathroom adjoining and an adjacent space for my lab. A gentleman oughtn't live like a rat in a wee little hole. I'll also expect payment for my services. I've a lifestyle to keep up," Edward barked in his thick brogue. Before Watson could answer Lawrence Talbot, who had been deathly quiet in his chair with his head in his hands spoke up, "Done! Whatever you want! Just please, help me." "There's a sensible lad," Edward crowed with a harsh, grating laugh, "Chin up then, Doctor, we're colleagues now. Looks like I'm joining your little crew after all." As the man left to take his pick of the unused bedrooms Watson sank down into a chair near Larry's, feeling sick to his stomach as the smell of smoke lingered long after Edward had gone. "Heaven help us all..."

#Crossover AU #Jekyll and Hyde #Edward Hyde #Lawrence Talbot #John Watson #goth lit

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dantesunbreaker · 9 months

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Hey hey hey. I noticed your requests were open and am taking this chance to ask for some Dad Secondo content. I crave soft Secondo and I am currently starved.

A Calming Embrace

Secondo x Reader(Platonic)

Sorry this took so long! Been so busy with planning and preparing for Christmas! But here is a small little piece of supportive Secondo!

An almost buzzing hum vibrates through your mind with a near echo as you try to pull your habit even tighter around your body, praying that it could simply make you disappear. Tears sting your eyes, cheeks flushed and dripping. You feel small. Pitiful. The crushing weight of responsibility weighing heavy down on your consequently not so steady shoulders.

This was so unlike you..or at least that is what you would like to tell yourself. Normally you were much stronger than this. But times like this were becoming far too regular of an occurrence ever since the start of the latter quarter of the year. Ever since your decision to take on extra studies on top of your already busy schedule in service of the Clergy.

Sleep has been far from your concerns for many nights, trying instead to cram in as much researching and reading as you could in the quiet solitude of the library. Which is exactly where you find yourself now, tucked away in one of the library reading nooks, wishing that the world could just fall away if even for just a few moments so you could get yourself back together. At least you are alone, without worrying about someone seeing you in the pits. Or at least that is what you think, up until you hear the familiar click of dress shoes walking on the stone tile floor.

Your heart jumps in your chest, but by the time you hear the sound, it is already too late to make an escape or even try to hide your tears. Eyes remaining fixed in place, you try to keep your composure as the bottom of elegant black robes suddenly block out your field of view. No, please anyone but him.

“Piccolo,” you flinch at the timbre of Secondo's voice, focused on his shoes as you nervously wipe away a few more tears. “What are you doing in the library at this hour? Siblings of Sin should be in bed at this time.”

Instead of a verbal response, you are cut off by your own choked hiccup that poorly conceals what could have been a sob. Another crashing wave of embarrassment hits you. Letting out a small whimper, you drop your head and try to curl in upon yourself. How could you let a Papa see you this way? How lowly would Secondo think of you now that he is seeing you at your worst?

But instead of harsh words or a lecture, you feel a soft touch on your shoulder. Gasping softly, your eyes lift up to meet mismatched ones that are unexpectedly at your level. Secondo rests crouched down to your level, features soft despite the stern look painted onto his face. You think that perhaps this is the first time you have ever seen such genuine concern glimmering through his gaze, and it strikes a chord in your heart that has you trembling as you lean into his touch.

“Tell me, what is troubling you?” There is no malice in his voice, no harsh criticism, or judgment. No, all that you hear is the softness a father would use to speak with his own child. “Are you hurt?”

Sniffling, you furiously wipe your nose with the back of your sleeve as you drop your gaze and shake your head. As more of your weight pushes into the hand at your shoulder, Secondo shifts to allow you to rest against his chest, one arm wrapped securely around the back of your shoulders. It hits you with a wave of safety and warmth.

“No, I am not hurt Papa,” you finally manage to gather the strength to mumble out, bottom lip still wobbling but your tears finally beginning to dry. You tilt your head up to look him in the eyes once more. “I’ve just been so overwhelmed lately. Trying to squeeze in extra studies on top of all my duties for the Clergy...it has been becoming too much for me. I feel like I barely have time to even think, let alone sleep. I feel weak, like I am a failure, and a let down to the Clergy.”

Secondo gives an understanding hum in response as a hand at the back of your head encourages you to rest your cheek against his collarbone. It soothes you in a way you haven’t felt for a long time. Feeling the support from such an influential figure in your life.

“It can be easy to feel overwhelmed by work,” Secondo keeps his voice soft as he cards his fingers through your hair. Words of comfort haven’t always been his strong suit, but damn if he did not try. “Even as Papa, I sometimes feel the same. Always so much to do but never enough time to finish it all.”

Another sniffle leaves you, but you remain silent otherwise, waiting for Secondo to continue. The hand at your shoulders rubbing firm circles into your tense muscles.

“But that does not make you weak. It only means that you are human,” Secondo leans you back just enough to catch his eye, making sure you can feel the intensity and truth behind his words. “There is no shame in admitting that things are too much, and in fact, I am incredibly proud of you for being able to share with me.”

Tears once more sting your eyes, but from an overwhelming sense of love and affection, from finally feeling seen. Secondo gives a soft smile before he tucks you back against his chest, giving no complaints even as he feels the tears soaking through his robes. For the longest time, he simply holds you until you are quiet once more. Even then, he stays with you up until you finally shift around, feeling restless from staying in place for so long.

“Come tesorino,” Secondo breaks the silence with a soft voice, yet firm confidence that made it clear there was not much room for argument. He stands first, hands upturned in offerance to help lift you back onto your feet. “Let’s get you back to your quarters for some much needed sleep. I will meet with Sister Imperator in the morning to discuss reassigning some of your duties.”

#ghost the band #the band ghost #papa emeritus x reader #papa emeritus #papa emeritus ii #papa emeritus ii x reader #secondo x reader #secondo #ghost fanfiction #asks #requests

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preciserestumping · 6 months

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Floor Levelling Services Near Me

Are your interior floors sagging or sinking? Aside from being an unattractive safety hazard, they can also lead to structural issues and even compromise the integrity of your foundation. Fortunately, there is a quick and easy solution: professional concrete leveling. Unlike other types of floor levelling services near me, concrete leveling doesn’t just fill in the cracks. Instead, it lifts and restores sagging or sinking concrete floors back to their original position.

Concrete leveling is not only an economical way to fix sagging or sinking floors, but it’s also one of the most effective. By repairing the underlying problem that caused the slab to sink or settle, professional concrete leveling prevents further damage and saves you money in the long run.

If your concrete is sagging or uneven, it’s important to act quickly. Uneven or sagging interior concrete floors are not just an eye sore and a safety hazard, they can cause significant damage to the structural integrity of your home or business. Uneven floors can also reduce resale value and may lead buyers to walk away from your property altogether.

Despite its reputation as a strong and durable material, concrete is susceptible to failure due to shifting soil conditions underneath the surface. Uneven or sagging concrete floors are often the result of this kind of shift and can lead to expensive and difficult repairs. Professional concrete leveling services are designed to fix these problems and return your interior concrete floors to their original condition.

How Much Does Floor Leveling Cost?

Depending on the amount of work needed to restore your interior concrete floors, they can be as inexpensive as half the cost of replacing them. That’s why it’s important to hire a professional who has the experience and expertise needed to get the job done right the first time.

A professional concrete leveling company will first prepare the area by removing all furniture, baseboards and appliances from the room. This is essential to ensuring that the floor leveler will not be smeared or ruined by other elements. Next, they will sweep and vacuum the entire area to ensure that it is dust free before applying the leveling compound.

When it comes to concrete leveling, the type of material used is crucial. There are a variety of self-leveling products on the market, each with its own unique application. For example, a self-leveling underlayment is a polymer-based product that has a batter-like consistency and easily flows into dips, holes and other areas of your concrete floor that are uneven or slumped.

This product is great for leveling concrete floors that are only slightly uneven or sloping. It can also be used to create a smooth surface on which flooring such as tile can be installed. However, it is not designed to lift sagging or sagging concrete floors back up to their original position. For this, a stone slurry or foam leveling system is typically used.

Precise Restumping & Underpinning successfully maintains a reputation for delivering quality, reliable and sound services to clients all over New South Wales, with a licensed builder that personally oversee all work.

#floor levelling services near me #cracked wall repairs #cracked brick wall repair #cracked brick walls

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m4ctavish · 2 years

Text

Alejandro Vargas — 141. (Pt. 1)

Masterlist.

Pairing : Alejandro Vargas/GN! Reader

Desc : Developing interest in a 141 soldier wasn’t exactly on Alejandro’s bingo card but here we are.

A/N : I’m here for the Alejandro love. Also, 1) ¿Nuevo perrito faldero? = New lapdog?

Alejandro Vargas :

The moment you stepped off the transport helo and onto the airstrip, Alejandro’s eyes were on you.

There was just something about you that drew his attention and he couldn’t quite place it. Was it your gaze? Perhaps the way you carried yourself? Or was it the way you tilted your head at him in silent inquiry?

He brushes it off as simple curiosity, though. You were something new in a place of familiarity and it was just human nature to be curious about the unknown, nothing more.

But it could never just be that, could it?

You were quite curious about him as well, though. He was one of Laswell’s many contacts but he was a new face, one you were inclined to learn more about.

On the drive through Las Almas, the two of you exchange stories from your time in the service with you telling about some of your near death experiences in the 141, as well as some of the more absurd moments (things like free falling out of a transport helo, hanging out of a moving vehicle, etc.); Alejandro inquires about how you came to work under Taskforce 141. (It’s not really that exciting as it may sound though. Price presented you an offer that’d make use of your skills and you accepted, nothing more nothing less.)

Aside the raw magnetism you seem to emanate, Alejandro is drawn to your efficiency in the field. He likes the way you work. (He’s watching you intently as you kick down the door to a building, a stun grenade being thrown in to the fray soon thereafter. Moments later, you’re cleaning up house with a few quick but well aimed shots, a sharp, “Floors clear. Moving to next level,” following suit)

On the trails through the mountains, you’re following close behind him, careful not to lose your footing on the rocky incline. This isn’t exactly how you imagined your week would be going; running from the Mexican Army, sliding down some countryside trails with bullets raining down on you from every angle. But some things never go according to plan, do they? (And to be fair, you signed up for this.)

If you do lose your footing, he’ll be sure to pull you upright with a playful but subtly flirty, “Falling for me already, eh?”

When it comes to the drop off of the cliffside, you’re following right after him, “I HOPE YOU’RE RIGHT ABOUT THIS, COLONEL!” The wind is whipping past your face and your heart is pounding with adrenaline as the water below you continued to get closer and closer as you descended. Alejandro hit the water sooner than you did, surfacing just moments before you breached the water’s surface and were sent under. It’s absolutely fucking freezing and you’re soaked, but you’re alive.

I feel like his interest would build gradually but I also don’t think it’d be anything serious yet. I don’t think he’d be announcing his love for you by the weeks end considering the short amount of time the campaign took place over but I think it’d still give him enough time for him to be like, “wow, this person is cool. maybe i should talk to them more when we aren’t at risk of dying.”

What’d really get him though is if you actively went out of your way to protect one of his people and/or him. Be it by pulling them behind cover or tending to his wounds if it’s just the two of you. (The two of you are sitting in a building, with you crouched beside Alejandro as he propped up against a wall. You’re tending to a wound on his upper arm, a tense silence washing over the two of you. You’re keeping pressure on it with your left hand as your other scoured around for whatever it was you were looking for; preferably some wrap and gauze. He’s wincing every time you shift your fingers; you’re trying your hardest not to hurt him but it’s a bit hard to avoid. A quiet, “ ‘M sorry,” escapes you as you shift a bit closer, finally having found whatever it was that you were looking for. He gives an affirmative, “Hm.” He’s trying to distract himself from the pain with the way your hands move, gloved fingers now stained a deep crimson. When he finds himself unable to look at your bloodied hands any longer, he’ll find himself looking at the way your eyes glance this way and that way, as well as the color of them. “Got me good, no?” The question isn’t exactly directed at you but you find yourself huffing a small laugh and shaking your head, “If they were any better, you might be dead right now.”)

Meeting Valeria/El Sin Nombre is when things get interesting and somewhat difficult. She picks up on the way the two of you share a few glances every now and then almost instantly, sending Alejandro a curt, “¿Nuevo perrito faldero?” (1) Of course what’s going on between you and Alejandro is nothing serious yet and if anything is just back and forth banter with some subtle flirting, but the fact that she picked up on it that quickly is enough for him to get defensive fairly quickly. You know better than to respond to her and her ribbing— she just wants a reaction out of you. (But does knowing that stop you from responding? That’s up to you ig)

#alejandro vargas x you #alejandro vargas x reader #colonel vargas x you #colonel vargas x reader #call of duty x reader

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barry-j-blupjeans · 1 year

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Arcade Carpet and Totally Chill, Nothing Can Prove Otherwise with Dealer's Choice :3

object + emotion prompt list here! send some in!

18. Arcade carpet

4. Totally Chill, Nothing Can Prove Otherwise

"Sir," said the tiny fancy boy at the prize counter, "are you using wizardly magicks to make the funky fresh carpet pattern into penises?"

The air was rich with the smell of sweat and obtrusively smelling cleaning products. Taako had been on shift for exactly four hours so far and it was not getting any better. It wasn't getting any worse, either, but who could say what would come next? The lights were just as flashy and headache-y as usual. Taako had snuck to the sound booth (read: the computer that controlled all the music that had a neon label that said SOUND BOOTH) and lowered the music to a reasonable level, but some godly power had turned it right back up.

Honestly, who could blame him for having a little fun? The worst day at a children's arcade was better than the best day at a court-ordered anger management class. Or however that saying went. He usually wouldn't revert to messing with the decor until about five hours into his shift, but he was feeling a little spicy today.

Plus, it's not like anyone could prove it was him.

"Nah," Taako said, leaning against the counter. "It's always been like that."

"It— it hasn't," the fancy boy says. He's got a light-up wand that he got from Taako's counter earlier. He'd been in here for an hour or so already, methodically going around the building and figuring out how to get the most tickets. He'd already come up to Taako four times to ask about game mechanics. "It was triangles and circles before."

"Mmmmh, nope," Taako said. "It's always been dicks."

The fancy boy frowned, looking at the carpet again. He took a few steps back towards the gaming area and then stopped.

"No, sir, it stops here," he said. "It's— it's very clearly not penises from this point onward— oh, well, now this is just rude, sir."

The floor magicked back to normal, except for about a two-foot circle around the fancy boy. When he took a step, the far superior, expertly crafted pattern followed him like a shadow. He scurried back up to the prize counter, a scrutinizing look on his face. He then glanced over his shoulder, as if someone might be watching their interaction. Honestly, Taako figured that if someone was spying and able to hear over the suddenly deep chorus of Fireflies by Fantasy Owl City, they deserved to hear every word.

But the fancy boy seemed to think the coast was clear. He leaned over the counter and said, in a low voice,

"Is magic not banned in here?"

"Read the sign, kid," Taako said, pointing the the sign above his head that read "NO MAGICKS ALLOWED IN THE ADVENTURE ZONE©." In smaller text, below it, it read, "for full Adventure Zone© magic related rules and services, please see one of our friendly PARTY MEMBERS for details."

"Yeah, but you just did magic," the fancy boy said. "So there's no like, barrier or runes to stop magic use inside the building."

Taako liked the turn this was taking. He raised his eyebrows at the fancy boy.

"You could say," he said. "And why, pray tell, are you asking?"

"Well," the fancy boy said. "If I pay the games the normal, non-magical way, it'll take me approximately nine hours to get enough tickets for the detective kit you have on the wall."

The fancy boy pointed at the wall of prizes. Near the very top, above the long plush snakes and the bin of Hot Wheels, a shiny play-pretend detectives kit was sitting, priced at 14,000 tickets, which was truly absurd.

"Only, I don't have nine hours, sir," the fancy boy said. "And frankly, I don't have the pocket money for five hours. So if, maybe, we could turn a blind eye to the rule— which seems very important and I respect that— then I could be out of here in about, uhm! Thirty minutes, tops. And then you don't have to deal with me and the birthday party that's about to start."

Both of them looked at the mom trying to wrangle her excited child through the doorway. The child had a pin on that said "BIRTHDAY GIRL". She looked like a feral cat.

"That's a tempting offer, little man," Taako said. He glanced around. No one was gonna come up to the prize counter any time soon. These kids were too sugar-powered to care about anything more than beating each other in stupid arcade games for babies. "You get me one of those fucked up bears—" Taako pointed at the wall behind him once more. Slightly below the detective kit was a poor attempt at a teddy bear, which looked more like a failed demon exorcism. "And we've got a deal."

"Deal," the fancy boy said, holding out his hand. "It's nice doing business with you Mr…" he squinted at Taako's name tag. "Tay-co?"

"You never pronounce my name like that again and we're good to go, kid."

#taako #angus mcdonald #taz #taz balance #mine #ise cube writing #asks #a-vampire #thank u felix!!!!

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the-lonelybarricade · 1 year

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Queen of Thieves - Chapter 5

Summary: A fulfillment of this kinkmeme prompt. Or; A Canon AU where half fae, con-artist Feyre makes an ill placed bet.

Dedicating this chapter to @kcladylotus 💕

Read on AO3 ・Masterlist ・Previous Chapter

Feyre watched Rhysand carefully stir his tea.

There was an unnerving precision to the way he moved, like even the dark circles rippling across the steaming surface possessed some hidden meaning she was supposed to uncover. He was staring at her, violet eyes expectant, sensuous mouth smug.

They were sat in the High Lord’s personal study—though study was such a mundane, meager word for the multi-level room complete with two sitting areas, a mammoth desk piled neatly with books and paperwork, and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves on nearly every wall. Feyre didn’t doubt they were meticulously organized, though the spines close enough to decipher were just a blur of symbols and letters to her.

“Did you sleep well?” He asked.

Morning light filtered through one of the tall windows on the second level, casting gold over his handsome features. She could see the undertones of blue in his hair, and the flecks of silver in his irises, reflecting like mischievous stars. It was ridiculous, Feyre thought. High Lord of the Night Court, and even the sun strived to flatter him.

“I slept fine,” she said. If he wanted her to acknowledge that she’d fallen asleep on him, if that was the reason he looked so pleased with himself as he continued stirring his tea, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “Is there a reason you summoned me here?”

She’d known, of course, that the High Lord’s games with her hadn’t ended at dinner. The bargain pledged her to his service for a full day, so it was no surprise that Nuala and Cerridwen had woken her up at dawn. The High Lord clearly intended to seize every moment he’d been promised. And she supposed she should be relieved she was asked to meet here, in the decidedly unprovocative study, rather than in his bedroom. She’d half expected a request to deliver him breakfast in bed, so this… this was a relief. Even if his smile made her feel as though she’d fallen into a viper den.

“We’re going to work on your daemati abilities,” he said, setting down the spoon. There was no sound, but Feyre watched the polished wooden table between them ripple beneath his touch, like it too was made of liquid. She blinked, and the wood was again rigid. Ordinary.

It was so strange that his words took a moment to settle in. Then she looked up at the High Lord, startled to find that his eyes locked on hers with such intensity that she resisted the urge to shrink back.

Feyre asked warily, “Working on them how?”

“Two things,” he said, holding up his pointer and middle finger. “First, your mental shield is sloppy. You need to work on reinforcing it so that people like me,” he emphasized his words with a sharp caress of talons against the edge of her mind, “can’t barge in whenever they please. Second, you must learn how to protect yourself when venturing into someone else’s mind.”

“Don’t bother,” Feyre said, crossing her arms. “Don’t go into someone’s mind if they have a shield—lesson learned.”

Rhysand raised a brow and shifted back into the sapphire velvet sofa, crossing one leg over the other as he took a long sip of his tea. “You misunderstood,” he said, setting the cup back on the ornate saucer he held aloft. “These are not suggestions, Feyre.”

She tilted her chin at the shift in his voice. It wasn’t sharp. Nor threatening. But there was an edge to it, lethal as the side of a playing card.

“If that’s how you want to spend your time with me, High Lord, then fine. I anticipated I’d be spending more time on my knees.”

“With a sharp mouth like that?” He chuckled. “My fingers are the most I’d risk going near those pretty teeth. But if you want to make this more entertaining, Feyre, we certainly can.”

He set down his cup and saucer, and only the tea rippled this time. Where had the tea even come from? There wasn’t a teapot in sight, though someone as powerful as the High Lord could likely wave his hands and conjure it himself.

Feyre snorted internally. How nice of him to offer her a cup. Maybe it was all part of his game.

“More entertaining for you, maybe.”

He smirked in a way that told her she’d made this infinitely worse for herself. In the back of her mind, some residual human instinct hissed at her to just go along with whatever he wanted to make this as easy and painless as possible. Feyre knew that’s what she should be doing, and yet… and yet she couldn’t resist pushing back against him at every avenue, yanking back on her chain just to see how much give she was allowed.

“I think I could ensure that it’s plenty entertaining for the both of us,” he purred.

In a fluid movement, he rose from the sofa. She couldn’t help noticing how his powerful legs flexed beneath his close-fitting trousers, even as she tensed in preparation for whatever he was about to do.

Rhysand stepped away from their sitting area, striding on graceful feet toward the wrought-iron spiral staircase to the left of the entrance. “You like a bargain, don’t you, Feyre?”

She was grateful that his back was turned so he couldn’t see how her face heated as her gaze dropped to the ink on her arm, visible through her long, pale blue gossamer sleeve. Feyre clenched her fists, refusing the urge to tuck her arm out of sight. She would not be ashamed of what she needed to do to survive.

People like him would never understand. People who lived in houses like this, with staircases in their study that they could perch themselves on oh so smugly, stretching their irritatingly long legs to the floor. Feyre glared at him as his knees spread open in a silent, obscene invitation.

“Let’s make another bet.”

She’d already entered into one fool’s bargain.

“No.”

He offered her a mock pout. “You haven’t even heard the terms.”

“I don’t need to,” she said, gesturing to the whorls of ink on her forearm. “I’ve already learned that you don’t make wagers unless they’re already fixed in your favor.”

“And of those markings on your arm, how many were fixed in yours?”

All but one. All but his.

Feyre wouldn’t dare admit to it, but they were alike in that way. A level playing field wasn’t enough, not when the risk of losing was so high. Losing meant another day without eating, so Feyre found ways to ensure she would always win, even if that meant cheating or lying or stealing. It didn’t matter if it wasn’t fair, or honest. Or good. Not when she knew the people she was playing against would be using their every possible advantage, too.

Especially the High Lord, who was grinning at her like he’d been there to witness every game she’d ever fixed, like he knew her every trick. There was an underlying humor in the way he clicked his tongue.

“I see you don’t appreciate when the tables are turned on you for a change.” He slid his hands into his pocket. “Have it your way, then, Feyre. If you don’t want to influence the terms, then there will be no bargains. Instead, I’ll tell you precisely how this will go, and you’ll have no choice but to play along.” He cocked his head to the side. Feyre straightened as those talons scraped against her mind, and he purred, “We’re going to play a game called real or not real.”

Whatever he wanted to do to her. Those were the terms. She had to clench her teeth to stop herself from outright refusing him. Even if she refused, the bargain would force her to comply anyway. She might as well preserve her pride.

“That’s it,” he murmured, sensing the waver in her defiance as his shadowed claws caressed and stroked the outskirts of her mind. Then, faster than she knew how to defend, his magic lashed out, shattering her shield as if it were little more than glass. His talons gripped her, digging in hard enough to still her breath. “Now the rules are very simple, Feyre. I’m going to ask you a series of simple questions. Each time you answer wrong, you’re going to step closer to me.”

Feyre had never been on the receiving end of someone entering her mind. Was this what it felt like, all those times she had slipped into the minds of drunken males? They had never seemed to notice, but this… this was dominating. Every muscle, every breath, every pump of blood now yielded to Rhysand’s command. And his hands were still in his damn pockets.

She wouldn’t ask what would happen if she answered enough questions incorrectly to make it to the staircase. From the way he’d spread his legs, it seemed he was changing his mind at his refusal to see Feyre on her knees.

Look at you, he crooned. So pretty like this Feyre. You can feel your heart rushing, can’t you? I can practically see it leaping in that beautiful throat of yours. Tell me, is it really beating so thunderously, or is that something I just told you to believe?

She could feel her beating fast. Not only that, she could hear it roaring in her ears. Was that something that Rhysand was making her imagine? It couldn’t be. She pressed a hand to her chest, and her heart rose frantically to meet her touch. Feyre was inclined to believe it would always beat fast so long as Rhysand was in the room.

“Real,” she said.

He grinned. “Very good Feyre. That thunderous mortal heart is hardly my doing. It’s been beating like that since the moment I met you in the alleyway. Skittish little thing, you are.”

“Prick,” she said.

“Prick I may be. But you’ll be thanking me if you ever encounter another daemati who tries to implant this pretty mind with falsities. Now. There’s a golden thread connecting us together. It’s faint, but you can feel it tugging, can’t you?”

As if to illustrate, she felt that same amused tug that had pulled at her in the bathing room the night before. Its force was strong enough, now, to make her breath hitch.

“Real?” Rhys asked. “Or just my mind playing tricks on you?”

Golden thread, her ass. She knew that pull was from one of his talons. “It’s a trick,” she said flatly.

“Wrong.” Acting of its own accord, Feyre’s body sat up and lifted from the sofa. Her movements were stiff, unnatural. A puppet being pulled at the strings as she pivoted towards the staircase and took one large step towards a grinning Rhysand. “We’re connected now, Feyre. Through the magic of our bargain.”

“I’ve made lots of bargains before yours.”

“Yes.” His eyes slid over her tattooed arm. His smile curbed. “But all of those bargains were transactions of coin—quickly fulfilled. You’ve threaded your life to my will for an entire day. That kind of magic is powerful.”

There was an air of admonishment in his voice. As the youngest of three sisters, Feyre could guess when someone was trying to teach her a lesson. She flashed her teeth. “What’s your point?”

“My point, Feyre, is that you have been reckless. Playing with magic that you don’t fully understand. Those headaches you sometimes wake up to. Real or fake?”

The answer was so obvious that she wasn’t going to respond.

He pressed harder, as if he could pry the words into existence.

Real or fake, Feyre?

“Real,” she snarled. “And what does it matter to you?”

“You are going to destroy yourself if you don’t learn how to control it.”

Who? She wanted to scream. Who could have taught me about any of this? I have just been trying my best to survive.

“You have me to teach you. You can sense that I mean you no harm. That my offer is genuine. Real or not real?”

What did he want out of this? What did he stand to gain? Feyre couldn’t understand his games, or his motives, but she knew she wasn’t afraid of him. Not nearly as much as she should be after watching him slaughter his captain without blinking. Last night, she’d felt comfortable enough in his presence to fall asleep in his lap. But was that calm, that sense of rightness, something he’d planted in her mind, the same way she’d convinced the tavern keeper not to raise the price of their rent?

“Not real,” she said.

“Wrong answer.”

She took one long step, then another. Just a few more, and she’d be perched in front of the High Lord.

“And that thrill in your chest, Feyre,” he said, his eyes holding that same dangerous gleam they’d had at the tavern, before he trapped her in this bargain. “That excitement you feel as you contemplate exactly what I might do to you once you’re between my legs. Is that real?”

Feyre knew what he wanted her to say—to confess. But she wouldn’t. She couldn’t. Even if that meant taking a step closer and damning herself to whatever devious plan he had in mind.

“Not real,” she said, and he laughed.

“I’m beginning to think you’re answering incorrectly on purpose.”

She swallowed, saying nothing as her body yielded another three steps. Her toe hit the bottom stair. Rhysand lounged before her, feet planted on either side of her legs, elbows tucked casually on the step behind him.

Slowly, he pushed up, rising until his face was an inch from her stomach. Feyre tried to stumble backward, but her legs and shoulders locked, leaving her defenseless to the broad hands that curved over and around her thighs.

“And your arousal? I suppose you think that’s my doing as well.”

“It’s all fake,” she insisted. “There’s no truth wound in this magic. You can move my body regardless of what I say.”

“But that scent,” Rhysand purred. He took a deep inhale, eyes fluttering shut. “I can’t fake that, can I, darling?”

Could he? Feyre didn’t know what to believe, which of her senses were capable of betraying her while those talons hooked her mind.

Rhysand exhaled, and the air danced lightly over the section of midriff left exposed from her low-hanging trousers. It was a deceptively soft breath, for the havoc it wreaked inside her, like a tender breeze had slipped past her skin and become a typhoon in her stomach, flipping and tumbling until she wasn’t certain she would be able to stand were it not for his hold on her. Was that the work of a daemati or just the sheer force of his proximity?

His voice was a dark rumble as he mused, “I wonder which will bow to me first. Your body, or your pride.”

“Neither,” she said, flashing her teeth.

An empty threat, considering her attempt to thrash against his magic was little more than a kitten batting at his leg. He grinned like it was immensely satisfying to watch her struggle. She could hear the amusement practically dripping from his every word as he cooed, “What’s your next move then, Feyre?”

Real or not real, real or not real, real or—

It didn’t matter. If she could just break out of his hold. She wouldn’t need to answer him or play this stupid game any longer.

“Go to hell.”

“Come now,” he said with a tut. “For ten thousand marks, it’s a fairly straightforward question to answer, no? Do you think the ache building between those delectable thighs is real or something of my diabolical invention?”

If he touched her, she knew the evidence would be damning. Even so, she snarled, “Not real, you stupid prick.”

He smiled. “Wrong answer, Feyre.”

To further the taunt, he spread his legs wider, and she tried not to study the muscles straining against the fabric of his trousers. Feyre expected this was where she would be dropping to her knees, and she’d been so braced to kneel before him that she nearly yelped when her body jostled forward instead, onto the first step, then the next.

Rhysand leaned back on the stairs, face nothing short of delighted as he watched her step carefully over his body and come to a trembling halt on the same step where he rested his head. Slowly, as if his magic truly needed to brace her entire weight, Feyre lowered to her knees, arms shooting out for balance as her body hovered just over the High Lord’s face.

She could no longer see his expression, but his shameless glee still carried in his voice. “What did you say about spending more time on your knees?”

Cauldron. He was so close she could feel each of the words vibrating in his chest before he spoke them. So close that if he lifted his head a fraction higher, his mouth would brush over the seam of her cunt.

“This is a magnificent view, by the way,” he said. “I wonder, Feyre. If I pulled these garments off, would you be wet for me?”

Feyre took that to be a rhetorical question. With his head practically buried between her thighs, the scent of her dripping arousal had to be smothering. Rhysand placed a hand at the top of her leg, fingers curling inwards. She bit her inner cheek, feeling every muscle in her body tighten in response to his warm touch.

“You’re thinking about what it would be like to feel my tongue on you.”

She shut her eyes, trying not to imagine it. She knew he would take his time, slowly unraveling her sanity with the same methodical calculation he’d used to get her in this position in the first place. But would he come undone, just a little, too? Would his eyes flutter shut at the taste of her—would he moan, like he couldn’t help himself?

Feyre clawed her fingernails into the marble step. “Get out of my head,” she gasped.

You let me into it, he said, craning his neck to run his nose against her inner thigh. Practically invited me with those shields down. Did you want me to listen to all of your filthy thoughts about me? If you’re so curious about the noises I’d make eating you out, I’d be more than happy to demonstrate.

She squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head. “It’s not real.”

What’s not real? He nuzzled the junction between her hip and leg. The wetness between your thighs? Or maybe the stone beneath your palms?

What? She blinked, her vision blurring for a moment, where she swore the marble rippled beneath her fingertips. Rippled like the tea, and the wooden table, and the ocean far beneath the cliff face. She felt like she was tipping over that edge now, already feeling the air rise to meet her.

“Could it be the sound of my voice? Is that real, Feyre?”

No—no, no. Something was wrong here. Beyond the game, or the soft touches against her thigh. The stone at her knees didn’t ache. The sun streaming from the windows on the level above cast a strip of golden light along her tattooed arm. Its touch wasn’t warm, nor was the marble cold. The only sensation that Feyre could truly feel was the golden heat that spread through her body from Rhysand’s touch, ardent and gentle and—

Not real.

Feyre pushed against the stone, watching it ripple like she was staring at little more than a distorted reflection in a pond. She shook her head in a last, feeble attempt to dislodge the claws digging into her mind. If she pushed hard enough to unlatch one of them, another would take its place on the other side. There were too many of them—he was everywhere.

She was trapped inside her own head.

His laughter was low and soft, and didn’t come at all from the body beneath her. It shook through the walls, reverberated through the stone.

Well done, Feyre. Now how are you going to get out?

If she could move, she would throw herself over the iron railing in the hopes that the fall would jolt herself into her body. But his magic kept her pinned, straddling either side of his face.

You could give in, he suggested, voice a lover’s purr. Rest, and enjoy the remainder of the fantasy.

“It’s not my fantasy,” she snapped.

Isn’t it?

Temper boiling to the surface, Feyre slammed herself against the magic caging her. The recoil sent her teeth ringing, and stars sparked behind her eyes, but she did it again, thinking that if she just knocked against him enough times, she could force him out through brute determination. He may have been influencing the vision, but this was her mind. Her dream to control, to manipulate.

Feyre shut her eyes, thinking of the surface of the unruly ocean she’d spent a lifetime gazing across. A force of nature that could not be wielded or contained, even by a narcissistic High Lord. She imagined that she was that rising tide, building like a wave. Already, she could smell the sea spray and hear the cry of gulls, and she was certain if she opened her eyes, they would no longer be in a High Lord’s study, but on the cliffs of Velaris, where she so often dreamed of diving beneath the surface.

Good, Rhysand murmured.

Her nose curled. She didn’t care about his praise. She only wanted him out.

Feyre let the wave rise, building higher and higher until it was large enough to sweep them away. She took a gasping breath of air, opening her eyes in time to watch the peak curl into white foam, moments before it struck violently against the cliff.

A new claw seized her, this one icy and merciless. She yielded to its grip—so strong that the siege on her mind was forced to relent, his talons unable to keep her in their grasp as she was dragged down, down, down into the bleak depths of the winter sea.

When she next opened her eyes, it was to a wooden panel of a large, four-poster bed. The velvet curtains were pulled shut, keeping out any light or chance of telling the time.

Feyre rolled to her side with a small groan and yanked one of the curtains back. It was dark in the room, too. Someone had pulled the thick curtains over the large bay window, determined not to let an ounce of light disturb her slumber. Feyre shifted her legs over the edge, noting her bare skin peeking out of a nightgown she had no memory of changing into.

Work of the shadow wraiths? Or was it…

Movement caught in her peripheral, and Feyre turned, yelping as a pair of bright violet eyes met hers from the corner of the room.

Rhysand, lips curled in smug satisfaction, uncrossed the ankle he’d slung over his knee on the large armchair. “Good morning, Feyre. Sleep well?”

It could not only be morning.

“Well, we are pushing into the afternoon. But you looked like you were having such a pleasant dream. I wouldn’t dare wake you.”

Feyre turned, searching for the nearest item she could use to wipe that smirk off his face. She settled for a beaded throw pillow, hissing as she lobbed it at his head, “You’re a prick.”

“And you need to work on keeping your shields up when you sleep.” He caught the pillow easily, frowning at the purple beading. “And your aim, while we’re at it.”

It required every ounce of willpower not to flop back into the bed and scream into the leftover pillows. Or better yet, use them to practice her allegedly poor aim. She’d only just woken up, and the thought of enduring his company for the remainder of the bargain made her feel exhausted.

Ten thousand marks, she reminded herself. Her sisters would be able to go to bed in a room that they could comfortably stand up in. Nesta could buy a new book, and perhaps they could even find somewhere with a garden for Elain. For her sisters, she could do this.

“If I’d had nefarious intentions—”

“Nefarious intentions?” Her voice strained in disbelief. “You trapped me! You touched me.”

Rhysand shifted, elongating the shadows over his eyes. “Per our bargain, you’ve agreed I can do whatever I’d like to you, to start. But don’t forget, Feyre. I was in your head the entire time. I know precisely how you felt about what I was doing to you.”

Prick. Prick, prick, prick.

“Your shields are still down,” he added flatly. He lifted effortlessly from the chair, crossing the room with three brutal, elegant steps. Feyre leaned back slightly, wariness skittering across her spine as he drew close enough that she could smell the sea spray of the ocean on him. “And say what you’d like about me, Feyre. But this room is still suffocated in your arousal. That was no manipulation on my part.”

He stood to his full height, eyes still on hers. Feyre tilted her chin, refusing to look away.

At this, Rhysand released a soft, huffing laugh and shook his head. “Let the twins get you something to eat, then meet me in the study. Clearly, we have a lot to go over.”

Rhysand broke eye contact first, but there was no victory to be had in the way her eyes fixated on his back as he strode to the door. Unable to look away and equally unable to hold in her question. “Why bother to teach me anything at all?”

In a few hours, she’d take his money and set off with the resolve to never cross his path again. If he wanted a whore, she didn’t understand why he was wasting his time with… any of this. Unless the High Lord was confident they would be seeing each other again after their bargain was fulfilled.

The glance he offered her over his shoulder did nothing to stifle her growing apprehension. “Because I have plans for you, Feyre Archeron. And not all of them involve my head between your legs.”

Before the weight of that declaration could truly settle over her, Feyre blindly grabbed another pillow and hurled it towards the door. It hit the wood with a soft thud, and never had she felt such recognition in an object as when she watched the silk-encased feathers slide to the floor and slump forward, as though in defeat.

Rhys was waiting for her in his study, stirring a cup of tea with a mocking smile. Unlike in her dream, a teapot sat on the carved wooden table, steam still piping from its spout, with a spare cup and saucer already laid out for her.

His eyes gleamed as he watched Feyre turn her head, studying the chairs and bookshelves for any flaw, any indication that this, too, wasn’t real. She couldn’t quite bring herself to look towards the staircase.

“Is something familiar?” He asked with a lifted brow.

Feyre stalked to the nearest bookshelf and ran her fingers along the spines, waiting for the vision to warp and ripple. They remained firm, textured with stamped leather and metal clasps. She still couldn’t read their inscriptions, but even in the dream that hadn’t been unusual.

“Have you really read all of these,” she said, “Or do you just keep them in your study to look pretentious?”

From the lack of dust on the shelves, it was clear that the High Lord took pride in his collection. Though, to his credit, he did not rise to the jab. He merely fought a smile. “Not an avid reader, I take it.” When she said nothing, Rhysand nodded at the book beneath her fingertips. “Why don’t you grab that one. I think you’ll find the topic particularly… stimulating.”

She glared at the golden lettering on the spine, willing the indistinguishable blur of letters to jump out with any indication of the subject matter. It was something indecent if she had to guess, perhaps something within the realm of the erotic novels Nesta enjoyed, and Feyre’s face warmed at being unable to uncover the joke being made at her expense.

If he knew she couldn’t read, the mockery would only increase.

“I know you didn’t bring me here to read,” she said, dropping her hand. She pivoted on her heel, aiming for the sofa across from him, where that cup had been considerately placed for her.

Rhysand lifted the teapot, sparing her a sidelong glance for confirmation, before he poured the tea into her cup. “You’d be surprised how much studying is involved in the mastery of magic.”

“I’m not looking to master anything,” she said flippantly.

He added sugar and milk into her cup without confirming if that was her preference. Something he stole from her head, she wondered, or was he having her watched? She supposed Nuala and Cerridwen likely reported everything they observed back to him.

“Humor me,” he said, lifting the tea towards her.

Those eyes met hers, unnervingly steady. Feyre felt as though she were accepting far more than a cup of tea as she reached forward. Their fingers brushed, warm and lingering like she remembered in her dream. She fought a shiver and forced herself to sit up calmly, ignoring his surveillance as she pressed the hot rim to her lips. Swallowed.

The liquid burned down her throat, but it was preferable to the heat of that violet gaze, staring her down like he expected at any moment she might throw the scalding tea onto him. And maybe he was right to be wary, because she was certainly considering it.

Rhysand leaned back. With a flourishing wave of his hand, the book slid out of its space on the shelf, drifting towards them on a night-kissed wind.

“I didn’t always know how to control it, either. But I had people to help me, and access to resources like this.” The book flipped open, pages blurring as they rapidly turned over, before falling flat on a particular page. It landed in her lap, and she stared. Stared as if those lines of ink were supposed to be meaningful to her.

She looked up. “What do you get from all of this?”

“Just read it, Feyre.”

Her throat tightened. She glanced back down, studying those letters for all of a minute before she slammed the book shut. “I’m more of an experience-based learner myself.”

Rhysand frowned. She’d been hoping, with his tendency to rifle through her mind whenever he pleased, that physical practice would be more than appealing to him. A disconcerting silence settled over them as his eyes drifted considerately from Feyre to the book.

Her spine locked, watching his dawning realization as his pupils widened with clarity. She could not tell if it was horror, or anger, or pity hiding behind his expression, but regardless her stomach tightened into knots.

“You can’t read.”

It wasn’t a question, so Feyre didn’t answer it.

He ran a hand down his face. “I didn’t realize—”

“You think I didn’t exhaust all other options before I became a con-artist?”

Rhysand nodded like he was putting several things together, already recalculating his grand plan. “We’ll start there, then.”

“No.”

“Feyre—”

“No.”

“It’s an essential skill,” he argued.

“And with ten thousand marks, I can hire a tutor.”

Silence. They both knew it was the last thing she’d dedicate that money towards. First, a comfortable place to live. Access to food, plumbing, clean clothes. Reading was a luxury, one that sunk to the bottom of the Bharat sea with her father and the rest of their fortune. After that, it hadn’t felt like much of a priority. And it still didn’t.

She willed the steel adamant of his mental shields into the look she gave him, so that he knew this was an unflinching line in the sand. He could force her, but he would need to use the magic of their bargain to do it.

“I’m trying to help you, Feyre,” he said, softer now.

Help her, so that he could further his own agenda.

I have plans for you, Feyre Archeron.

Feyre briefly considered bartering with him. She could indulge his reading lessons if he agreed to reveal his true motive in teaching her. But if his plans required her ability to read, then maybe it was all the better to refuse, let him fix his interest on someone else. Someone more qualified for his aims.

He weathered her indignant stare for several more heartbeats, neither of them saying anything. Before he sighed.

“Fine,” he relented, shaking his head with open exasperation. “No reading lessons—for now.”

For now. She hated the underlying promise in those words.

“You want to learn through experience, Feyre? Then you’re going to practice raising and lowering your shield until it’s second nature.” He smirked. “Or rather, until you can do it in your sleep.”

Before she could summon a weapon from her arsenal of sharp words, Rhysand uncoiled to his feet and glanced towards a standing clock on the far wall.

“Four more hours of our bargain remain,” he said. “That seems an adequate amount of time to practice. I’ll be back by the end of it.”

“What?”

Rhysand was already striding toward the door, carelessly waving away her question with a simple, commanding, “Begin.”

True to his word, Rhysand left her alone for the remaining four hours. She had nothing more to do than raise and lower her shields as she watched the sky gradually darken beyond the windows on the second floor. It did give her time to explore, and she wandered his study to search every shelf, examining his trinkets like they might contain some invaluable secret about the High Lord. The papers on his desk were just that—undoubtedly containing important information, but none that was discernible to her. She opened his drawers, and the ones that weren’t locked contained nothing of startling interest. Stationary and writing utensils, the odd paperweight, a stamp with the night court insignia.

He likely wouldn’t have left her alone if there was anything truly valuable in the study. Not that she wouldn’t put it past him to be secretly observing her. With a hearty sigh, she settled at his desk, pulled out one of the pieces of blank parchment and a pot of ink, and began to draw as she passively raised and lowered her mental shields.

Feyre’s mind felt like sludge by the time he returned.

“Impressive,” he said, staring over her shoulder.

She’d drawn a series of panels—a sketch of Rhysand on the sofa, smirking in one panel, then frowning in the next, dripping from the teapot she’d ceremoniously dumped over his head.

Feyre hummed. “You got my fantasy all wrong in the dream, so I thought I’d draw you a diagram of what I truly desire.”

“And what you truly desire,” he purred, “Is me?”

“Covered in tea.”

His answering smile was undeterred. “You can have me covered in whatever you’d like, Feyre darling.”

She offered him a long-suffering look, her way of silently telling him that she’d like to indulge in that fantasy at this very moment. It would be so satisfying to wipe that stupid grin off his face with a cup of hot—

A talon scraped down her mental shield, testing its stability, and she threw all of her lingering willpower into reinforcing the black, glittering adamant keeping him out.

“Good,” he said, withdrawing his magic. “Make sure you keep them up before you go to bed tonight, or I might be tempted to crawl back inside that pretty mind and help you live through your other fantasies.”

Feyre scowled at him.

He huffed a laugh, extending his hand to her.

She regarded him carefully. “You’re… you’re taking me home?”

“Yes.”

She still didn’t take his hand. “The twenty-four hours are up?”

“Yes,” he said again, raising his brows at her scrutiny.

“And…” she still couldn’t quite believe it. “That’s it?”

“That’s it,” he confirmed.

Twenty-four hours as the High Lord’s plaything, and he hadn’t really done anything to her. There was the dream and his head between her thighs, but even then, he’d only gone far enough to tease, to taunt.

She didn’t understand it. He’d paid ten thousand marks for what?

“Where’s the money?” She asked, not seeing anything on him.

“No heartfelt goodbyes?” When she narrowed her eyes at him, he shrugged. “Where do you think I’ve been the last four hours? After everyone in the tavern overheard our bargain, I didn’t trust sending you back with a bag of coins. I’ve set up an account in your name. The money’s yours now.”

There was no reason to believe he was lying. The magic would force him to pay, one way or another. Tomorrow, she and her sisters would go to the bank and start a new life. For now… for now, she just wanted to get home before the High Lord changed his mind and decided he wanted more from her after all.

She took his hand. His fingers were cool, his grip sturdy. She noticed a scrape of calluses that hadn’t been apparent in her dream, and she wondered if he’d earned them during his years in the Illyrian Mountains.

Without another word, they were swallowed into darkness, and it was instinct to grab him as the world vanished beneath their feet. He pulled her closer, his arms becoming a warm, comforting weight across her back as they tumbled through the fabric of the world.

Then, their feet were again atop solid ground—wet from the nearby docks and the fishermen who’d spent the day carting nets of fresh fish to the restaurants on the other side of the Sidra. Rhysand didn’t move away, and nor did Feyre, gripping to him as she waited for the world to right itself.

He took the opportunity to murmur to her, “If you ever need extra coin, I’d be happy to buy another twenty-four hours with you, any time. Just say the word.”

She snorted. “Still ten thousand marks?”

The winnowing had torn some of her hair from the pins Nuala and Cerridwen had carefully placed. Rhysand reached up to tuck a strand behind her ear as if he couldn’t resist. “Only with the promise that I can do whatever I’d like to you.”

“And will that always exclude sex? Or were you just…” She waved inelegantly to his crotch. “Not in the mood?”

Rhysand chuckled. “I didn’t have sex with you, Feyre, because you entered that bargain convinced you would win. It may come as a surprise, but I enjoy my lovers as willing participants.” He leaned closer, lips brushing the same ear that his fingers had just caressed. His breath sent a shiver down her spine. “Make no mistake, Feyre. The next time you let me take you home, I’ll assume you’re consenting to more than practicing your magic.”

And with that, he smoothly released his grip and stepped back.

“See you soon, Feyre darling,” he said.

Before she could say anything more, he vanished. Feyre glared at the space he departed, sighing as she inwardly conceded that she was far, far over her head with the High Lord. And she had the creeping sense she was already entangled beyond ten thousand marks and a twenty-four-hour bargain.

Nesta was going to kill her.

#Queen of Thieves #feysand #feysand fic #feysand fanfic #feysand fanfiction #Feyre x Rhysand #Rhysand x Feyre #Feyre x Rhys #Rhys x Feyre

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espithewarlock · 3 days

Note

also\1!!! is there perhaps a possibility of taking a smol look into the future of my beloved dragon pierre and potion student Charles? 🥺

💕

Hello Jully darling!! I am so sorry this took me a while but, well, you'll see. 🤭

This snippet will not make much sense if anyone has not read my Dragon!Pierre x Potions Apprentice!Charles fic, Bittersweet, That Glitter. (But you should read it because I'm very proud of that one ok thank you!)

“Pierre, the stock of nymph-grown flowers is getting low,” Charles mentioned as he was checking their potion supplies. He was inside one of the portable holes within the back room of their shop doing their monthly check-in on what they needed to resupply for the potion-eager residents of Maranello.

Recently, the demand for their resistance potions had significantly increased as the Hunter’s Guild accepted both more dangerous and more profitable contracts for their services.

Thanks to Charles’ former affiliation with the Guild, they had a standing agreement. Any components that they could provide to him and Pierre that weren’t needed to fulfill a contract would result in a discount on their potions purchases.

Sometimes, Pierre would even take out a contract with them if he needed any specific materials and either didn’t want to or didn’t have the time to harvest the creature himself.

Well, it was usually to avoid suspicion. Any reports of a fully grown blue dragon hunting anywhere near them would result in very much unwanted attention. They were incredibly careful after Charles essentially led his guild straight into Pierre’s lair unknowingly and he forced Pierre into revealing his secret earlier than he had intended.

Luckily, by staying on the move, they managed to avoid detection and were well-known as a traveling potions master and his incredibly talented apprentice. (Though Charles had intentions of trying for his mastery soon.)

Still, it meant that they had to return to Maranello frequently enough to check on their store and restock anything that was low. The increasing contracts for the Hunter’s Guild led to an increase in demand for all ten types of their resistance potions. All elemental resistance potions had the same base – water infused with three nymph-grown flowers – and those were not easily acquired.

On this plane, at least. Pierre had told him a long time ago that he could easily travel to the Feywild to gather more whenever they ran low. Typically, he would pop over there with a teleportation ritual and return generally between an hour and a day later.

Charles’ soulbond always felt weirdly stretched whenever Pierre was on another plane. He had requested to come along, once, and Pierre had shut that down in his no-nonsense tone that meant he absolutely would not be persuaded.

Sometimes he knew he could convince Pierre with a well-timed plea, or kiss, or pout, and others it was absolutely not up for discussion. That had been one of those times and Charles hadn’t pressed despite his curiosity of the Feywild.

Since fresh flowers were more potent, and Pierre could acquire them easily, they never kept too many on hand since they would lose potency the longer they sat in storage. It meant that Pierre was farther away from him than he would prefer more often than he liked, but Charles always made up for it by keeping Pierre in bed for the same amount of time that he was gone.

If that happened to be a whole day, well, he never got any complaints from his soulbonded.

So he was not prepared for what Pierre said in response. “Is there anything else we need while we are there?” Pierre asked calmly, though out of sight from Charles’ position technically underneath the level of the floor.

He stumbled a bit and rattled one of the shelves to catch himself, then set out a quick curl of air to make sure none of the bottles dropped to the floor and shattered.

“Beloved?” Pierre said, half in amusement and half in concern at the sound of shaking jars.

“When…we go?” Charles clarified. As soon as the shelves were back to their usual stationary state, he quickly hopped into his air elemental form to fly out of the portable hole and return to his human form.

Once he landed, he knew that he had an eager, hopeful expression plastered on his face. Charles didn’t care, since Pierre would be able to read that from the soulbond regardless. There was no point in hiding anything he felt from Pierre.

“Yes,” Pierre replied, giving Charles a soft smile, “you may accompany me to the Feywild. Unless you do not want to go?”

“Of course I want to go,” Charles professed. Pierre’s words were teasing and both of them knew it, yet he responded earnestly.

“Then allow me to finish this today,” Pierre requested, “tonight, we will talk through the ritual and the rules for being within the Feywild. If I am confident in your abilities, we will go there in the morning.”

Charles couldn’t help the spike of excitement within his chest and practically skipped forward to kiss Pierre quickly. His soulbonded indulged it for a moment, then broke away with a bit of a warning glance. Pierre did not like to be interrupted or distracted while they were brewing since the result could be disastrous.

As disappointed as he was to stop kissing Pierre, Charles did not try for more. It would only irritate him and he would have his fill later. He transformed back into an air elemental to return to the shelves and continue taking inventory.

— — —

Later, after they had eaten dinner and gone through the teleportation ritual extensively, Pierre did take him to bed. Once they were naked and sweaty, and Charles was breathless and satisfied, Pierre pulled him to his chest so they could cuddle.

After a few minutes, Charles’ breathing and heart rate settled to something resembling normal and he began tracing little circles onto Pierre’s chest.

“You mentioned some…rules earlier?” he prompted in the quiet of the room.

“Yes, I did,” Pierre agreed, “are you in a clear enough mind to remember them?”

It was, again, a little bit of a tease. Charles had a blanket of warmth in the form of a very satisfying orgasm draped over him, but his mind wasn’t hazy or foggy at all. “I will remember,” he promised.

Pierre pressed a kiss to the top of his head and hugged him tightly. “There are many beings that inhabit the Feywild that you will be unfamiliar with,” he explained slowly, “and their magic is tied to promises and etiquette.”

“The nymphs we will speak to tomorrow will take things very literally,” Pierre continued, “if you ‘give’ them anything as a figure of speech, the way their magic works means they can take it literally. So be very careful with your words.”

“I will,” Charles said instantly.

“I fear you do not fully understand me, my beloved,” Pierre said earnestly and tipped Charles’ face up so he could look into his eyes. “If you introduce yourself to these nymphs and tell them ‘my name is Charles’ they will take that as a gift and will take your name away from you.”

“As much as I love calling you my beloved, I do wish for you to retain your name, and to retain the use of my own,” Pierre murmured.

That was a little terrifying and Charles could see why Pierre had been hesitant about bringing him to the Feywild. “What do they call you, then, if you have not given your name?” he wondered.

“‘Dragon’, usually, since they can sense lies and deception,” Pierre shrugged lightly with a fond smile, “they consider lying to be extremely rude and offensive. If you break their rules of etiquette, then their magic can…obligate you to make it right. That debt can take on many forms, so do not lie and do not break any common rules of etiquette.”

“Like what?”

“They will invite us for tea and it is extremely rude to refuse,” Pierre explained, “but we will start one of our longer potions before we leave, so we can claim that we can only stay for a single cup since we must check on its progress.”

“Isn’t that also a lie, of sorts?” Charles wondered, “since we would be doing something deliberately to get out of an obligation?”

“It is…a convenient excuse,” Pierre said with a wave of his hand, “if we were invited guests then yes, that would be rude. Since we are arriving without notice or warning, it will be technically the truth, though one we have conveniently fabricated for our advantage.”

Charles’ head was spinning a bit, but he could commit these relatively simple rules to memory. He’d done much more strenuous things in order to stay by Pierre’s side and this was no hardship.

“No names, no lies, no rudeness,” he summarized.

Pierre laughed lightly and shifted to kiss him firmly. “You’ll find that it’s much more difficult in practice,” he said against Charles’ lips, “but I have confidence in you, my beloved.”

His confidence could be felt all the way through their soulbond and Charles wasted no time in rolling on top of him so that he could deepen their kiss. He knew that Pierre would, eventually, flip them back over, but that was part of his plan.

— — —

“Be very precise with your markings,” Pierre instructed while handing Charles the magically-enhanced chalk for the teleportation ritual. This was not Charles’ first time casting the ritual, but it was his first time doing it to another plane.

Thankfully, Pierre had a focus that was attuned to the Feywild, which would remove the risk of the spell significantly. With such a focus, they were far more likely to end up where they intended, especially if Charles got all of the sigils in the runes correct.

He was diligent about copying the circle and all of its intricacies from one of their spellbooks while Pierre observed. Charles never felt like Pierre was hovering or intimidating. If Charles made a mistake, Pierre would correct him before the spell was cast, though he would also allow Charles the opportunity to notice and correct his own mistake before he offered any input.

It was the sort of challenge that he appreciated and the occasional glance (or check of the soulbond) didn’t give any sort of indication on whether he was correct or not.

Once he had double and triple-checked all the runes, Charles sat back on his heels and nervously gestured for Pierre to check his work. Pierre made a slow circuit around the entire thing, carefully studying Charles’ efforts of the last few minutes.

After a long moment in complete, stoic silence, Pierre’s lips curled into a grin and Charles felt a surge of satisfaction within the bond.

“Very good, my beloved,” Pierre said out loud and held out his hand towards Charles, “you will provide the magic and the incantation for us. I will guide it once it has been cast. Come here.”

Charles accepted the outstretched hand and used it to pull himself into the circle along with Pierre. He tapped into his core – a whirlwind with an occasional blue spark of lightning – with practiced ease and pushed his magic into the circle with a familiar chant spilling from his lips.

The magic connected and Charles felt Pierre’s arm wrap protectively around his waist as they began whirling through what Pierre called void space. It was the nothing that existed between and separated different planes, and could not be traversed without magic.

There were a few places that existed where the magic was ‘thinner,’ but those came with their own difficulties in traveling. In Pierre’s words, it was far easier to use their own magic, especially since he knew where they were going.

When they stopped moving, Charles opened his eyes to a gorgeous world.

Instead of the desert of Maranello, this world was lush. Trees and bushes were thick, bright green, and almost seemed to be coated in gold since there was so much magic practically dripping off of every branch.

They landed adjacent to a crystal-clear waterfall that was pouring into an equally clear lake. It stretched high up a rocky cliff face which seemed to have even more lush vegetation at the top. Charles continued to look upwards and the sky was a beautiful burst of color.

Yellows, oranges, and pinks streaked across the sky in the most stunning sunset that Charles had ever witnessed. It was more brilliant than anything he had ever seen in the desert next to Maranello or anywhere else he had traveled on their plane.

“Welcome to the Feywild, my beloved,” Pierre murmured right in Charles’ ear, “remember the rules we discussed and you will be just fine.”

He felt Pierre plant a soft kiss in the space just below his ear, then grabbed his hand to begin leading him around the lake. They approached the shallow part of the lake on the opposite side from the waterfall where several large rocks stuck out into the water.

Pierre did not waste any time in removing his shoes, rolling up the bottom of his pants, and stepping onto one of the rocks. Charles hurriedly copied him and together they eased their legs into the water.

It was cool and refreshing, perfect if he had been out in the desert sun all day, though a little too cool for the dense woods they seemed to be in.

“Hello, nymphs of the Waveless Lake,” Pierre called out, “your favorite blue dragon has come with a gift, and a request, for any who wish to speak with us.”

The name gave Charles a moment of pause, then he realized that the waterfall was splashing into the water yet not creating any ripples. It was beautiful and strange and assuredly magical in nature.

Silence covered the lake, but Pierre did not seem worried. He was patient and calm, like the waters that were touching their legs. Charles waited alongside him, eager to see what would happen.

“Is this human our gift?” A light voice on Charles’ other side startled him just as a hand grabbed his chin to turn him away from Pierre.

There was a woman sitting next to him where there hadn’t been one a moment before. She had long, wavy hair that looked like reeds covering her light blue body. Her strange dark blue and gold eyes were studying Charles and he resisted the urge to push her away. Surely, if he was in danger, Pierre would rescue him.

“He’s only here as an introduction,” Pierre replied calmly, “this one is my soulbonded, my beloved, and will be returning with me when our business is concluded.”

“But he’s so pretty,” a new voice appeared on the other side of Pierre, “are you sure we can’t keep him?”

“Very sure,” Pierre retorted, “I also think he’s beautiful and talented and I will keep him by my side.”

Charles flushed red from the compliment as the first woman dropped his chin and laughed. He was able to twist his head to the side to see a near-identical woman there too. These must be the nymphs that Pierre had mentioned since they were eerily beautiful and almost seemed to be made of water from how their legs blended into the lake.

“You are no fun, dragon,” a third nymph popped out of the water in front of them with her arms propped on the surface as if it was a solid table instead of liquid, “you tease us with this toy and then won’t let us play with him.”

“Will you give us your name, human?” the first nymph asked him while batting her eyelashes coyly, “your dragon hasn’t even given us a proper introduction, yet.”

Pierre’s warning flashed through his head and Charles smiled back at her innocently. “I’m afraid my soulbonded is correct and I am his beloved,” he responded, “but I would love to know the name of a creature of such beauty, if you are willing to share?” Charles grabbed her hand to bring it up to his lips and kiss the back of it.

She giggled and Charles felt a flare of unbridled jealousy and possessiveness coming from the soulbond. He knew that it was…dangerous to tease Pierre like this, but it was payback for Pierre calling him beautiful.

“You may call me Sundew,” she said lightly.

“Mossspring,” the one next to Pierre added.

“Tempest,” the third nymph in the water smiled at him.

“It is lovely to make your acquaintance,” Charles continued with a small half-bow from his seated position, “and I believe my wonderful dragon has some business he wishes to conduct with the three of you.”

“Indeed I do,” Pierre picked up the conversation smoothly, “I am here to fulfill my end of our long standing agreement to check and reinforce your wards every time I am in need of any nymph-grown flowers.”

Charles knew that, technically, Pierre could harvest the flowers himself pretty much anywhere within the plane where nymphs were prevalent. However, the agreement allowed him to expand his collection of connections that he could call upon for favors or information, should that also be required.

“And, as a sign of my continued appreciation, I also have a gift for you three who have come to speak with us today,” Pierre pulled one of his bags of holding out from a pocket and reached inside quickly.

When his hand emerged, he was clutching three small identical vials. They were filled with a silver liquid so light that it was almost white and glowed faintly. “Liquid Moonlight,” Pierre said reverently, “one for each of you, as a gift.”

Instantly, all three were snatched out of his hand by the nymphs and they disappeared below the surface of the water.

Charles’ eyes narrowed. He had heard of Liquid Moonlight, of course. It was an illegal drug that was highly addictive and supposedly caused intense euphoria for the drinker. Anyone caught with it in their possession would be in a world of trouble, and anyone caught brewing it doubly so.

“What are you doing brewing illegal potions?” he hissed, “that is idiotic and we could–”

Suddenly, Charles found himself flat on his back with a very angry soulmate hovering over him. Pierre’s eyes were dark blue and he could feel lightning crackling in the air around him from his fury.

“You forget yourself,” Pierre growled, “we are no longer on your plane or your kingdom. Your laws have no meaning here.”

Charles instantly realized his mistake. He had accused and insulted Pierre with one question based on his own ignorance.

“Even if I am caught, what prison could hold me?” Pierre asked rhetorically, “I am personal friends with the strongest mage on the continent and he would struggle to contain me.”

Of course, Pierre was talking about Lewis. Charles knew the arcanist's power first-hand and the two of them had become close, especially following Pierre's year of attempted disappearance. Charles was well aware of both Pierre's and Lewis' levels of power and shuddered to think what catastrophe might happen if the two were to clash.

“I follow the laws to avoid detection and I do not get caught for the ones I do not follow,” Pierre concluded, “Liquid Moonlight in small doses for nymphs is nothing more than a strong ale for you, my beloved. Do not insinuate that I do not know what I am doing.”

As much as Charles wanted to cower, to concede and be contrite in the face of an angry dragon, his soulbonded was being particularly selfish and stupid.

“And what about me?” Charles retorted, “if I am caught and imprisoned?”

“You have an air elemental form, no prison could hold you. Not that I would allow them to take you in the first place.”

“The reputation of our shop, then,” Charles pointed out, “and my brothers, too. If they are caught with Liquid Moonlight in the back room while they are working, will you pay their fine or break them out of prison, too? You are not usually this thoughtless, my dragon.”

Despite being pinned to the rock at his back, Charles felt confident. He saw his words hit their mark from Pierre’s expression and felt his annoyance at their truth from the soulbond. Charles loved Pierre deeply, and part of that meant reminding him that not everyone was a dragon with hundreds of years of life experience.

“Oh, he’s feisty,” one of the nymph’s voices resounded in his ears. Charles twisted his head to the side to see who he thought might be Tempest sitting next to them casually.

“Are you sure we can’t keep him?” Sundew added as she set a jar filled with flowers next to Pierre on the rock and settled back into the water.

All of the anger vanished from Pierre in an instant and he backed off of Charles, then extended his hand to help him sit up. Once he was back upright, Pierre kissed the back of his hand in apology.

“He keeps me humble,” Pierre murmured softly with a fond smile.

Charles and the nymphs all began laughing at him and Pierre rolled his eyes. “Slightly more humble,” he conceded.

“Dragon, will you and your soulbonded join us for a cup of tea?” Mossspring asked from the water.

“We have time for one cup, that would be lovely,” Pierre answered for both of them, “but then I must spend an hour meditating in my dragon form to check your wards, and we have a potion we must return to on our plane.”

All of the nymphs looked delighted at his acceptance and a table appeared straight out of the water. It was already set for the five of them and Charles didn’t have to move from his seat on the rock to reach his teacup.

Sundew grabbed the large teapot in the center of the table and began pouring generous servings for each of them. Charles was going to take a sip, but Pierre put his hand on his leg and gave it a quick warning squeeze.

They waited until all the nymphs had been served, then Tempest raised her teacup to the center of the table. “To you and your soulbonded’s continued health and happiness,” she said lightly.

“And to your good fortune,” Pierre returned while lifting his own cup. Charles copied him and took a sip once one of the nymphs drank from hers.

The tea was rich and fruity, perfectly sweetened and flavorful and made him feel at ease. Charles moved slightly closer to Pierre so that his soulbonded could keep one hand secured around his waist while they exchanged pleasantries with the nymphs.

Surprisingly, Charles found himself enjoying himself immensely and laughing at the stories that the nymphs shared. Once their teacups were empty, Pierre set his down with an apologetic smile.

“We thank you for your gracious hospitality,” he said while getting to his feet, “and I must hold up my end of our bargain to check your wards, if you will excuse us. Beloved?”

Charles took his cue and also got to his feet. “It was a pleasure to meet all of you,” he said with a sweeping bow.

All of the nymphs giggled, said their own goodbyes, and vanished into the water as quickly as they arrived. Charles looked at the stillness of the lake in curiosity and wondered what all was beneath the surface.

“They were…interesting,” he commented as Pierre led him away from the water a short distance to a good sized clearing.

As soon as they were out of sight of the water, Charles was not expecting to be pulled into a searing kiss. He melted into it and rivers of heat began to travel up his spine from the way Pierre’s strong hand was gripping his waist.

“You handled them well, beloved,” Pierre whispered across his lips, “but they are fools if they think they can try to take what is mine.”

Charles felt desire absolutely flooding out of the bond. He adored how possessive Pierre was over him and felt it amplified through their connection. It always made his head spin and he let out a slight whimper as Pierre pulled away.

“Later, beloved,” Pierre promised with another quick brush of their lips, “I do need to meditate and check their wards for a time.”

He was disappointed, but allowed Pierre to step away after one more lingering kiss. Charles always thought that Pierre’s transformation into his true form was awe-inspiring and made no effort to hide his appreciation as a blue dragon briefly stretched his wings, then curled up in what looked like a typical sleeping position.

Charles reached into his pocket for his own bag of holding, then pulled out one of his advanced potions books along with his notebook. Pierre kept giving hints that Charles would be ready for his mastery exam soon and he wanted to be prepared.

One part of the exam would be to demonstrate a potion of his own creation. That meant that he had to come up with an idea that was unique, and could be brewed in less than a day. Preferably, less than a few hours, though it depended on the panel of potion masters that were evaluating him.

As his potions master, Pierre was not permitted to be a part of that panel, nor was he allowed to give Charles ideas. If Charles wanted to talk through ideas theoretically, that was perfectly fine. However, he needed to prove that he could do it all on his own if he wanted to feel confident with earning the master title himself.

His favorite place to study was perched on one of Pierre’s forelimbs. Pierre would bring his head around and press it to Charles’ side while he was resting and Charles loved to gently scratch at the small blue scales that covered his head.

Pierre would never admit to it, but the deep rumbling that resulted always reminded Charles of a purring cat. It was the perfect noise for studying while Pierre opened his magic in meditation. Charles loved the feel of it and leaned forward to press a kiss to Pierre’s scales before opening up his notebook in his lap.

There was no other place he’d rather be.

#piarles #fanf1ction #10 x 16 #f1 rpf fic #espi answers asks!#espi writes stuff!#thanks for reading & stay hydrated! 💚#Jully I am always delighted to jump into more of my Dragon!Pierre for you!#I love how much you love this fic and I hope others love it too!

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nanawritesit · 1 year

Text

Class 1A as Baristas at a Coffee Shop

TW: this is aged up bc there’s references to alcohol and 🍃, so if you’re a child of god then read no further 💀 also mineta isn’t included because i hate him, and you should too 😊

A/N: i’m a barista so i’m qualified to make these claims. also i know i haven’t written any of my actual requests. i’m depressed and my life is chaotic. besides this is just for fun and didn’t really take much effort so leave me alone 😤

midoriya:

literally the best barista boy on the planet

his customer service skills are GOD-TIER

even when a customer is being rude to him, he’s just such a lil cinnamon roll back to them and kills them with his kindness

has amazing relationships with all the regulars, completely memorizes all their names and orders

legit has full conversations with them

“hey carl, how’s the wife doin’?”

“welcome back emily, did you get into that university you told me about?”

“good afternoon joyce, how’d your husband’s gallbladder surgery go?”

comes up with really creative drinks to use for the monthly specials

is secretly all of the managers favorites because he just works so hard (even bakugou’s)

whips through all the cleaning so fast at the end of the day

todoroki: “okay so we need to wash the utensils, mop the floors, and clean the espresso machine…”

midoriya: “oh, i already did all that todoroki!” 😊

loves coffee but is very sensitive to the caffeine so the managers have to make sure he doesn’t have more than two shots a day 💀

bakugou:

one of the managers

honestly the least likely person you’d expect to be a barista

can only work morning shift bc he goes to sleep at 8:30 (nerd)

his customer service SUCKS but he’s literally so good at his job they can’t really fire him

he just hardly ever runs the cash register and assigns it to one of the more sunshine-y baristas (usually deku or uraraka)

not usually trusted with training new recruits bc he’s such a bully

if a customer is being rude to one of the baristas he won’t hesitate to clap back, because HE’S the only one allowed to bully his employees 😤

uraraka will just step away from the cash register and go “bakugou i need your help with something” and he whips around with the most deadly grimace

bakugou: “is there a problem, sir?”

customer: “n-no problem here, the coffee tastes great” 😄

god forbid one of them gets snappy on one of the rare occasions he works the register

customer: “i demand to see your manager!”

bakugou: “you’re lookin’ at him, dumbass”

damn near explodes when some white girl comes through wanting a mocha caramel latte-cino made with skim milk and no whipped cream in a medium cup with the same amount of coffee as a small so she can stir in her own nutmeg

doesn’t give a single fuck about regulations if he thinks they’re unnecessary

iida: “bakugou, the health department says these bagels have to be thrown away after six days!”

locks the doors ten minutes before closing time and won’t let anyone else in

bakugou: “i don’t give a damn what the health department says, i’m not throwing away six perfectly good bagels!”

punched the espresso machine one time when it wasn’t working and it fucking exploded 💀

iida made him walk across town to buy a new one

todoroki:

another one of the managers

is tasked with training the majority of the new recruits since bakugou cant

the most level-headed chill person to have around during a rush, he never loses his head

can instantly correct someone’s order if they mistakenly got a hot or iced coffee

customer: “excuse me, i ordered this coffee iced.”

todoroki: “oh i’m so sorry, lemme just-“ *touches the cup with his right hand and it fills with ice* “there ya go”

customer: “i don’t mean to be a bother, but i wanted a hot coffee and this is iced.”

todoroki: “yeah gimmie a sec-“ *heats up the cup with his left hand and melts the ice* “should be good now”

likes macchiatos because the separated milk and coffee reminds him of his hair 🥺

pisses off the rude customers with his indifference

customer: “i’ll just take my business elsewhere!”

todoroki: “okay well, it’s your money so you can do what you want with it”

gets flirted with all the time but is too oblivious to notice

kaminari: “dude that girl TOTALLY just gave you her number”

todoroki: “nah she probably just wrote it down in case we needed a survey” *throws it away*

kaminari wants to go off on him but he racks in a lot of money in tips for all of them to split so he keeps quiet

iida:

general manager from hell

runs the shop like it’s the fucking army

really nice if you follow all the regulations tho 😀

he’s the best person to have around during a rush because he just kicks his engines into maximum overdrive and speeds through all the orders

also does deliveries on the side because he’s a fast boi

tried to implement a demerit system, but bakugou took one look at the poster and tore it off the wall 💀

everyone prays to god that they get scheduled with momo instead of him

constantly taps the other workers on the shoulder to hand them a wash cloth and a spray bottle and goes “if you’ve got time to lean, you’ve got time to clean”

everyone acts like they hate him, but when he gave a really touching speech at the christmas party everyone started crying

also organized the secret santa

ends up apologizing to customers for bakugou’s terrible customer service and hands them like a thousand coupons

uraraka:

customer service skills only come second to midoriya’s

she’s a DELIGHT to talk to

even at 7 am when you’re sleep deprived and caffeine deficient, the sight of her smiling face behind the counter will cheer you up :)

during a rush she forgets not to grab the receipts with all five fingers, so they’ll just start floating everywhere

bakugou: “hey round face, all my orders are on the ceiling!”

uraraka: “oh shoot, sorry!” *puts hands together* “release!”

draws cute little pictures on all the chalkboards 🥰

somehow knows exactly what a customer would like when they ask her to recommended something? people start wondering if that’s her real superpower

ironically doesn’t like the taste of coffee… her favorite drink is a hot chocolate with whipped cream and rainbow sprinkles

tsuyu:

only got the job to be closer to her best friend uraraka but ends up really enjoying it

gets nervous talking to customers so she mostly just sticks to making the drinks

has to be reminded not to grab things with her tongue because it’s against the health code 💀

when a customer is rude to her the ENTIRE team gets pissed at them, because she’s an angel and must be protected 😤

hates when people watch her make their drinks (she gets anxious 🥺)

pretty much the baby of the shop, whenever she accidentally burns herself steaming milk everyone rushes over like “OH MY GOD TSU ARE YOU OKAY?!?!”

kirishima:

one of the only two baristas trained by bakugou, so he ends up being really good at making coffee

is able to memorize large orders really quickly

“alright i’ve got a skinny macchiato no whip, iced dirty chai with oat milk and an added shot, two americanos extra hot, and a vanilla frappe?”

is the designated carrier of the cold brew kegs

AND the delivery boxes

AND the milk jugs

pretty much anything that’s heavy, he happily carries it

eventually becomes a team trainer, which suits him perfectly because he’s always boosting the team’s morale

bakugou giving the morning debrief: “alright guys, today’s gonna be super busy, and it’s gonna suck.”

kirishima: “SO LETS GET OUT THERE AND DO OUR BEST! I KNOW WE CAN DO IT!” 😆

kaminari:

the OTHER only employee that was trained by bakugou

tries so hard to flirt with customers but fails miserably

is really good at making coffee but he makes a decent amount of mistakes, like using the wrong milk or making drinks hot instead of iced (good thing we have todoroki!)

also wanted to become a team trainer but couldn’t pass the servsafe exam 😀

hooked himself up the espresso machine after bakugou broke it so they could use it until he came back with a new one 💀

does stupid shit with kirishima whenever the shop is dead

bakugou walked in on them making a castle out of cups and knocked it over, then screamed at them to get back to work

conveniently goes to the bathroom every time a huge group of people walks in

sneaks his phone in the bathroom with him

is also a chronic stoner and can’t get through a shift without hitting his pen

he accidentally left it in his apron one night and the next day iida gave everyone a talk about paraphernalia in the workplace

and everyone just had to act like they didn’t know it was kaminari’s 🤡

sero:

only has this job to pay for weed

is basically a glorified janitor because he’s not good at making coffee at ALL

he tries tho 😗

has the worst memory ever

customer: “can i get a small hot vanilla cappuccino?”

sero: “yeah so a large iced mocha frappe?”

customer: “no… a small hot vanilla cappuccino…”

sero: “yeah, that’s totally what i said.” 😀

also can’t remember how to make drinks to save his life

sero: “i’m sorry but what the hell is the difference between an iced coffee and an iced latte?”

bakugou: “OH MY GOD IVE TOLD YOU LIKE A HUNDRED TIMES”

goes to take out the trash with kaminari and they don’t come back for like twenty minutes

and when they do they’re coughing up a storm and reeking of weed 💀 like they don’t even try to hide it

would have gotten fired months ago if they weren’t so short staffed

mina:

is also a team trainer because she’s good with people

tries to get everyone to hang out outside of work, and she usually succeeds

made everyone go to karaoke and get drunk together

iida was QUITE the life of the party after a few drinks, and she evilly videotaped it all

makes memes about the managers and sends them to the barista group chat

spontaneously starts dancing while working, even when there’s customers

drinks like eight shots of espresso a day

is also the shop’s social media manager

constantly takes pictures of everyone and posts them on the shop’s instagram

jirou:

manages the shop playlist

kaminari tried to get her to put a bunch of inappropriate rap songs on it but she didn’t want iida to get mad

sings to herself throughout the entire shift, everyone thinks it’s really cute

except bakugou, he isn’t afraid to tell her to shut up

only drinks black coffee, she doesn’t like milk or sugar

always spices up her uniform with cool accessories and jewelry

she’s not going to sacrifice her individuality for a corporate position 😌 (even if iida constantly lectures her… momo didn’t want to hear it anymore so she started scheduling jirou with her)

momo:

assistant general manager

everyone loves her, she’s an amazing boss

always releases the schedule two weeks ahead of time

is everyone’s barista crush

literally, a new man asks her out every day

is in charge of keeping inventory and ordering ingredients, she’s good at math so everything is always well stocked

is super nice to all the new employees she trains

is a tea enthusiast

sources a bunch of fancy tea and recommends it to the customers

she’s actually garnered a few coffee converts, no one is really able to say no to her pretty face 🥰

never gets made at anyone for requesting time off, in fact she’ll excitedly ask them ab their plans

also never guilts anyone for being sick and not coming into work

pretty much everyone’s mom, if anyone comes in looking upset she’s immediately like “okay what’s wrong, tell me right now”

hagakure:

sneaks up on people all the time

like someone will go up the counter to get their coffee and just see a floating apron

customer: “um, i ordered a latte and-“

hagakure: “yeah, it’s right here!” 😄

customer: “OH MY GOD-“

LOVES to gossip with mina

always has way too much energy early in the morning

*todoroki barely being able to keep his eyes open as he unlocks the door*

hagakure: “AYO SHOTO ARE YOU READY TO OPEN THIS COFFEE SHOP?!?!”

aoyama:

refuses to wear a hair net

DEVOURS croissants

wants to put cheese on the menu, and doesn’t care at all that it’s a coffee shop

buys fresh flowers to put on all the tables 🥰

one day the open sign burnt out so bakugou made him shine his navel laser though it 💀

goes on his phone during his shift ALL the time, and never listens to iida when he yells at him to put it away

tokoyami:

everyone likes being scheduled with him because he’s basically two baristas

“hey dark shadow, can you make this order for me while i stock the bakery case?”

wants to be emo like jirou and only drink black coffee, but can’t stand the taste

“yeah jirou, we’re the only strong ones in the shop!” *dumps three creams and five sugars in his coffee when no one’s looking*

made everyone wear costumes for halloween and handed out candy to customers

purposefully messes up rude customers’ orders 💀

like if they ask for almond milk he’ll put in whole milk so they shit themselves

or if they want it skinny he’ll use the regular syrups so they get sugar overload

doesn’t know how to answer the phone

customer: “is this my hero coffee academia?”

tokoyami: “no, this is fumikage.” *hangs up*

almost has a meltdown everytime he spills something, has to lock himself in the freezer to calm down before walking back out like nothing happened

only works night shift for obvious reasons

shouji:

multitasking king

all his arms allow him to do different things at once

him and iida are the speed demons of the shop, so when the two of them work together everything gets done in like two seconds

iida will be running around making all the orders while shouji is cleaning everything all at once

is pretty much everyone’s therapist, he’s just so easy to vent to

gives the best advice

is so huge and intimidating that there’s hardly ever any rude customers during his shift

koda:

gets so upset every time a bug is killed in the kitchen

koda: “NO PLEASE HE HAS A FAMILY”

momo: “koda i understand this is hard for you, but we cannot have a spider roaming freely around the food”

squeals whenever a customer leaves their dog outside

he’ll be standing at the window with his hands pressed up against the glass and tears in his eyes

todoroki: *sigh* “you can go pet the dog if you want-“

koda: “THANK YOU” *sprints out the door*

starts buying dog treats to give to the owners, he even offers to put them in a little cup of whipped cream 🥺

gets sato to make some vegan baked goods :)

ojiro:

cant spell customers’ names right to save his life

ojiro: “alright, can i get a name for this?”

customer: “yeah, it’s brian with a y!”

ojiro: “got it!” *writes yrian*

or he just writes the wrong name altogether

sharon is now shannnon

tyler is now tyson

jack is now jake

let’s kaminari fluff his tail when he gets overstimulated during a rush 🥺

is constantly apologizing to everyone for accidentally bumping into them with it

sato:

the faithful head baker

comes in at 4 am everyday to prep the baked goods

always asks everyone if they have any special requests <3

customers are constantly complimenting the stuff he makes and asking who made them

the baristas just smile and they’ll them that their baker sato made them, and if he’s still there, they’ll drag him out to accept the compliments 🥰

isn’t very good at asking for help, but hagakure and aoyama are always around to frost donuts or decorate cupcakes when he’s running behind :)

(BONUS) aizawa:

the area coach that stops by every so often to make sure everything is running up to standard

everyone is really scared of him but he honestly doesn’t give a single fuck so long as they’re not serving trash

only comes by during the night shift because he refuses to wake up early

and of course that’s when they least expect him

iida and momo are just nervously leading him around the shop while kirishima and kaminari are sprinting to the kitchen to throw away all the expired food 💀

tells them they’ll get shut down if they don’t get enough customer surveys, which makes everyone panic and hand them out with every order

they still didn’t have enough so sero and mina were in the back filling them out the day they were due 🤡

turns out they were never going to get shut down, he just lied to them so they’d push surveys 🙃

95 notes · View notes

fluffabutt · 1 year

Text

Decided to write another yandere prompt

Thank you @bellafragolina and @wertello for letting me bounce ideas off you

Gender Neutral Reader x Nanu/Guzma

More of a guess to see which one is the yandere, and this boy is long

assault and implied stalking

You walk down Route 17 in the pouring rain, when you walk into the Pokémart your sneakers squeak with every step as you walk towards the back room.

You lock up your stuff, and put on your apron, switch out with Cayden who looks at her student portal with such dread you don’t give her any grief when she forgets to log out of the cash register.

You look out the window to the one or two desolate street lamps you can see standing as little beacons home. Almost pitch black like the bottom of the ocean it feels like, and you won’t see the sunrise for another 8 hours.

You tell Cayden have a good night as her sneakers squeal in the wet tracks you left on the floor. You log into the cash register, and as you grab the mop and bucket punch into work.

This is the routine you’ve grown accustomed to for the past few weeks.

You’ll be here tonight.

And the night after that.

For how ever long it takes you to save enough money to move off Ula Ula Island.

——————————————————————-

You get into the rhythm of cleaning the floors, some hokey country song about youth and friendship and pie plays over the store speaker system. You wish the owner would just spend the money to buy an official music service, if only because you realize you’re almost fond of how terrible it is.

You hear a thumping sound from the windows that damn near causes your heart to leap out your throat, but you turn to see your regular idiot Masquerain bashing it’s head against the flood lights on the exterior of the building.

So you sigh, roll the mop back into its place, grab the wet floor sigh and the push broom and start to walk outside.

You put the sign up and then walk out into the humid, muggy rain.

“Hey! Dumb Bug!” You say, pushing at the Masquerain with your broom under the extended roof so it’s wings don’t get any wetter than they already have.

The poor thing cries and whines until you turn on the portable lamp you hung there for it to mash it’s head against.

You just sigh before walking back inside, you have no idea how that idiot gets stuck here almost every night, but you don’t mind if that’s the only returning customer.

Route 17 doesn’t get a lot of trainers this time of night, and you’re thankful even though your ankles are already aching by the second hour. The owner doesn’t allow you to sit at the cash register so you patiently set an alarm on your Rotomphone for an hour and half from now for your break.

The sound of pounding feet run up from outside as you see a small cluster of Team Skull members burst in from outside with the chime of the automatic door. They keep their mumbled complaints to themselves as they look at you.

You just give them a wave while you check social media on your Rotomphone. You were paid to mind the store, and you could mind your business for free.

Team Skull was part of the reason you never saw trainers much less regular schmoes around route 17, it was their turf.

You didn’t understand the hype, a bunch of kids trying to rap at you wasn’t intimidating in your opinion. Even when the beatboxer was steady most of them still couldn’t rap on beat.

So you idly tap at your phone while they shuffle around through the aisles, arguing over chip flavors and candy bars. Your heart hurts a little when one quickly shuts down that argument with a “What’s the point? We can’t buy it anyway!”

You look up at the chime of the automatic door, and try to put on your customer service smile when you see it’s an adult.

You see a hunched over guy in what looks to be his mid 50s, grey hair matted down from the rain when he closed his umbrella. But it’s his eyes, and the dead stare he levels at you that gives you a sudden feeling of anxiety.

It’s broken when he looks away with a click of his tongue as he walks toward the Pokéfood section of the store.

You place a hand over your heart to try and calm down when you realize how quiet the teens have gotten since the guy walked in. They watch him with caution, a respect you haven’t seen them give to anyone.

You realize you don’t get paid enough to focus on that.

Even if the sound of his sandals clopping on the wet tile drive you crazy.

The ring leader of this small pack walks up to the register with purpose, and slaps down some 100 pokedollar hot dogs that you ring up. It’s some hushed arguing of who’s got how much while you stare blankly thinking of what your “dinner” is tonight, until they pool the total together with spare coins.

You pop the register, drop the coins into the necessary slot, and give the expected “Thank you for shopping at Pokémart” as they run back into the rain and up to Po Town… you assume.

Your guy ambles around for another 10 or so minutes hemming and hawing about the prices of the wet food cans and then walking to the front.

He plops about 10 cans of food on the counter and you start to scan them while he pulls out his wallet.

“Oh, and one pack of the Motostoke Reds.”

You give an affirmative noise and turn to pull a pack off the shelf. It’s when you turn back that you’re stuck with his very intense stare.

Like he’s expecting something.

What that could be you don’t know.

You just push the barcode under the scanner and tell him the total.

Outside of the grunts and young trainers, nobody really pays in cash anymore, so you’re surprised when he flips through a large wad of bills to pay with.

His tongue sticks out while he concentrates and hums the count.

You take the cash from him, pulling up the coins that you owe before dropping them into his open palm with his receipt.

“Thank you for shopping at Pokémart, have a good evening.” You say, rehearsed and robotic.

“Uh-huh.” He drawls, and finally walks out of the Pokémart, his sandals clacking against the tile as he leaves.

You just breathe a sigh of relief when he disappears back into the rain with a… Meowth umbrella??

It’s a super cute umbrella pattern. You want it.

Next paycheck.

The evening goes by uneventfully, mop the floor again, give the Dumb Bug a berry when you take your meal break.

You take out the garbage around five am when there’s just enough light to see and the rain has finally stopped.

You see a couple cigarette butts and grumble under your breath, but clean them up anyway.

The owner comes in at 6 and you clock out.

——————————————————————————-

Another day, another night.

Same old same old.

Except for your old dude buying cigarettes once a week.

The times he walks in are sporadic but at least he tends to avoid coming in on your meal break. Same thing every time: wet food, pack of Motostoke Reds.

Except tonight he grabs some prepackaged Basculin rice balls.

You don’t know why that spurs you to actually talk to this guy.

“Oh, those are super good.” You keep ringing up the wet food cans.

He looks shocked at your voice but he gives you an appraising look.

“Is that so?” He trails off.

“Yeah, they’re pretty solid.”

He hums contemplatively, before you ring up his total and you give him back his change.

“Thank you for shopping at Pokémart, have a good evening.”

He gives you a smile, though it’s more of a shitty grin.

“You too.”

Then he and his clopping sandals walk out the door and into the night.

——————————————————————

You get a surprise visitor that week, a tall dude with bleached white hair and tats struts up to the cash register. It would’ve been more intimidating if he wasn’t soaked to the bone and his sneakers weren’t speaking with every step.

And you’re gonna have to fucking mop. Again.

He slaps his hand on the counter, and of course you jump because why the fuck is this guy trying to pick a fight at 2:20 in the morning.

“Gimme a pack of Motostoke Reds.” He orders gruffly.

You take a deep breath and grab the pack from the shelves, you scan the barcode and tell him the total.

He mutters under his breath some obscenities about how expensive cigarettes are getting and how bullshit it is as he rummages through crumpled up bills from his pockets.

You don’t get paid enough for this.

You notice he sticks his tongue out while he counts the money.

Huh.

“Hey!” He barks, your eyes dart up to his face. “You got any of those Basculin rice balls today?”

You nod.

You both stand there, silence.

What does this guy expect? You don’t get paid to go fetch, you get paid to stand here damn near all night.

“Over in the back over by the premade sandwiches,” you almost forget your retail politeness,” sir.”

He’s got a vein bulging in his forehead before he stomps to the back over by the sandwiches. Muttering fuck word after fuck word.

You think about your account balance, and sigh.

You pray to Arceus this guy fucks off and never comes back.

He slaps the rice balls on the counter and you give him the new total.

“Thank you for shopping at Pokémart, have a good evening.”

“Yeah yeah whatever.” He says shoving his purchase and his change into his pockets before stomping off into the rain.

Asshole.

You find even more soggy cigarette butts outside when you take out the trash.

—————————————————————-

The Asshole and The Old Dude pop in intermittently, along with different clusters of Team Skull members. Very rarely you get a couple of older trainers, veterans and martial artists who find some satisfaction in almost catching hypothermia from standing in the rain all night.

You make polite conversation with The Old Dude and the trainers that come in.

Every so often The Asshole walks in and asks for some bizarre food item, a rice ball, and his cigarettes. It’s starting to become satisfying to just tell him where to find it, since he still expects you to go get it for him.

His squeaky sneakers and sopping wet hair only make him look like a grumpy toddler.

You get more and more trainers coming in though, which keeps the nights busy even if you have to mop so much more often with all the water being tracked in.

You still hook up Dumb Bug with its lamp and a berry.

You still take your meal break at 3:30am.

You still take out the trash to find soggy cigarette butts, but this time there seems to be a collaborative art project because they’re leaving them in shapes.

You don’t think it’s one person, there’s more cigarettes here than in just a single pack of the stuff.

But you don’t stop the “Mother Fucker” you bark when you have to get the broom and dust trap to scrape them up off the sidewalk.

——————————————————

The new influx of trainers typically dies down around 1am.

But tonight seems to be dragging.

Your card reader malfunctions, so you have to hand write a post-it note to stick on the reader.

Cash Only.

Doesn’t mean that grown adults know how to fucking read apparently.

Yes, the card reader is down.

No, I can’t take any card transactions.

You’re almost pulling your hair out by the time a customer walks up to the counter and throws a fit.

The Asshole was an asshole, but this guy is the fucking King Asshole. Asshole to end all assholes, waving his hands like if he throws his shoulders out of socket you’ll get the card reader working.

“Sir, either you use cash to complete your purchase or leave, I can’t fix it-“

“This is un-fucking believable! This is the new kind of low The Pokémart brand has sunk to?!”

“Sir, you’ll have to wait to buy until the morning with your card when the owner comes in to reset it. I don’t know what else to tell you-“

“FIX THE FUCKING CARD READER!”

You typically are fighting the best of a migraine with the shitty fluorescent lights, now your ears are ringing with how loud he’s yelling.

“Oi. You buying this shit or not?!”

Oh great.

You pinch the bridge of your nose as you look past King Asshole to The Asshole looming behind him.

Good. Two assholes.

“I-I-“ King Asshole tries to get some traction to start his impassioned tirade like a pull motor.

“No? Get the fuck outta my way then.”

At least The Asshole isn’t yelling.

God damn does your head hurt.

“Oi!” The Asshole speaks up, snapping his fingers obnoxiously to get your attention. It seems King Asshole has left, and all of his purchase is on the counter.

Nice.

“Oh, yeah,” you blink to give yourself a quick reset before you start scanning The Asshole’s items.

There’s a heavy silence as The Asshole scowls and shuffles his feet before he opens up his mouth when you turn to grab his cigarettes.

“You okay?” He says gruffly, though with a pinch of softness you’ve never heard before. It doesn’t help the tears bubbling in the corners of your eyes.

Shit.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You say, your voice cracking on the “yeah”, and you’re so fucking frustrated.

He just clicks his tongue and starts counting out his wadded up balls of bills.

You scan his cigarettes, and read him the total.

“Thank you for shopping at Pokémart, have a nice night.” You plop the change and his receipt in his hand.

He looks at you and you feel just so drained you just stare back. You don’t know what he’s looking for, but he turns around and squeaks back into the dark with the little automatic chime.

You walk to the back to take your break early, sighing and softly dabbing at your eyes while you eat your sandwich.

Fuck man, just a couple more weeks.

You just needed a couple more paychecks, and then you can leave and get away from this place.

———————————————————————

You find your cigarette savant has put a smiley face design today.

You mutter a quick, “fuck off” to nothing as you scrape it off the sidewalk.

The back of your neck aches. Like a weight settling there.

———————————————————————

You don’t see King Asshole, thank Arceus, but you run into rude customers occasionally. Aside from The Asshole.

You’d noticed a couple of blocked off areas, but you thought it was construction or something. The owner put a Pokémart on Route 17, there was probably some other developer willing to be stupid enough to build something else here.

Cayden is clocking out when she looks up from her Rotomphone and taps your shoulder.

“Did you hear?”

“Hear what?” You put on your apron.

“A couple of people have been getting attacked on the way back from the Pokémart.”

“No shit?”

“You didn’t notice the caution tape?” She gives you a look, but you just roll your eyes.

“I saw the tape, I just thought it was construction.”

“Who’d build anything out here- ah shit nevermind. But! Either way, be safe out!”

You clock in and meet her eyes. You feel a little floaty feeling in your stomach.

“You think it’s Team Skull?”

She sighs as she pulls out her stuff from the locker. Looking up trying to remember something.

“Nah, they have been pretty quiet since the whole Aether Island stuff. I think I read something about the victims said it was only one person.”

Oh good. Great. Fantastic.

“Cool I’m probably gonna get murdered after standing around here all night.”

“Probably,” she says with a snarky tone.

You put away your stuff and lock it up but you hear a quiet thump of the cash register counter and look in that direction.

Cayden gives you a serious look, you’ve never seen so much trepidation on her face outside of an exam or a paper. You feel your gut churn.

“Be careful okay?”

You swallow, and clench your hands to ground yourself.

“You too.”

——————————————————————

You scroll more on your Rotomphone than usual, trying to just pass the time out of your own head so you don’t flinch and look at whoever walks into the store with complete fear.

Even the thumping Dumb Bug does has you on edge. But it seems the Masquerain can sense your nerves after you walk out to turn their lamp on, because they flap over and nuzzle your face before they continue their bizarre little lamp dance.

You feel a little bit of tension ease, but you try to keep yourself busy nonetheless. When the last of the late night crowd dissipates you just stand with your nerves going haywire at the register.

It’s just you, the hum of the fluorescents, and the darkness outside. At least it isn’t raining.

Fuck.

Old Dude walks in today, and you’re almost relaxed listening to the clip clop of his flip flops against the tile. Even with the shitty country song playing over the loud speakers.

He brings his spoils over to the counter and you ring him up like usual.

“You seem tense.”

You were so startled, you almost drop the wet food can you scanned.

“Huh?” You look at him.

“I said,” he drawls. “You look tense.”

“Oh,” you let out a nervous laugh, and turn to get his Motostoke Reds. “Yeah, did you hear about the attacks lately?”

“Attacks?” He arches a very thick brow at you. Ugh you don’t want to talk about this anymore.

“Yeah, my coworker said people were getting attacked on the road back to Ula Ula Meadow. Isn’t that crazy?”

“Hm, that’s… unusual.”

“Yeah,” you say, the awkwardness makes you want to get out of this conversation so you can go back to standing at the register and panicking to yourself.

“Thank you for shopping at Pokémart, stay safe.” You say, change and receipt placed onto his open palm.

“You too. Oh, if you need any help,” he pauses standing in the doorway. Your interest firmly captured on him. “There’s always the police station up the road.”

You’d forgotten about that, mostly because you didn’t have any business walking towards Po Town at all.

“Uh, sure. Thanks mister.”

“Oh, you don’t know who I am do you?” He seems to give you that smug smirk. Though you wonder if he just seems to not know how to smile properly.

“Uh the dude who buys wet food and Motostoke Reds?” You say, your shoulders rising with a shrug.

“Yeah… we’ll go with that.” He says with a chuckle as he walks out.

“Oh… okay. Cool.”

What the fuck was that about? You sigh and count to ten before going back on Pokégram to watch shorts to focus on.

Even if you can’t seem to shake the feeling something is watching you.

—————————————————————————

Your shift ends with a heart made of cigarettes butts.

It makes you queasy.

——————————————————————-

The Old Dude and The Asshole visit more frequently.

The Old Dude seems to have fun forcing you into polite conversation. Talking about the frequency of attacks on the road, and you’re pretty sure it’s just to make you squirm.

He always smirks when he gets a reaction out of you. And your stomach drops every time.

The fucker seems to revel in watching goosebumps run up your arms.

And you’re almost thankful to see the asshole, until he starts to intimidate other customers in the line.

Any bad manners from customers are met with him loudly complaining about how they’re wasting his time to get them to hurry up. Only to… just awkwardly try to make conversation with you.

“Oi.”

“Yes sir?”

“Fuckin’, the weather…”

You just look at him, blinking. My brother in Arceus, what were you supposed to say?

“Yeah, it’s not raining tonight.”

“Yeah…”

Weeks of that.

Weeks.

Of the two of them coming in almost every night, to get the same stuff. To trap you in the same circling conversations.

It was sick.

The anxiety they were giving you left you barely able to eat.

You put in your two weeks notice quietly to the owner, tired of feeling like a Rattata being hunted by Meowths, counting down the days until you could leave.

For weeks the feeling of eyes on you at all times doesn’t leave until you go home after your shift.

————————————————————

You clock into your shift, getting a hug from Cayden before she leaves wishing you luck with your fresh start.

You go through the usual routine of the crowd, ignoring the bids for attention from The Old Dude. He just quirked an eyebrow before leisurely strolling back out the door.

And you turned the lamp on one last time for Dumb Bug. There wasn’t anybody on the route path, so you just sat and reminisced with the fluttering insect Pokemon. It wasn’t until you got up to go back inside that Dum Bug acknowledged you.

By grabbing your shirt sleeve with its delicate little grippers.

“Hey bud, it’ll be okay, the next person on Night Shift will be nice to you. Just don’t get hurt flying around in the rain okay?”

The bug just grabbed onto your shirt even further settling onto your shoulder. This dumb fucking bug and your dumb fucking heart so full of love.

“What fucking pair you two make.”

Ah. The Asshole.

You turn, putting on your retail smile to acknowledge him.

“Oh my apologies sir, I will ring you up at the counter, please give me a moment.”

“‘S fine- you’ve been building a bond with ‘er for a while yeah?”

You feel your heart stop.

You put your hand over your Rotomphone in your pocket.

“Hey! Don’t look at me like I’m some kind of bad guy, ey?”

You feel like you’re gonna throw up.

“Look just, alright lemme explain.” He says taking a step towards you.

You realize now how tall he is. How bulky he is.

How easily he could hurt somebody.

How blind you’ve been to the obvious.

The fucking skull pendant on the chain around his neck.

You never noticed.

“Hey,” he says and you hear a loud whine as your breathing picks up. “Woah wait don’t-“

Your Dumb Bug flaps quickly in front of you and oscillates it’s wings to unleash a horrible loud whine that has The Asshole clutching his ears with you.

Dumb Bug pulls you in the direction of your home but Asshole quickly steps to the side while getting his bearings to cut you off.

So you pivot: the Old Guy had told you there was a Police Station up the road right?

That’s where you run to.

“HEY! WAIT- agh, FUCK GET BACK HERE DAMMIT LEMME EXPLAIN!” He shouts after you, and you feel tears start to well up and run down your cheeks as you haul yourself up the hill.

Dumb Bug tries to chirp to cheer you on, especially when you can hear Asshole catching up with you. You let out the loudest scream you can before you’re cut off by him grabbing your collar and choking you.

You kick and jerk away from him as he pulls you close. He grunts when you manage to catch his shins and land a hit to his nose with a lucky flail.

Dumb Bug tries to start up another loud screech but Asshole holds you against him like a meat shield and your sweet little Masquerain clearly doesn’t want to hurt you. He’s got your arms caught behind you while you howl and scream for help.

“Gah-fuck! You couldn’t just- stop moving-“ he jerks you roughly enough to make your shoulders pop and you yelp at the pain. “Look all you had to do was let me explain-“

“Explain what?! How you fucking stalked me?!” You shriek, still fighting against his grip while he pushes you steadily up the hill towards the police station.

“Look I wasn’t stalkin’ ya- you weren’t being secretive about it!”

“And now you’re fucking assaulting me!”

He wrenches you back to yell in your ear.

“Because you ran away dumb ass!”

It hurts your ears, and all you can do is struggle and yell for help as he shuffles the both of you up the road. When you see the police station you get a surge of energy.

If you don’t get away from him now- god you don’t want to even think about what he could do to you.

So you lean back and stomp your foot on his toes as hard as you can. He grunts as the grip on your arms loosens when he flinches.

“DUMB BUG NOW!”

You pull forward, and Dumb Bug releases that horrible sound from it’s wings again, thankfully slipping out of Asshole’s grasp and you push one last sprint away towards the Police Station.

You manage to sprint towards the station, the faded white exterior with striped columns standing ominously with a few sconces lit up. Probably on a timer.

You beg to Arceus and the Tapus and whatever else can hear that somebody is in the building.

You slam into the blue doors of the entrance, making the windows rattle. You slam you palms against the door and beg for somebody, anybody to open up.

You hear multiple Meowths hiss and shriek while you pound on the door, begging through tears and gulps of breath for help.

You know Asshole wasn’t going to be distracted forever, that guy was the Leader of Team Skull, he had pokemon.

You left the poor Masquerain with a sicko.

You hope the poor thing was okay.

Eventually the lights turn on inside and you can see the shapes of the office interior through the clouded glass. A figure quickly rushing to the door backlit in shadow.

You heave a sharp gasp of relief as the door opens-

“Oh, thank you please- I’m being chased by-“

“Hey,” it’s his voice that makes you nauseous so quickly you sway on your feet. “Woah, hold on what’s got you so riled up?”

He clasps your shoulders in a firm grip to keep your legs underneath you.

You weren’t specific enough in your pleas for mercy, because the gods had gifted you the old creep as your beacon of hope.

“Oh look at you, you’ve been all roughed up. Scaring the clowder- tch, the boy’s so rough sometimes.”

You wonder if the universe had a specific grudge on you at this point.

“Oi! Guzma!” You look down at the badge on the old guy’s shirt, Police Captain Nanu, it says. You never had the desire to know anything about him before this point.

You were stupidly hoping you could ignore the both of them and leave Ula Ula Island.

“Yeah yeah! I get it-“

“Do you now?” You look into Nanu’s eyes as he speaks with his casual drawl. “Tears and bruises on the arms don’t imply to me that you in fact “Got it”.”

“Oi! They threw the first punch not me! Besides, I was busy grabbing this-“ he holds up your boarding pass for the morning flight out of Ula Ula Island, out of Alola. “Seems they weren’t going to tell us they were leaving.”

That had been in your bag. In your locker.

In the office.

Had he only just gotten to your stuff?

Or had he been rummaging through there this whole time.

Guzma holds Dumb Bug, unconsciously flopping it’s little wings as they jostle with each of his footsteps, and he finally leans down to get close to your face.

“It’s okay though, me and the old geezer ‘ere will make everything crystal clear.” He says with a mean sneer, a wild look in his eyes and you stand there and shake.

“Guzma, enough, we’ve got all night to help them understand. And besides,” Nanu says, his arm curling over your shoulder while Guzma opens the other door to flank you. “You’ve got every day afterward to accept your situation.”

#fluffabutt writes #yandere imagines #yandere pokemon x reader #yandere Nanu #yandere Guzma #yandere scenarios #yandere pokemon #it’s very long #a little meandering even #I don’t want to do a third draft on this #completely gave up trying to think of the pokemon equivalent of a Hot Dog #yandere x reader

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gelatinouscubed · 10 months

Text

Oh the Weather Outside is (Cold and Wet)

Wrote another one! Only about 1-2k words again, but it's Elliot's turn this time. The weather where I live is just rainy and freezing and horrible, so what else can I do but subject my ocs to it?

Cw: Customer service job

“Syl, If I have to make another peppermint mocha, I want you to drown me with the cold foam in front of the customer that orders it.”

Next to Jay, he hears his coworker chuckle at his grousing, cut off half-way by the espresso machine whirring to life. Jay shoves a cake pop into a bag with an unnecessary amount of force as it clicks back off, and Sylvia passes him with a half-full cup.

“Have you ever tried one? They're pretty good.” She offers, mixing some drink off to the side. Jay moves to the edge of the bar, sets the cake pop down and yells out a name. He doesn't stop to see if it's grabbed before he heads back in.

“If you ever catch me drinking anything mint flavored I want you to shoot me. I'm pretty sure I got peppermint syrup in my nose at some point, all I can smell is mint. Why can't people just order a hot chocolate for once or something?” He grumbles, just at the volume level for Sylvia to hear.

She shrugs, putting something in the oven.

“Holiday drinks will sell. You've worked here long enough to know that.”

Jay rolls his eyes.

“I can still bitch about it.”

“You're just mad you can't listen to music right now. No reason to blame other people because you left your phone at home.”

Jay grumbles something annoyed under his breath. His coworker kicks his ankle, just light enough to not really hurt.

“You're not even supposed to be listening to music when there's customers anyway.”

The male scoffs. “Not like you're gonna tattle on me if I do. And I know you've put vodka in your Stanley before so even if you do, I'm taking you with me.”

Despite the threat of blackmail, Sylvia laughs, knowing the threat is empty. She simply shrugs and shifts back to the drinks she's manning.

Jay's focus moves to whatever overly complicated drink he's stuck making, hearing Sylvia doing the same at the other end of the bar. When the door dings open, he glances at her, then at the door.

With a sigh he lifts his head up just enough to project his voice. “Hi welcome to Starbucks, I'll be with you in a minute!”

Instead of any verbal response, he hears shuffling, then a sharp intake of breath.

“Hiih-hihhh’TSCHhh! Hehh'ngKCHhh!!”

Those sneezes sound… familiar.

Forgoing his drink for a moment, Jay's head peeks from over the bar. Sure enough, standing there, absolutely soaked, is his roommate Elliot.

The man notices Jay staring at him from the corner of his eye, and shoots him a smile. One hand waves at his friend, while the other rubs at his nose with a knuckle.

“Hey, Jay! Hope I didn't catch you at a bad time.” Elliot comments as he nears the bar.

Jay looks him over, and lets out an incredulous laugh, unable to stop concern from bleeding into his expression.

“Jesus, what happened to you?”

Elliot sniffles, and gestures to the window. “It started pouring like ten minutes ago. Forgot my umbrella.”

The Starbucks worker lets his eyes trail over to the window, only now noticing the pounding rain against the glass.

“Huh. Guess it is.” His eyes move back to Elliot, tracing the edges of his shivering frame, and sopping hair and clothes.

“You're not wearing a coat? It's like 40 degrees outside.”

Elliot shrugs, hand coming up to scrub at his nose again as it scrunches up.

“Honestly I di-hiiih-didn't think it'd be thahaah- hiiih'gnTSCHhh! Hiihh’nNTSHChh!” He suddenly snaps forward into his elbow, tiny droplets of rain decorating the tiled floor around him as his soaked hair swings.

As Elliot sniffles through the aftermath with a sort of pinched and uncomfortable expression Jay doesn't see from him very often, the short man gets closer, leaning over the counter. He looks up, and pauses, the two of them making eye contact.

While Jay is aware Elliot isn't someone to shy away from physical touch, Jay… very much is. Even so, though, he finds his hand moving at his side, and up. Next to Elliot's face, it sits, hesitating, but then gently smooths away wet hair stuck to the side of his friend's cheek.

His fingers just barely brush against the skin, and yet it's enough to send a shiver trickling down Elliot’s frame. Jay's face scrunches into a scowl.

“You're fucking freezing.” His voice is soft despite his expression, and Elliot can't help but smile even as the shorter boy pulls away.

“Well, it's my fault. I didn't check the weather before I got in the car.”

Jay's eyes narrow. “Why are you even here anyway, shouldn't you be in class right now?”

“Oh, the professor got into a car accident and canceled class.” He answers, much too nonchalantly for the content of the sentence.

“Oh, shit, are they alright?”

“She said she'd be alright to teach on Friday so I figured she must bhehh- hiiih- hoh. Damn, it's gone.” He grumbles, punching and rubbing his nose between his fingers.

Jay looks away, noting Sylvia eyeing him with equal parts curiosity and confusion.

“So, what, you drove all the way out to campus to get a coffee?” He asks, facing Elliot again. The man in question seems to realize something at that, and begins rummaging through his pockets.

“Ah- no, actually I came to bring you this.” He explains, holding something out to Jay.

The barista takes it, and his eyes go wide.

“Oh… you um, you noticed I forgot.” He comments, grasping his phone and earbuds in his palm. Elliot keeps the focus of his gaze anywhere else.

“I know you'd just be complaining about it if I didn't. Pretty sure you have your earbuds in more often than you don't.”

Jay chuckles, shoving the items in his pocket. He opens his mouth to thank his friend, but as he looks up, sees Elliot's face screwed in plain discomfort, lips just barely parted.

“S-sorry, Iihh-hiiih’NGKT! Iiihh'NGgxt!” He cuts himself off by pinching his nose between his fingers, tilting away from Jay to keep the younger man out of the crossfire.

Jay can't help the concern that comes soon after, reaching for Elliot's hand to pull it away.

“Dude stop, you're gonna burst a blood vessel like that.” He admonishes, earning an exasperated, stuffy huff from Elliot.

"Ndot happe'd yet.” He retorts, congestion leaking into his voice now. He turns away again.

“Hehh’inGCSHh- hiih… hiih’nnGTSchh!!” Jay watches Elliot snap forward again, face buried in his hands. Droplets fall from his still wet hair as he sneezes, then shudders, reminding Jay that his friend is not only still soaking wet, but it's not exactly the warmest both in the building and outside.

The barista can feel his co-worker's eyes boring into the back of his head, his impromptu break nearing much too long. However, the sound of a door in the back swinging open is music to his ears. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see his manager, Erin, leaving the restroom, walking towards the register.

With little hesitation, he quickly unties his apron and haphazardly tosses it on a hook.

“Taking lunch!” He yells back, stepping around and out from behind the counter.

He ignores his boss and Sylvia's slight surprise at his sudden break, beelining to Elliot.

“Alright, back to the car.” He announces to Elliot as the man scrubs at his nose with the edge of his jacket sleeve, pausing in confusion at Jay's hasty exit.

“Wait, hold on-” Jay is already pushing Elliot out of the store with one hand while snatching his bag and rummaging through it with the other, deaf to Elliot's confusion.

“You're gonna get pneumonia if you stay in those wet clothes, man. So, you're gonna go home and change and like, make herbal tea, or something. You've got some of that healthy shit in the cabinets, right?” He asks rhetorically, pushing Elliot out the doors.

There's a sudden whoosh behind Elliot, and he looks over to see Jay opening an umbrella, before holding it out to him.

“There. Just give it back to me when I get home, ‘kay?”

Surprised, Elliot stares at the offering for a couple seconds.

“Um… wond't you ndeed that when you get off work?” He asks, sniffling again.

Jay shakes his head, practically pushing the umbrella into Elliot's hands.

“I'll be fine, employee parking is right at the front so I'll only be walking for 5 seconds or so.”

Though he hesitates, the explanation must be satisfactory for Elliot, since he accepts the offered coverage.

“You're uh, you're not gonna get fired for leaving like that, right?”

Jay scoffs.

“What, like it'll be that hard to find another shitty minimum-wage customer service job? They're short-staffed anyway, plus I technically didn't break any rules. Just took my break without permission.” He says with a shrug, trying to ease Elliot's worries.

The taller man eventually sighs, rubbing a knuckle against the underside of his nose.

“Alright. Thanks.”

“Hey, it's no big deal. You would've done the same for me.” Jay offers with a small smirk, nudging his friend.

With a couple pats on Elliot's shoulder, Jay pushes him off.

“Now go home idiot! If you get sick from this, I'm hiding the cold medicine.” He yells out the empty threat, waving Elliot off, who turns, smiles, and heads back to his car.

As Jay turns around, he can hear another set of two, breathy sneezes from the parking lot. He laughs under his breath, his hand moving to his pocket, feeling the phone and earbuds resting inside.

“Can't believe that guy.”

#oc writing #snz #snz blog #snzblr #snz kink #snz ocs #jellys ocs #jellys writing

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queen-scribbles · 10 months

Text

Girls' Night In

Creators were revealed for the @kotorgiftexchange, so I can share my piece I wrote! Female Revan, Bastila, and Mission buddyfic, set post-game bc they deserve nice things.

----

The hotel façade looming above them reeked of stately opulence, hardly the place you would expect to find a Jedi, let alone two.

And yet, that's precisely where Revan and Bastila found themselves, dragged on a 'girls only' excursion by a very enthusiastic Mission Vao. She did have a point that they deserved a chance to catch their breath after saving the galaxy. And she had managed to sneak them away from all the attention of those who wanted to praise Revan or babysit Bastila. (Despite the latter's protests that close watch was warranted, given her fall and too-recent redemption.) That level of skill deserved some reward.

"Look at that view," Mission gushed, gesturing broadly toward the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the city and the sky beyond.

"So, what sort of activities or attractions are there around here?" Revan asked as she joined Mission. It was quite the view, she had to agree.

"Oh. I dunno." Mission shrugged, still staring out the window in awe.

"You don't know?" Bastila parroted from near the door.

"Yeah, I didn't pick this place for the 'local activities." Mission pivoted from the window and flung herself on one of the cushy beds. "I picked it b'cause it's fancy an' I like the idea of bein' pampered a little." She wiggled down in the duvet. "Or a lot."

Revan and Bastila exchanged a look.

"But if you don't know things to do in the area-"

"We don't need to do things in the area." Mission sat up and flipped a lekku back over her shoulder. "There's a pool in the hotel. There's a spa an' fancy restaurant--with room service--in the hotel. There's a theater and arcade and massage parlor in the hotel. This isn't girls' night out, it's girls night in. We're only out in the sense of being out of the Ebon Hawk and out from under the eye of various Republic watchdogs. We can have fun here an' never worry about catching a speeder or getting lost or anything."

"Alright, that does sound fun," Revan said with a small smile at her enthusiasm. "And I can see you put some thought into this."

"Enough to know we have plenty to do without setting foot outside the hotel doors," Mission gloated.

Bastila was quiet, moving off to examine the rest of the suite, and Revan joined Mission sitting on the bed.

"So, how long did it take you to find this place?" she asked, tucking hair behind her ear as she looked around the room. The bed was very comfortable.

"Oh, I actually heard about it before we were done the whole 'savin' the galaxy' thing, it was the using it to relax that came later. Figured we could benefit after... everything." Something flickered in Mission's eyes and she glanced at where Bastila had disappeared, then out the window, before looking back at Revan. "Tell me we didn't need something like this."

"It will be... nice." Pampered opulence was not something usually associated with Jedi, but the thought of a good meal and a massage to deal with the tension of everything that happened on the Star Forge was a tantalizing prospect. "Makes it all the more regretful Juhani didn't come along."

"Hey, I asked!" Mission protested, flopping back on the bed. "She very politely declined, and I got the sense it wasn't a good idea to push." She snorted. "Her loss."

"I hope Bastila manages to enjoy herself..."

"Yeah, I'm kinda surprised she agreed."

As if summoned by the talk of her, Bastila emerged from her exploration and perched in one of the plush chairs near the window. "Mission, these rooms are enormous. Why was... all of this necessary?" She gestured to the whole space.

Mission tipped her head back against the duvet and grinned at her. "The heck of it? B'cause it seemed fun?" She rolled over, nearly knocking Revan off the bed. "Don't tell me you never ever once wanted to stay in a fancy hotel just for the experience."

Bastila's lips twitched, maybe toward a smile. "Not since joining the order; this level of... personal comfort is not something Jedi are meant to aspire to."

"Okay, but you can enjoy it once, if it's dropped in your lap, right? Surely itty bitty Bastila thought about it before joining the Jedi?"

This time there was definitely a hint of a smile. "Perhaps just once..." she allowed, as if in answer to both, then cocked her head. "I am curious how you are affording this."

"Don't worry about that," Mission said dismissively, jumping to her feet. "It's paid for, just enjoy yourself. What should we do first? There's spa, restaurant, theatre, pool, massage..."

"Well, there's a tub nearly the size of a pool in the suite's 'fresher," Bastila said dryly, "so I don't think we need to visit the communal one."

"You're funny, bet you just don't wanna be seen breakin' Jedi dignity to do a cannonball," Mission teased.

Bastila arched a brow, but her eyes were twinkling. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"What I'd like to know," Revan interjected, "is why they have both spa and massage; I was under the impression massage was part of the spa... experience."

"Dunno," Mission shrugged. "Maybe for people who want a massage but not the whole spa shebang, maybe for room service. We can find out; you wanna do spa first?"

Revan and Bastila looked at each other, then back at the twi'lek, practically bouncing with excitement to get this underway. "Sounds like a plan."

"Yes!" She was out of the room like a shot, headed for the lift with a twirl in her step.

---

The spa offered an extensive list of services, and it took fifteen minutes of reviewing the options to settle on the ones the wanted. Apparently a bundle of six was "included" with their suite, which renewed their curiosity how Mission had paid for this.

A few idle questions to the zabrak manning the service showed both Mission's guesses had been correct--massage services were offered separate from the spa as a whole both because some people only wanted that, and as an option that allowed for room servicing. But it was also offered as part of several spa bundles; did the ladies wish it included in their experience?

That one was easy to agree upon. Though it did prompt a spirited debate on which type of massage they wanted before the receptionist intervened to point out all the masseurs on staff were versed in all the variations, so they could each do whichever they wished. That got them unstuck, and they moved through the rest of the process with relative ease, all agreeing they should start with the massage.

The receptionist took their selections with a practiced professional smile and showed them to the room where they could change. "I'll get the rest of these queued up," she said, and left without a further word to give them privacy.

"Wow, these are soft." Mission was already taking one of the provided spa robed from the receptacle and caressing the creamy white fabric as she headed for a changing stall.

Revan and Bastila moved a little more slowly--almost reluctantly in Bastila's case.

Revan stopped after retrieving her robe and stood studying her friend. "Everything alright?"

"...I suppose," Bastila said, fingers tracing the dark orange trim on the robe even though she'd pulled herself out of her reverie.

"That was a fairly significant pause," Revan said gently. "Are you sure?"

"It... it would feel odd enjoying this level of comfort regardless, after so long in the Jedi Order. But with the event that occurred, the things I said and did, it feels like being reward for wickedness."

"Then why agree to come? If you saw it that way," Revan asked, shifting her weight.

"An attempt at rebuilding bridges, I suppose," Bastila said with a ghost of a smile. "Despite the fact of what I did being nearly unforgiveable, you all" --she inclined her head to include Mission-- "seem willing to do just that. It seemed only proper I make an effort rather than wallowing in my guilt. I just was unaware of what Mission meant by this girls' trip."

"I think, as long as we view it as a... special occasion and not something to get used to, it's alright," Revan said. "And we aren't rewarding wickedness, we are celebrating victory. Part of that victory is you returning to the light and aiding the Republic forces in battle." She gave Bastila's shoulder a comforting squeeze. "There's no harm in enjoying time spent with friends, after all."

"I second that!" Mission interjected, bursting out clad in the hotel robe. "We're glad you're here, and that's why you're here, y'know?"

"I do take your meaning, yes," Bastila said with a smile. She shifted her grip on the robe. "In that case, I believe we should change so we can be moving along with this?"

"I'll wait for you," Mission promised, only bouncing a little as she leaned against a wall while Revan and Bastila stepped into the stalls to change.

---

Meditation was all well and good, definitely helped relax you and reduce stress, but there was something tactile about feeling someone knead the tension out of your muscles that was equally lovely. Revan felt near-boneless when they were done. From the look on Mission's face, she was the same, but though Bastila looked more relaxed there was a lingering sense of... something off to her. It faded as they moved on to other spa activities, however, and was completely gone by the time they got to the mud bath at the end.

"Is it bad I almost don't want to do anything else now?" Revan asked neither of them in particular.

Bastila hummed an agreement.

"Yeah, on second thought, maybe this should've been last," Mission laughed sheepishly. She skimmed one hand over the surface of the mud. "All I wanna do whenever we get out is go lay on the bed and not think about anything."

"We could do the theatre next," Bastila suggested, shifting a little to keep her hair out of the mud. "I caught a glimpse of the marquee; they're performing a Thassian drama known for being... light-hearted and enjoyable. And I believe the timing works out to give us a bit longer here."

"Sounds like a plan," Revan said. "Then dinner after, and we can see where we stand--"

"Stop tryin' to plan every minute of girls' night!" Mission interrupted with a snicker. "Part of the fun is just lettin' it happen and seeing where things go. Plan it too much and it becomes a task."

"But some of the activities run at set times," Bastila pointed out. "Like the theatre. We need to be cognizant of that if we wish to catch a show."

"Eh, we miss one, we can catch the next." Mission wiggled deeper into the mud. "This isn't a battle plan or anything, it's meant to be fun."

"I think Bastila's point is that it's good to have at least a loose schedule in mind," Revan interjected, "And Mission's is to be flexible about the schedule, and both of you are right."

Mollified by her efforts (thank the Force), both settled back. There was silence for a few minutes, aside from the barely-audible music.

"So, how much longer do we have if we wanna catch the next performance of the show?" Mission asked.

"Up to another twenty minutes here before we'd need to clean up and get back in our street clothes," Bastila said after a brief pause. She'd always had the best internal chrono of the group; Revan was inclined to believe her.

"I don't know about you two, but I think I'll be good after another ten," she commented.

"I would also find that sufficient," Bastila agreed.

Mission gave an exaggerated sigh. "I guess that'll be good for me, too."

"If-" Revan began.

"I'm kidding," Mission cut her off. "That's fine. If it wasn't, I'd just stay here an' let you guys go see the show."

"Alright, then. Ten more minutes."

---

The theatre show proved well worth pulling themselves away from the spa. Comfortable seats and an enjoyable performance of a light-hearted tale kept them in a relaxed frame of mind. The dinner that followed was leisurely and did much the same.

The only thing to reintroduce a sliver of tension was Mission dodging yet another attempt to find out how all this was being paid for. And even that was more curiosity than real tension.

"Just enjoy it and stop worrying!" she laughed.

"I'd enjoy it a lot more if I knew we weren't doing something potentially illegal," Revan said with a pointedly arched brow.

"We're not," Mission promised. "Swear by... by my favorite blaster. Just have fun."

Revan sighed but let it go, again. Even if the repeated secrecy was making her increasingly curious. She could try again in the morning; maybe once they were done and checked out Mission would be more forthcoming.

They returned to the room after dinner and lounged around for a while talking before going to bed. All agreed girls' night had been a resounding success.

#queens fic #kotor gift exchange 2023 #female revan #bastila shan #mission vao #kotor #knights of the old republic

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