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kamiversee · 4 months

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˗ˏˋ My Love Note ´ˎ˗

1 | Something about you

❧ Synopsis | In which Choso Kamo, your asshole of a best friend, starts to change after you get involved with a rather cheeky cashier, Gojo Satoru.

❧ Content | flirting, language, suggestiveness, fluff, & faint sexual tension.

❧ Word Count | 7.1k (we're starting off strong it seems...)

❧ Pairings | Choso Kamo x f!reader & Gojo Satoru x f!reader.

| Chapters mlist |

——Congratulations, you’ve nearly escaped hell— not-so-happily entering your final year of university as time stands currently. And y’know what, you think you’ve coasted through most of your college years drama-free. Well, aside from freshman year you suppose, everyone fucks up around that time…

But that’s a tale for another day, right now, you’re finding yourself waltzing into an entirely different plotline— with your head held high as you waltz toward a newfound cafe that you haven’t had the pleasure of finding for the past four years. Up until today, you’ve just barely been stomaching dining hall caffeine. Which, to say the least, isn’t nearly as savory or energizing as coffee from your local cafe.

Four years you’ve been going to this school and yet here you were walking right into an establishment you swear simply spawned out of nowhere because you pass this street all the damn time and you don’t remember this place being here a week ago. Yet, when you enter the cafe and spot a sign that says they’ve been there for the past three years, you begin to realize that maybe you should start going out a bit more…

Nonetheless, you mentally claimed that if the coffee here was bad, you’d walk right out and return to never acknowledging the place. But hey, when you do push past those double doors, fingers wrapped around a warm metal handle, a waft of smoky coffee aromas simmering into your nose, and spot a rather attractive cashier first thing, you’re quick to tell yourself that maybe shitty coffee might be worth a few things.

Especially seeing as six staggering feet of height, fluffy bright white locks of hair, and the most dazzling set of blue eyes take notice of your entering seconds after you’ve stepped inside— how could you not tell yourself that terrible coffee may be worth digesting so long as you get to drink in this tall, fine man whose name you note as Gojo as you near him and read the tag on his apron.

“Suguru, it seems the gods have finally answered my prayers,” Gojo yells back to someone you can’t quite see yet. His eyes were all over you, drinking you in just as you were him. The tall man receives a laugh from somewhere further behind him before he redirects his words to you, “To what do I have the pleasure of serving you today, sweetheart?”

Your lips parted as you approached the counter fully, your eyes lingering on his far longer than they should’ve. “Uh,” And you were making a fool out of yourself already, great, “It’s my first time here, so I’m not too sure…” Okay, that’s a decent enough save considering how your words earn a half smile from the man in front of you who tilts his head and eyes you down.

And fuck if he wasn’t every bit of intimidating looking down at you like that. He places a single hand onto the counter space in front of him, leaning forward just a bit before turning his head back to take a glance at the menu hanging up, as if he didn’t have it memorized already, “Well, for first-timers I usually recommend anything but our coffee.”

You bat your lashes at the man for a moment as he returns his attention to you, “Seriously? That’s the one thing I came in here for…”

“Ah, well,” Gojo clicks his tongue and shrugs a bit, leaning toward you just to whisper, “Y’gotta come here when I’m in the back.”

You lean forward, intrigued by his words, “…Why?”

“Cause’ Suguru doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing,” Gojo chuckles a bit and you reciprocate before pushing your brows together questioningly. “Suguru, my best fr-, my coworker.” He clarifies quickly.

“Ohh,” You nod, “So should I come back another time, or…?”

“Nono, you caught me a few minutes before rush hour,” Gojo says rather cheerfully before he leans away from you and flashes a smile, “I can run back there ‘nd make ya’ somethin’ since we’re not too busy?”

At that, you take a moment to glance around the cafe interior, spotting one, maybe two people sitting on their laptops and languidly sipping or munching away at their breakfast. You’re glad you came in when you did.

Not only did you get the chance to talk to Gojo, who you turn back to seconds later with a nod, but you also got the chance to get not-so-shitty coffee according to the man. “Yeah, actually. That’d be nice,” You hum to him.

Gojo dramatically moves to stretch his arms, clasping his hands together before extending them out with a heavy sigh, as if he were preparing to do such a difficult task. “Alrighty then, is there any specific kinda coffee you’re lookin’ for?”

“Still my first time here, Gojo. So, no…” The way you say his name so suddenly has him wondering if you knew him from somewhere. But, you quickly smile a little and nod your chin to his name tag, to which he looks down and laughs at himself. “Surprise me,” You then say moments later.

“Surprise you?” Gojo echoes.

You shrug sheepishly, “If that’s not too much work for you-“

“No, I don’t mind. I can surprise ya’,” His smile at you deepens and you catch the slightest dip in his cheeks as the most enamoring set of dimples pops out to your gaze. “Buuut, before I do… Do you have any allergies or dislikes I should be wary of?”

You hum, “Uh, no I don’t think so? I’m feeling rather open-minded today so, just bring me something good enough to have me returning for more.”

“Yeah? I mean, I’m sure you’ll come back for somethin’ else aside from jus’ coffee,” Gojo laughs to himself at his own comment and your eyes simply widen, a cute lil’ tilt of your head catching his attention.

You chuckle nervously, “What else would I come back for if not coffee?”

He shrugs before slowly turning away, “Oh, I dunno… Perhaps a certain handsome cashier that’s caught your eye?”

Oh, you see where he’s going with this. It may have been a while but, you know what flirting looks like. “Is this handsome cashier in the room with us, or…?” You tease with a smile on your face, watching the way Gojo freezes and he sends you this look that you have to try your hardest not to laugh at.

He nearly pouts, “W-Well, yeah, obviously. You’re lookin’ at him.”

Your brows lift, “Am I?”

Gojo narrows those pretty blue eyes of his at you, “Do you not find me handsome?”

“Say I didn’t,” You murmur tauntingly, “Wouldn’t you be really embarrassed?”

The corner of his lips twitch before he scoffs playfully, “What are you, some kinda masochist?”

You giggle, “No, but seein’ that pout on your face was kinda cute.”

“Pout?” Gojo gasps dramatically, “Hah, what pout?” He scoffs again before straightening his face and attempting to be serious with you, “I didn’t pout-“

“You totally did,” You cut off, peering right into those mesmerizing eyes of his— damn, it was almost like you couldn’t get yourself to look away.

“I did not,” Gojo corrects your statement, lower lip poking out once more into a pout.

You shrug and finally get yourself to glance off to the side, “It was cute.”

He instantly tilts his head at that, ears perking up, “Y’think I’m cute?”

“I do.” You hum simply with your eyes wandering right back over to his face.

There’s this little moment between the two of you, a spark if you will, where you both just meet one another’s eyes and admire each other. Is this what mutual attraction feels like?

Perhaps if you squinted, you would’ve noticed the faintest shade of pink decorating his cheeks, “I-,” Gojo swallows suddenly, “Why thank you, sweetheart,” He utters suavely, as if to save himself from embarrassment. After which, he clears his throat, “That aside, we’ve got about six minutes before people start rushin’ in here ‘nd it’ll take two for me to prepare that coffee of yours so, do you mind givin’ me a name?”

You blink, “A name…?”

“Your name,” Gojo clarifies.

“Oh! Sorry,” You’re quick to apologize for your moment of daze, giving him your name seconds later to make up for it.

He starts to smile again, “That’s your name?”

“Yes?” You utter almost confusedly. Was there something wrong-

“It’s pretty,” Gojo interrupts your thoughts completely and your eyes go all wide all over again, a small feature in which he finds absolutely adorable.

“T-Thank you,” You stammer out, turning away to now avoid the eye contact you once couldn’t tear yourself away from.

“Uhuh,” His eyes scan you up and down once more before he sighs, “I’ll be back in a sec’, sweets,” Gojo says finally.

God, you think the nickname he threw out has your heart racing because it made your face so utterly hot. Almost as if you don’t hear nicknames like that on a daily basis…

Aside from that, you gave Gojo one last nod before looking back over your shoulder to see if anyone was coming yet. He’d told you that there was only a few minutes until rush hour so you were a bit wary that people would appear out of nowhere in the next-

“So you’re the girl that’s got Satoru all giggly, huh?” A voice purrs from somewhere in front of you.

Quickly, you return your gaze forward and spot a man, equally as tall as Gojo, with long dark hair, slim eyes, and a really pretty face— holy shit, how many hot guys work here??

“Uh,” You’re stuttering again, tipping your head to the side, “…Satoru?” You repeat, confused by the person he’s referring to.

The man chuckles, “Gojo,” He tells you, “Satoru Gojo,” You nod at the clarification and he grins warmly.

“Oh, then yeah I guess so,” You shrug sheepishly before flashing a smile, “So then that means you must be Suguru-“

“Geto,” He’s so quick to correct you that you almost immediately shut up, swallowing down your words as if you’d said something wrong. “Sorry, I assume Satoru told you my first name?”

You steadily nod, avoiding eye contact with him out of embarrassment, “He did…”

“As expected,” Geto hums before letting out a long sigh, “Just call me by me last, I don’t know you too well so I’m sure you understand.”

You hum, “Right, sorry.”

It’s a tad bit awkward for the next few seconds after that mild conversation but when you hear Gojo yelling from somewhere in the back, the awkwardness quickly subsides.

You even spot Gojo popping his head out from around the corner just to speak to his coworker, “Suguru don’t scare her off jus’ cause you have a girlfriend-“

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” Geto interrupts, sharp with his correction as he glances back over his shoulder.

Gojo snorts, “Fine then, girl who’s a friend that you like-“

“I don't-,” A sigh leaves Geto’s lips before he’s moving to pinch the bridge of his nose, groaning afterward, “Just hurry up with the damn coffee before people start comin’ in.”

Your eyes somehow find Gojo’s and you watch him mouth out something to you, “He’s grouchy because his girlfriend’s ignorin’ him-“

“Satoru,” Geto says scoldingly, causing Gojo to flinch dramatically.

Then you see the white-haired man laugh before winking at you and dipping back around the corner. After which, you don’t even realize you’re smiling until you meet Geto’s gaze and feel your expression drop at the glare he’s giving you.

“What?” You murmur warrily, raising a brow at his plain look.

Geto tilts his head and studies your face for a mere moment, “You new around here or somethin’?”

“New to this cafe, yeah,” You explain, “Why?”

He shrugs, “I’ve learned most of our customer’s faces and majority of them live around the area but I’ve never seen you before.��

“I live not too far from campus but I wasn’t aware this cafe was here until today…” You explain steadily, earning somewhat of an intrigued expression from the man.

“Damn, really?”

You nod, “Mhm.”

“So, wait,” Geto scoffs a little at the thought, “Don’t tell me you’ve been stomaching dining hall caffeine all this time.”

You chuckle and glance off to the side, “Well…”

“If you live near campus, how the hell are you just now finding us??” Geto questions, he seems genuinely confused by your cluelessness.

Your shoulders lift into a shrug, “I don’t go out much.”

“Maybe you should,” He tells you.

A thin lipped smile tugs at your lips, “Starting to realize that now, thanks.”

The man opens his mouth to say something but he’s cut off by Gojo returning from the back and placing a hand on his shoulder, to which Geto glances down at.

“Alrighty Suguru, thanks for not scaring the pretty lady away!” Gojo says cheerfully as he pushes past his friend and makes eye contact with you.

Geto’s brows push together, “You’re welcome? I don’t know how I would’ve scared her, I-“

Gojo unintentionally cuts him off with a laugh, “You’ve been kinda grouchy towards women ever since you met-“

“Fuck off,” He grumbles, brushing off Gojo’s hand on his shoulder and turning to make his way to the back once more.

“See what I mean?” Gojo hums to himself.

Then Geto laughs, “You’re not a woman are you?”

“Suguruuu,” Gojo whines, turning his head back to his friend who’s already disappeared from his line of vision. Then, Gojo sighs and looks to you again, “Ah whatever, ignore him, he sucks sometimes.”

You grin, “You guys are best friends, aren’t you?”

The way Gojo tilts his head almost innocently is kinda cute, “How can you tell?”

“Mine acts similarly,” You explain, thinking of your best friend who’s not the nicest person in the world.

“Yeah?” Gojo hums, “An asshole once they get into a relationship?”

“I’m not in a relationship, Satoru!” Geto calls out from the back.

You watch as Gojo rolls his eyes at his friend's refutation of his claims. Looking somewhat off to the side, your thoughts wander more so toward your best friend, “Well, no, he’s kinda just an asshole all around.”

“Really? Why’re you his best friend then?” You’ve always found this question funny considering most people are confused about how you and your best friend are even friends when most times you two don’t get along.

Instead of really answering Gojo’s question, you look up at him and smile, “I could ask you the same thing, no?”

His brows furrow and he scoffs, “What? No, Suguru’s just grouchy today, I promise he’s usually better than that.”

You nod, “I see…”

“Anyway,” Gojo extends his hand out to you, “Here, give this a try,” He offers, handing a decently sized cold drink to you.

You receive the item and look down at it, “You’re not trying to poison me right?”

Gojo laughs, “Aaand why ever would I do that?”

The cup is steadily lifted to your lips as you lift your eyes to him once more, “I dunno, men are weird.”

“That they are,” He chuckles, “But no, that’d be illegal and I have no intentions of harming you.”

Again, you just nod at that and then take that first sip of the surprise drink he’d given you. A strong taste of vanilla and a nearly overwhelming amount of coffee creamer hits your tastebuds. You smile but you’re a bit taken back by how sweet it is. One, it’s way better than any cup of coffee you’ve ever had from the dining hall and two, it’s a lot sweeter than you were expecting.

“Holy fuck, how much sugar did you put in this thing?” You utter in surprise as you move the cup away from your mouth and glance at it as if that’ll give you the answer to your question.

Gojo lets out a laugh, “You said to surprise you.”

“Yeah but this is sweet as hell,” You tell him, your eyes raking over the cup in your hand.

“Sweet drink for a sweet girl, I don’t see a problem,” He responds with a little lean toward you.

“Right and-,” You scoff, eyes narrowing at the very lousy print of your name on the cup, “Who’s…” You almost laugh, “Christ, your handwriting is shit.”

Gojo lets out a huff, “Okay, first off, my handwriting is not that bad. And secondly-”

You’re quick to turn the cup to him and lift it, “Look at it!”

“Oh.” He squints his eyes at it, “Shit, that is kinda bad…” Gojo mumbles with an amused little smile on his face.

“Yeah, I can’t even read this…” You laugh, returning the cup to yourself, “But that’s okay, I appreciate the effort,” His smile grows at your comforting words as you then look up at him once more, “How much?”

“Since my handwriting’s so shit,” He starts, tilting his head at you and shrugging, “Consider it on the house.”

Your eyes seem to light up, “Yeah?”

“Mhm,” Gojo hums.

“Aw, thank you,” Who would you be to ever pass up something free? Especially given by this cheeky cashier before you.

“Anytime-”

Geto’s voice intrudes from the back, “Satoru I thought I told you to change these filters? And why’d you leave such a big mess, holy shit.”

Gojo yells back to his coworker, slightly looking over his shoulder, “The mess isn’t that bad is it?”

You snort, “If it’s anything like your handwriting then uh…”

“Alright,” Gojo’s quick to look at you once more, “You just got a free drink out of me so I don’t wanna hear anything from you.”

“Satoru, these filters aren’t gonna change themselves,” Geto nags further.

You watch as Gojo rolls his eyes and yells back to his friend yet again, “You’re literally back there already, change them yourself.”

“Nope, it’s your turn,” Geto argues.

Gojo frowns, “But-”

“The girl’s not goin’ anywhere anytime soon,” At that, you blink in surprise. How does he know you’re not ready to leave just yet? “Get your ass back here,” Geto orders.

Gojo turns his head and looks at you almost pleadingly.

You giggle, “What? Sounds like you’ve got some filters to change, Gojo…”

“Y’know what,” He scoffs and nods his chin to the cup in your hand, “$5.45.”

Your head cocks back a little and your brows go up, “I’m sorry?”

“The drink,” Gojo hums simply, looking back to make sure Geto wasn’t on his way out to scold him some more just yet, “Since you wanna take his side over mine…”

The way you frown misses Gojo’s eyes up until he turns to look at you one last time, his eyes going wide as you try to defend yourself, “I wasn’t-”

“S’fine, I got it,” An entirely different voice grumbles from your right, causing you to nearly jump out of your skin. So close to you, an arm slips right past your face and you watch as an all too familiar man extends a card out to Gojo.

Your lashes bat a few times as an annoyingly familiar scent of cologne rushes into your nose. You’d literally just escaped said smell a few hours ago after leaving your apartment and yet here it was all over again, directly in your nose and you met the side profile of your best friend, “Choso?” You utter.

Whatever light and fluffy banter that was in the air seconds ago seems to die at the mere presence of Choso standing so closely beside you. Ignoring you, he urges Gojo to take his card and Gojo soon does so with a scoff— he was going to keep flirting and teasing you but here comes this all-too-serious-looking man taking your vacant side as if it were second nature.

The smile Gojo once had on his face simmered down and his expression became a lot more neutral as he quietly moved to charge Choso’s card.

After which, your best friend finally looks down at you, his eyes pointed in a glare that would make anyone feel unloved despite you knowing he feels quite the opposite (to some extent at least), “Don’t you have class in an hour?” Choso asks you in a dull monotone.

Your face scrunches up slightly before you shrug, “I was thirsty…”

Choso stares at you for a long moment, glances at Gojo, then back to you with a scoff, “Yeah, clearly.”

“What’s that supposed to mean-,” You’re cut off by Choso taking his eyes off of you and receiving his card back from Gojo, the two men making eye contact once more and both looking as if the other had done something to offend them. Your best friend openly scoffs in Gojo’s face before pocketing his card and turning away, quickly walking out of the establishment.

Your eyes go wide, “Choso, wait!” You call out as your eyes followed him walking away from you. Only to be ignored again, you let out a huff and start to walk after him but turn back to Gojo one last time, “Sorry about him.”

Gojo’s expression seems to light back up a bit and he shrugs, “You’re fine.”

You nod and start turning away before remembering something and looking at Gojo yet again, slightly pointing at him, “You owe me a free drink by the way,” You remind him playfully.

His face is twisting right back up into that intrigued expression from earlier, “Do I now? And what for?”

“Your shitty handwriting of course,” You hum.

"Hm," He takes a second to think before letting out a slight huff. You then feel and watch the way his eyes glide up and down your body before he responds to you, "Alright."

And with that, both of you smile at one another one last time before you go running off to catch up with Choso. Gojo watches you almost in some kinda trance as you leave, spotting more customers approaching but ignoring them for the most part as his gaze remains glued to you until you’re completely out of his line of vision.

Then, he lets out this breathy little sigh, “Fuck…” Moving to wipe his face off as if that’ll rid himself of whatever the hell he’s feeling after talking to you.

He didn’t even get to ask you for your number like he wanted to…

With perfect timing, “Satoru, the-”

“Filters, yeah yeah, I got it,” Gojo cuts Geto off completely, turning around to see his friend emerging from the back as they both swap places due to the approaching rush hour.

· ───────── · ꨄ · ───────── ·

Outside, you were met with a slap of heat as soon as you exited the cafe, your eyes searching the area for Choso. A slight breeze of refreshing wind brushes over your skin as you finally spot the man having not gotten too far away.

Barely managing to catch up to him, you nudge Choso on his arm as soon as you meet his side, “Why’d you pay for my drink? I could’ve done that myself.”

Just as he did earlier inside the cafe, he acts as though you’re not even there, keeping his gaze forward and pretending he didn’t hear a single thing you just said.

“Choso? Hello??” You huff out, nudging him on his arm again.

His lip twitches into a scowl and he just barely side-eyes you, “What?”

You ignore all of his attitude, as you typically do, “Why’d you pay?”

“You’re a walking charity case,” Choso hums all too casually.

Your head goes back and you scoff, “I-, what? No, I’m not!” Then the back of your hand is landing on his arm as you hit him and he almost smiles.

Finding amusement in your reaction, he shrugs, “Yeah you are,” And before you can even try to get a response out, the cup of coffee in your hand is stripped from your grasp faster than you could blink. Choso removes the top and takes a sip, “Ew, you like this shit?” He scowls, placing the top right back on and handing you your drink back.

You blink, struggling to process a logical reasoning behind his action, “First off, no one told your ass to take a sip. And secondly-”

“I wanted to know what you got,” Choso cuts off, glancing at you to watch how quickly you get annoyed by him.

You groan, “You could’ve asked if that was the case.” He shrugs your words off and you roll your eyes at him, “And how the hell did you know I was in there anyway?”

“I didn’t,” Choso tells you, “I always go in there but today I happened to see your short ass at the counter when I walked in.”

You’re quick to shoot him a glare, “Stop that, I’m not short.”

He’s got this arrogant little grin on his face, “Look short t’me.”

“That’s because you’re taller than me, which doesn’t make you tall in general nor does it make me short.” You explain to the man simply with your eyes shooting daggers into the side of his face.

Choso continues to act as though you’re not even looking at him, “Being shorter than me makes you short-”

“And y’know what,” You cut off, tearing your eyes off of your overly bothersome friend, “You’re annoying.”

He cocks his head back, “Annoying? I’m annoying?” Finally, he looks at you, now searching the side of your face for answers.

“Yeah, very.” You hum.

Choso scoffs and then sizes you up and down, “Says the one who was gawkin’ over Gojo Satoru of all people.”

You nearly laugh, “Fucks’ that supposed to mean? How would that make me annoying?”

“He’s a weirdo,” Choso shrugs, pocketing his hands as he faces forward once more, “I can’t understand what you could possibly find attractive about him.”

You blink and both of you slow down in the pace of your steps, “I talked to him for less than ten minutes, how was I supposed to know he’s weird. And wait-, how does me finding him attractive even annoy you?”

Your best friend sighs and his words come out all too casually for them to be so offensive, “Cause when he breaks your heart,” Choso looks at you, “You’ll come bitchin’ to me about it.”

At that, you freeze, quickly turning to meet his gaze, “Who says he’ll break my heart? And bitching? Is that what you call me talking to you about my relationship issues?? Bitching? Seriously?” With your eyes narrowed and brows tightly knit together, Choso should’ve sensed that he struck a nerve there.

Yet, he seems to not care in the slightest, blinking as if he’d said nothing wrong, “Fuck else am I supposed to call it? I warn you about every guy you date but you don’t ever listen to me.”

Your face twists up, “That doesn’t make my complaints ‘bitching’…”

“Well, it makes it fucking annoying,” He hums before pulling his lips into a thin smile— mocking you through facial expressions.

Your brows go up, “Really? Okay then, sorry for ever confiding in you,” You set your eyes straight once more, “I’ll just go find someone else to-”

“You know no one else is gonna put up with your shit the same way I do,” He’s so quick to dismiss your little statement, almost as if the implication of you ever leaving him, in a sense, bothered him.

You scoff matter-of-factly, “That’s not true.”

“It literally is though,” Choso deadpans, “You have one friend and that’s me. Who the hell else are you gonna go rant to, hm?”

“Someone that doesn’t call my rants bitching.” You huff, crossing your arms over one another.

Choso scales his eyes down to your arms and he smiles, “Are you seriously mad about that?”

“Maybe,” You shrug.

His feet come to a stop and you follow suit, turning to avoid his eyes as much as possible. Choso stares at you for a moment before leaning toward you, tilting his head and angling his lips toward your ear.

All of which done so he could whisper to you, “M’sorry, princess,” Choso murmurs to you affectionately, “Y’know I didn’t mean that seriously, I’m jus’ fuckin’ with you.”

You remain unphased for a mere moment more before the constant brush of his breath against your skin makes you shudder, your hands moving to his chest to push him away, “Yeah, whatever… And stop calling me that.”

Choso blinks, feeling confused since you act as if he hadn’t been calling you such a thing for years, “Why?”

“Cause I don’t like it…” You so clearly lie— not that you enjoyed the nickname but more so that you’ve always felt indifferent to it. Or, almost always.

He smirks, “Your face is telling me an entirely different story.”

“Yeah?” You chuckle, moving to shoot your middle finger at him, “And what story does this tell you?’

Choso stares into your eyes for a long period of time before looking to your finger, smiling fully and tilting his head again, “…You wanna fuck me?”

Immediately putting your finger down, your brows tense, “What? No!” You exclaim, groaning as you return to your walking, “God, I cannot stand you.”

He laughs and follows right alongside you, “You’re so easy to annoy, holy shit.”

“And you’re insufferable,” You huff.

Choso shrugs simply, “You love me though.”

You glance at him, “Debatable.”

He pouts and pretends to clutch his heart, “Ouch-”

“Anyway,” Returning your attention to someone much less annoying than the man beside you, you nod your head back toward the cafe, “Do you know if he’s single?”

Choso nearly trips over his steps at the sound of that, letting out a cough, “Who-, Gojo??”

You nod, “Mhm.”

“Why?” Choso’s lips twitch, “You lookin’ to get rejected?”

Pausing, you look to him with a quirked brow, “Excuse me? What makes you think I’ll get rejected?”

“You’re uh…” He trails off a little, eyes lingering down your frame before he smiles and speaks to you in this faux gentle whisper, “Not his type, sweetie.”

Your eyes roll at that, “Okay, first of all, fuck you. Secondly, how do you know?”

“Uh, I’ve seen the kinda girls he’s into so trust me when I say…” Choso’s eyes shift to peer directly into yours, “It ain’t you.”

You stare back for a moment before shaking your head and looking off, “Whatever, you’re just saying that.”

“Yeah because I’m gonna lie to you about something like that,” He snickers to himself before rolling his eyes. Within seconds, he goes to look at you again only to see you heading in a different direction, “Hey! Where’re you goin’?”

“Away from you!” You call back.

He laughs yet again, “What, you can’t handle the truth now?”

Glancing back to him, “I’m gonna prove you wrong asshole.”

Choso flashes you a shit-eating grin as if he’s already begun praying on your downfall, “Sure you will.”

He then watches as you further away from him, his smile steadily fading as he catches himself a bit too happy at the sight of you so determined. Choso shrugs off whatever feeling the topic of Gojo Satoru had brought up within him, dismissing the entire thing as he truly believed you’d never really get yourself too involved with that guy.

Unfortunately for him, he didn’t see the way you were taking to Gojo before he walked in so, Choso had no idea of how things were about to play out within the next few hours.

· ───────── · ꨄ · ───────── ·

As such, after that morning class of yours that extended decently into the afternoon, you found yourself rushing back to the cafe as soon as you could.

You knew not of Gojo’s working hours so you had no clue whether or not he’d still be there but you sure as hell hoped so. Choso had really ticked you off with his claims.

You not being Gojo’s type? Yeah right, he didn’t see the way that cashier was looking at you, nor did he hear all the banter that took place. Given that, you were determined to prove your dear friend wrong and yourself right. You know flirting when you see it and that’s exactly what Gojo was doing.

So to say he wasn’t at least intrigued by you would be a blatant lie you had every hope on exposing to Choso.

When you finally find yourself entering that lovely little cafe, it’s a lot more busy in comparison to earlier— something you take note of for your possible future visits. The line wasn’t exactly too long but quite a few people were hanging out or studying throughout the establishment.

That aside, your eyes were quick to search for a certain white-haired barista, gaze lighting up the very second it meets the man it questions.

Gojo had a weary smile on his face as he handed some girl a coffee and you could tell based on his eyes alone that he was tired of the chick rambling to him. He nodded and nodded, trying to keep himself appearing entertained by whatever she was saying but when he glances over and spots you, all his attention is diverted.

Those pretty blue eyes of his fixate on you and you watch as he finally dismisses the girl, nodding toward you as if to say he had another customer to tend to. She shrugs and finally leaves, to which you take place in standing where she’d been seconds ago, sending a smile to Gojo.

“Long day?” You suggest with a slight tilt of your head, to which he nods.

“You have no idea,” Gojo sighs out to you, “You’re back sooner than I expected though.”

He didn’t know what it was about you, perhaps the way you gaze at him, but there was something that kept his eyes lingering on yours far longer than normal— something that genuinely lulled him in. Perhaps it was the natural flow of conversation and how even from earlier, you didn’t really feel like a mere customer but instead just a person, a woman at that-, a very pretty woman, might he add.

“You owe me a free drink, remember?” You remind him, earning a different reaction than expected.

Gojo pauses, “Ohh… About that…” He hums, moving to scratch the back of his neck, “Yeah see, that offer no longer stands…”

You blink, “I’m not sure I understand…”

He lets out a sigh, then moves to lean forward against the counter, bending down and crossing his arms as he rests on his elbows and comes much closer to your eye level, “Another cute girl came in ‘nd got it before you,” Gojo whispers.

You couldn’t tell if he was joking or not and your brows pinch together, “Seriously?”

“Mmhmm,” He hums tauntingly with this smug look on his face as if to say giving away your promised drink was to get back at you for something.

“Well,” You click your tongue, “I think you owe me a free drink now more than before, maybe two.”

Gojo smiles, feeling amused, “Yeah? I mean, my number’s free. Y’want that instead?”

Your voice gets caught in your throat at how ridiculously smooth that was, trying your hardest not to give in and return a smile. “I… What am I supposed to do with that?” You end up asking.

He snickers, “Perhaps text me? Or call? Y’know, the thing you do with phones-“

“Alright smart ass,” You scoff playfully, grinning as you move to pull out your phone, “What’s your number then?”

Gojo smiles triumphantly and extends his hand out, “Here, lemme put it in for ya’.”

You glance at him, eyes meeting and yet another moment passing before you hand him your phone, to which he takes a second to look down at the device in his hands. Then, he enters his number and a contact name for himself.

After which, your cell is quickly returned to you and you look to see what he’s put in. Studying the name closely, you tilt your head, “Satoru?”

“Mhm, tha’s me, sweetheart,” He purrs, moving to rest his cheek against his knuckles.

You look up from your phone, “You want me to call you Satoru?”

Gojo shrugs, “If you don’t mind, yeah.”

“We’re on a first-name basis already?” You tease, eyes narrowing at the man.

“It seems we are,” He utters. His voice was a bit lower with you now, much more casual and playful. “That alright with you, pretty girl?”

Unknowingly, your face flushes, “Yeah, that’s uh, that’s fine.”

Gojo lets out a hum, “Good.” Then, the two of you do that thing yet again, peering into one another's eyes, unmoving, nearly frozen and dazed for a moment longer than intended before Gojo snaps out of it by almost awkwardly clearing his throat, “So uh, you still want that free drink or…?”

You blink out of your own stupor and shake your head, “No, I’ll come back for it tomorrow.”

“Oh?” His brows shoot up in surprise, “You’re coming back tomorrow?”

“It seems I am, yes,” A smile graces your face and he can’t help but stare.

Gojo mirrors your expression, “Just for coffee?”

Your eyes wander off to the side cheekily, “Perhaps for a certain handsome cashier too…”

He thinks his heart is fluttering. Is this normal? To experience such a genuine infatuation with a woman’s words within less than twenty-four hours? It was unusual for Gojo, that’s for damn sure. Hence why his head is tipping to the side, “Really? Have my charms worked so soon?” He teases.

You return your gaze to him, “Just a little, yeah.”

Mesmerized by you, Gojo nods, “Good to know.”

“Mhm,” After a slight hum, you glance down at your phone and check the time, “Well uh, I actually have another class so I should probably go.”

“Yes… Yes, you should,” He voices out slowly, again entangled into that daze of his until you lift your head once more, “But uh, make sure you text me later, yeah?” Gojo reminds you.

To which you chuckle and start turning away toward the exit, “No promises.”

He’s left in a mere awe of you, not even knowing what to say, and left utterly speechless from such an intriguing yet simple conversation with you. As you wave bye, Gojo had to feel for his heart the very second you leave just to see if it was working correctly because he’s not sure what the hell that was just now.

Whatever it may have been, he knows it was much more genuine and raw than what he’s typically used to. And it came so naturally too, the banter, the gazes, the flirting… Gojo was longing for more already and he’d only just met you a few hours ago.

· ───────── · ꨄ · ───────── ·

All the while you’re just as cheerful at the interaction you just had, beyond ready to brag to your doubtful best friend of your most recent accomplishments.

Which is exactly why you’re facetiming said friend as soon as you leave the cafe. The call rings for less than a second before it’s answered and you’re met with a visibly displayed and… shirtless Choso.

Before you get the chance to even try and take in his naked torso, he’s already scowling at you, “The fuck are you facetiming me for?” He grumbles, taking the smile right off of your lips, “I’ve seen your face enough for one day. Why don’t you ever call like a normal person??”

You bat your eyelashes at the man, “Cho, we just got on the phone and you’re already souring the mood…”

He ignores your complaint, “What do you want?”

Steadily, your smile returns, “Guess who got a certain someone’s number,” You utter cheerfully, voice light in a little sing-song tone.

Choso gives his phone a blank stare, not saying a single word in response to that.

Which confused you, “Well? Are you gonna guess-“

“You could’ve texted me this shit,” He cuts off before you watch as your screen is soon met with the ceiling as he places his phone down.

You pout, “Well, yeah but then I wouldn’t have been able to see your reaction…”

He scoffs and pops his face into the camera for a second, eyes dull, smile nonexistent, eye bags heavy, and tattoo running across his nose the only thing giving some form of expression despite it being nothing more than a dark black line. “Does it look like I give two shits about you gettin’ some asshole’s number?”

You let out a long sigh, “Remind me why we’re friends again?”

And that’s when Choso seems to smirk, “Cause’ you won’t leave me alone.”

“I’m hanging up,” You groan.

His laughter, albeit somewhat of a rare sound, fills your ears, “Okay, okay, I’m sorry.”

You send him a look, “Are you?”

“Mhm, good job on gettin’ his number, princess,” Choso coos, making your eyes widen, “I’m proud of you.”

Your mouth opens to say something to that but your throat runs oddly dry. Instead, you gulp down his sudden praise and ignore how warm his words make you feel. “…Thank you.” You eventually say.

“Uhuh,” Choso nods before removing himself from the camera again, “Pretty sure he’s just trying to fuck though.” He says bluntly.

Instead of choking like he expected you to, you only scoff, “Fine by me.”

Your best friend is quiet for a moment, feeling almost silenced before he sighs, “Oh… But you told me no-“

“That was entirely different, Choso.” You cut off.

He shuts up again.

“You were drunk, and…” Your voice dies out.

To which he raises a brow at his phone, “And what?”

“And things were different back then,” You sigh, trying not to recall the entirety of your past with Choso at the present moment, “…You were an even bigger asshole, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Choso sighs, moving to dismiss the topic, “Anyway, let me know how things go with your new albino boyfriend.”

You scoff, smiling at the suggestion itself, “He’s not even my-“

The call disconnects. Oh how you just love your best friend and his antics. You wouldn’t trade your friendship with him for anything.

Or at least, that’s what you told yourself anyway. What exactly does a new man in your life bring if not drama? This right here was but the beginning of a very interesting journey toward such a fickle emotion we know as; love.

mlist | next chapter |

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ahgasegotarmy116 · 3 months

Text

The Art of Etiquette Part 10 | Jeon Jungkook

Summary: Your lesson with Jungkook ran a bit longer today so he offers to give you a ride home but decides to make a stop along the way Pairing: f!reader x Etiquette instructor Jungkook Word Count: 2.7k~ Warnings: Suggestive language if you think about it lmao but nothing too crazy a/n: I can't believe it's been this long since I last updated this story 😭 (almost 2 months) I know this chapter is short but the ball is coming up in the next chapter so this was a good stopping point. Hardly edited per usual lol Start from the beginning

"Late again princess. I should start counting at this rate" Jungkooks taunts, his back to me as always when I walk in the room. "Prey tell," he continues, turning to face me and sizing me up like a predator does his prey. "what might your excuse be for being late this time? The roads were quite clear last I checked" he presses, walking closer and closer to me.

"I-I forgot my shoes at home. I know you told me I needed to break them in so..." I say, being truthful but keeping the matter of being stopped by Foster on my way out of class to myself.

"Why are you so nervous? Have I done something to frighten you already?" he asks, circling me and slipping my bag off my shoulder before walking over to the chair I usually sit on when I change into my heels before class.

Gone is the easy going and attentive Jungkook from Sunday, leaving a hungry dominant one in it's wake.

"I'm not frightened" I argue, following him so I can sit down but when I reach for the box that contains the shoes in question he gives me a warning glance, leaving me recoiling and letting him do as he pleases.

Okay so maybe I am a little frightened but I just don't know where we stand and that fact alone has me on edge.

"You look at me as though you were afraid I might gobble you up" he smirks, kneeling before me and helping me slip them on. "You look at me as though you would" I throw back and the look in his eyes goes from mischief to one of challenge, knowing now that I'm willing to play into his little game.

"Is that something you'd like?" he asks, licking his bottom lip making my eyes draw straight to them. "Is that something you'd like?" I echo, throwing the taunt right back. He smirks softly and runs one of his hands up the back of my calf, no higher than my knee but still sparking a flame alight inside me.

"Answering a question with a question, I was under the impression I taught you better than that" he says and removes that hand that I begged would climb higher, him choosing to stand up and straighten his appearance instead, walking towards the sound system to turn on the endless ballroom music I'm sure we'll be dancing to.

Damn him and his flirting! Can't he ever just follow through with one thing?

~~~~~

As our lessons draw to a close he hands me a bottle of water, leaving me accepting and downing half of it in one go.

I feel his eyes on me, watching as a stray droplet trails down my cheek to the column of my neck and collarbone until it disappears under my blouse and it seems as though he wishes he could tear it away and find where else that droplet might've traveled.

I finished drinking moments before it disappeared, watching him as he watched it, his eyes fluttering up to mine seconds later and noticing my stare. Clearing his throat in response he turns away and goes to shut off the sound system for the rest of the day.

"Your dancing is improving" he says once he's walked back towards me, giving me a towel to dab off the light sheen of sweat that had appeared during the final three songs. "I only stepped on your foot once today" I say feeling a tad victorious.

"Twice" he corrects gaining him a frown. "That one doesn't count! My foot barely grazed yours" I groan and he chuckles, "Still hurt though" he says with a shrug.

"Really?" I cringe, hating the thought that I somehow still seemed to hurt him even after all the time we've spent running through all these steps together. He grants me a devious smile before stepping towards me, one of his feet closer to mine now. I look up at him with a questioning gaze, waiting for what he might say but it wasn't something I had expected.

"Step on it" he says, smirking at the confusion now running through my whole body leaving me recoiling instead. "What?" I question, baffled by the absurdity of the request and he chuckles, thoroughly amused with my reaction. He glances down at his shoe and back up at me, daring me not to and I narrow my eyes at him while contemplating it for a second but decide to do it anyway, being met with a hard shell encasing the front of his foot.

"Steel toe dress shoes? Really" I roll my eyes, walking over to my stuff so I can take my heels off, feet thoroughly abused with the whole task of breaking them in. "They're very useful when you're in the line of work that I'm in" he responds, amused by my reaction of him revealing his secret to me.

"I bet they are" I respond and once I'm back in my flat shoes again I stand up but lose my footing after having spent all this time on my toes. "Are you okay?" he asks, catching me right away. "Yeah I'm fine. Dancing with new shoes was a lot more difficult than I thought it would be" I explain and he nods his head, understanding completely and lets go so I can stand on my own.

"Were you planning on teaching me anything else tonight? It's already a little past the usual time we wrap things up" I ask, checking my phone and then glancing outside, seeing that the sun is long gone.

"Oh I apologize, I seem to have lost track of time. Let me drop you off then" he says, grabbing his keys. "I drove here though, and I'd hate to have James send someone to pick up the car again" I try to refuse, ultimately knowing I'll lose the battle but still doing so nevertheless.

"It's fine, I can come pick you up from home and take you to campus when I drop off Bam at his trainers in the morning" he says and I stop in front of his car while he goes to the passenger side and opens the door for me.

"Isn't that a little too much? I don't want you going out of your way to do that for me" I say, making excuses so he doesn't feel like he has to do all of that. "It's completely fine y/n. I pass by your house on my way home anyway so I don't mind adding a couple of extra stops since I don't have much planned in the morning" he replies and I nod my head, slowly making my way over to his car.

"I really don't mind driving in the dark Jungkook my vision is completely fine" I relay, trying to back out once again but this time he walks up to me and ushers me over to the car by my waist so I have no other option but to get in.

"Okay but I-" I start, turning to face him before I get in, not knowing how close his face had been to me, leaving our lips mere inches apart. He tilts his head and hums, urging me to continue. I try to find the words I mean to say but they are buried in the deep recesses of mind, whisked away with the proximity between us.

"I'll pick you up once your classes have ended as well. That way you'll be here on time tomorrow" he says, touching my jaw for a second before leaning in. "Get in the car" he whispers against my cheek leaving me quickly turning around and doing as he says before he can see my expression.

Seconds later I could've sworn that I heard him chuckle and mumble a quiet 'Cute' under his breath before closing the door and rounding the car to his side.

~~~~

After we've been driving for a bit I notice how he's pulled off onto a dirt road and I'm instantly confused.

"Is this where you plan on killing me?" I joke, curious as to where we're going. "If I wanted to kill you Pretty," he starts, paying close attention as we round a bend, pausing in his response for a second. "you'd already be dead" he finishes, sending a chill through my body and when he notices how stiff I've gone he gives me a sly smile before turning back to make sure we get to our destination safely.

"I went ahead and messaged Matthew and asked him to inform James that our lessons ran a little late so they won't be too concerned" he says, putting the car in park and unbuckling his seatbelt. "So this is where you're going to kill me" I say and he chuckles again before tapping me twice under my chin. "You're cute when you're scared" he says before opening his door and rounding to open mine.

I cross my arms over my chest, thoroughly annoyed by the fact that I let him get away with stuff like this to the point where I actually prefer it. I'll never give him the satisfaction of knowing that though. Knowing him though he's probably already very aware of it, otherwise he wouldn't keep pushing my buttons.

When he opens the door I glare up at him keeping that same posture and he smirks down at me while offering his hand to help me up. "Where are we?" I ask and he lets out a dry chuckle. "Get out of the car and you'll find out" he temps and I look between him and his outstretched hand that is still waiting for me to take and against my better judgement I decide to dance with the Devil.

Who would blame me though when he looks at me like that, a heated gaze that never truly acts upon the sinful desires hidden behind them.

Stepping out of the car we're met with an open expanse of land, not a single soul or building in sight with only the low hum of vehicles barely audible from the highway behind us. "What is this place?" I question marveling at the serenity of it all, breathing in the could night air and letting the chill surround me.

I shiver slightly as it's seeped through my clothes a lot sooner than one might think and just as I'm about to wrap my arms around myself for warmth I'm met with a coat being draped across my shoulders and when I turn around I see he's looking up towards the sky.

"Have you looked up yet?" he ask, the body heat from him wearing it moments ago still present making me shiver for another reason but once I do look up none of it matters anymore as I take in the sight of thousands of heavenly bodies strewn across the clear night sky.

"I-" "You were so concerned with the thought of me harming you that you didn't even notice the clear purpose of me wanting to bring you here" he say, cutting off whatever nonsense I was about to let tumble out of my mouth. I sigh in response, not bothering to ruin this moment of peace with nonsensical bickering since he's clearly done this with me in mind.

"How did you find this place?" I ask after having taken in the sight of it, countless start twinkling above us. "I went driving one day and my car broke down so I pulled off near the entrance of this little dirt road and while I was waiting for the tow truck I walked down the path and well..." he says, trailing off making me fill in the obvious blanks.

"I see" I respond and we stay silent for a while, the both of us standing there with all of our thoughts angled up towards the heavens until he finally speaks again. "I should probably get you home" he says, turning towards me but I shake my head.

"No, no not yet. Can we stay a little longer? Please?" I ask, this moment difficult to let go just yet and can see him smiling at me from the corner of my eye as I continue to keep my eyes on the stars above, praying that I'll be able to feel this way forever...

~~~~~

When he parks his car in the driveway and opens the door for me he keeps me there for a second, not letting me get away so fast this time. "Thank you for letting me keep you a little longer tonight" he says, ghosting his hand on my waist and it's then that I realize I'm still wearing the coat he let me borrow. I try to take off but he grabs both of the open sides and pulls them together, trapping me inside and in turn pulling me closer to him.

"I wanted to give your jacket back to you" I mumble since the intimate space between us makes even that sound too loud. "I realize that, but I want to get you inside first before taking it back. Don't want you to catch a cold after all the effort I put in to make sure you stayed warm" he explains, one of his hands now holding onto my waist while the other keeps the coat closed.

I hum in response and look away as I notice he's started to study my features. "The ball is this weekend" he says and I nod my head. "I know" I mumble again, my expression now one of doubt. "Hey" he says, cupping my face, trying to make me meet his gaze but my eyes then turn downward in response.

"There's nothing to worry about y/n, I promise" he says and I nod my head again, not bothering to utter a word in response. He tilts my chin up and I give in, letting my eyes peer back into his and I notice how sincere he looks, an expression I don't think I've ever seen from him leaving me holding my breath and waiting for him to continue.

"No matter what happens just remember that I'm proud of you. You've done well in our lessons and I have no doubt that everyone is going to love you" he reassures me making me feel a little more at ease with the thought of it all but also nervous about him saying things like this to me.

"Thank you Jungkook" I whisper and he smiles in response before reaching into the car to grab my bag that's still on my seat and handing it to me. "Let's get you inside" he says placing his hand on the small of my back, walking me to the front door and stopping right outside of it, waiting for me to unlock it.

Once I step inside I turn around to say something but he steps inside making me take a step back but he takes another step closer so he's standing right in front of me, hardly any space between us now.

I blink up at him, not really sure what his plan is before he slowly unzips the coat the rest of the way, making my breath hitch, the feeling of him taking my clothes off even if it's as simple as this making my brain short circuit. Once he unhooks it at the bottom he pushes it off my shoulders and leans in to help it slide down my arms leaving me shivering once his warm breath hits my neck.

He hums, satisfied by my response and places a feather light kiss under my ear before quickly pulling back and pretending as if nothing had happened meanwhile leaving me completely flustered by his ministrations.

Let's just say I'm lucky neither of my parents came downstairs to greet us.

"Sweet dreams" he says playfully and slips out without another word, walking over to his car and driving off. I only close the door once his car is out of view, my back against it now, catching my breath as I think about everything that happened today and all I can think of is 'How the hell am I supposed to take much more of this?'

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short-honey-badger · 6 months

Text

Peppermint Tea 31 - All Blends 2

Holy crap is this chapter a doozy lol. It's quite a bit longer than my other chapters. Lotta stuff happens. So I hope you enjoy!

Warnings! None this time? Sad stuff happens ofc. We are introduced to someone new.

P.s. I was going to use some random son for Big Mom but like. I did a Lil research and I can't help but like Katakuri. 😬 again. I apologize if Big Mom and Kata seem a bit off. I'm trying to keep myself spoiler free for the anime.

Masterlist

Benn runs through the courtyards of Mihawk's castle, dodging swipes from the Humandrals until he hears the sound of striking steel. He turns that way, picking up speed as he goes until he arrives at a small clearing in the dirt. Shanks and Mihawk are both grinning, a joy so easy to see that Benn thinks he may go blind. Usually, he'd stay and watch, but he can still hear your terrified voice pleading for help.

He slides to a stop, and the two men sparing turn and look at him, brows raised.

“Benn? What's going on?” Shanks asks his first mate. Benn wouldn't come get him unless it was important.

“It's, _ Shanks. They found her.”

The temperature of the surrounding area plummets, and all ambient noise disappears. Neither man can believe what they are hearing. They'd both been so sure that no one would be able to find your tiny island tucked away in Paradise, so close to the Calm Belt that most ships would be torn apart by sea kings. How could this have happened?

“What did you say?” Mihawk hisses and his grip on Yoru tightens to the point of pain, his nails digging into the flesh of his palm. He ignores the feeling of hot liquid dripping down his hand.

Shanks isn't faring much better. He looks ashen, pale faced and nervous. He and Benn share a look, one that Mihawk easily catches.

“_ called the transponder snail. She said that the Big Mom pirates had made landfall,” Benn frowns, one hand running through his graying hair.

“She sounded terrified.”

Mihawk is moving before his mind fully registers what's going on. He speeds through the castle, grabbing his coat and bag he'd packed the other day in case you called them. His haki is lashing, sending furniture falling and making the old stone walls of the castle crack and fracture. The ringing of his snail grabs his attention, and Hawkeye grabs it before loping out of the castle and to the bay.

Shanks is right behind him, Benn keeping up with his captain. It is with a silent, shared look with his lover that Mihawk reluctantly steps aboard the Red Force. He isn't fond of being on another's ship, especially one as big as this one, but like hell, would he let the younger man out of his sight.

While Shanks is barking orders, Mihawk takes the time to answer the still ringing snail that he clutches too tightly.

Ca-lick

“Mihawk! Finally! I've been calling forever!”

Perona’s shrill voice is a little comfort, but fear still clutches Dracule by the heart. She is rattling on before he can get a word in.

“You've got to get back to _’s island. She thinks it might be Big Mom and her crew!”

Mihawk feels a vein pop in his brow with his hard he scowls down at the snail.

“I know! Where are you? How quickly can you go back?”

“I'm three days out! So, two and a half if the sea doesn't hate me. What if she's already gone? What if…what if it's worse?”

Mihawk can hear the thickness in Perona’s voice and knows that the ghost girl is probably crying now, having worked herself up in a tizzy. He sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Perona. I need you to calm down, girl. Listen to me when I say that _ will be fine. We can handle anything that's happened, but I need you to do something for me, okay?”

He hears the pinkette sniff over the transponder, but she sounds like she's gotten a hold of herself.

“Okay. What do you need me to do?”

“I need you to go back to her island. Find out if she's still there, but be safe. If you see her jolly roger, then you sail right to us. You've got your log pose, right?”

Perona sniffs again and nods even though her father-figure can't see it, “Yeah.”

“Good. If the island is clear, then investigate carefully.” He stresses the word, “Call me back as soon as you can, got it?”

“Yes, Mihawk. Will she really be okay?”

His heart breaks at the fear that he can hear swimming in his charge’s voice. He licks his lips. He is terrified in all honesty, but he keeps it together for her sake.

“She will be. Be safe, Perona.”

The ghost girl assures the older man that she will be careful and the transmission ends after that. Mihawk pockets the snail and looks around the ship to try and find Shanks.

The redhead is at the helm, still barking orders at his crew. Dracule picks his way past the pirates until he arrives at his lover's side. Shanks glances at him and then looks away, his haki curling tight around himself as if he was trying to hide away from the other man. Mihawk can't help but feel a little hurt.

Shanks is panicking. How could he tell Mihawk that all of this was his fault? That it had been him That had slipped up, his lips loose with drink and his heart heavy with wistful thoughts of his treasure that night so long ago.

The hawk hadn't trusted him with this from the beginning, and it killed him to admit that Mihawk had been right about Shanks after all? All the trust and affection that his lover had given him would go up in flames so quickly that Shanks wouldn't even be given a chance to mourn it. The redhead had little doubt that Mihawk would spirit you away from him as soon as he was able once he found out about his mistake.

The captain keeps himself busy for as long as he is able, but Mihawk is nothing if not patient, and he stays by his side until there are no more orders to be said. Before he can make a getaway, his hawk grabs him by the arm and practically drags him across the deck and into the Captain quarters. Shanks could have wrestled away, but then Mihawk would have been even more suspicious of him.

Shanks is shoved in a chair, and his lover putters around the room, pouring them both a drink before settling down in the seat across from Shanks. He sips delicately, but Shanks' nerves have him knocking back the glass of rum like it's a shot of whiskey. He jumps when Dracule speaks up.

“Perona is three days out from _’s island. She'll call me with news as soon as she gets there and if the island is clear or not.”

Shanks forces himself to nod. He licks his lips and scrubs his hand through his hair, “Good. That's good.”

Mihawk raises a brow at the other man's attitude. The man was acting more like a scared rabbit than the powerful Emperor that Dracule knows him to be. He sets his glass away and stands, crossing the short distance to stand between the redhead’s legs, and sets his hands on those tense shoulders. Mihawk guides him forward to rest his head against his bare chest, and his hands snake up to thread into red hair.

“How are we going to find her, Mihawk?”

The Emperor’s voice sounds shot, broken and beaten, and it breaks his heart listening to it. His grip tightens in Shanks’ hair, and Mihawk sighs softly.

“I don't know. But we'll search every island in Big Mom’s territory if we have to.”

~~~~~ Tomura ~~~~~

Tomura dashes through the streets of the city, a mischievous smirk on his face when he looks behind him and sees his little sister chasing after him. You look furious, but the expression just looks adorable on her chubby baby face. Tomura had snatched her favorite blanket this morning to try and wake up the sleepy head, and the chase had been on since.

Obviously, he wasn't going as fast as he could. Tomura was older than her by almost a decade, after all, and he didn't want his sister to get lost in the crowds of people. Not that the citizens of their Kingdom would let their only princess get lost.

The people laughed and urged her in the way her oldest brother ran, encouraging her to catch up to him. Their king and Queen had always been kind to their subjects, and in turn, they stayed loyal to the royal family.

Tomura slows to a stop, ducking behind a stall selling fruit and waiting for his little sister to dash past him. He springs out and grabs her by the waist, spinning you around in the air. You shriek in laughter, clutching at his wrists as he turns his lower body into dust and flies back the way he came, back to the castle and to where breakfast awaits.

Tomura opens his eyes, squinting when the sun makes them water. He wonders what you look like now. Had you found a way to survive and flourish after he left you behind? Would you even remember him? The thought of you not knowing who he is made his chest tight with fear and his throat clog with emotions he carefully hid from his men. Could you forgive him for leaving you behind, even if it had been the best course of action?

An angry scowl twists his lips, and Delemur lets out a string of quiet curses, mostly centered around a certain red-headed Emperor who had somehow stumbled across the safe house. Damn Red-Haired Shanks.

“Captain! We're going to make landfall soon!” The voice of one of his crew startled Tomura out of the fond memory and his less than savory thoughts. He rubs his face, sighing as he straightens up from where he'd been leaning on the railing.

“How long?” The white-haired man asks and looks at the lieutenant before him.

“Lookout said we're about thirty minutes out, Sir.”

Tomura nods. They would need to be prepared if some of Big Mom’s crew were there. Same with Shanks and his crew.

“Get the men prepared for a skirmish. Big Mom won't be here, but I'd bet she'd send some of her stronger men to get my sister.”

The news of his little sister being the reason behind his sudden disregard of orders had swept through the ship quicker than scurvy. But his marines were loyal, and technically, they were still chasing after pirates, so the higher ups could be too mad at them.

“Yes, Sir!” his lieutenant snapped, and then he was off, getting the other crew members up and running.

Tomura stalked to the front of the ship, and from here, he could see the outline of your island. His mouth twists in a grimace, and he prays that he's gotten here quick enough to beat Big Mom’s crew.

However, the closer he gets, the more his chest grows tight. There is grey smoke rising into the sky on the east side of the island, and even after so long away, Tomura knows that is where the safe house is.

The shore comes into view soon, and Delemur frowns when he sees a small ship docked at the shore, a large cross on the flag. He's seen that before, but he doesn't understand why Dracule Mihawk would have a shit all the way out here. Maybe it'd been stolen?

They drop anchor in the next couple of minutes, and Tomura flies ahead and drops to the sand, taking a look around with a frown. The beach looked awful, the beautiful sands trampled all the way up to where it became grass. Most of the lush forest had been torn down, most likely caused by the larger members of the raid party. He followed the trail up, picking up the pace until he was in an all-out run.

Tomura slides to a stop, sticken at the sight before him. The entire place is a disaster, the cottage a charred husk of what it used to be. The scent of burning wood is thick in the air, and the once lush and full gardens that you had cared for have been overturned and stomped on. He can see the broken remains of a small pen on the side of the building, but there were no animals in sight.

Carefully, he steps forward, bending down to collect a shard of green sea glass that had survived the fire. The Vice-Admiral flips it end over end then pockets it before walking inside the destruction. The living room is full of burned books and clothes, the furniture broken and ashen like the rest of the house. There is a shelf holding on for dear life, an old record player with a stack of melted records resting beside it.

Tomura moves to the kitchen, taking in the shattered glass of the window and the many planters that take up the majority of counter space, each plant dry and brittle or nothing but ash. A wind chime is still intact, and he reaches forward to brush the pads of his fingers across the metal tube, frowning when the beautiful melody fills the air. That kind of sound didn't belong in such destruction.

Onward Tomura goes, learning about his little sister as best he can through the ruins of her home. Your love for music and books could easily be seen, but how could he ever know what they were? What is your favorite song to listen to now, or what you liked to do on long lazy days. Were you all alone? The pen outside suggested his sister had found animals, but where were they?

Your bedroom was in a bit better shape from the rest of the house since the door had been shut before the fire had started. Tomura carefully sits on the ashen bed, green eyes looking at everything he can as quickly as he can see. He wanted to know everything about you. He had missed so much of your life, and the regret of leaving you behind was suffocating.

Would you have been safer in the military? Maybe, but Sengoku would have taken one look at you and your devil fruit and thrown you into training, just like they did with him. Tomura didn't want that for his baby sister. He had wanted you to live a good life, even if it would be a lonely one.

His thoughts are stalled when he catches sight of what hangs in your closet. His green eyes zero in on the long coat with a high collar decorated with intricate designs. Delemur knows that coat. He has seen it on the occasional times he had run into Mihawk.

The two of them had a mutual understanding to not speak about what had happened between them. Tomura didn't like that the older man had helped Big Mom, but being in the Navy gave him a different perspective. Not to mention his own skeletons hidden away in his closet, and in the end, Mihawk had been the reason that Tomura and his sister got out alive. They were even as far as he cared.

But seeing the Warlord’s coat made him pause. The tiny ship in the bay had already been suspicious, but the coat only added to his rising confusion. All the rumors had pointed at Shanks being the one to have found you, so then why in the fuck wasn't he seeing anything that might belong to the Emperor?

The sound of a bleating goat suddenly grabs his attention, and then he picks up the sound of his men shouting. Delemur bolts out of the house and finds Mihawk's pink charge, Perona glaring daggers at his men, specifically Private Nitchell, who points a shaking pistol at the young woman. Three chickens and an ornery looking goat stand behind her.

“What the fuck is going on out here?” He demands, and glares at the private, “Stand down, Nitchell. Does she look like a threat to you?”

The young man shakes his head, a blush high on his cheeks at getting reprimanded, “No, Sir! Sorry, Sir!”

The Vice-Admiral watches Nitchell stow his weapon and back up from where the ghost girl looks ready to tear his head off. Tomura rounds on the pinkette, cockimg a brow at her.

“Perona right? The hell are you doing here?” He demands and crosses his arms over his chest, unimpressed by the glare that she proceeds to aim at him.

“What's it to you?” She spits at him and floats up, crossing her own arms. He spots several ghosts behind her and prepares to turn himself into dust if one flies at him. He'd seen what those things could do. However, his annoyance skyrockets at her answer, and Tomura is hard pressed not to reach out and try to wring her neck.

“I asked you first,” he snarls right back, and feels like he is arguing with a little kid when Perona sticks her tongue out at him.

“I was coming to visit my friend, Navy Man. You should leave before my dad gets here.”

Tomura rolls his eyes and ignores the threat, “Your friend is my little sister. How did you find this place?”

Whatever argument that Perona was hyping herself up for deflated like a popped balloon when she registered what the marine said. She looks him over, dark eyes flickering from head to toe. The more she sees, the less Perona thinks that this man is lying. He looks like you. His cheekbones and brow are a familiar and comforting sight. But what should she tell him? Perona didn't think that Mihawk would be very happy with her if she happened to spill the beans on everything that he's been doing.

Perona licks her lips and floats back down, dismissing her ghosts and setting a hand on top of Neal's head. The goat grunts at her and butts his head into her hand, happy that the only other person he tolerated had found him and the three chickens hidden away in the intact part of the forest.

“Mihawk found this place a few years ago. After a while, he told me about your sister, and I wanted to be her friend. She seemed lonely, and I know what that's like,” Perona begins and shifts her weight with a sniff. She's been here for two days looking for anything that would help them find out where Big Mom’s crew may have taken you. The only luck she had was finding your goat and chickens. Hank and Sukuna were nowhere to be found.

Tomura's hands clenched into fists at the information. Mihawk had known about you for years, and Delemur was just now finding out about it. How were Shanks involved then? To his knowledge, the redhead and the hawk stayed away from one another. Until recently, that is.

Just what the hell had his baby sister gotten up to?

“She called me five days ago and said that some of Big Mom’s crew had found her island. I came as fast as I could, but I was too late. Shanks and Mihawk are on their way here now.”

Tomura doesn't like the thought of such powerful men working together and all for the sake of his little sister. What had you done to catch their attention? Did he even want to know the answer to that?

“How long until they get here?” Tomura asks after a moment. He would wait here until they arrived. At least he wouldn't have to go tracking the pirates down. He had a couple of choice words to give both of them now that he knows that Mihawk has been here as well. That bastard had looked him in the face not four months ago and had said nothing about knowing you.

Perona shrugs at him, her face morphing into a pout, “I don't know. Another week?”

Shanks and his crew were strong enough to go through the Calm Belt if they wanted to, and that would cut their travel time down by a lot. Gloom Island was a two week trip from here by normal means.

Tomura grumbles at having to wait that long, but he isn't that much of an asshole, and so stalks forward and offers Perona his hand.

“I apologize for getting off on the wrong foot with you. My name is Tomura. Thank you for being my sister's friend.”

The ghost girl blinks dumbly up at him before tentatively taking his hand and shaking it.

“Uh. You're welcome?” Perona has never been thanked for being someone's friend before. It was a little weird, but Tomura seemed genuine and kind like you. Just a bit more…violent it seemed.

Tomura blushes and takes his hand away, rubbing them together before pointing at Neal and the chickens, hoping to change the subject.

“Are those _’s?”

Perona nods and introduces Neal and the chickens. She couldn't remember if you had named the fowl, so she had taken it upon herself to name the rooster Henry and the two hens Harriet and Henrietta. The crew of his ship piddled around the island while Perona told Tomura stories about his little sister, and soon, the sun was beginning to set on the little island. He sighs heavily and invites Perona on his ship for dinner. They may as well get to know one another if they were to be stuck on an island together for the next couple of days.

Those days pass in the blink of an eye, and it is late in the evening on the fifth day when the lookout on his ship announces that the Red Force is entering the bay. Tension skyrockets, and Perona stands away from Tomura while they watch the pirate ship navigate to the shore. She can see two people standing at the bow of the ship, and tears of relief sprout in her eyes when she spots Mihawk's wide hat.

~~~~~~

The fear and anxiety that Shanks has felt during the entire trip explodes the moment they spot the navy vessel docked at his treasure's island. Of course, the rumors had reached your brother. Shanks should have known Tomura would be on his way here to see you. He curls his haki close to himself, refusing to let the older man feel just how manic he is right now. He needed to keep his head clear for this.

Next to him, Mihawk's haki lashes like an angry snake, golden eyes wide and full of fire when he sees the ship. He recognizes who it belongs to and cuts his eyes over at Shanks, who won't even look his way. Dracule had been silent about his concerns with just how Big Mom had found out, and he doesn't like the picture that has been painted for him. He doesn't want to accuse anyone of anything until he has all the knowledge he needs.

Mihawk and Shanks flash to the shore, and the warlord gets an armful of sad ghost girl the second his feet touch sand. Perona buries her face in his chest, arms wrapping around his waist and holding the warlord tightly. Tears sprout and run down her cheeks, and Mihawk can do nothing but sigh and hold the young woman close, one hand stroking the back of her pink hair.

Shanks steps up beside him, a kind smile that he forces on his lips as he pats Perona on the back, “It's alright, kid. We're here now.”

Mihawk shoots him a grateful look, and thankfully, Perona decides to pull away, reaching up to wipe her eyes free of smeared makeup.

“It took you two long enough to get here,” She grumbles and takes a step away, turning to look over at the Vice-Admiral, “Tomura has kept me company.”

Dracule looks up and catches the Navy man's eyes, the green dark and full of suppressed rage. He doesn't expect the younger man to bypass him almost immediately, instead, aiming that almost familiar glare at Shanks. The tension deepens, and sand is kicked up by the haki that coils between the three men. Tomura wasn't anywhere near the pirate's power level, but that wasn't about to stop him. The Emperor was the one responsible for his baby sister getting taken.

“Did he, now,” Mihawk murmurs and carefully maneuvers Perona to stand slightly behind him. He didn't want her to get caught in this, and the Warlord could tell that whatever was about to happen wasn't going to be very pretty.

Tomura isn't here to beat around the bush and cuts straight to the case, “Did you have any fucking plans to tell me that you knew my sister, Mihawk? How the hell did you even find her?”

Mihawk keeps his face free of any kind of expression that may give away his true feelings. Brother or not, Mihawk wasn't in the mood to deal with this right now. Not when you were obviously still missing. What he doesn't expect is Tomura rounding on Shanks, his tone dropping and turning dangerous.

“And you, you son a bitch. You're the fucking reason my gods damned baby sister was found.”

The silence that blankets the shore of the island is deafening. Tomura grins meanly when he sees that panic that pools in Shanks’ dark eyes and stands taller, pointing an accusing finger at the redhead. Mihawk follows the gesture, his heart seizing in his chest when he catches sight of the look of devastation that paints his lover's face. He takes two steps back, bringing Perona with him, away from the man who had promised Dracule that he could trust him.

“You promised me, Shanks,” Mihawk remarks and tries to keep the hurt out of his tone, but the younger man easily picks up on it, making him feel worse than scum stuck to the bottom of his shoe. The hurt quickly turns to anger, and the warlord reaches for Yuro, the blade swinging around to point at Shanks.

“You promised me that you would keep your mouth shut! You drunken, lying bastard. I never should have put my trust in you again.”

His ringed eyes blaze with a rage Mihawk hasn't felt in decades. Not since he was young and impressionable. His heart feels shattered, and out of everything, disappointment rings through his body like a live wire. He shouldn't have allowed the redhead to pass his walls.

Shanks’ eyes widen at the threat, and he takes a couple of steps back from the wicked blade. His own hand curls around Gryphon, and Shanks braces for the fight that would no doubt happen because of his mistakes. He didn't want to fight Mihawk, but he would defend himself if the older man made the first move. He quickly began to explain before Dracule could try and take his head from his shoulders.

“I know, and I'm so sorry, Mihawk. I was drunk that night, and I missed the two of you so much. I didn't know I was being so loud until Benn told me to shut it. I never meant for any of this to happen.”

Shanks is pushed back when Mihawk's haki lashes out, his face flushed red from how angry he is at the lame excuse. How dare he.

“When are you not drunk off your ass, Shanks? There is no excuse that you can give me that will make any of this okay. _ is gone! Most likely slated to be married off to one of Charlotte’s sons because of your inability to keep your mouth shut!”

Perona grabbing him by the arm is the only thing that prevents Mihawk from following after Shanks. He glares at her, about to snap at the girl to let him go, when he sees the unshed tears and fear in her dark eyes.

“We need his help finding her, Mihawk,” Perona says, voice thick with emotion. She doesn't like seeing them fight, and it hurts seeing what she has begun to call family fall apart in front of her eyes.

Her words seem to bring everyone back to the situation at hand, and the wild haki from the three men is pulled back and settled. Tomura relaxes his shoulders, shifting his weight and glaring at the two pirates.

“She's right. Big Mom has a lot of territory. It'll take months for us to search each of her islands if we don't work together,” Delemur frowns even as he speaks, disliking the idea of working with the men who'd found his sister. What even were the three of them?

“What is she to you?” Tomura demands and regrets it the second both men look at him like he was an idiot.

“We,” Mihawk begins and then swiftly corrects himself. He didn't want anything to do with Shanks right now, “I love her. She had no idea who I was when I found her, and it was…refreshing to have someone like that. We should move quickly. _ is in a delicate state.”

Tomura doesn't even want to think about what that means and glances at Shanks for the redhead’s answer.

Shanks shifts his weight, his hand falling from his sword once Mihawk had sheathed his own, but he keeps his distance. He gives Tomura a helpless shrug.

“My crew and I drifted close to her island one day, and we got to know one another. I can admit I was jealous of what Mihawk had with her, so we made it work. The three of us.”

Tomura doesn't know what to say to that, so he keeps his mouth glued shut. How the hell had his little sister pulled not one but two of some of the most powerful men on the Grand Line. He would ask once he found her.

“I'll use whatever resources the Navy can give me to find her,” Tomura says after a moment of rather awkward silence. He reaches into his pocket and takes out two mini transponder snails, and hands them to Shanks and Mihawk.

“I'll ring you if I find anything. I hope the two of you do the same.”

Mihawk dips his head in agreement, handing the snail to Perona and Shanks pockets his. They would work together to find you, even if none of them wanted to.

“I'm going to take a look around and see if we can't find something that'll lead us in the right direction,” Shanks says and whistles loudly to signal to his crew that it was fine to disembark from the ship now. He chances a glance at Mihawk, but the dark-haired man refuses to look his way. He frowns, guilt eating him up from the inside out before he lopes away without a word.

“Perona and I will head to the New World and begin our search,” Mihawk says and then he struts to the ship Perona had taken from his island, not bothering to look back at the Vice-Admiral. He can't bring himself to search the island. Dracule had seen the smoke curling into the sky, and seeing whatever remained of his home away from home would only make the hurt worse.

Tomura is left standing alone on the white sands, and he sighs heavily, looking out over the crashing waves. He smooths his white hair away from his forehead, and he murmurs to himself.

“Where the hell did they take you, Princess.”

~~~~~~

Thousands of miles away, you are escorted past hallways full of mirrors that make you feel dizzy if you look too closely. You cast your eyes back to the floor, one hand tangled in the fur of Hank's shaggy coat and the other holding Sukuna close to your chest. Your pets had chased after the men who had dragged you kicking and screaming from the tiny cave you'd forced yourself into.

Surprisingly, once they had seen that you were pregnant, the men had handled you with much more care and had even allowed you to take the cat and dog with you. Despite not wanting to leave, you had been much more willing once they assured you that you could have them. Hank and Sukuna were the only two things keeping you sane right now.

Sukuna wouldn't stop hissing, a constant low growl echoing in the hallway. His tail was poofed, and he glared at everyone with furious golden eyes. Hank fared no better, his hackles raised, and his ears pulled up. He stayed pressed against his human’s legs as they walked, unwilling to let you out of his sight.

It wasn't long before your group stopped at massive double doors that creaked open. You waltz inside, relieved at the lack of creepy mirrors, but that relief disappears the moment your eyes lay on who hovers in the middle of the room. She is the biggest human you've ever seen, sitting atop a cloud that glares down at you.

Beside her, another massive man stands. He has deep purplish hair, and the bottom half of his face is covered in a black and white scarf. He wears an open vest, and you can see a tattoo running down his exposed chest.

“It's about time you showed up,” Big Mom’s booming voice startles you, and you cut your eyes up to look at her. She grins down at you, her smile wicked as she looks you over.

“Such a pretty young thing. You'll make a nice wife for my son Katakuri. Don't you think so?”

@writingmysanity @djbumblebee @goth-mami-writer @myradiaz @fluffybunnyu @bookandstar @foggyturtleknightangel @browneyedhufflepuff @anastasiyax @jaguarthecat @atricksterwithwings @black-swan-blog27 @breadedloafs @enpvrirnce @gottalovethefandom

#reader insert #fanfic #one piece #fluff #dracule mihawk #mihawk x reader #hawkeye mihawk #shanks x reader #opla mihawk #mihawk x you #mishanks x reader #mishanks #opla shanks #Peppermint Tea #charlotte katakuri #one piece x reader

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five-rivers · 5 months

Text

Cracked Clay Cup Chapter 9

@greatbigolhampuckjustforme

“Okay, for the next one,” said Danny, doodling on a piece of paper, “I think I’m going to pick from the older end again. Like, I’ve done number one, number five, and number seven, so that leaves two, three, four and six. Could just do the middle one, four. That’s the biggest group. Or I could do one of the single people.”

“You could pick any of them,” said Clockwork. He placed another piece into the puzzle he was working on at the dining room table.

“I know,” said Danny. “I’m just thinking out loud.” He’d been leaving Clockwork’s after breakfast, but he’d broken that habit this time around. It was almost noon. He just couldn’t make up his mind.

Part of him wondered if he should have stayed with Vlad a bit longer. Maybe he could have pushed him to tell the truth. But… he didn’t know how Vlad would have reacted to that. What if it had been bad?

On the other hand, it might have been good to know if his reaction to being pushed had been bad. If it had been, Danny would have known not to pick him. Maybe… maybe deciding to leave was a little… cowardly.

“Hey, Clockwork?”

“Yes?” He looked up from the puzzle, but kept inserting pieces.

“Am I different than I was with my memory? Like, am I acting different than I would have, if I still remembered?”

“Of course. You would have knowledge that you currently do not, if you remembered.”

“Okay,” said Danny. “Sure, I get that. But what about… I’m… Am I acting like, not as… brave?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, Vlad said I was sort of a, I don’t know, a superhero, kind of.”

“I see.”

“But I kind of feel like if I had been, then I’d be more… I would have acted differently, with Vlad.”

“Hm,” said Clockwork. “I think I understand what you mean.”

“And?” prompted Danny.

“And, I have often found that it is easier to be brave if you have something to be brave for. When it is not a choice so much as it is a necessity. You do not need to be brave, here. This isn’t one of those situations.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“I am,” said Clockwork. “You aren’t unmonitored, when you are visiting the candidates. Part of my role is to enforce the rules.”

“I don’t really see how that means I don’t need to be brave in this situation. I kind of feel like there’s a lot I need to be brave about, here. I could be hiding out in my room instead of out here.”

“You could be.”

“But I’m not. I’d say that was… brave… Wait, that’s not the position I was arguing before.”

“It is not,” said Clockwork.

Danny scowled at him, then slouched down in his chair. “You know what else is brave? Your new decorative choices.”

The walls of the kitchen - not to mention the rest of the house - were now covered in clocks of various sizes and shapes.

“Mhm. Well, in your absence, I must occupy myself.”

Danny looked around the room again, eyes lingering on the clocks. “I don’t know that I’m that… occupying. Like, I’ve not been here for more than a day at a time, and usually less than that.” He hesitated. “And we don’t… do that much together, do we?”

“We’re doing things together now.”

“I’m mostly just complaining at you about my choices, but okay.”

“Even so.”

“What if I just… take another day? To decide who to go to next, I mean.”

“Take as long as you want. In the meantime, you could help me with this puzzle.”

“Or,” proposed Danny, “we could play some video games together. A lot of the ones I like are multiplayer.”

Clockwork put the remaining puzzle pieces back in the box. “We can certainly try that. I’ve never played before.”

Danny grinned. “I think you’ll like it.”

“Are you sure you’ve never played before?” asked Danny.

“Quite.”

“You’re good.”

“I have always prided myself on my timing.”

Danny groaned as he died again.

“Okay, I’ve made my decision,” said Danny, a few days later. Breakfast that day consisted of french toast.

“Really?”

“You don’t have to sound so skeptical.”

“This is my normal voice.”

“Is it?”

“It is. What is your choice?” asked Clockwork.

“Eager to get rid of me?”

“I am merely curious.”

“Sure,” said Danny. “Sure you are.”

“Daniel,” said Clockwork, with a faint air of exasperation.

“I want to visit the third person,” said Danny. “I figure I might as well be symmetrical.”

“It’s as good a system as any. Do you want to leave now, or later?”

“Now,” said Danny. He did not say, ‘before I change my mind again.’

“Very well.”

Clockwork raised his staff, a spark of blue swirling off the tip. The portal would form in just a split second.

“I’ll miss you,” blurted Danny, impulsively.

Clockwork’s eyes widened slightly, but he did not respond before the portal swept Danny away.

The first thing Danny noticed about the new place was how cold it was. He wrapped his arms around himself, and cursed himself for not realizing that someone named Frostbite of the Far Frozen would live somewhere cold.

“Oh, dear,” said a deep voice. “Great one, my apologies. I did not realize your core would be inactivated.”

Danny was bundled into a pair of furry arms and swept away to a much warmer area. That wasn’t to say it was warm. Just. Warmer.

“Oh, wow, that was cold,” said Danny. He rubbed his arms and wrapped his tail around his knees.

“Yes,” said Frostbite. “Usually that’s not an issue for you.”

“I can’t imagine why not.” Danny shot a look at his latest temporary guardian.

Frostbite was a huge, tall, white-furred ghost. He had a long muzzle and horns, along with ears that had more than a passing resemblance to Danny’s. Danny ran a hand over his own ears, wondering. Were they related somehow?

“Generally,” said Frostbite, “in the normal course of things, that is, you are quite cold-resistant. You have a cold core, like myself, although that aspect of your core seems to have been rendered dormant.”

“Vlad mentioned cores,” said Danny.

Frostbite's furry eyebrows went up. “You have already met Plasmius?”

“Um, yeah. Just before you, actually.”

“What?!” Frostbite patted Danny over with his large, paw-like hands. “Did he harm you? Are you injured? Did he do anything to you?”

“Um,” said Danny, stepping back. “No. He was pretty chill actually.”

“Chill.”

“I mean, like. He didn’t do anything bad to me. He was pretty nice, even though he didn’t tell me we’d been enemies. The Dairy King did.”

Frostbite got a sort of pinched look on his face. “The Dairy King was assisting him? How unusual.”

“I don’t know about assisting,” said Danny. “He did tell me about how Vlad and I used to fight and all.”

“Even so,” said Frostbite. His eyes were still roving over Danny, apparently worried. “I would like to give you a full medical checkup. I was unable to do so… before.”

“Before the trial?” asked Danny, tilting his head to one side. He felt one of his ears flick.

“Yes,” said Frostbite, heavily.

He seemed to be struggling with whether or not to say anything else, so Danny took the opportunity to look around.

The room he was in was… strange. There was really no other way to put it. It was small. Only about the size of Danny’s bedroom at home with Clockwork. The walls, where they were visible, looked like ice-covered stone, but they mostly weren’t visible. They were covered with layers of fur and strange tapestries. Some of the tapestries looked more or less like Danny imagined tapestries to look: lengths of tightly-woven and embroidered fabric. Others looked more like carpets. Still others were embroidered furs. The floors, too, were covered in layered furs and carpets. Illumination was provided by globs of floating blue fire.

Other than that, the room was empty.

“I was your doctor before, Great One.”

They looked at each other for a long moment. Danny imagined that Frostbite was facing the same dilemma he was. He couldn’t decide what to ask next. He couldn’t decide what was safe to ask.

“So, you’re a doctor?” That seemed like a safe question.

“I am,” said Frostbite. “Medicine for cold core ghosts is one of the specialties of my tribe. When you have been ill or injured in the past, we have taken care of you.”

Danny hadn’t really thought all that much about the social structures of ghosts. He remembered the Observants, and he had a vague recollection of kingdoms and tribes being a thing, but he was far more familiar with the workings of a republic, his human life taking precedence in this case. He made a mental note to ask Frostbite more about how tribes worked later.

“And I have a cold core like you? That’s why you’re my doctor?”

“Yes,” said Frostbite.

“Are we related?” asked Danny. Frostbite’s tail - what Danny could see of it, anyway - wasn’t quite like Danny’s, but he did have white fur and pointed ears, so…

This question surprised a laugh out of Frostbite. “It would be my honor, but, no, Great One. Although we share some similarities, that is not one of them.”

“And you’re calling me Great One because…?”

“Because you saved my people, and, indeed, all the Infinite Realms, from a terrible fate when Plasmius released Pariah Dark, the old king of ghosts, from his prison.”

“The superhero thing?” asked Danny.

Frostbite chuckled. “I believe you referred to your tendencies as that a few times in my hearing. You, and your friends. But, truly, it would give me a great deal of peace if you let me make sure that you are, indeed, healthy, and that whatever technique they used to remove your memory has not damaged you unduly.”

“You could tell if it did?” asked Danny, suddenly a lot less reluctant.

Frostbite nodded, gravely.

“Okay,” said Danny. “But I’m not sure if I can really handle it if the way there is as cold as the way here.”

“I will carry you,” said Frostbite. “The medical bay itself is heated, to accommodate your human half, as are many of the rooms.”

Danny sighed in relief. This would have been a very short visit if they hadn’t been. This room was fine, but he didn’t like the idea of being confined to such a small space indefinitely.

“And perhaps we could take one of these,” said Frostbite, pulling a thick, fluffy-looking fur from one of the walls. “Just to add another layer between you and the cold.”

“Right,” said Danny, feeling nervous again as he contemplated being bundled up like that. It was fine. Clockwork was watching. Monitoring. Whatever. He had the pocketwatch.

It took a bit of maneuvering for Danny to get into a comfortable position, but once he did, Frostbite wasted no time pushing aside the thick, curtain-like door of the room and walking back out into the cold. Danny drew in on himself, shivering, despite their precautions.

(In a slightly less frigid environment, being held in Frostbite’s arms would have been downright cozy. He made a note to experiment later. If Frostbite was trustworthy enough for cuddles.)

“S-so,” said Danny, trying to take his mind off the cold. “Wh-what did I do with Pariah D-Dark?” Vlad had told him a version of the story, but he doubted it was complete, especially given that he’d failed to mention anything about who released Pariah Dark in the first place.

“You rallied the ghosts of the Wastes,” said Frostbite. “a veritable and largely lawless rabble. You convinced them to fight, even convincing Walker and Dorathea of Mattingly to lend their power. You led them against Pariah Dark’s thrall armies, and stormed his keep using a suit of armor that sapped your life even as it increased your power. You fought the mad king one-on-one, and forced him back into the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep, whereupon Plasmius was able to lock him in again. You very nearly died, you very nearly ended, and were willing to do so, in order to stop Pariah Dark.”

“H-huh,” said Danny. He couldn’t really imagine doing something like that. But it did more or less line up with what Vlad said… except that in Vlad’s story, Danny’s role had been less… prominent.

They reached the medical bay, a large cave full of mysterious machinery, shortly after that, and Danny was again happy to find himself in relative warmth. Frostbite started explaining the medical exams he wanted to carry out, and Danny listened half-heartedly.

“Hey,” he said, during a lull between explanations. “Do you think you could fix my amnesia?”

“It is not impossible,” said Frostbite, slowly, turning away from the thing he’d been fiddling with . “But it would depend heavily on what method they used to give you that amnesia in the first place. For example, Lethean waters are very effective and entirely irreversible. On the other hand, they could have removed and stored your memories via a memory jar, in which case you would need to have that jar to recover your memories. Alternatively, there are several ways by which your memories could be bound in place, or obscured. However… attempting to restore your memories would be a blatant violation of the rules of this trial.”

“But would you try?”

“If you asked me to, Great One.”

Danny frowned and looked away. “Why are you doing this?”

“Giving you a medical checkup?” asked Frostbite. “Because I am concerned for your health.”

Danny waved that answer away, and forced himself to look back at Frostbite. “No, I mean, why are you participating in this trial? Why do you want custody of me? I mean, if you’re just my doctor, that’s a bit weird, isn’t it?”

Frostbite huffed. “I do like to think of myself as more than ‘just’ your doctor. I mentored you extensively after your ice powers developed. I daresay you are one of my more successful students, at that, even if your, ah… first attempts at control were rough.”

“You know what I mean. You call me ‘Great One,’ and that’s flattering and all, but it isn’t really a parental kind of thing, is it?”

“I suppose not,” said Frostbite. “It would bring me nothing but joy if you did choose me, Great One, and I would do my utmost to live up to the task and dedicate myself to parenting you, but I do have something of an ulterior motive in joining this trial.”

“What is it?” asked Danny.

“I came to warn you.” Frostbite squared his shoulders. “I never met your birth parents, only your sisters, but from your words and theirs… I believe they harmed you, Great One. Intentionally and repeatedly. And I believe that it is their actions that necessitated this custody trial.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” said Danny. “Why? Why do you think that?”

“First,” said Frostbite, “you mentioned to me on several occasions that your parents were ghost hunters.”

“Oh. Ow,” said Danny.

“Secondly, a few times - only a few, but they stand out sharply in my memory - you visited me for help after being affected by one of your parents’ weapons. I have the records of those visits here. You brushed aside my concerns regarding your parents then, saying that they did not know you would be harmed, or that the incidents were mere accidents.”

That… certainly sounded bad.

“Thirdly, and finally, the existence of this custody trial in and of itself. These are beyond uncommon, even considering the Observants’ interest in you.” Frostbite’s snout wrinkled. Speaking of which, you should be wary of them as well.”

“Already ahead of you on that one,” said Danny, thoughts racing. “But I thought the reason for the custody hearing was that they were dead.”

Frostbite’s eyes widened slightly. “Who told you that? I know that at least one of them is participating.”

“What?” said Danny. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. My spy wasn’t able to be more specific than that, curse the Observants, but I have full confidence in them as a member of my tribe.”

“Do you know their names? What they’re called, what they look like?” asked Danny.

Frostbite shook his head. “As I said, I never met them.”

“Maybe we can work it out by elimination, though,” said Danny. “I could tell you the names of the other people on my list of candidates–”

Frostbite’s head-shaking became more frantic. “Goodness, no. I’m limited in how specific I can be about the…” He sighed. “Competition.”

“Right,” said Danny. “But you just came to warn me? That’s all?”

“And to give you some measure of safety. I knew your parents were participating, I knew Plasmius would not miss the chance, and I haven’t a clue about who else might be involved. I wanted you to have at least one safe option.”

That was nice and all, but Danny couldn’t help but feel a little put out. He didn’t want to be an obligation that someone was picking up because they felt like they had to.

He was probably just being ungrateful, though.

“Great One?” asked Frostbite.

“Hm?”

“I asked if you would like me to try to get your memories back.”

“Oh,” said Danny. He thought about it for a while. “No. I don’t want you to get in trouble. But maybe… could you find out what’s going on with my core? And help me remember how to use those ice powers you mentioned?”

“Of course, Great One! It would be my pleasure.”

#danny phantom #phic phight #fic

82 notes · View notes

sadisticsongbird · 6 months

Text

playing god's game ~ coriolanus snow

four

warnings: little bit more tension, but not quite what chapter five and six will bring, nothing else

word count: 4.2k, i guess the length is going to become a pattern

a/n: FOUR! i can't believe i've made it this far honestly. i feel like everytime i write a series, i lose inspiration before i get far enough. anyways please please PLEASE fill out this form, which is my taglist. all of the information is anonymous if you are worried about that, but otherwise, HAPPY READING!

series masterlist

You spent that evening at the Plinth house, joining Sejanus and his Ma, for dinner. Strabo was stuck in his office the whole night. You knew that it probably relieved Sejanus that his father wasn’t around him, especially after their fight this morning. Sejanus had found you shortly after your run-in with Coriolanus in the hall. You went running into his arms, practically jumping on top of him in joy.

“I’m in!” you screamed. He lifted you up, twirling you around in his arms. His actions made you think that he was happy, but his face said otherwise. After putting you down, you saw his face, upset and clearly pissed. “What’s wrong?”

“My father bought him for me. Marcus.” He didn’t say much else after that, staying silent at the Academy the rest of the day, only saying hello or goodbye to you when meeting in between classes.

“So, Y/N, congratulations! Strabo and I had no idea, I promise. Otherwise I would have said something.”

“No, Ma, it’s okay. Besides, I wouldn’t have wanted you to say anything anyways. It would have ruined the surprise,” you reassured her, placing your hand over top of hers.

“Sejanus, what do you think about Y/N getting this opportunity?”

He stayed silent, picking at his greens with his fork. But he did roll his eyes and give a scoff.

“Sejanus?” his mother asked again.

He threw his fork down on his plate. “You wanna know what I think about it? I think that Y/N was better off not having to mentor someone on how not to be killed in order to live a happy life. I think that these games are ridiculous and that they needed to end before they even started. I think that if father wanted us to truly be happy, he would’ve kept us in the districts and left me to be reaped just like Marcus!”

The boy pushed his chair back roughly, making it tip over as he stormed off out of the dining room and down the hall. Both you and Ma stayed silent watching the event. You knew he was angry, his parents knew that he was angry. But it didn’t stop you from wanting to raise your voice at him. He didn’t understand that you NEEDED this. He didn’t have to worry about maybe not getting food the next morning or think about waking up to a dead mother in the morning. While you weren’t grateful for the circumstances behind this prize, it was all you had. You cleared your throat, hoping that your voice wouldn’t come out wobbly.

“I think I better head home.”

“Y/N, don’t go. He’s just upset. I’ll talk to him.”

“No,” you denied the invitation, leaving more than half of the food on your plate. “I should be getting home to my mother anyway. She can’t be alone for much longer.” You took your bag that was hanging off of the arm of the chair and slung it over your head. “Thank you, Ma.”

She stood up with you, moving to the kitchen, grabbing a small container before you could protest. Rushing back to the table, she placed as much food from her plate as she could inside the tub to hand to you. “At least take it home. Share with your mother.”

You gave her a faint smile, then walked to the door with her. She gave you a hug and kiss on the cheek as a farewell before letting you walk out of their apartment. Because there was no reason for Strabo to leave their apartment for the rest of the evening, their driver had gone home and you would walk the way home. Usually when this happened, Sejanus was there to walk home with you, but after the events of tonight, you didn’t even think about asking. Thankful that the school uniforms had a little bit of padding, you began the trek home. The sun hadn’t set completely, so it made you a little more comfortable to be walking the streets without Sejanus. The dark scared you, it always had. You made sure to leave lamps on or candles lit throughout your apartment in the night, so one, you could get to your mother easily if you needed to, and two, for your own comfort. Having the lights on made it so that you didn’t feel so alone, didn’t make you so afraid, made you feel less vulnerable.

As soon as you made it home, it was no surprise that your mother was awake. Her face was wet with tears and she had been picking at the loose threads on her robe.

“Y/N, where have you been!?!” she screamed, standing up from her space on the sofa. “They came and they told me?!? Why weren’t you here!?! I needed you! HE needed you!?!” She walked up to you, gripping your elbows hard as she shook your body.

“Mama, what is going on? What happened?” You spoke to her in a calming tone, hoping that her sobbing would stop and she could tell you what was going on with a clear head. Well, as clear of a head as she had.

You walked her back to the sofa, repeating the same words to you over and over again. Trying to sling your bag off of your shoulder, you sat with her on the couch, rubbing her back and letting her scream into your shoulder. You were thankful that the school gave you two uniforms because the state that your coat was probably going to be in wouldn’t be ideal to wear tomorrow.

“He needed you. He needed US!” she screamed. “He’s dead, Y/N/N. He’s gone.”

“I know, Mama. I know,” you lulled, rocking her back and forth as she began to calm down. Her breathing started to slow and she was crying less, which you were happy about. While you hadn’t yet gotten complaints about it yet, you were always scared one of your neighbors was going to come and yell about the noise, especially when it happened in the middle of the night. It felt like hours had passed, sitting there with her. It was like a nightmare that never ended. If someone would have told you that you would be dealing with the aftermath of your father’s death almost thirteen years later, you would have laughed in their face. But alas, here you were, praying every night that you wouldn’t have to drag yourself out of bed in the middle of the night to comfort your mom like when you had first received the news.

Moving your mother’s sleeping form from your shoulder to the pillow on the opposite side of the sofa, you arranged her for bed. It wasn’t unusual for her to sleep in the sitting room, but she usually found her bed more comfortable. You knew that you’d have to sleep out there with her just in case she’d want to move. So you gathered your things to go change in your room. To get out of the uniform felt good. While it wasn’t uncomfortable, by any means, it had felt tight around your neck all day, as if threatening to choke you. But now, as you slipped your comfortable undergarments and worn silk robe around your body, you felt ready to fall asleep at any moment. You gathered a book and the candle that normally sat next to your bed to bring with you, leaving the cold room.

When you arrived back, your mother was still asleep. Her brow was crinkled and she let out a whimper every once and a while. It was in these moments that you truly felt bad for her, which was difficult to do when she had you pulling your hair out trying to quiet her down. You couldn’t imagine having to re-lose the one you love every waking minute of your life. It wasn’t like you didn’t miss your father, but you had come to terms with his death over ten years ago. You missed him, but you were finished mourning him. You tried to think of how you would feel if your mother died, but you didn’t think it was the same. Maybe Sejanus. He was your best friend and hearing the news of his death would probably break you, but you didn’t know if you could be in mourning forever. Ma would need someone to take care of her and you would need to be her support system. God knows Mr. Plinth wouldn’t be much help, always too invested in his own work these days. He loved his family, his son, but since their move to the Capitol, Sejanus has always expressed how political themes seemed to be of more importance.

Lighting the candle after setting it down on the small table next to a chair, you sat down in the dull light of the room, curled up in a blanket. Perhaps having to relive your loved ones death was more of a common occurrence than you thought. You thought back to what Sejanus had said at dinner about the games. How many parents have to relive their child’s death when the games are an annual event, playing reruns of previous years, interviewing past victors, reminding these parents and families of why their child is no longer with them. The kids coming on the train tomorrow have probably said their final goodbyes to their families, preparing themselves to never come home again. Your tribute, Mizzen, would need more than the ‘warm’ welcome he would get from the Capitol in the morning. Thinking about something you could do for your tribute, you debate skipping out on class to go to the zoo in the morning, where they would be kept. You could take some food to him, maybe some of Ma’s leftovers. God knows, you mom wasn’t going to eat them. Although you knew they’d need a lot more than food to trust you, you figured it would be a good start. You could get close to your tribute and maybe Festus’s too, get under her skin about the boy before he could do anything. It would give you a one up on all of the other mentor’s too.

You hadn’t touched your book, still curled up into your chest. Taking one more glance at your mother, you situated yourself into a cuddled position, facing the candle. The flickering light was the last thing you saw before the darkness of sleep encapsulated you.

Arising bright and early, according to your plan, you made sure to bring your mother to her room before leaving. You also left her a roll from your dinner last night with marmalade glazed across it next to her bed if she should awake hungry, as unlikely as it was. Slipping the rest of the food in Ma’s container into your school bag, you made your way out of the apartment and towards the zoo. You weren’t sure how early the tributes would be arriving or how much of class you would miss trying to talk to them, but you knew you had to try.

When you arrived, there was already a crowd of people beginning to gather. Lucy Flickerman and his crew were already getting set up for their arrival. Flickerman was the Capitol’s local weatherman for all of Panem. You enjoyed watching his morning news segments when you still had a working television. It was one of your fondest memories, laughing about his magic tricks in the morning with your mother before she fell ill to her nightmares. When you found out he would be doing the broadcast for the Hunger Games this year to promote them, you were honestly excited. Maybe he could bring a little light to the otherwise dark situation.

People, young and old, began to trickle in towards the cage. This was a spectacle for the citizens of the Capitol this year. In previous years, the tributes were kept in trucks or thrown straight into the arena. But this year, they were being brought out for the public to see and interact with. You figured this was another one of Dr. Gaul’s genius incentives to get people to watch the games more. Tucking yourself into the crowd, hoping not to draw more than a few stares regarding your uniform, it didn’t take long after that for murmurs to travel through the crowd and the sounds of a truck pulling up to the opposite side of the cage.

You watched as the truck dumped out its contents, that being the tributes. Your gaze was directed over to the cameras that were now whirring over to Lucky. “Ouch,” the weatherman says, hissing in sympathy at the fall. The door they were dumped from was placed at least six feet from the bottom of the cage, leaving them to tumble quite a ways. “Well, we'll give them a chance to stand up and catch their breath. I'm jealous of that entrance,” he laughs, trying to soften the abrupt entrance of the tributes. “I'm Lucretius ‘Lucky’ Flickerman, a man who needs no introduction. You all know me as your favorite weatherman and amateur magician.”

You snicker to yourself as the man tosses a coin into the air, leaving his audience to await its fall. But as you well know, it never comes. He’d performed many of his gauche tricks in his reports before. Albeit, some of them were impressive, however, overused.

Watching as the tributes stand up one by one, you try to find Mizzen in the group, hoping to speak to him as per your plan from last night. A few things caught your eye as you searched through the crowd of people. A boy with only his left arm, who you recognized to be from District 8. The heavy coughing coming from Felix’s tribute from 11 with her male tribute helping her up. The colorful dress of Lucy Gray Baird, filled with the purples, oranges, and yellows. But none of the bright colors from her gown were the red that made your heart pulse in anger.

Coriolanus Snow.

Of course, he would manage to find a way to out-do you.

“But guess where I am today. Here's a hint. That's right. The Capitol Zoo, where this year's tributes will be held here on display behind these bars for your viewing pleasure. That's right. All 24 of them 'cause… What in the gem of Panem?” Lucky’s outburst led you to direct your attention back over to the cameras and crowd you were in, making you realize that everybody was now observing what you were. Everyone was staring as Coriolanus got up from his spot in the cage, grasping his bag so tightly that his knuckles were turning white. Behind the normal, confident façade that the boy tried to put on was a nervous child, scared for the Capitol to see him as any less than he wanted to be perceived. It made you want to laugh. You raced apart from the crowd, trying to get a better grasp on the scene happening in front of you. Maybe it would have been better to blend in, considering that you were wearing a matching red uniform. Regardless, you kept to the right of the crowd, hopefully outside of the view of the cameras.

“You see, that's the Academy rouge, no?” the weatherman asked, turning back to the cameras. “Excuse me. Hello, sir. Yes, you. In the red. Who are you and why are you in there with them? We're live.” The man directs the microphone he is holding in Coriolanus’s direction, as if he could simply lean over and speak to Lucky.

The weatherman continued to call out to Coriolanus, but all he could do was stay still. How could he face the cameras and pretend not to be scared out of his mind? He could barely keep up his lies at school in front of all of his peers. If this was nerve wracking enough, how was he supposed to continue this for the Games? Maybe it was better to bail. Running his fingers through his hair, he prepared himself to turn around when his arm was caught by Lucy Gray Baird.

You watched the tribute pulled Coriolanus to her to whisper something in his ear. You wished you could be closer, hear their interaction. Watching as he said something back to her, he grabbed the rose that was in her hand. You recognized the rose, pure white, a rose that only one family you knew in the entire Capitol would prune. For a long time, Coriolanus’s grandmother had a trove of them on top of the Snow’s roof. You hadn’t seen them in a while, but seeing one now, you assumed his grandmother continued to grow them in a more secluded place.

He broke the stem off, brushing Lucy Gray’s hair away and tucking the rose there behind her ear. You were taken aback as he held his hand out for her to grab and even more shocked when she willingly put her hand in his.

“Can they not hear me in there? Well, that's something you don't see every day. They're holding hands,” Lucky said. As the two of them made their way closer to the cameras, Flickerman pulled the cameraman forward towards the bars to get a closer look at the odd couple. “Yes, yes, yes. Who are you, sir? What are you doing in the cage here?”

Your hands clung to the cage off to the side, hoping to catch Coriolanus’s attention if you hadn’t already. You were counting on him being completely focused on his tribute, however. “Hi. How do you do? My name is Coriolanus Snow. And this is my tribute. Lucy Gray Baird from District 12.” He introduced himself and his tribute, his voice seemingly coming out confident, but you didn’t know how true that assertion was.

“Coriolanus,” you hissed, from your spot, out of sight from the cameras, separated from the audience Lucy Gray had gathered. He didn’t move the first time, ignoring you or simply not hearing you, so you attempted again. “Coriolanus,” you said, a little louder.

This time, his head whipped around to see you. Something in his eyes changed. Disbelief, maybe, at the sight of you. Letting go of his tribute’s hand, he let Lucy Gray talk to the camera’s when he moved off to the side towards you. “Y/N? What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing? Why are you in there?”

“Why? Jealous you didn’t think of it?” he smirked, rounding the bars of the cage with his hands like you were.

You scoffed at his comment. “No, thank you,” you said, pushing his hands back inside the cage. “I just wanted to come give my tribute some food. How did you even get in there?”

“I met the tributes at the train this morning and hitched a ride with them here. I wanted to get a head start on the rest of the mentors. I see you had the same idea,” he mocked. “Shame that it will all be for nothing. That prize is mine, Stillwater. You shouldn’t even be here in the first place.”

You folded your arms around your body, self conscious about your choice to be here. Maybe it would have been best to go to class this morning.

No!

You couldn’t let him get in your head. You deserved to be here, no matter how late compared to the others. It would be a spectacle to outperform the rest of the mentors and win, and that’s what you intended to do. “I deserve to be here just as much as you,” you tried to muster out, but you yourself could barely understand what you said. Curse your shyness.

He laughed a little at your attempt to appear non-feeble. “What? Did you have something you wanted to say, Stillwater?”

“Forget it, Coriolanus.”

His attention was directed away from you, however, when Lucy Gray made her way over to him, allowing the cameras to follow her path. “Do you know my mentor? Says his name is Coriolanus Snow and clearly, I got the cake with the cream 'cause nobody else has even bothered to show up.”

Although, she corrected her words when her eyes met you.

It was like she had seen a ghost when she saw you, her face going nearly pale. Pushing Coriolanus out of the way, she crossed in front of him over to you. Unfortunately, the cameras followed her, allowing yourself to make your debut in the morning Captiol news. “But who might you be?” the girl asked, seemingly curious, although her shaking hand said otherwise. She put her arm through the cage, to grab your hand. Everyone else stepped back, other than you. You met her grasp in the middle. “I’m Y/N Stillwater. I’m also a mentor in the games.”

Coriolanus was upset that Lucy Gray’s focus was on you. His job was to make this about her and here she was, throwing that curiosity onto you. You were making his task awfully difficult, and the worst part is, you weren’t even trying. He had sacrificed his morning, his self-image, his cleanliness to make an impression for himself and for his tribute and here you were, taking that moment away from him.

Lucy Gray pulled her hand from yours. “And what did you think of my performance at the reaping, Y/N/N,” she asked, giving you her own nickname. You wondered why she was so interested in you or why she looked like you were something haunting to her only moments ago.

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you questions?” you joked. Despite having questions for her yourself, you found a sudden ease in conversing with her, unlike your conversation with the blonde boy seconds ago. She smiled, still awaiting the answer to her question. “But I loved the song,” you said, unsure of what else to say. “I think that your voice is unlike anything I’ve heard here in the Capitol. Refreshing from the general opera or anthem playing over our radios.” You weren’t sure if you would get in trouble for insulting the Capitol’s anthem, but you knew that it was the truth.

“Well, thank you. Maybe I’ll get the chance to play you another tune.” You hoped so. There was something about her music, her voice, that was captivating, leaving you wanting to hear more.

“And who might you be the mentor for, Miss Stillwater?” Lucky Flickerman asked you, thrusting the microphone into your face.

You tried to avoid making eye contact with the camera thus far, so you opted to look at the man holding the microphone out to you. “I am the mentor to the boy from District 4. Mizzen is his name, I was told.”

The crowd looked around the cage to see if anyone would look up at the mention of their name, but they all kept their head low, disappointing you. All hope of meeting your tribute this morning suddenly dwindled out.

“Looks like most of these tributes are too shy to make an appearance, unlike you three,” the man said. Yet, he directed his next question mainly at Coriolanus. “Mr. Snow, the Gamemakers did tell you to jump in the cage with them?”

He gave a shy smile. “They didn't tell me not to. They just said that it was a mentor's job to introduce our tributes to the citizens of Panem. And I thought, well, if Lucy Gray is brave enough to be here, then why shouldn't I be, too?”

The weatherman hummed at his answer, but Lucy Gray spoke up. “For the record, I didn't have a choice,” she joked, looking at you once more.

“For the record, I think you two are about to be whisked away.”

Turning around, you and Coriolanus were each faced with two peacekeepers, grasping your arms. You were being pulled away from the cage when Lucy Gray caught your hand again.

“Hey...Get us some food, please. Jessup and I haven't eaten since the Reaping. I’m sure the others haven’t either,” she asked.

You shook your head at her as the pull of the peacekeepers made you slip from her grasp. You turned around, compliant to the soldier escort and not wanting to put up a fight about it. From your guess, the dean probably had been watching the news and had seen Coriolanus’s scene, sending someone to gather the two of you and return you to class, where you were both supposed to be right now. As you looked back, you watched Coriolanus be practically dragged out of the cage. They were being a lot more rough with him than they were with you and you supposed it was because of the fact that he was inside the cage instead of out.

Flickerman began to close the morning news, probably not expecting to get much more from the tributes this morning. “The 10th annual Hunger Games are soon approaching. So come down to the zoo, and see these tributes before it's too late. And I mean, too late. For Capitol News, I'm Lucretius…” He paused, holding his hand out in the air just in time for the coin to fly back down into his hand. “...’Lucky’ Flickerman.”

taglist: @gracieroxzy @poppyflower-22 @hungergamesfantatic

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow fluff #coriolanus snow angst #coriolanus snow smut #tom blyth #tom blyth x reader #tom blyth x you #tom blyth fluff #tom blyth angst #tom blyth smut #coriolanus snow imagine #tom blyth imagine

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cosmicjoke · 4 months

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Man, okay, chapter 58 of "Saezuru", and this one was a doozy.

As usual, the Yakuza plot is super complex and involved, and I think I'm going to have to go back over previous chapters to make heads or tails of it. So I'll just focus on Yashiro and Doumeki, and in turn, Misumi and Tsunakawa for now.

So the cat's just out of the bag with Misumi finding out about Yashiro's involvement with Doumeki (though it seems clear to me that he isn't really aware of their sexual relations at this point, and I dread to find out what his reaction will be if he does find that out). What I didn't expect here was for Tsunakawa to basically start shit by telling Misumi about Doumeki, seemingly just to see what his reaction would be. But clearly, there's some deeper agenda at play. I think he's trying to gauge just how involved with Yashiro Doumeki is, and seeing Misumi's over the top reaction to finding out that he essentially sent Yashiro to the same place Doumeki was is going to give Tsunakawa a pretty good idea. He's going to know from Misumi's reaction that Yashiro and Doumeki aren't just "friends" or associates, or working together on business. Misumi is obviously pissed, but I think he'll be a lot MORE pissed if he finds out that Doumeki's been going to Yashiro for, it seems, the last two weeks, every time he has a moment to (and I'll get into that in a bit here). I've said before that Misumi's possessiveness of Yashiro would cause him to be particularly unhappy if he were to find out Doumeki is back in Yashiro's life, because I think he sees Doumeki as a threat to his hold on Yashiro. Also just to add, Misumi saying "That fucker hid it from me", with regards to Yashiro, also seems to convey just how pissed Misumi clearly is.

I also found Tsunakawa's comment about Yashiro seemingly having it good, and Misumi's response to that really interesting. Misumi says "Is that how you see it?", which implies to me that Misumi is aware that he basically keeps Yashiro in a kind of prison. That he may appear to have the freedom to move about and do what he wants, but the reality is, he's been under Misumi's control and thumb for over 20 years at this point. He isn't free at all, actually.

And okay, so... I don't know what the heck Doumeki is doing or thinking at this point. The fact he's been going to Yashiro over and over, for the last few weeks, having sex with him and then leaving, all the while clearly driving home to Yashiro the message that he doesn't have any feelings for him any longer and is just using him for sex... I can't imagine the toll this is taking on Yashiro mentally, and I can't imagine what it is Doumeki is trying to accomplish with this, other than keeping Yashiro in traction and basically trapped. I'm just going to flat out say I don't like it, and I think Doumeki is doing Yashiro a lot of harm at this point. He needs to quit pretending he doesn't care, and I think in order to do that, Doumeki is just going to have to face his own fears of losing Yashiro and accept whatever happens. I spoke before about how Doumeki is trying to control Yashiro, to keep him from running away, and a lot of that is rooted in a possessiveness that, frankly, he has no right to. Again and again throughout his life, Yashiro has been treated like an object and a possession by other men, and I see Doumeki doing the same to him now, and it really sucks. He's fucking with Yashiro's head, whether intentional or not, and given Yashiro's mental problems, I think it's wrong and potentially irrevocably damaging to him.

I think Yashiro's agitation toward Kageyama is sort of indicative of his growing despair, too. Kuga comes in and starts questioning him about Doumeki, and just Kuga being there, with Kage, is serving as yet another reminder of Yashiro's own isolation and loneliness. He gave Kuga to Kage, basically, set them up together, and then Kage has the gall to ask Yashiro here if he's alright, and then bring up to him his feelings for Doumeki. Given their history together, and his own obliviousness to Yashiro's feelings, that must seem particularly insulting and like rubbing salt into the wound for Yashiro. Kage also badgering Yashiro to "get out already" of the Yakuza, as if it's that easy, all while remaining blissfully unaware that Yashiro is only in the Yakuza to begin with because of Kage and the sacrifice Yashiro made to save his friends life and career... yeah, I was feeling pretty pissed at Kage and his usual, shitty ignorance this chapter.

The final images, of the rain starting to come down, and Yashrio remembering his exchange with Doumeki before the time skip, asking him what falling in love feels like for him... well, this is what falling in love feels like for Yashiro. Constant rejection and loss. First with Kage, and now, seemingly, with Doumeki. That last time it was raining, Yashiro seemed to lose Doumeki, after watching him be shot and fall under Hirata's gun. And shortly thereafter, he let Doumeki go, casting him out of his life for both their sakes.

That we see him walking alone in the rain here seems to symbolize his eternal loneliness, the way he's fated to forever love and not be loved in return. The second to last panel, showing Yashiro's pained expression, his teeth gritting together, and his words "Spare me, really,", seems like a plea to the universe to stop tormenting him like this.

How much pain can one person take?

Anyway, these are just my initial impressions after one read through. This was a really dense chapter with a lot going on, so I may have gotten everything wrong, lol. I'm going to go back and read it again, more slowly this time, and if I have any additional thoughts, I'll add them.

Just an additional note. Yashiro replying "No, not really," to Kage's question of whether he intends to quit the Yakuza also seems indicative to me of Yashiro's general feelings of despondency. At the beginning of the time skip, Yashiro seems almost intent on getting out, making real moves toward that end, trying to make enough money to basically buy himself out. But now he's saying he's not even really intending on quitting. I feel like, given what's going on between him and Doumeki, Yashiro is started to feel hopeless, and his resignation to his position in life, despite the misery he's always felt being trapped in that world, seems like an extension of that.

#saezuru tori wa habatakanai #twittering birds never fly #chapter 58 #spoilers #Yashiro #Doumeki

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nataliesfirefly · 3 months

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chapter 4 - ‘tis the damn season

a/n: new chapter for you!! a little longer than usual, but i had so much fun writing this one :)) the slow burn is slow burning, but we’re finally getting somewhere! it will pay off, i promise <3

chapter warnings: slight language

wc: 4.7k

series masterlist

The word ‘stress’ does not even begin to describe how you are feeling at the moment. This time of year is always the worst, right before Christmas holiday. All the final exams fall in the same week, right before the end of the term, and not to mention your final project for English; the essay.

Which wasn’t coming along too badly, you realize. You and Farleigh have actually made impressive progress, and not to be too prideful, but this might be the best essay you’ve ever written. But definitely not because of his help. No, you’ve done most of it. He’s just been there for… moral support? And… occassionally adding worthwhile things to the writing. Occasionally.

In fact, you unfortunately have started to grow fond of his presence and his company. He’s not a bad guy, you’ve realized. He’s quite funny, and has a certain way of dragging a giggle out of you or causing a smile to tug at your lips, in contrast to your usual resting bitch face. You’re going to miss those late nights spent in his room, considerably past curfew, meaning you typically had to sneak back to your own dorm as carefully as possible. You can’t seem to figure out why time goes by so fast when you’re with him, whether it’s because you’re trying to finish up a project or because of… other reasons.

Lately, you’ve also been finding yourself to be very nervous whenever he speaks to you. Your voice trembles, you suddenly forget your whole vocabularly, and that stupid blush that always creeps onto your face, feeling like flames on your cheeks.

You only have a bit of editing and revising to do on the essay before it is ready to turn in. Some finishing touches. Which means it will be ready to turn in next Friday, a week from today, the last day of the term before winter holiday.

You throw the covers off of yourself and yawn, climbing out of bed. This weekend will be brutal, since you’ve designated it to studying for exams, which means a few late nights spent at the library. But for some reason, you feel excited to go to class today. English class, specifically. You slip out of your pajamas and fold them neatly into a drawer.

As you step into your skirt and tug on your white button-up, you glance at your calendar posted on the wall. You feel warm just thinking about returning home to see your family in Bath. You picture your mother’s welcoming smile and your father’s comforting embrace, and those evenings you will spend gathered around the fireplace, regaling them with tales from your first term of the school year as you stuff your face with sweets. If you’re lucky, you’ll even get snow. The last time you had a white Christmas was… well, you can’t even seem to remember.

You observe yourself in the mirror as you work on tying your tie, suddenly hyper-aware of your appearance. You comb your fingers through your hair, realizing you haven’t brushed it yet. You step over to your chest of drawers and grab your hairbrush, dragging it through your hair quite aggressively. You’ve never cared much about how you look, it’s always been more of a personality thing. How others perceived you was what mattered, but not in a physical aspect.

But who are you trying to impress? You scoff sarcastically at the idea, shaking your head. You throw your brush onto your bed before grabbing a pair of black socks, pulling them up your legs. And finally, your trusty jacket, provided to you by the school. It doesn’t help much with the cold, but at least it looks cool with your uniform. You hurriedly step into your shoes once you’ve buttoned your coat and race back to the mirror, brushing through your hair one last time. Does it look okay? You think. Should I tie it up? Or at least do something with it?

No. You shake your head and bop yourself on the head with the brush. “That’s enough,” You say under your breath, as if to silence your own thoughts. You sling your bag over your shoulder and as you’re walking to the door, your stomach lurches as a sudden realization comes over you.

You’re trying to look good for Farleigh. What the hell are you on?! You slap a hand to your forehead and groan dramatically. Suddenly, you think of Clara and all her random appearances she’s been making, flirting with him and twirling her hair. What does she do differently?

Her skirt. She rolls it up on purpose to make it shorter. You chew on your bottom lip nervously as you return to the mirror once again. You tentatively roll your skirt up at the waistband, making it a bit shorter. You’ve always followed dresscode, the fingertip rule. But if she can get away with it, so can you, right?

You step back and admire your long legs and your thighs. Wait, what on Earth are you doing? Your face burns with humiliation. You’re basically trying to seduce a man. No, not even a man. A boy! An immature, stupid, extremely handsome boy.

You trudge back to your door determinedly, swinging it open and stepping out into the hallway, locking it behind you. You picture Farleigh’s face in your mind as you walk through the corridor and down the stairs. His caramel skin, his eyes that remind you of chocolate, his perfect teeth, his curls… Fuck.

And the weather isn’t helping. You sort of regret adjusting your skirt now, since you’ve just given the freezing air more opportunity to bite at your skin. It seems today you might actually be on time to class, though. You reach the door to the east wing and step inside, seeing a group of students gathered outside Mrs. Chasteen’s door.

You squint harder and realize it’s your class. You curiously walk over and spot Magdalena, so you tap on her shoulder.

She turns around and her face immediately brightens. “Hey! You’re early for once in your life.” She grins and you shove her playfully. “Oh, come off it. Is she not here today?” You point to the door and she quirks an eyebrow. “No, I think she’s here. Sometimes it just takes a while for her to get here, and we show up before her.” She shrugs. “But what would you know? You’re always dashing in at the last second.” Lena tsks and shakes her head, wagging a finger at you.

“Ready for holiday?” You ask. Her eyes brighten at the mention of the upcoming break. “Oh my God. You don’t even know how ready I am.” She lets out a sigh of relief. “But we have to get through those bloody exams first. At least we got our GCSEs done last year.” Lena nudges you softly with her shoulder. “True.” You nod in agreement. You truly believed those blasted tests were going to be the death of you.

At that moment, Lena’s gaze leaves yours and travels slightly upwards, to something in the distance. Or someone, rather.

“There’s your shadow.” She points with a quiet little giggle. “Wha-” You turn to follow her eyes. Shit. You immediately turn back to Lena, your heart racing as panic starts to set in. You start to feel hot, despite the cold air of the corridor.

“What do you mean ‘my shadow’?” You furrow your brows and tilt your head, hoping she elaborates. “I mean, you two are always together. And he follows you around like a lost puppy. I know I’m not the only one who notices it.” She lowers her voice to a hurried whisper.

“Maybe because we’re working on the final project together?!” You whisper back harshly. “Mm. Right.” She nods and crosses her arms, spinning on her heel to go chat with someone else. “Lena! Lena, don’t leave me!” You whisper-scream after her, but she doesn’t turn back for you.

“What was that about?” You already know it’s him before you even register who’s speaking. You spin around, much closer to Farleigh than you thought. You stare up at him awkwardly, pretty much eye-level with his chest. You step back cautiously.

“Uh. You know…” For such a large vocabularly you claim to hold, it seems to be failing you at the moment. “Erm. Girl things?” It comes out like more of a question than you mean it to. You feel that familiar burn scorching up your neck and onto your cheeks. Fuck, it always gives you away.

“Girl things?” He repeats, raising his eyebrows. “Yep. Like, periods and stuff.” You freeze, your brain registering what just came out of your mouth. Oh, good Lord. Your eyes shoot down to the ground as you suddenly become interested in the stonework.

“Oh. That’s… cool. I guess.” He replies just as awkwardly, and for a minute you think that maybe he’s nervous too. No, he’s not. How else would you reply to a girl who’s just randomly brought up periods? There’s not much you can really say to that.

“Not really.” You shake your head and shift your weight onto your other leg, glancing back up at him. You really need to work on keeping your mouth shut during awkward moments.

And then, for one sliver of a second, you see his eyes trail down to your legs, and then quickly back up to your gaze. He clears his throat. “Our teacher seems to be late today,” He remarks.

You nod quickly, grateful for the change of subject. “Yeah. Maybe she’s just as sick of this as we all are.” You gesture to your fellow peers. You look back up to him, meeting his eyes once again. You swear, if you could just swim in them you would. You would make them your home and never leave their warmth. He stares back at you, his gaze unrelenting. You feel yourself growing hot once again, like you need to go back out into that chilling wind.

And then, your favorite person comes along, cheerfully skipping through the corridor, her steps echoing off the tall walls. She pauses mid-step, turning to you and Farleigh.

“Oh! Hi, guys!” Clara grins, showing off her blinding white smile.

“Hello, Clara.” You mutter reluctantly. It takes everything in you not to roll your eyes. “Hey,” Farleigh replies. She steps oddly close to him, staring up at him with her baby blue eyes. Those must be her secret weapon, you think. She traces a finger down his chest and giggles. What the fuck is she doing? Farleigh’s face reddens and he looks down at her, a smile tugging at his lips. “What was that for?” He mutters. “No reason,” She shrugs with another giggle.

You’re not sure you’ve ever felt jealousy this strong. It’s a feeling that bubbles up in your stomach, clawing its way up into your chest, burning through your veins like a fire. It’s an unpleasant feeling, you realize, as you look at Clara and try to hide your distaste. How can he be enjoying this? Does he really like her? Your mind spins.

She steps back from him and flips her hair. “I really should be getting to class right now…” She says, looking around the hall. “You’d better get going, then,” You murmur under your breath before clearing your throat. The words kind of just slipped out before you could think about them. Clara glances over to you so quickly you swear she almost snaps her neck.

“What was that?” She asks with that saccharine smile playing on her lips. “I said you’d better get going, that’s all.” You smile right back at her. She looks like she’s biting back some snippy remark, before she flips the switch and smiles again. “You’re right. Don’t want to be late!” She winks at Farleigh before skipping off again.

You look down at your shoes for a moment, pondering what to say next before looking back up at him. To your surprise, he’s staring down at you, a look on his face that you can’t quite figure out.

“What was that about?�� You ask, snickering nervously as if it’s humorous, when really the whole interaction made you want to die. He opens his mouth to speak, but then is interrupted by greetings from your classmates to Mrs. Chasteen. You turn around to see her turning the key to her classroom, fiddling with the doorknob before opening it. You decide it’s better to not talk about the Clara situation right now.

“So, you think we can get the essay done today?” Farleigh asks as you both walk to your usual table. “Possibly. If Mrs. Chasteen even allows us to work on it,” You reply, setting your things down and sitting. You tug at your skirt, which to your annoyance, continues to ride up your thighs. Fuck Clara and her stupid skirts.

“Look at her. She looks exhausted. Do you really think she wants to teach right now?” He subtly nods in your teacher’s direction. She’s sitting at her desk and sipping a mug of steaming tea, or perhaps coffee, you can’t tell which. She usually has bags under her eyes but today they seem more pronounced.

“She’s probably been grading a lot,” You mutter to him. He shrugs. “Or maybe she had a thrilling Thursday night out on the town,” He whispers, nudging you playfully with his arm. The heat of the proximity has you burning up, inside and out. It makes you want to snuggle up next to him and chase his heat, especially on this cold winter’s day. You remind yourself to laugh at his comment.

“Mrs. Chasteen? Going out? Yeah, when pig’s fly.” You giggle genuinely at the thought. “I’m serious! We should do a stake out,” A boyish grin spreads across his face, lazy and lovely and truly beautiful. You drink in the sight, taking in his features and wishing you could screenshot this moment with your brain and keep it tucked away for later.

“She’s married, you idiot.” You swat him on the arm and his stupidly charming grin only intensifies. “Well, you’d be surprised.” He leans back in his chair and spreads his long legs. God, you usually hate when men do that. But…

Your eyes betray you. Fuck, he’s so handsome. And tempting. You’ve never had such scandalized thoughts about someone before. You start to wonder what he would look like with his shirt collar loosened, or with the buttons undone. Or maybe with just his tie on.

You hear your name suddenly, interrupting your diabolical thoughts. “Are you okay?” Farleigh asks. Shit. You’ve spent too much time analyzing his appearance and imagining him with less clothes.

You already know your face is giving you away with the pure heat that warms your cheeks. “Oh.” You say stupidly. What the fuck?! You curse yourself internally.

“Yeah. I’m great. Sorry, I was just… thinking about–” Think. Think of something. An excuse. Anything.

“The essay. Mhm.” You nod aggressively almost to convince yourself rather than him. “What about it?” He asks, raising an eyebrow with intrigue.

“I think it’s gonna be… so good,” You lose your train of thought once again as your eyes focus between his legs this time. Did he choose tighter pants today on purpose, or is your mind playing tricks on you? Your tongue darts out to lick your lips before you glance back up at him.

His eyes widen. You freeze and immediately turn to face the front of the classroom with a loud swallow. Thank God for Mrs. Chasteen.

She clears her throat. “I’m not feeling too well today, hence my late arrival. Feel free to work on your essay. Or whatever it is that you want to do…” She waves her hand dismissively and then continues organizing things at her desk. The chatter in the classroom resumes.

“Told ya,” Farleigh says, clearly happy with himself and his prediction. Normally, you would make some quippy remark about how this is the one time he’s right and he’d better enjoy it while it lasts. But instead you remain silent, pulling out your laptop.

It’s your last night to study and cram all possible information into your mind before finals week. You’re not even sure your brain has anymore room to store said information. Nevertheless, you feel slightly more confident about your tests than you did before your first night at the library on Friday. And, you and Farleigh finished the essay and turned it in.

You yawn and check the time in the bottom right corner of your laptop’s screen. Sunday, 10:03 PM. Your tired eyes widen and glance around. To your surprise, many students are still gathered here, almost every desk full. Lucky for you (and everyone else), the library has extended hours during the week before end of term exams. You believe it closes at three AM, since keeping it open any later would encourage students to pull an all nighter. Which they probably do anyways when they get back to their dorm.

You feel a tap on your shoulder and you spin around. “Hey.” Farleigh smiles down at you. Your heart almost leaps out of your chest at the sight of him. “Hi,” You respond, your voice coming out at a higher pitch than you expected. You cringe internally.

“You look like hell,” He says. His voice carries a teasing lilt, so you play along and poke him. “Let me guess, you’ve been here since… six?” He tilts his head in a way that reminds you of a puppy.

“Six thirty, to be precise,” You reply with a sarcastic eye roll. “Jesus. What a tryhard,” He shakes his head in mock disapproval. “Shut up. Showing up to study at ten PM is arguably worse. Do you always wait until the last possible minute?” You scoff but it turns into more of a giggle than you intended. He sits down next to you.

“I’m smart enough to where I can wait ‘til the last minute.” He flashes a grin at you before twisting in his seat to pull out some books from his bag. “Well, we’ll see once we get exam scores back.” You sigh.

“Oh, really? You wanna make a bet?” Farleigh questions in an oddly flirtatious tone. “Mhm,” Once you realize he’s staring at you, you feel a tingle shoot down your spine as you slowly turn to meet his eyes. His gaze is hot and heavy and it almost melts you on the spot. You inhale a shaky, quiet breath.

“What will you give me if I make a better grade than you?” He asks, his voice lower and seemingly quieter than before. An unfamiliar warmth spreads throughout you while an unwelcome swarm of butterflies makes their home in your stomach.

You cough loudly into your arm to interrupt the moment, mainly because you’re scared of how you would respond to such a flirtatious question. You don’t trust your mouth right now. Farleigh just laughs and returns to his textbooks, flipping through them.

Why does he say stuff like that? It only gets your hopes up that he might return your feelings. Which, of course, he never will. Why did you get cursed with this obsession? Well, you wouldn’t call it an obsession. Just a… crush. No, that sounds too childish. You just like him.

You spend the next two hours studying with Farleigh. You write each other calculus problems for the other to solve, or you quiz each other on vocabulary for English, or dates for medieval history. As much as you hate to admit it, you’re having fun. It’s almost as if time speeds up while you’re in his presence. However, your eyes are burning and you’re struggling to keep them open.

“Are you okay?” Your eyes snap open at Farleigh’s words. You had begun to drift off into slumber, slumped over in your chair. You sit up efficiently and nod. “Yeah.. sorry.” You let out a long sigh and attempt to rub the sleep out of your eyes with your fingers.

“You probably need to get some sleep,” He suggests, his voice soft as silk. Your eyelashes flutter as you fight to stay awake. “I’m okay, really.” Your last word is interrupted with a big yawn. You cover your mouth with embarrassment as he lets out a snort.

“It’s midnight. You need to get to bed.” He tells you more sternly this time. “Well what about you?” You question.

“Don’t worry about me.” He shakes his head and reaches his hand out, placing it on your shoulder. “I guess I’ve studied enough,” You yawn again and close your eyes. Just for a moment, if only to rest them. You think.

About ten minutes later you awake to the sound of Farleigh’s voice again. “Do I need to take you to your dorm myself?” Your gaze slides over to him as he packs up his things. You let out a sleepy hum of disagreement. “You can’t even keep your eyes open. C’mon.” He stands up and pats you on the back.

You groan and grip the side of the table to support you as you stand up. You just stand there and watch as he packs up your own things, depositing them into your bag. “Can you carry it?” He asks, his eyes full of concern. You nod. “Alright. Let’s go,”

You both walk back to the dorms, with your occasional stumble, along with his occasional hand on your shoulder. You walk up the stairs, sleepiness weakening your legs. You eventually make it to your door and glance up towards Farleigh while blinking rapidly to make sure you’re not dreaming.

“I don’t think I studied enough–”

He holds up a hand to silence you.

“No. We studied more than enough. Sleep is what you need right now. Our English exam is at nine tomorrow morning. Or, today, actually.”

You’ve never seen him act with such kindness and care. Why is he doing all of this for you? And why is he being so nice? It’s suspicious, you think. But you push the thought aside as you unlock your room.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” You smile in an attempt to convey your gratefulness. You’re a little too prideful to say thank you right now. “Goodnight.” He pauses for a moment, just like he did the first time you were at his dorm, like he wants to say or do something else. You stare into his dark eyes, willing him to do something. Suddenly, you don’t feel so sleepy.

But he just turns and walks away, probably back to his own dorm. Damn it! You feel stupid for being so hopeful. You step into your room and close the door angrily. He’s never going to admit anything, even if he also has feelings for you. Which you extremely doubt. And you’re never going to admit it either.

By the end of the week, you’re more exhausted than ever, but very relieved. Exams went smoother than you expected, and before you know it, you’re standing in front of a table waiting to get all of your results.

“Last name?” The random teacher whom you’ve never had asks, glancing up at you. You tell her your last name, and she fishes through a folder divided alphabetically by last name.

“Ah. Here you are.” She pulls out a packet and inspects it first before handing it to you. Your hands suddenly feel clammy compared to the smooth surface of the paper. Your heart pounds.

“Thank you,” You smile gratefully before turning around and quickly walking to the nearest bench to sit down and flip through the pages. A wave of relief crashes over you as you see your near perfect grades. Your lowest was a 96% on calculus, which you consider a pretty amazing achievement. You sigh with relief and close your eyes, leaning against the wall. You finished the fall term well.

You shove the packet into your backpack and put on your big coat and your beanie, preparing to venture out into the cold to pack up the last of your things to head home. Last night a huge snowstorm passed through London, so you delightfully woke up this morning to what looked like powdered sugar dusted upon the roof outside your window. It felt almost like the universe’s way of wishing you good luck on everything.

You walk outside on the cleared path with shoveled piles of snow hugging the sides. Breathing in the crisp yet calm air, you look around and take in your surroundings. The bustling groups of fellow students chatting excitedly about their scores, red cardinals hopping from tree to tree, snowflakes peacefully falling from the sky and joining the glittering snow upon the ground.

Suddenly, you hear your name being called from a distance, and then footsteps. You turn around to see Farleigh jogging toward you.

“Farleigh!” Unfortunately, you cannot hide your adoration whenever you see him and your content smile breaks into a foolish grin.

“So? How’d you do?” He asks with excitement. Oh, how the tables have turned. Usually he would start by bragging about his own results, and now he starts by asking you about yours. You quite enjoy how this friendship has grown.

“I did really good. My lowest was a 96!” You tell him. He beams, and then his eyes narrow. “On – let me guess – calculus?” He asks with suspicion. “Shut up!” You exclaim, punching him rather hard before turning serious. “Yes.”

He snickers and rubs his arm. “You pack a good punch,” He smiles, and you swear you can even see it in his chocolate brown eyes. You’re going to miss him over the holiday.

“So, what about you?” You ask while he falls into step next to you as you continue your walk. “Lowest was a 97. On history.” He cringes and you allow a satisfied smirk to break through.

“History?!” You giggle. “Shut up. My strengths are science and math, obviously.” He rolls his eyes. You’re beginning to love his sarcastic eyerolls. But then again, you think you always have.

“Hm. I thought you didn’t have any weaknesses. Academically, I mean.” You nudge him.

Farleigh shrugs. “Well, I wouldn’t call them weaknesses. I’m just better at some subjects.”

Without warning, he takes your hand and pulls you off the sidewalk and onto the snow. A squeal escapes you as he lets go, and then you look up to see him reaching down to pick up some snow. After he gathers a sufficient amount, he starts to pack it into a sphere. Oh no.

“Farleigh, no! Wait!” You scream, but it’s not really a terrified scream, more like a giggly one. But it’s too late. The snowball hurdles toward you and eventually crumbles once it meets your coat. An uncontrollable fit of giggles comes over you as you crouch down, packing snow into your hands.

You launch the snowball at him and he gasps with betrayal. “How dare you!” He shouts playfully. You’re so weak with laughter that you fall down into the snow. You look up to see a few other people joining in, throwing snowballs and running around. You can’t remember a time in the last few months when you have been happier.

Eventually, Farleigh sits next to you on the ground. You look up to see bits of snow adorably sprinkled throughout his hair. Something gives you the nerve to lean your head on his shoulder. He stiffens, only slightly, before relaxing and letting out a short sigh.

“Farleigh Start, I think I’m going to miss you,” You admit sheepishly. You can feel him turn his head a bit towards you, his breath grazing your hair.

“Don’t be dramatic. It’s only three weeks.” You recognize the tease in his voice. “But I tend to have that effect on people.” You can also hear the grin in his voice. You smile and make patterns in the snow as you both sit in comfortable silence.

#saltburn #farleigh start #farleigh x reader #farleigh start x reader #farleigh x you #farleigh saltburn

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soft-girl-musings · 9 months

Text

Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps - CHAPTER 2 (I've Got You Under My Skin)

Noir!Jake Lockley x WOC Lounge Singer!Reader

written in collaboration with + header by @mrs-lockley

chapter 1 chapter 3 chapter 4 chapter 5

cross-posted to ao3

tags: late 1940s Noir AU, Reader is WOC coded but with no physical description besides being slightly taller than Jake while wearing heels, no use of Y/N

wc: 2,326

fic summary: Of all the gin joints in all the world, Jake Lockley walks into yours. Unfortunately for him, it's not quite the start of a beautiful friendship.

chapter summary: another night, another guest.

----------

The Paper Moon is open to all walks of life– every culture, creed, and color is welcome through the doors of your lounge. This is usually a happy truth, but these days you’ve been harboring a clockwork headache when that cab driver stops by.

He gives you the base courtesy of sticking to a schedule: around 7pm on Tuesdays and Thursdays, Jake will waltz in on the heels of James Wesley and whatever company he has in tow. Every Tuesday and Thursday, Jake sits at the same back table while Mr. Wesley conducts his business. And every Tuesday and Thursday, you play nice as you check in on your patrons. Including the cabbie.

“Another stellar set, Ms. Songbird,” he lilts as you give a courtesy nod, brushing past his table in the hopes of keeping things brief.

“Thank you, Mr. Lockley.” Your voice is tense as you breeze by. Jake Lockley, you’d learned from the wait staff: the legal name for the thorn in your side.

In all honesty, you wouldn’t mind his presence as much if he didn’t insist on making it known every evening. You had learned to expect him in the crowd whenever you’d hear a high-pitched whistle ringing above the applause each night. The sound grates at your resolve and forces you to plaster on your stage-ready smile a bit longer every time you make your rounds.

“Hey Songbird,” he calls out after you. “Have a drink with me?”

“A drink at my own bar? How inspired.” You press your lips into a firm line, the rest of your face broadcasting your disinterest to no avail. Every week he asks; every week you say no.

“Suit yourself,” he sighs, always backing down but never taking his eyes off you. It’s one thing to be watched onstage; it’s another to feel his gaze on the ground level. You feel a bit of relief every time you see him walk out with his client, tipping his hat to you at the end of each evening. His smile remains undeterred, no matter how cold a shoulder you offer.

It’d be damn near charming if you trusted it.

----------

Today’s not the day to let your guard down, the unmarked letter in your hand reminds you as you pace around the backstage corridor. It’s the third of its kind you’ve received this month. You worry your lip between your teeth as you pour over its contents, even though you know them by heart.

“To whom it may concern….” “...property acquisition…” “...would be in your best interest…” “...other businesses under our care …”

“‘Our care,’ that’s rich,” you mutter. “Remind me to stop opening the mail during business hours…”

“Uh, okay?” Mauricio agrees hesitantly as he rounds the corner. “Was wondering where our ‘fifteen-minutes-to-curtain’ call was, but I see you've been busy.”

“Oh good golly, is that really the time?” You fumble to put the letter back in its envelope. “Haven't even finished my makeup…” you trail off as you head to your dressing room, your drummer right behind you.

When you open the door, you see a small bundle of flowers sitting on your side table. Oh for crying out loud.

“How many times do I have to–” you're muttering to yourself again as you take the flowers in hand, moving swiftly across the room.

"What are you doing?" Mauricio sputters.

"If that man thinks he can weasel into my good graces with a few pretty flowers-" you huff as you drop the bouquet in a wastebasket. "–he's going to be sorely disappointed."

"Those were– those were mine." Mauricio admits softly.

You freeze, turning to him. "Really?"

He scoops up the bouquet. "I wanted to surprise you. Guess I should've left a note," he chuckles.

"Oh, Maurie, thank you." You rush over to bring him into a hug. Sometimes he's too sweet for his own good.

".... This is from Mr. Lockley." Mauricio breaks away to hold out a single white rose he'd been hiding behind his back.

You sigh. "He's a persistent son of a gun, isn't he?"

He nods, dimpled smile growing by the second. “I think he's swell, miss. The boys think so, too.”

You turn the rose over in your hand. “I want you to be careful around him, Maurie. We don't know what he's about.”

“I think he's made it pretty clear,” he laughs.

“Hm. Perhaps.” You raise an eyebrow. "And I suppose you both brought flowers because...?"

Mauricio brims with excitement, taking the rose back and bundling it with the bouquet he'd gifted. "Mr. Lockley sounded real set on gettin’ you something sweet," he starts. He puts the flowers in an empty vase on your vanity.

"I didn't mean to steal his thunder, but I like it when you smile." He wipes his hands on the front of his pants and his expression drops a bit. "You haven't been smilin’ as much these days, Ms. Songbird."

You busy yourself with the fallen petals at your feet. “I smile all the time, what do you mean?”

“I guess I'm saying… there's you onstage, then there's, I dunno, you -you. They smile differently, s'all.”

He's right, as much as you hate to admit it. You look over at the flowers. “Well, thanks for giving me a reason to smile for real, Maurie.” You press a kiss to his forehead. “My mind's a bit out of sorts tonight. So thank you.”

The youth's dark brown eyes fill with concern. “Anything we can help you with?”

You shake your head, moving back to your vanity. “Nothing to worry yourself over, darling. Just make sure the boys are set. We have a show to put on.”

He nods and leaves your dressing room. As you apply your lipstick, your hand trembles.

----------

Wednesdays have become your favorite part of the week: the day you catch your breath between visits.

In the time before the first half of your set, you make your usual rounds to each table. Eventually you work your way to the front of the seating area, where you see a familiar silhouette beside the stage. A pair of dark glasses are perched on his nose, which crinkles as he smiles at the sound of your footsteps.

“Mr. Murdock,” you greet him warmly, taking his extended hand. “Always a pleasure.”

“Hey, kid.” He squeezes your hand in response, still beaming up at you. Even in the dimmed lounge, Matt Murdock’s smile can light up a room.

“Come off it,” you huff in mock annoyance. “Thanks for stopping by on such short notice.”

“It sounded urgent, of course I’d be here. Do you have all the paperwork together?”

You eye the empty seat next to him. “I have a whole file waiting for you backstage… I’m sorry, is Franklin not joining you this evening?”

“Not tonight, but I do have another guest coming. Is that drink still on the house for a new plus-one?”

“Any friend of Nelson & Murdock is a friend of mine.” You brush a few stray hairs from his forehead. “Is this a guest for business or pleasure?”

He laughs, waving your hand away. “I suppose that depends.”

“Well, as long as they’re a fan of good music, they’re welcome here anytime,” you hum as you straighten his collar. “I swear, Matty. It wouldn’t kill you to dress to impress.”

“You dote too much. I’ll catch up with you later.” You leave him to his drink, making a mental note to demand his dress shirts for a routine tailoring.

The dinner rush brings the usual crowd, and you eye your friend’s table every so often. The seat beside him is still empty. You wonder if Matt was just pulling your leg and wanted to keep both complimentary drinks for himself.

But you don’t have time to ponder that. Instead, you scribble a few notes down and pass them out to your bandmates.

“Ah gee, boss, changing the setlist again?” Your pianist whines, scanning your notes. He didn’t ask tonight, but last-minute song requests are a longstanding favor to Matt when he has a lady to impress (which is often). For the sake of his mysterious guest, you swapped in some softer, more romantic pieces.

“Jackie, don’t tell me you’re not up to the task?” You eye him sternly. “Half the gig is improv anyway, and these are all songs we’ve done before.”

Jackie’s budding protest is silenced by the bassist via an elbow to the ribs. Arguing with you is never worth it: a lesson everyone learns sooner or later. Some take longer than others.

Rubbing his side, Jackie concedes. “Whatever you say, boss.”

You wink. “That’s a tune I like to hear.” Smiling sweetly, you lead the band's procession to the stage.

“Good evening,” you croon into the microphone, “and welcome to The Paper Moon. I’m Ms. Songbird, this fine-feathered crew beside me are The Jays– let’s have some fun tonight.” You flash a rehearsed smile so dazzling it can be seen from the farthest table in the lounge, and you scan the room with anticipation. The moments before a performance are so precious; even with a setlist, anything can happen the moment that first note is played. Every night, you revel in the possibility.

A familiar two-toned whistle draws your gaze to Matt’s table right below the stage, where the seat beside him is no longer empty.

Hat resting on the table, chin propped in his hands, you find yourself staring down at the face of none other than that infuriating cab driver bearing a grin so wide you hope it splits his cheeks.

Fighting to keep your smile from turning into a grimace, your eyes snap back to the middle of the room. “This first song goes out to one of our favorite patrons… and his company,” you add, your voice betraying your restraint with a crack. You don’t look down, but you just know that damned cabbie is smiling even harder.

Despite the rocky start, you and your band pull together another unforgettable night of music. You perform with your eyes closed more than usual; you refuse to give Jake Lockley the satisfaction of serenading him with your best love songs.

Once the music portion of the night is through, all the frustration you’d pushed down swiftly rises to the surface as you watch them pal around right under your nose. You rush to the floor level to get this over with.

“What are you doing here?” you blurt out, glancing between Jake and Matt. Your friend’s eyebrows raise at the outburst.

“Last I checked, this is a free country. I’m allowed into most businesses.”

“No, I mean– it’s not Thursday. You come on Thursdays.”

“Why Ms. Songbird, I didn’t think you cared enough to keep tabs on me.” He leans his head on his hand and stares up at you. “Sorry I didn’t call ahead.”

You want so badly to snap back at him, but instead you look at Matt. “ This is who I changed our set list for?”

“In my defense, I never asked you to,” he grins.

“You didn’t tell me you were so familiar with our lovely hostess here, Murdock. Seems you have more pull with the house than you let on,” Jake muses in surprise.

“A privilege he’s bound to lose if he's not careful,” you say through gritted teeth. Like it or not, Jake is a guest. And you still have an image to uphold. “How’d you have the pleasure of running into this one, Matthew?”

He barely has time to respond before Jake's leaning in farther, slinging an arm around his shoulders. “Oh, chin up, doll– can’t say I’m too surprised he’s a friend of yours. Always has a knack for finding the pretty ones, this guy.” He nudges Matt’s side, who’s far too quiet for your liking.

“I’m not sure what you’re implying,” you huff.

“‘Course, I keep him around for that brain of his, not so much the mug.”

“He's my lawyer,” you say in unison. What makes your brow furrows leads Jake to bark out a laugh, shaking Matt in his grip as he tugs him closer.

“What are the odds of that, eh Murdock?” He beams up at you. Your frown deepens. “He's helped me with the occasional run-in with the law.”

“Oh, so you're not just a smart-mouth but a criminal, to boot?”

“Nothing but a few civil suits, doll. Got off clean every time.” He winks as you cross your arms, glaring at Matt.

“You have interesting taste in company, Mr. Murdock.” You turn on your heel and head backstage.

“No kidding,” Jake continues to laugh as you walk away. Once you're out of sight, his smile falters. “So when you said you had a friend in show business–”

“Yeah.”

“And when I told you about the dame I've been eyeing at this new lounge–”

“–I knew exactly who you were talking about.”

“So you've been letting me parade around like a putz this whole time? ” A smack upside the head earns Jake a kick to the shin beneath the table.

“That, my friend, was all you. I mean bravo, you were in rare form tonight.” That signature smile returns as Jake pushes a hand through his hair. “I should probably go smooth some feathers. Catch up with you in an hour?”

Jake downs the rest of his drink and stands when Matt does. “You know I love our little talks.” Casting a final glance towards the stage door, he adjusts his jacket and moves from the table.

Matt catches his elbow. “She’ll come around.” He almost sounds convinced of it himself.

“Yeah, well, we’ve got other fish to fry tonight. Promise I’ll save you the big ones.”

Shaking his head, Matt makes his way backstage. “I’m starting to think some of that vitriol isn’t unearned.”

They part ways– Matt heading backstage, Jake to the moonlit streets.

Bigger fish to fry, indeed: all swimming in the Kingpin’s tank.

----------

A/N: thank you to everyone who has expressed enthusiasm over this little passion project!! it's been so fun putting it together, and i'm looking forward to sharing more with you. expect to see more of our favorite lawyer in the future (we have fun here)

as always, thank you for reading <3

tag list: @importantnightwerewolf, @cupidysm, @queerponcho, @nerdieforpedro, @fandxmslxt69, @shadystarlightgentlemen, @lunar-ghoulie, @casa-boiardi (lmk if you'd like to be added to/removed from this wee tag list)

#my works #moon knight #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight au #jake lockley #jake lockley fanfiction #noir!jake lockley #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley x fem!reader #jake lockley x woc!reader #jake lockley x poc!reader #jake lockley/reader #jake lockley/fem!reader #jake lockley/woc! reader #jake lockley/poc!reader #matt murdock

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bellebridgerton · 1 year

Text

Best Buddies: Chapter 4 (Modern Benedict Bridgerton x plus size!fem!reader)

✨Masterlist✨

✨Last Chapter✨

Benedict usually started his mornings with a cigarette, but he was reminded of the request Y/n had made the night before. He would quit, and perhaps it would be enough motivation to give him the courage to kiss her the way he truly desired to.

Benedict remained in bed with her, relishing the quiet and the peace. Y/n's head rested on his chest, her soft snores filled the room. He gently played with her fingers, thinking about what kind of ring he'd like to place on her hand someday. He truly wanted everything with her; a wedding, marriage, children, a future. Benedict may have dated in the past, but those girls, as nice as they were, were mere distractions from what and who he truly desired. He hoped that sooner rather than later he'd pluck up the courage and make his dream a reality, hopefully make her happy.

Y/n woke up gently, humming into Benedict's chest. She wasn't always afforded the luxury of a gentle awakening, so she soaked them up when she could. Y/n lifted her face and saw Benedict was already awake, she smiled, "Good morning."

Benedict smiled softly, "Good morning, love." He rubbed her back and went to kiss her cheek, but he remembered what she said last night.

Y/n smirked, "You remembered."

Benedict sighed, "I promise, no more smoking."

Y/n nodded, gently tracing shapes on his chest, "Can I see you dispose of the cigarettes?"

Benedict chuckled, "If that would make you happy, love."

Y/n grinned, "It really would." She kissed his cheek longer than she normally had before, then carefully untangled herself from his arms. She rose from his bed and stretched, "I'm going to take a shower, I shouldn't be too long."

Benedict rested one arm behind his head, watching her, "Okay love, take your time." He watched as she disappeared into the bathroom. Benedict waited until he heard the water turn on, then wrapped his hand around his cock. Stroking himself slow and gentle, Benedict let himself imagine it was Y/n taking care of him. He sighed, "Y/n, my love, please..." He stroked himself harder and faster, thinking about her in the dress she wore the previous night, he thought about lifting it and burying his face between her thighs, and about her riding him to her satisfaction. Benedict grunted and spilled on his lower abdomen, quickly cleaning it up with the bottom of his shirt.

Y/n turned on the water of the shower and stepped in, letting the water run over her body. She leaned against the shower wall as her hand traveled down her body. Her thumb brushed her clit, while her middle and ring fingers entered her pussy. She moaned softly, thinking about Benedict's hands roaming her body, his mouth following the path his hands made. She rubbed her clit harder, more urgently, "Oh Benedict! Benny! Right there! Harder!" She could feel she was close to her peak, "Don't stop, Benedict!" She shook and bit her lip, "Fuck, oh god."

Y/n gave herself a moment to collect herself before she actually cleaned her hair and body.

Breakfast with the Bridgertons was lively and fun, as it always was for Y/n, she never felt out of place with them. She sat between Benedict and Penelope. Y/n and Penelope were honorary Bridgertons, and they were also the best of friends, almost as close as Y/n and Benedict.

Everyone made conversation while breakfast was consumed, but Benedict's attention seldom left Y/n's face. He was looking forward to the rest of the day, spending time with his family and her, in a more relaxed setting than the previous night.

Y/n chased baby Edmund around the courtyard, knowing it would help burn some of his energy.

Benedict sat in the shade with Anthony and Kate, watching Y/n interact so naturally with his nephew.

Kate smiled, "She's a natural and a godsend, he'll go down for his nap soon."

Anthony held her hand and nodded, "Y/n would make an excellent mother someday."

Benedict replied without thinking, "She will be, our children will be lucky." He then realized what he said, "I mean, her children will be lucky."

Anthony smirked, "No use in hiding it, dear brother, it seems that everyone but her knows how you feel for her. You two are perfect for each other, it's about time something happened."

Benedict groaned, he wasn't ready for other people to know, or maybe he wasn't ready to know that other people could see his true feelings so easily. He sighed, "I'm working on it, with any luck, Mother will be running around, planning a wedding in a few years time."

Kate smiled, eyeing her brother-in-law, "You Bridgertons really do work fast."

Anthony laughed, "They've been dancing around this since they were fourteen. I believe that if everything had gone the way my dear brother wished, they'd be married already."

Benedict blushed, "If she and I are meant to be, I don't want to rush it, we have time." He wanted Y/n in his life forever, no matter the capacity.

Y/n scooped Edmund up and spun around with him in her arms, kissing his cheeks, "You are the sweetest baby, you know that?"

Edmund giggled and clung to Y/n, "Titi!" He called her 'Titi' because he couldn't say 'Auntie' yet. Edmund had definitely been tired out.

Y/n carried Edmund to Kate and Anthony, Anthony accepted Edmund into his arms. Y/n kissed Edmund's head, "He's sleepy."

Benedict grinned, he felt his heart clench watching her being positively maternal. He gently pulled her into his lap, keeping her close, "Sit with me a while, won't you, love?"

Y/n draped her arms around his shoulders, sitting sideways in his lap. She gently played with his hair while they watched the younger children play in the courtyard. Benedict leaned his head into her hand and he smiled, looking up at her. Y/n smiled back at Benedict and gently rubbed the back of his neck.

Later that night, Y/n had once again found her seat in Benedict's lap, as they enjoyed a bonfire with the rest of their family. She rested her head on his shoulder, while he hand rubbed up and down her back, then resting on her waist. His fingers splayed out against her body, a nonverbal claim on her.

Y/n grew tired, it had been a long day, a long, beautiful day. She looked at Benedict, "I'm going to retire for the night, I'll see you later, Benny." She kissed his cheek, holding it for a few seconds. Afterwards, she got up and bid everyone a goodnight, she hugged each Bridgerton sibling who was still awake, along with Penelope, and Kate. She saved her last hug for Violet, giving Violet a peck on the cheek, "Goodnight, Violet."

Violet hugged back and kissed Y/n's hairline, "Goodnight, dearest. Sweet dreams."

Y/n made her way inside and changed into her pajamas. She crawled into bed, resting on the side Benedict slept on the night before. Y/n lied on her stomach, falling asleep enveloped by Benedict's scene.

Benedict joined Y/n in his bedroom about an hour later, he noticed she was sleeping on the side he slept on the previous night. He smiled to himself, changing into his pajamas and climbing into bed beside Y/n. The pillow he rested his head on smelled like her. Benedict admired her sleeping face, so beautiful and peaceful. He gently tucked her hair behind her ear, seeing her eyes flutter open, "I'm sorry, love, I didn't mean to wake you."

Y/n smiled sleepily, "It's quite alright, I'm glad you did, I wanted to know when you'd come to bed." She cuddled into his side, her left arm resting over his abdomen.

Benedict encompassed her in his arms, "Mhm, you just wanted to be cuddled." He didn't mind, he'd cuddle her any time she wanted.

Y/n closed her eyes for a moment, feeling safe and excited all at once when Benedict held her close. She wanted to push their usual friendly flirtation a bit, see if possibly she had a chance with Benedict. She was well aware that Violet thought they should be together, and Violet had always been quite the matchmaker, so why not test her theory? Under the guise of being sleepy and cuddly, Y/n rested her left leg over his hips.

Benedict rested his hand on her left thigh and gently lifted it slightly higher on his body, so she wouldn't be able to feel his hard on that was forming. He gave her thigh a gentle squeeze, "My cuddle bug."

Y/n slipped her right arm into the space underneath his neck, her right hand playing with his hair. She kissed his cheek, "My Benny."

Benedict chuckled softly and rubbed her lower back with his left hand, his hand slipping under her shirt to trace shapes on her skin, "Yes love, I'm your Benny."

Y/n looked at Benedict, "So you're finally accepting the nickname?" She couldn't believe what she was hearing.

He smiled, "Yes, but only because it's from you." He could only accept such a silly nickname from her.

Y/n grinned and nuzzled her face into his neck, "I love you, Benny." She meant it in every way, as a friend, as the man she'd loved for the last ten years, as the best person she'd ever known.

Benedict hugged her closer, "I love you too, darling." He could feel her lips on his neck, much more of that and he was sure he wouldn't be able to control himself. He rubbed her thigh that rested across his body, wanting to see how far up she would allow his hand, the most terrifying game of Chicken he'd ever played. Benedict's hand made it just under the hem of her pajama shorts before he stopped himself, he didn't want to risk her being uncomfortable with him.

Y/n felt excited and nervous to see how far his hand would go, she had remained silent as to not scare him off. When his hand stopped moving, she gently rubbed his chest and kissed his cheek, "We should get some rest." She pressed a kiss to his jaw, "Sweet dreams, Benny."

Benedict gently rubbed her thigh again and gave her a tired smile, "Sweet dreams, love."

✨Next Chapter✨

Taglist: @coolepowersthings @khaylin27 @m-rae23

@iluvmenwhodontexist

#bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton smut

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keep-the-wolves-close · 6 months

Text

Steady Heart

Chapter 30: The Warning

* Pairing: Slow-burn Kayce Dutton x OFC Stella Daniels

* Rating: M

* Warnings: language

* Word count: 4,965ish

I would love to give credits to @dameronscopilot and @deanscroissant for being sounding boards for me during this whole process, giving outsider insight, being cheerleaders, and allowing me to screech at them about things that have happened during the writing process. I seriously couldn't have gotten this far without y'all.

Author's note: Oh shit y’all, things are getting serious. It really feels like we’re seeing Stella unfold a little bit and step into a new role. At least I feel like she’s grown quite a bit! I hope everyone is enjoying so far! I hope you love this chapter as well!

Stella woke up to the sound of quiet movements in the bunkhouse. She turned over from facing the wall to see who moseyed about. She glanced at her phone to see that it was about 5:30. She reached over and snatched her glasses off the little table she had next to her bunk. The lights were off, except for the little one over top of the sink. She could see from the silhouette that it was Kayce.

She took a few moments to really observe him. He came across lighter, but still weighed down. It would take time for everything to ease. It was heavy, and definitely couldn't be painless to carry. Stella wished with every fiber of her being that she could take that away from Kayce. It hurt her to see him more withdrawn than usual. Even with everything that had happened between them. Silently she got up and padded her way over to the kitchen. She would pretend everything was normal, even if it was just in this moment.

“Mornin’, cowboy.” She murmured. She came up behind him and placed her hand in between his shoulders and rubbed softly. He turned to look at her, both stuck in their sleepy daze. She wished they could get past the avoidance stage and stay in this fuzzy warm feeling. She peered up at him with sleepy doe eyes and asked softly. “Make me a cup of coffee, please?” It was her offer of putting things aside for the time being. She leaned her head against his shoulder for a second before she wandered off. She didn’t want to be awake yet, especially after yesterday’s shenanigans.

He acknowledged her and got started on the coffee. Stella walked off and went to the bathroom. She wanted to grab a quick shower and brush her teeth before all the other men decided to take over the communal space.

Kayce kept track of her movement as she weaved her way through the house to the bathroom. There was an easy smile on his face the longer he looked at her. There was just something comforting about the exchange. Almost like someone was saying everything was going to be okay. Lloyd cleared his throat as he stepped into the spot Stella had been and gave Kayce a sharp look of warning. He had watched the entire interaction. He fixed his gaze back on the coffee, as Lloyd walked over to grab a mug.

“The man who wins her heart will be one lucky son of a bitch.” Lloyd prompted.

Kayce looked over at him and chuckled. “Yeah, he sure will, Lloyd. He sure will.” He peeked out the window to watch the sun slowly lighting up the ranch. His eyebrows furrowed at the thought of someone else gaining her affection and how it made him feel. It was like that one time Charlie Samuels had asked her out. Charlie and Kayce were seniors and she was a sophomore.

“He what?!” Kayce jumped up off the couch in his dad’s living room.

“Yeah, he asked me out! Can you believe it? Someone actually asked me out!” Stella practically jumped up and down with excitement.

Kayce paced back and forth. He tried to think of some way he could stop this from happening. “No no no. You are not going out with Charlie Samuels, Stella. Never in a million years!”

“What? Why?” Stella watched him pace.

“Because he’s not a good guy. I can promise you that.”

Stella hopped up. “Oh come on! You’ve said that about every dude who’s barely breathed in my direction Kayce!”

“If I find out you do go out with him?”

“What? What are you gonna do?”

Kayce stormed off to formulate a plan. Charlie was notorious for the notches in his bed post that he loved and left. Kayce wasn’t about to let Stella become one of them.

Jake hollered from behind him and startled him back to the present. “Hey everyone, Kayce’s makin’ coffee! Time to get up!”

Stella’s yell was muffled from the bathroom, “that first mug is mine! I already called dibs!” She raced out to the kitchen just as Kayce pulled the mug away from the commotion. He safely handed it to her and she smiled at him in thanks. He watched as she wandered away to go back to the bathroom. Everyone tried to get some of the dark liquid energy before they had to wait for another pot.

Kayce wandered outside to head to the barn. He spotted his dad in the aisle getting his horse Red ready. “What’s goin’ on? Is there a problem?”

John sighed at the silence being broken. “Are there problems?” He chuckled. “Everywhere I turn, son.”

“So where are you headed?”

“You know the only time I’m solely focused on the present, is on this horse. Just need a long ride to remind myself of what we’re fightin’ for.”

“Want some company?”

“Well, you have a few problems that need fixing first, I’m afraid.”

“Well ain’t that the thing about problems, dad? No matter how long you’re gone, they’ll be right here when you get back.”

“Grab a horse.”

“Okay, but Monica is dropping Tate off here later to spend some time with us. So I gotta be back for that.”

“You’ll be back. I’ll wait for you out here.”

“You don’t gotta wait on me. I’ll catch up.”

“You think, do ya?”

“Just tell me what direction you’re headed.”

John laughed and rubbed his nose slyly showing his youngest where he was going and walked off. Kayce laughed and knew he’d find his dad easily.

Kayce made his way back to the bunkhouse from the barn with Tank ready to go. Stella walked out the door. “Oh hey.” She took in Tank being ready. “Whatcha doin’?”

“I’m gonna go ride with my dad for a bit.”

Stella smiled at that. It had been a long time since she’d heard him actively trying to bond with his dad. “That’s good, Kace.”

“Before I left, I was actually hoping to run into you.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Oh really? What for?” Still on the outs, she would never have expected to be sought out.

“Yeah, Monica is dropping off Tate in a little while, and I’m gonna try to be back in time, but if I’m not I just need someone to sit with him until I get back.”

Stella crossed her arms and her feet at the ankles. “Uh, yeah. Sure.”

“I can have Rip look after him,” Kayce suggested.

“No, it’s fine. I don’t have anything to do today.” She gave him a small smile. “You go have fun.”

“Thank you, Stell.” Kayce climbed up into his saddle

The father and son galloped along the pastures. They were transported back to a simpler time. Back to when they didn’t have as many worries as they did now. Kayce was a kid and free to run wild. John was only concerned about what pasture he was moving the herd to this week.

They came to a stop in front of one of the many fences the property had. They slowly dismounted and went to lean and gaze out over the pasture in front of them. John looked around and chuckled.

Kayce joked, “come here often?”

“Every chance I get.” John sobered at the thought of his wife. “It’s been 20 years,” he frowned, “no. 21. 21 years and it feels like yesterday. I still feel her, smell her. Been half a man without her. It's not an excuse. I was just a better father when she was with me. I hope you never know what that feels like, son.”

“I already know what that feels like.”

“How did getting Stella’s stuff go? Were you followed?”

Kayce sighed and looked down. “It went fine, but we were followed by a silver sedan. She also thought someone had been in her house.”

“You don’t think there was?”

“If she says there was, I believe her. Out of all of us, she’s probably the most scary observant.”

“Sounds like someone else I know.” John smirked at him amused. If there was anyone he knew would notice the little things, it was his son or his best friend. He looked at Kayce, who appeared to be holding something back. “There’s more, isn’t there?”

Kayce felt the note in his pocket. The thought of what it said made his stomach turn. “I found this on her porch.” He held out the note for his dad.

John reached out to take the note. “Sweetheart, you weren’t home when we stopped by. Shame we missed you. You and your employer will remember exactly who the fuck I am by the time we’re done, Miss Daniels.” He read out loud.

Kayce cleared his throat. “Now that she’s told us about Malcolm stopping by and pissing him off, I’m almost certain it was him. Or his brother.”

“Well she’s safe here. So we’ll get this fixed. Soon.”

Through the kitchen window of the bunkhouse, Stella spotted Monica’s Nissan pull up. The woman and her son climbed out of the car. Stella took a deep breath to prepare for seeing Monica since everything happened.

Cautiously, Stella exited the house and made her way closer to Kayce’s wife. “Hey Monica,” Stella greeted.

The dark haired woman whipped her head to look at who called out to her. Monica hadn’t been ready for this. She sighed. “Tate, why don’t you go find Rip?”

“Okay!” The little boy ran off.

“Hey Stella.”

“How are you?” Stella asked timidly.

“Fine. Day by day. Where’s Kayce?”

“He went out riding with his dad earlier. He asked me to watch after Tate until he got back if he wasn’t back on time.” Stella put her hands in her back pockets. “Is that okay? If not, I’m sure Rip will do just fine.”

“It’s fine.” Monica watched Stella’s shoulders drop back in shock. “Just as long as you understand I’m always going to be around because of our son.”

“I wouldn't expect any less.” Stella frowned. “Wait, what’re you getting at?”

“I’m sure you and Kayce are moving on together.” Monica assumed.

Stella scoffed. “Actually quite the opposite. The last few days have been the most I’ve talked to him at one time in a few weeks. But regardless I understand your point, and again I wouldn’t expect any less.”

“Do you know about when they’ll be back?”

Stella shrugged. “Not really. He didn’t say and I didn’t ask.”

“Okay well let Kayce know I’ll talk to him about pick up and everything later on then. Please?”

“Of course.”

“And keep my boy safe.”

“If he’s in my presence? Always.”

Monica smiled sorrowfully at her. “Text me or call if you guys need anything.” She went to find her son to give him a hug. Stella turned on her heel to go inside and grab some water bottles. It would give Monica time to leave and herself time to calm her nerves.

She walked back from the bunkhouse with water for Tate, Rip and herself. When she came up behind them, she watched Rip gently explain colt breaking to Kayce’s son. A gentle smile appeared on her face. It was sweet to see the other side of Rip that most people never saw. “You tryin’ to teach him how to put me out of a job?”

Rip chuckled and answered Tate’s question first. “Well, I want to get all the shit out of his system, so I can get on him.” He glanced at Stella with a smile. “And no, just teaching him tricks of the trade.”

“Hey! You owe me a dollar!”

“I ain't paying you a fuckin' dollar.” Rip laughed.

“Rip!” Stella scolded him. She held out his water bottle for him.

Tate took his water from her and asked Rip, “so you don't go ass over teakettle?”

“Tate Dutton!” Her maternal voice came out.

Rip snorted. “Yeah, that's right. Here, here, here, here, here... Here. See that, Tate? That's him submitting.”

Stella rolled her eyes at the way Rip explained the horse’s body language to Tate. “It’s not submission, it’s trust. Now I see why you don’t train them.” She laughed at Rip’s playful glare. She looked at Tate. “No matter how much we train them, they can still overpower us if something pushes them to. We train to hopefully avoid having that happen so we can get work done, but animal instinct will win every time.”

“What does that mean?” Tate asked.

“Well that means he's ready to go to work. Hold on. Go nice and easy.” Rip held the horse still. “You can pet his face now.” Rip gave Tate permission. “There you go. Right up... there you go. That's a good job. All right, what do you say? Should we get another one?”

“Yeah!”

“Go get the gate for me.” Rip requested and Tate’s little legs flew to go to the gate. Stella smiled fondly at Rip and Kayce’s son bonding. Her face dropped as Kayce and John trotted up along the fence as Rip walked through the gate.

Rip joked to John and Kayce, “you can add babysitting to my list of talents.”

“Gotta say,” Kayce dismounted, “I didn't see that one coming.”

“Me neither.” They shared a chuckle.

Tate stepped forward, but John spoke, interrupting the 9 year old’s stride. “We need to talk.” That sounded important.

Rip nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Do you need me too, sir?” John didn’t have a chance to answer Stella because Tate made his presence front and center.

“I need to talk to you first, Grandpa. It's very serious.” His little face scrunched in a frown.

“All right.” John replied.

“Do I need to be part of this conversation?” Kayce asked.

Tate roasted his father like a marshmallow over a campfire. “You ain't got any money. Gotta be him.” All the adults laughed at the youngster’s brutal honesty.

“This should be good. Come on.” John grabbed his grandson’s shoulder and led him off away from everyone.

Kayce glanced at Stella, still unsure of how lightly he should tread. She stared back at him not knowing what to say. Kayce said to both her and Rip, “thanks for watching him.”

“It’s no problem, Kace.” She gave him a small smile.

“He's a smart kid. You can see it in his eyes.” Rip encouraged her best friend.

“Got that from his mother.”

“Yeah, kind of figured.” Rip laughed.

Stella sobered when she remembered Monica’s message to Kayce. “Speaking of his mother,” Stella cleared her throat, “she said she wanted to talk to you when you got back about the details for pick up and stuff. Might wanna talk to her soon.”

“I’m going to see her for a little bit after here anyhow.” Both men gauged Stella’s demeanor at the mention of the sensitive subject.

“Whatever floats your goat,” she said dismissively. She would rather avoid the topic all together.

From behind them, they heard Tate yelling for his dad. “Daddy! Daddy! You gotta train my horse!”

“I’m gonna go get started on chores Rip.” Stella turned on her boot heel and made herself scarce.

Both men watched her walk away. When she was far enough out of hearing distance, Rip turned to Kayce. “Still bumpy, huh?”

“Even after I talked to her about it.”

“You hurt her, Kayce. I’m surprised she’s talking to you at all.” Rip headed further into the barn.

Kayce got Tate settled in his truck. He looked back to his son. “Hang on tight for a minute. I gotta go find Aunt Stella.” He shut the door to go hunt for her.

Stella led another gelding out of the barn. He was another bay gelding named Kodiak. Kodi for short. He fought against her over the lip of the doorway. “It’s okay, buddy.” She stepped over the lip of the door and looked back at him. “C’mon Kodi, it’s not scary I promise.” The gelding took a moment to contemplate how he was going to go about getting through the doorway. He watched Stella and carefully lifted his front hoof and set it down when he realized it wasn’t anything dangerous. He bunny hopped the rest of the way and evened his gait out when he was away from the offensive doorway.

She huffed out a laugh at his antics. She clicked her tongue at him to walk on. “C’mom Kodi, let’s get to work.” Kodi and Stella trailed slowly to the pen. Walking around the corner, they almost ran Kayce over. Kodi chuffed in annoyance. Stella’s brows pulled together. “What’s up? I would have thought you left by now.”

“Is everything okay?” He asked. Stella felt the shyness in his question.

Her frown deepened. “You mean from yesterday? I’m still skeeved out, but I’ll be fine. Why?”

Kayce shook his head. “No, not that.” He was walking on eggshells and that irked her.

“Then what do you mean?” Kodi touched her elbow with his nose. She wrapped her arm under his jaw and pet the side of his face softly. The silence between them hung in the air.

“You know what I mean.”

Stella’s fingers pressed into Kodi’s large cheek and her lips pulled into a thin line. It was partially his refusal to say the words out loud that annoyed her the most. “Oh. That.” She sighed. “No, Kayce. I’m not. That shit really fuckin’ hurt. I know you didn’t do it on purpose. I could have stopped it, should have stopped it, before it got that far. But neither of us did those things. So here we are.”

“Stella, I’m—,” he tried to apologize again, but she interrupted him.

“I get it, you’re sorry. I’m sorry too.” Kodi bumped her toward him. She sideyed the horse. “I’m thankful you helped me and my brother out yesterday, but I still need time. Okay?”

Kayce crossed his arms and stared at the ground. “Yeah.” He breathed in and finally looked back at her. “I got Tate waitin’ in the truck.”

“Yeah you go. I’ll be fine workin’ with Kodi here.” She watched as he backtracked to his truck.

Stella had been in the training pen for a good while now, running another one of the new horses since she finished up with Kodi. She spotted John as he sprinted down the hill toward the barn. He yelled out for Rip waving his jacket through the air.

“Sir, what’s wrong?” She called out.

“Jamie!” John shot past her. In the corner of her eye she detected a shape that looked like Rip. He dropped the wheelbarrow of hay he had, ready to take off.

Stella gauged the new mare. Her disposition had been very peaceful the whole time. Stella knew she was taking a chance, but she had a hunch she would be just fine. “Alright Ember girl, time to show me whatcha got.” Stella placed her foot in the stirrup and eyed the mare carefully. She stepped up, placing her full weight on the saddle. Ember moved forward slightly, but steadied herself with a huff.

Stella swung her leg over and leaned her hips forward and Ember started walking. Ryan walked by the pen at the right time. “Ry, open the gate. I'm gonna go with them.” He rolled his eyes at being halted but reached for the latch on the gate.

Stella gave Ember a swift tap with her heels and she took off. As they breezed by her brother she shouted over her shoulder, “thank you!” The horse and rider made it to the end of the barn just as John and Rip shot out of the building.

“What’s going on?” She hollered from behind them.

“Jamie left the house with a gun.” Rip looked at her as she caught up to him. “Did you see him at all? Did he grab a horse?”

Stella’s brows knitted together. She didn’t like the implication of what Rip meant. “No to either of those!” She shouted over the hoof beats. “He can’t be that far on foot! I’ll go high.” She leaned left and Ember responded by heading toward the hill. She thought it would give her a good vantage point to see wide.

When she reached the top, she looked back down to make sure the men were still heading in the same direction. When she saw they matched her stride for stride, she pushed Ember further along the ridgeline. Her eyes darted around for any sign of Jamie. Ember bobbed and weaved in between the trees along the ridge. She spotted orange on the ground. It was Jamie. She came to a stop a good distance away and glanced down at the men that had galloped along down below. She whistled multiple times as loud as she could. It caught John’s ear and his head whipped her way.

He met her at the top of the hill and she pointed to his son about 100 yards from them. “Go down to Rip. Wait with him.”

“Yessir.” She turned the mare around and they made their way down the hill.

Rip adjusted in his saddle while he watched her trot up to him. “New mare good to go?”

“I’d say she’s pretty damn good. Been on her a couple times before now, but this was the first time out of the safety of the pen.” Rip smiled at her briefly. “So was this about to be what I think it was?”

Rip nodded soberly.

“Hellfire.” Stella sighed.

“Speaking of hellfire, you wanna tell me what leaving a man to hang was all about?”

“Is now the time for that?”

“It’s the perfect time. We got nothin’ to do but wait.”

She chewed the inside of her bottom lip thinking back to what she told Jimmy the other week. “You heard John. He wants me to help Kayce. To protect this place. Like you do for him.”

“I don’t think he meant that far, Stella. That’s my job.”

“Yeah and one day it’ll be mine. This place is my home just as much as it is yours. I’m one of the ghosts that’ll haunt this place forever. Just like you.” His ice blue eyes met her red toned brown. They both knew that was the truth. She’d shown up one day with her brother, and eventually her soul decided that she was never going away. In an odd way, Rip was almost proud of her. Even with everything that had happened to her lately, she was still going to grit her teeth and muddle through somehow.

She continued. “That asshat threatened our home. We can’t be soft defending it. Because other dickheads like him and the Beck brothers will come along and try to steam roll us out of here.” She sighed. “And if that’s a sacrifice I have to make, to be barbaric to ensure this place and the people that reside here stay safe? Then so be it.”

John walked Jamie down the hill with his arm locked around his son’s. Both of them looked distraught, but in different ways. “He’s moving to the bunkhouse for a little while.”

The group made it back to the big house and John gave out directions. “Stella, you go with Jamie.” He thought her presence might be more soothing than Rip’s. “Rip you wait down here.” He looked at his son. “You just get a few things. You can come back and get them as needed.”

Stella prodded the lawyer gently. “C’mon Jame.” The nickname from when they were younger slipped out. “Let’s get you packed up.”

On the top floor they came to his bedroom door. Stella leaned her shoulder against it, crossing her arms and ankles. She watched the eldest sibling quietly. Stella had been able to determine that he wasn’t running for office any longer. It appeared he had moved back into his bedroom. It was clear he was in shambles. The rug got pulled out from underneath him, and by the looks of it, it was rather quick.

“I’m sorry Jame. The bunkhouse will set you right. It’ll be a nice change of pace.” Down the stairs behind her she could hear muffled voices talking. It sounded like Beth had gotten home.

“This is silly, Stella.” Jamie shoved clothes into a duffel bag resentfully.

“Is it? It’s a good reminder of what you’re fighting for. What we’re all fighting for.” He looked at her. “And really, are we all that bad?” She smirked at him.

He would have chuckled if he had it in him. “No. I suppose not.”

“That’s the Jamie I remember.” She smiled softly at him. Yes, he annoyed her to high hell, but she never would have wanted him to end his life. “And anyway, you’ll get to hang out with Kayce more. I think that’ll be good for you.” He zipped up the bag when there was no more room to stuff things in it. Stella straightened away from the door. “Alright, buckaroo. Let’s go.”

At the bottom of the stairs, John stood patiently waiting. He and Stella shared a look. “Rip, you take him on down to the bunkhouse. I have to talk to the women for a minute.”

“Yessir.” Rip nodded.

Beth perched herself on the couch in the living room. “How’s it hangin’ homewrecker?”

Stella removed her glasses and set them on a nearby table. She rubbed her face, dragging her hands several times up and down. “Shut the fuck up, Beth. It’s done and over with, okay? So drop it.” She picked her glasses back up and placed them on her face.

Beth could tell Stella wasn’t in the mood. She wanted to see how far she could push her. “Is it really? You’re still here and his wife isn’t.”

Stella glared at John still being present for this, but decided to lay everything out. Beth had left her no choice. “I would still be here regardless, you dickhead. The most I’ve talked to your brother in the last few weeks was yesterday and today. I had no sway in whatever decision they came to. It’s not my business. I did, however, make a promise to him,” she motioned to John, “that I would help Kayce protect this place from the back end. No matter what happened between us. So suck it up buttercup. I’m here to stay. Whether you like it or not.”

John moved to sit on a chair opposite of his daughter. He stared at both women before him. It was time to intervene. “I need you two to put whatever bullshit this is aside and tell me everything about your visits with Malcom Beck and his brother.”

Stella cocked a hip and crossed her arms. “I already told you everything last night, John. He came nosing around, I pissed him off, and I’m sure he had someone tailing me.”

Beth glanced at Stella feeling the anger bubble beneath the surface at her audacity of getting in between her brother’s marriage. Stella disregarded the heated glare from Beth. She knew the woman was furious with her for multiple reasons, but now wasn’t the time. If Malcom wasn’t poking around where he didn’t belong, they wouldn’t even be in the same room right now. Stella cautiously asked her, “he visited you too?”

“He metaphorically whipped it out to compare size.”

“He did that to me the other day.”

“Where?”

“At my house. The morning after one of his guards punched me.” Stella pointed to her face. The cut from the man’s ring had scabbed and evolved into a thin pink scar along the apple of her cheek. The bruise that surrounded it was ugly and yellow, but faded with each passing day.

Beth looked to her father. “He’s digging. What for?”

Stella offered her opinion. She’d had time to think about it. “Weak spots. He’s trying to figure out exactly how to fuck us. How to fuck us right out of this place.”

“I see you’ve pulled your head out of your ass.” Beth chided her. “Now you’re talking like a rancher.”

“Beth,” John warned her. He didn’t need this conversation going south.

“Okay fine.” She huffed. “What’re we gonna do about it?”

“Well Rip and the guys are already looking into it.” John sat back and observed Stella taking charge. The way she stood and the look on her face reminded him of Rip. “If you tell him about your run in, things might get done a little faster though,” Stella suggested.

“I don’t need someone to hold my hand through it, Stella.”

“I know you don’t.” Stella rolled her eyes with a huff. “What I’m saying is Rip would bend the laws of physics or break them entirely to make sure you’re safe. So it would keep the fire lit.”

Beth eyed Stella carefully. There was something different about the woman in front of her. It was unclear what had evolved in her. If Beth wasn’t so pissed at her, she might even be proud.

Stella leaned back against the wall and brought her arms across her chest again. “Listen, you can either tell him or not. I can’t make you do anything. All I know is before I came to stay here for a little while, someone was tailing me, and they’d been in my house when I wasn’t there.” Her eyes looked far away as she relived the moment. As mad as she was at the only Dutton daughter, she wanted to give her a warning. “Just, if you have to go out, be careful please. Guys like Malcolm can be all talk, but sometimes,” her thousand yard stare snapped back to the present, “we’re wrong.”

Beth was taken back by her observation. “Men like Malcolm like to be feared. He’s gonna try.”

“Which is exactly my point. Be careful.” Stella reasserted. The women stared each other down. John wasn’t sure if it was a battle of dominance or some form of quiet acceptance. She looked at John. “Is it okay if I go now sir?”

“Yeah you’ve helped more than you know. See you tomorrow.”

#yellowstone #kayce dutton #yellowstonetv #luke grimes #ian bohen #ryan #kayce dutton fan fiction #yellowstone fanfic #yellowstone fanfiction #kayce dutton fanfic

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waywardsummoner46 · 2 years

Text

Eternity, Part One

Pairing: Dark!Morpheus x (?)Reader

Summary: You should’ve known that running from your past would be your downfall… you just never would’ve imagined it’d land you right into the waiting arms of an Endless, one that’s been searching for you for eons. he may be trapped for now, but your new job at Fawny Rig may just be the solution for that. Heed the warnings: you took something from him and now he must consume you for himself…

Word Count: 2392

Warnings: mind manipulation/control, possessive and obsessive behaviour, mental breakdown, suggestions of psychological torture, threat of bones collapsing,more to added with more chapters

A/N: Heyyyyy, I know it's a tad bit late to be posting the first part to a prologue that was released like two months ago but it's here now! And it's longer than what I usually write so I hope that makes up for it. Enjoy this while you can because Morpheus is about to get a whole lot freakin' worse. As always, I hope you're okay and let me know what you think!

Fawny Rig had an… impressive exterior, to say the least.

Chuckling to yourself, you knew that living in somewhere as grand and beautiful as there would be a concept you’d never be able to experience. Although, based on the job description, it seemed as though the owners were quite friendly and presumably welcoming enough for it to seem like some sort of a home.

Holding the advertisement in your hand, you contemplated how this would actually work; were you to be a permanent resident? Semi-permanent? Maybe this would be a day thing? Exhaling once, you decided just to wing it (within reason, of course).

Speaking of wings, there was the distinct sound of a raven squawking in the distance. Curiously, you looked around and smiled slightly when you saw a beautiful raven perched upon your bag handle.

“Oh, aren’t you beautiful?”

Almost naively, you reached out a hand with the childish hope of being able to stroke the creature. You completely ignored the health risks that came with birds and it appeared to work out in your favour as the raven’s wings preened and glittered as the sun reflected off of them.

A small smile spread across your face, “Oh yes, you are. Absolutely gorgeous.”

For a while, you merely stood over your bags and admired the raven, so majestically offering itself up for your generous petting. However, the more you stroked it, the more the distinct feeling that you’d seen it before grew. Come to think of it, your palm had started itching… again. God dammit, you seriously needed to keep track of your meds.

Reluctantly, you pulled one hand away from the bird and reached for your tablets in your pocket. The incessant crinkling of the paper annoyed you and furthered the pain of trying to extract a pill from its case. Once you’d finally managed to wriggle it out, you let out a triumphant sound.

The bird was temporarily forgotten and as you lifted the tablet up to your mouth, the screeching of the raven caused you to drop the pill. Exasperated, you turned to the raven. “Come on, dude. I need those.”

When the bird raised a brow, you blinked incredulously. But then, it cawed a final time and flew off with the rest of your medication. “Hey! Get back here! This isn’t funny, bird!”

“Miss, is everything alright?” A timid voice called from the entrance to the manor. Oh jeez, this was embarrassing .

Turning around with, what you hoped was, a friendly and not-at-all crazy smile on your face, you made the regrettable decision to forget about the bird. “Yes, thank you. Sorry, a raven just stole my medication. I’m not crazy, I swear,” you offered a light chuckle.

Luckily, the young lady seemed to accept your words for she made idle chit-chat as she invited you in. The maid, Blythe as she’d introduced herself, led you into a well-furnished and incredibly artefactual, antiquated living room and told you to enjoy the pre-prepared drinks as she called your employers.

Glancing around the room as her rhythmic footsteps grew quieter, you began to realise how out of your depth you were; never in your life had you been responsible for a job on such an important scale before. It wasn’t even that the job was difficult or in anyway out of your capabilities, it’s just that the weight of-

“Ah, (Y/N), a pleasure to meet you. How are you? How was your trip? I hope you’re familiar with basements because that’s where you’ll be situated,” Alex Burgess spoke from where he was being wheeled by his husband, Paul. His bluntness caught you slightly off-guard, there was something underlying there that clearly made him anxious if his darting eyes were any indication.

Immediately, you stood and stretched out a hand. “Nice to meet you, too, Mr. Burgess. My trip was good, thank you. And, yes, basements are something I’m acclimated to,” well that was complete and utter bullshit. Basements were a big no-no for you. Nothing good ever came from them, nothing, especially after…

“Blythe informed me that a… raven… flew away with your medication?” He asked, drawing you away from your thoughts. Embarrassingly, your cheeks flushed and you began to stutter.

“Y-yeah, that’s right. I didn’t even realise until it nearly deafened me.”

Alex Burgess seemed to tense in his wheelchair, why? You did not know, but curiosity killed the cat. “Is everything okay?”

Snapping out a daze, he gave you a quick glance before asking Paul to guide him back upstairs. “Everything’s fine, thank you.” He gave you one last small smile before turning his attention to Blythe, “If you could show Miss (Y/N) to her room and inform her of her duties that would be marvellous.”

Blythe paled almost imperceptibly, but you noticed, you always noticed. Worry churned your gut and your head turned suspiciously.

“Do you mean…?”

He nodded and that’s all the answer she had before both Burgesses left.

Frozen, she stood in place and stared through the floor. The emptiness in her eyes made you uneasy. You took a tentative step towards her, “Blythe?” Snapping her head towards you, she stumbled away, her expression signifying she was seeing something you could not. “Woah, Blythe, take deep breaths. You’re safe, no one’s going to hurt you.”

The young maid was incapable of listening, of seeing reason. Tempted to call for someone, you paused when her panicked breathing came to a halt. Similarly to before, she acted as though you were a window except this time she started muttering. It was indistinguishable at first, it soon grew to murmurs, to normal words, to shouts, and finally to panicked, urgent yells of pure unadulterated terror.

“Leave! You need to leave! He’s here, he knows you’re here. He won’t stop until you give. It. BACK! GIVE IT BACK! GIVE IT BACK!”

Now it was you who was frozen. Rational thought escaped you, instead overwhelming confusion and slight panic consumed you. What was she talking about? Who was “he”? How did he know you were here? What did he want back?

Two men clad in suits walked in and wrestled with Blythe’s manic form out of the room, leaving you haunted by her echoing screams down the corridors. Concerned, though you were, bewilderment ceased you from forming any coherent functions for a time - only when Paul came to escort you to your room did you snap out of your daze.

He made small talk as he guided you to your room, apologising for your rocky and traumatising beginning and assuring you that tomorrow wouldn’t be like this. You responded in kind, albeit numbly. In all honesty, you were disturbed with everyone’s behaviour above all else; Alex seemed anxious at the mention of a raven, then Blythe had had a mental breakdown and what appeared to be a flashback and now, Paul was acting as though he was used to it, as though they were all used to it.

Despite your brain not working at full capacity, you managed to bid Paul a good evening and settled in for an early night. Despite your brain not working at full capacity, you knew that there was something going on here, something they were hiding. You’d be damned if you weren’t going to find out… What worried you was this man Blythe had spoken about and how he knew you were here. Another resident, perhaps? A neighbour? Couldn’t be, there wasn’t another house for miles, at least not one that you’d seen.

You had no further options, so you surrendered to exhaustion and hoped that your dreams might bring you some peace…

You were in the forest again. The same one. The same leaves crunching under your feet, the same sounds being your breath, the same stars gazing down at you from the heavens and the same raven, cawing nervously from where it was standing next to your sitting form.

Regarding it with suspicion, you hesitantly gestured for it to perch itself on your shoulder. Once it did, your suspicion turned into contentment. Nature always puts you at ease, and after the night you’d had you needed a break. Speaking of the night you’d had, your thoughts began to drift towards the inner turmoil Blythe’s outburst had caused you.

The abruptness of the entire situation wasn’t lost on you, in fact, it only made you more and more anxious about the job you’d applied for on a whim. Because that’s all it was, wasn’t it? A whim?

Your eyes absentmindedly traced the curves and edges of the leaves around you as you reflected on the past few days: you’d always made a point to consider things and pinpoint each and every outcome. Your experiences and past had instilled that habit into you from a very young age so your careless decision to take this job was extremely uncharacteristic and that scared you.

No matter who you surround yourself with, you ensured that you never grew an attachment that could influence your decision making so you were left puzzled over your future and past - your present, even!

Leaves crunching to your right jolted you out of your reverie. In your skittishness, the raven flew off your shoulder and onto the man who’d entered your space. You registered vaguely that you recognised him, his chiselled features and ethereal complex making it nigh impossible to forget and yet, a headache brewed when you thought too hard about it, about anything really.

Your eyes looked over him and widened when they met his own; it was pure darkness. Pure darkness with hints of white, of-of stars, you realised, this man had literal space within his eyes.

Dazedly, you muttered, “What the hell?”

Calmly and with the grace of a king, he moved towards you. Half of you fought to step back but the other half was utterly captivated by his gaze, completely caught up in the vastness of his eyes and the emptiness within.

Suddenly, his gaze turned more intense and all fight left you within an instant. That stuck you as odd, why did your emotions sway that intensely?

Before you could question it, he raised his hand, his palm facing the sky, and your eyes were inexplicably glued to it. There was something scarily familiar about this situation… but even that nagging feeling wasn’t enough for you to ignore the urge to place your hand in his own. Eyes completely focused and brain becoming fuzzier by the second, you took in a shuddering gasp and moved your arm up.

The distance between each of your hands was closing and with it the lack of coherent thought in your brain, the lack of any idea apart from take his hand.

His celestial eyes were staring hungrily at your hand and when it finally, finally, made contact with his own, he let out a gasp so loud that it broke you out of whatever stupor you’d been in.

“What the hell? Who are y-mmph!”

The man had pulled you into his chest and now had both of his arms caging you in, like a bird imprisoned, completely helpless to its situation. Too awestruck to do anything apart from numbly stare into his shoulder, you struggled to comprehend your situation. You knew that this was a dream and yet the complete and utter ridiculous situation and worrying feelings you were experiencing caused scepticism to dominate your brain.

The man was warm, you had to admit. Probably because of his intricately crafted black cloak. He was also strong if the feeling of his arms around you and your unfortunately placed hands on his chest were of any significance.

“Are you gonna let go any time soon, mister? Orrrrr…”

Speaking up was the wrong thing to do; his arms tightened once more except, they didn’t actually stop. You grew confused, and scared, especially once it became difficult to breathe. Was he trying to kill you with a hug? That would look amazing on a tombstone: “Death by Hug.”

Regardless of your wandering mind, your physical body was under extreme stress. Bones began to grind together and you could’ve sworn you heard some crack. There was no pain, though, so perhaps you were overreacting in the uncomfortable moment.

“Once we have merged, my love, I will finally be able to care for you in the way only you deserve. But you must give it up to me, willingly,” his low voice directly in your ears sent chills down your spine. There it was again, this giving someone something back. Blythe’s outburst seriously did affect you, didn’t it?

“This is no mere dream, little one. Have you truly forgotten me?”

You tried to pull back slightly, to garner any sort of information from his facial expression that you couldn’t from his tone of voice, but he withheld unbearably tight - it was a struggle to even understand what he’d said.

You wet your lips, “I don’t even know who I… am… anymore.”

Like he’d been struck, he reeled back and peered intensely into your half lidded eyes. He looked scandalised, but why? He didn’t know you, he didn’t even exist outside of this dream! You’d just had a taxing day and your subconscious was taking it out on you.

A sudden look of pure rage crossed his face and you flinched back much like he had done only seconds before. As quickly as it had appeared, it vanished into a look of cold indifference.

“Then there is only one thing to be done.”

Just like that, you awoke. The first thing you registered was the sounds of shouting, shortly thereafter an agonising scream permeated throughout the manor and you were instantly wide awake.

Somehow you knew, you didn’t know how but you knew that something was wrong with Blythe. Something was wrong with this house and its residents. And you had a sneaking suspicion that it all stemmed from this… man… who haunted them before and who now haunts you.

Fear unlike any other twisted your heart painfully behind your ribcage. Yet there was also something pulling at it, almost willing it in a way, to leave the room and investigate what was happening. So you did what any other person would do - you left the confines of your room into what would unknowingly change your life… for eternity.

_____________

Tag list~

@lweina

@azrielloveselain

@the-ruler-of-death

@moonmaiden1996

@intothesoul

@lilithskywalker

@amandarobertsboyce

@carolcrysis

#morpheus #morpheus x reader #dream of the endless x reader #dream x reader #the sandman x reader #dark!morpheus x reader #dark!morpheus #dark!dream

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nine-of-words · 7 months

Text

Something Borrowed (Part Ten)

M Gargoyle x M Reader

PREVIOUS || STORY TAG || NEXT

Wordcount: 5127

Content Warnings: Discussion of a Breakup

The horrors have been numerous and persistent for me lately, so this part took its sweet time getting written. Not much else to say about this chapter, other than I’m very excited to write the next one!!

It seems that things are determined to go sideways today.

“Sorry to drop all of this on ya so early, but I knew you’d be awake.” Your sister’s voice comes through the speaker of your device.

You are indeed awake. You haven’t been sleeping well lately, despite it feeling like what you do the most these days- no idea why that would be- so you were already up and slowly trudging through your morning routine. But now you’re distracted with the call, going through making yourself a desperately needed cup of coffee mostly by feel in your dimly lit apartment kitchen.

“It’s okay- So, how exactly did this happen?”

“She took a wee tumble down the stairs. Got up in the middle of the night to get water, fell ass over kettle.”

“Oh, spirits. But you said it wasn’t serious, right?”

“Eh. Fractured her wrist, or so the doctor says. Right, Ma?” You hear a bit of noise in the background that sounds remarkably like your mother being quietly muttering in a displeased manner. “She’ll be right as rain soon enough. But she’s going to be in the cast for a tick.”

“Do I need to book a flight?”

“Hmm. You know we love to see ya- but nah. It's really not all that dire. Think she's tired of all the fuss by now, really.” She explains, before immediately switching into compulsory older sibling teasing. “Plus won't your new fella miss you? Unless you want to bring him along to meet what he's got to look forward to joining up with.”

“Haha… Yeah, you’re right. I suppose you’ll just have to wait…” You haven’t told them he’s not exactly your fella at the moment. What would you even say?

After a bit more conversation, Emer puts your mother on, and you speak to her for a short while. It assuages your worry a little, but not nearly enough to take the edge off. Though she's adamant you don't let her little mishap scare you into making sudden travel plans, you can't help but let it add to your ratings worries.

Maybe… you should go home?

You hang up your voci and look down at the brewed coffee that’s just started to drip through the filter. In your absent minded state, you’ve managed to put the exact mug you’ve been avoiding into the machine.

But there it is, the pink and white curves of ceramic reminding you of everything you're trying to push out of your mind.

You let out a long, frustrated sigh, pausing to stare vacantly at the mug.

Maybe putting an ocean between you and here will help you forget what you could have right now instead, if you weren't cursed.

You have all day to sit on it, you suppose, and can make a decision later. But you do have a business to run in the meantime, so you return to the process of adding your usual milk and sugar.

It doesn’t help the bitter taste at all today.

Things don’t really go much better for you the longer the day progresses.

“This is too sweet,” The older woman across the counter says, brandishing the mostly eaten cupcake in its paper lining. “I want a refund.”

“Well, it's a cupcake, m’am. It is mostly sugar…” You don’t even have the energy to muster your usual level of pleasantness. You barely keep from grimacing as you ring up the refund, just to get this person out of your hair.

Your customers are usually not this problematic, but you’re beginning to think that no one is having a good day today. You can deal with grumpy or picky people, but usually they’re not quite so many of them in a concentrated blast. Every little interaction is finding its way under your skin, and that’s not even taking into account how hard it is to concentrate and get any meaningful progress done.

Though, this is a task you’ve been pointedly avoiding that you’ll have to start sooner or later, today.

You’ve got to finish putting together Devin and Trevor’s cake- if you want it to be solid enough to put flowers in before delivery tomorrow night, which is rapidly approaching the longer you dawdle.

As in, nearly can be measured in hours instead of days soon.

It was different when it was just… anonymous cake layers you were cutting out and leveling. That could’ve been for anyone’s cake! But the more personality that goes into it, the more the subtle, nagging grief makes it difficult to work on.

You sigh and glob a stabilizing dollop of the vanilla buttercream- Trevor's choice- onto the base with your offset spatula.

It’s not as if you’re jealous that your ex is getting married at this point. You’re far past the stage of wanting him back by now. It just… all seems so unfair. Hopeless. He was able to wound you so deeply when he left- and just when you thought you had healed and moved on, carved out some new happiness for yourself- that got taken away, too.

Why should he get to be happy when you’re on the short end of the stick again?

You center a cake layer, then slather some more buttercream, spreading it out to make a glue for the next layer to adhere onto.

You’ll just have to think about it as Devin’s cake. It’s for your friend. That’s how you’ll get through this. You’ll do a good job, for your friend. Even if she’s marrying your ex, she should still get the best cake you can make for her, like you’d do for any other client.

Another layer of cake. A layer of elven berry compote that you made fresh yesterday- also Trevor’s choice, naturally. Another layer of cake. Then, repeat it all again.

As much as you try to rationalize that to yourself as you work through applying the crumb coat, you can’t help but realize you’ve been white-knuckling the spatula handle by time you’ve finished applying the buttercream.

Eventually, you have all of the crumb coated tiers ready on cake boards, to be given another coat and assembled after they’ve firmed up for a bit.

You mercifully shut the disassembled cake in the cooler, relieved that you don’t have to look at it for another few hours. Though, you have to hand it to yourself, even when your life is falling apart, you can make a bang-up gorgeous cake.

The demands of your business don’t stop just because you’re having a bad day and have other things to do, unfortunately. You’re not sure what portal to Hell has opened nearby, but it seems like all of the most awful customers have all decided to come to your shop today to take out their anger on you.

“No, we don’t do tiered pies here. I don’t even know if you’d be able to do that without making a mes- Well, okay. Have a nice day-” You say, though the person on the other end of the line has already hung up on you.

You turn to face the customer waiting at the counter, but before you can even greet them, they interrupt you with a snapping of their fingers.

“Where’s our waiter? I put our order into the kiosk twenty minutes ago and no one has even been by to so much as pour our water!”

“Oh, well, you can eat-in here, that’s what the seating is for, but we’re not a full service-”

“Ugh, fine! Just get me my order already, then.” The customer barks and you have to bite your tongue to restrain yourself from snapping back.

By time you reach another lull in activity and get back to work on Devin’s cake, your jaw and shoulders are fully tensed.

Since it’s slow, you take out the gumpaste. You have another tray of roses to sculpt so they can dry on time to place them tomorrow, so you might as well knock it out sooner than later.

Maybe none of this would be getting to you so much, but the full weight of the wedding being tomorrow is bearing down on you. The one saving grace is that Kirby will be there to distract you- at least you won’t be alone. You’ll deliver the cake, you’ll get through the ceremony, you’ll stay for a brief yet socially acceptable amount of time at the reception, and then you’ll go home and this whole excruciating ordeal will be over.

You just have to finish this cake and get through tonight first.

Only a few more hours until close.

You can do this.

You make it another hour, rolling thinned pieces of sugary paste into delicate petals, before the bell door rings, and the person you see walk through the door gives you pause.

It’s not Carlyle, as you’ve been hoping it was every single time you hear the shop bell jingle since the last time you saw him. But it certainly looks like him, in everything but personal styling, and of course, the shape of the quartzose horns protruding from his brow.

Today it seems he’s left his body glitter at home, however. He’s dressed in relatively casual clothing; a hoodie (midriff still intact), untied slim joggers, immaculately clean sneakers. The difference is so staggering you might not have even recognized him as the same person, compared to his last visit, if he didn’t have Carlyle’s face; which you can now see clearly underneath his loose brown curls, this time not covered by the shadow of his hood.

“Hey.”

He gives you a tilt of his chin in acknowledgement and smiles an uncannily similar, fanged smile to the one you’ve grown accustomed to seeing. It’s a stab of pain, how sorely you miss it right now, and seeing it again, but just different enough to not be it.

“Uh. Hi, Marcus?” You say in a stilted manner, not really sure how to proceed. “You are… looking less gilded today than last time.”

“Hahahah, yeah. I didn’t have work last night, dude. No hangover!”

“Hah. Right…”

“But good to see you again, man! …I was wonderin-”

“Listen, if you’re here to deliver a message or something, I really can’t do this right now.” You cut him off, begging more than anything at this point to not have another thing go wrong or a twist of the knife today. You scrub at your face with your forearm to keep your hands sanitary, the deep pit of frustration starting to bubble out of you unintentionally. “And he knows to not-”

“Hey, no man, listen! It’s nothing like that.” He pats his curls down, the same way that his brother occasionally does with his dreadlocks when he’s smoothing out a misunderstanding. “He’d be PISSED if I knew he was here, hahah. He told me never to come here on my own after last time!”

“Well, maybe you should follow his instruction on that matter.” You say dryly and continue to roll the soft substance in silent judgement. “He usually knows what he’s talking about.”

Marcus seems to take this as a bad sign, his face twisting into a look of exasperation.

“Fine! Gimme a dozen cupcakes then. Fuck, make it any flavor, dude, I don’t even care.” He starts rifling through his pants pockets, finally pulling out his wallet, and then a card that he puts on the counter. It’s got his name printed on it, rather than Carlyle’s, so you suppose he’s gotten it replaced since the last time. “You’ve gotta talk to me if I’m a customer ‘n shit, right?”

“You know I do have the right to refuse service to you…?”

“Yeah man, but I don’t think you’re gonna! You’re too nice, from what I’ve heard.” Marcus says with the sort of shit-eating grin on his face that absolutely makes you want to refuse service to him, but with a vengeance.

“Well if you’re not here on your brother’s behalf…” You sigh in your own matching exasperated look and set down your gumpaste project to start boxing a dozen cupcakes. “Why are you here, then?”

“I’m gonna be totally honest with you, dude. He didn’t send me, but it is about him. I’m like, super worried about him.”

“Oh…” You can’t help yourself, you have to ask. “Is he alright…?”

“Hell no! He’s all fucked up, man! The other night, I left at 8pm and he was still in the same spot at 11am when I got back in. Same book, same fit, same stale cup of coffee. He had sat still in the same place reading whatever nerd shit he was reading for so long that he deadass went half solid.”

You can’t find the words to respond to that. The guilt gnaws at you like you gnaw at your bottom lip, but in a strange way, you feel validated that he’s still as messed up about things as you are.

“Look, whatever he did, it can’t be that bad, right? It’s Lyle!! He like, never fucks up like that.” He leans over the counter, talking with his hands in another show of familiar, yet foreign-in-this-context expression. He taps his chest with the fingertips of a spread hand for emphasis. “And I would know, ‘cuz I’M the family fuck up here. So, maybe you could like, just forgive him and junk? Make up or whatever?”

“It’s not…” You take a second to steady your breath. You’ve been trying to suppress these feelings for weeks, and now they’re getting dragged up so suddenly. “It’s not something he did. It’s… outside circumstances…”

You hesitate for a brief moment before you pick out the last of the random assortment; an orange and mixed spice flavor you found yourself trying out.

“That’s it? There’s no gettin’ around it, huh?”

“No. I'm sorry. It's complicated. I just can't.” You say with weakened conviction as you tape the box up, and then hoping to persuade yourself once again, add; “It’s better this way.”

“Right-” Marcus straightens up and rocks back and forth on his feet, his sneakers squeaking slightly against the tile with the motion. “Sorry if pushing was out of line, dude.”

“Don't worry about it- honestly, I'm sort of glad you showed up.” You smile, bittersweet. “It’s good that he has someone looking out for him.”

“Yeah.” Marcus smiles a conflicted smile back, then takes his cupcakes to go. “See you ‘round, dude.”

You find yourself having a silent argument with yourself as you finish the rest of the roses.

There’s the guilt, of course. Are you a bad person if you know that this separation is hurting you both, and yet you’re continuing to enforce it? Maybe you should have just let Marcus convince you to reach out?

Seeing someone with such familiar features has only made your heart ache that much more for what you’re missing.

Perhaps it’s for the best that you don’t have any customers in the shop at the moment, because they’d be able to clearly see you sneering at empty air and grumbling to yourself.

By the time you finish the last petal on the last rose of the tray, you’re no closer to having resolved your internal disagreement.

You put the roses away, and pull out your fully set, crumb-coated cake. Now just to put the final layer of frosting on, and then you’ll be done for the night.

As you set the tray down on the counter, your voci starts ringing in your pocket. You remove your gloves and answer the call, seeing that it’s Kirby. They’ve been checking in on you a lot more often lately, like you’re a sickly pet needing constant supervision. They're not entirely wrong.

You greet them as you put them on speaker. Then you wash up, and reglove as their voice comes through on the other end.

“So! How is your day going so far?”

“Oh, you know. Typical weekend customers. Ma broke her wrist.” You say flatly, smoothing out the buttercream on the top of the lowest cake tier with a spin of the stand with well-practiced motions.

“Oh no! That’s terrible! Is she okay??”

“She’s fine, but it’s still stressful that I can’t be there to help out.”

Once you’re finished getting a perfectly even, level surface on the lowest tier, you begin the process again on a slightly smaller scale on the next largest cake tier.

“Mmm. Yeah, it must be, being so far away.”

“And Carlyle’s brother came into the shop earlier.” You continue, now lathing more buttercream onto the sides.

“Whaaaat??? No!! Glitter Boy?! Oh my SPIRITS you’ve gotta tell me all the details right now!”

“There’s not a lot to say, really. Told me Carlyle’s not taking it well either, and now I feel like a villain.”

“You’re not a villain,” Kirby sighs. “Sometimes things are just. Y’know. Messy.”

You continue to make your way through doing the final coat on the cake tiers, each one going progressively faster as they diminish in size.

“Oh, and how could I forget- I’m making a cake for my ex’s wedding that social pressure is forcing me to attend. So you know. The usual.”

“Hahah- Ooh, bummer. Well, when you put it like that, it does sound like, toooootally miserable! You’re having a pretty horrible day, and I’m… definitely not about to make it worse, hahah!!”

“Oh no.” You hiss through gritted teeth. “Something’s wrong, then?”

They laugh nervously, a little giggle-whimper that you can’t possibly be irritated with.

You’re silent as you begin to fill a piping bag with buttercream, waiting for Kirby to divulge their information.

“I MAY have some bad news.”

“Oh. Lovely. Just grand! More bad news is exactly what I need at this current moment.” You say, dripping with sarcasm.

“I know!!! Believe me, I know! But I wanted to tell you as soon as I found out.” Kirby sighs. “I just got out of a meeting with my boss and they’re sending me out of town on a case. I have to get on a red eye in a few hours.”

“But… the wedding is tomorrow…”

“Yeah, that would be the problem! But I can’t exactly tell my boss to fuck off and still have a job, y’know??? Soooooo. We are in. damage. control. mode!”

“It’s okay.” You say, it not really being okay at all, but not wanting to lash out at your friend who’s only ever tried to help you in any given situation. You’re simply too stunned to even start to panic.

“Nope! It’s ABSOLUTELY not! But I’ll be there in like, an hour!! I’ll bring dinner and we can totally figure out a plan B, okay? Or I guess plan C or D by now- But bestie, I don’t care if I have to HIRE an escort to take you to that wedding, you’re not going alone! Especially not because of stupid work interference!!”

“Hah- A-Alright.” You laugh weakly and speak through a sharp intake of air, but manage to not sound like you’re about to burst into tears, even though you desperately want to. “See you soon.”

The call ends, but you continue working, despite the rapidly expanding pit of terror in your gut and the sting at the back of your eyes.

This news, surprisingly, does not help your ability to finish this cake.

You keep going, but not without roadblocks. Your eyes screw closed in frustration and pain. Your teeth grit. Your hand clenches around the bag, nearly squeezing the frosting out of the back end of it.

As a small mercy, closing time finally comes and you turn off the light, though you leave the door unlocked, given you’re expecting Kirby sometime in the next hour or so.

You need to move on to piping some of the finer details- But you can't even think about piping an even line right now, not with the way your hand is trembling.

Still, you persist, pushing the bag back taut and re-twisting the open end.

“Stop. Shaking.” You hiss out loud at yourself, your body refusing to obey even your own verbal instructions.

You just need to get this cake done. Is that so much to ask?

Kirby is coming over and you’ll find a solution for the wedding. You won’t have to go to your ex's wedding alone. It will be fine.

The tremor in your hand nearly causes you to stab through the layer you’re working on with the piping tip, so you take a moment to straighten up your posture and try to loosen your locking muscles. You take a few calming breaths, then go back in and manage to finish the last few filigree details on the tier you're working on.

Your hand is already shaking again. You ignore it. You’ll get through this. You have to.

But every time you regain focus, the thought of Carlyle as a miserable and inert statue keeps creeping back unbidden into your mind.

It’s all too much. Too much. Too much.

The lights above you flicker. A buzz of energy ripples through the room.

The pressure on your chest is unbearable now. Blood rushes in your ears.

You can’t deal with this anymore.

You can’t even think-!

POP-

In an instant, something cold and cloying splatters across the side of your face and the bridge of your nose, the front of your shirt, your clenched hands and outstretched forearms.

You bring a hand to your face in shock, blindly testing the sudden change in texture.

Your fingertips come away coated in sticky, sugary goop, and bits of shredded vanilla sponge cake.

And where the cake tiers were sitting on the counter, there’s a conspicuous absence of a cake, only the sparse large chunk of shrapnel- a bloodless crime scene, the mostly empty, frosting smeared cakeboards evoking the essence of a chalk body outline.

Well. You’ll be damned.

The cake exploded.

Hoarse, incredulous laughter escapes your throat- first in disbelief, then in bitter resignation. No other reaction really seems to suit this situation more.

Because your life is a joke. A bad joke.

Your laughs thin out, turning into choked sobs. You sink down until you’re sitting on your cold shop floor with your back against a cabinet, and bring the lower clean edge of the apron up to cry into.

Eventually, the unrestrained weeping quiets into silent tears Time has passed, as evidenced by the sky beginning to darken outside.

“Heeeeellooooo~! I’m heee-” You hear a familiar voice call out and then equally familiar hoof falls on the tile. There’s a rapid change in their tone, making a 180° turn into hushed concern. “Oh. Well fuck, that doesn’t look good-”

After a few moments, Kirby rounds the counter, an inquisitive look on their face.

You can’t even muster the embarrassment to be seen like this, too tired and emotionally drained and just simply done with it all.

You expect a look of pity or maybe some awkward fussing, but instead, Kirby simply gives you a knowing smile.

“What a mess!!” Kirby shakes their head, curls tumbling as they assess the damage. “You’re not hurt, are you, honey?”

You shake your head weakly, rubbing at your eye with your inner wrist.

“Good! Well then, let’s get this all cleaned up!” They chirp and reach out their hand, palm up.

After the moment it takes to recognize the gesture, you take their hand. Kirby’s grip is surprisingly strong for being such a petite faun, and they easily manage to help you to your feet.

“You don’t have to-”

“Well I’m NOT going to let you sit here and cry covered in frosting all night.” Kirby laughs, beginning to roll up the sleeves of their work shirt. “So. Yes I do~”

“...Thank you.” You sniffle.

“Don’t mention it!!” They laugh. “You go get cleaned up and I’ll start tackling this absolute disaster zone!”

You trudge upstairs and debate on the benefits of a full shower before deciding that it’s worth it, even if ten more cakes explode. You’re uncomfortably sticky down your neck and arms.

Maybe you can wash this day away, while you’re at it…

Before long you’re redressed and coming back downstairs- if not feeling completely refreshed, you at least now have it in you to face the (suddenly much longer) list of tasks ahead. Kirby has gotten most of the cake into a trash bag, and is wiping down the counter.

“There, you look much better! Now, come tell me what was happening when this happened, will you?”

You join them, grabbing a sanitizer rag and beginning to help wipe down the closest surface. You describe as best you can exactly what you were doing, feeling, and thinking about when the cake exploded, just as you’ve explained to them about the previous incidents that you weren’t physically present for.

“Hmm.” Kirby hums quizzically. “Well, the good news is I’ve got a potential solution for the wedding dilemma.”

“Oh?” You’d be lying if you said that the promise of a stressor being removed didn’t sound divine.

“Actually, I’ve already convinced Rosario to go with you, if you want, while I was on the way over. Did you know that she’s surprisingly easy to bribe?!” Kirby giggles. “But to be honest- I didn’t even need to bribe her!! She agreed before I offered anything in return. Apparently wedding cake and an open bar is enough reason for her to turn up, or so she said. But I think it’s because she likes you.”

“That’s… very kind of her.” She wouldn’t be the worst companion for the event- you’ve grown quite fond of her presence in your shop, prickly attitude and all.

“Yeah! She’ll easily make your ex just as uncomfortable as I was planning to, all on her own merit, hehe!! BUUUUUT, I think you know what I’m about to say-”

“Don’t…”

“You should call him!” Kirby says in the most obnoxiously sing-song sweet tone they can, and you wince hard.

“I can’t-”

“But you can~!!”

“But I don’t think I should-”

“Well, maybe you should think again, sweetie!! You absoluuuuutely should! Because if this-” Kirby motions to the partially cleaned up buttercream splatter still coating the vicinity. “Isn’t proof enough that it’s not a him problem, I don’t know what would be!!”

You drag a palm across your face, overwhelmed, and heave a sigh.

“At the end of the day it’s your choice! I can’t make you call him. But you miss him, and he misses you! I know this for a fact! And SPIRITS is he being SO insufferable about it!! And so are you!!!! And it’s just a BIT silly to keep drawing this out like this.”

“But… I don’t want him to get hurt…”

“Listen. We know there’s something attached to you- Rosario’s exorcism attempt confirmed that much. But there’s no like, actual indication that any of that is related to what’s happening with the curse. It’s just not how this kind of magic works. We’re almost certain we’re dealing with two unconnected, non-standard issues complicating each other at this point- some sort of spirit attached to you, and some sort of ley-based magical compulsion in play- but we don’t know the source of where either of those things are coming from. Yet.”

“Right.” You say, pausing your cleaning work to take in the new information.

“Though, someone has some very promising ideas about the later being some sort of messed up geas, and Rosario seems like she has a hunch on what is in the shop.”

“But… it just feels like it’s getting worse. Not that I don’t appreciate your efforts, of course…”

“I know it feels that way. But I am good at my job! And I’ve been keeping track of the numbers this whole time, y’know?? I’ve got the DATA. Do you know what I’ve noticed the most as a trend over the time I've been working your case?”

You simply shake your head to give them time to build dramatic tension before they continue.

“The cakes explode more when you’re upset!! Like, a whole, whole lot more! And quite frankly at this point, in my professional opinion, you being separated from him is making it WORSE!!”

“...You really think it’d be okay to ask him-” To go back to how it was before, to be with me again; you want to say, but end up continuing instead; “to come with me to the wedding?”

You have the feeling Kirby understands what you wanted to say, anyway, based on their pleased expression, like they’re finally getting the message through to you.

“You’re my friend!! And as your friend, I am HEREBY giving you the permission that you’re not giving yourself! I wouldn’t be suggesting this to you if I didn’t think it was safe.” Kirby squarely lays their hands on you on the shoulders, though they need to reach up slightly to do it. “If anything, having him there might keep you from getting bent out of shape at your ex and blowing up the second cake, like, at the actual wedding.”

“That would be horrible.” You rasp and find yourself genuinely smiling for the first time all day, trying to blink back the sting of more tears threatening to spill, though this time more out of a sense of appreciation than despair.

“It. Would. Be. HILARIOUS.” Kirby says with a mischievous grin, patting your shoulders with each word for emphasis. “And if it were to happen, I would hope you were recording it. Y’know, for data collection purposes, hehehe!! But it would also be, let’s say: bad for business.”

You manage to finish getting things looking clean, as if nothing bad had happened at all, Kirby has called their ride to the airport.

“Now, I have to go or I’m going to miss my flight and my boss will probably-actually-literally murder me.”

“And I have a cake to remake.” You quietly lament. “If you want, I can get on the plane and you can make the cake…”

Kirby lets out a string of giggles, picking their carry-on bag off the seat at the counter they stashed it on..

“Hahah- No thanks!! But- Call him.” Kirby repeats as they give you a squeezing hug goodbye. “Or Rosario, if you must. But don’t make yourself go alone. And keep me updated!! All of the juicy wedding gossip, please. I’m definitely going to be bored out of my mind otherwise, hehe!!”

Then they release you from their grip to head out the door with one last wave and a jingle of the shop bell.

You, on the other hand, let out a long, withering sigh and pull out another set of white cake layers from the cooler.

…It’s going to be a long night.

>> ✨ MASTERLIST >> ☕ KO-FI

#exophilia #monster lover #monster romance #monster x human #monster x reader #gargoyle x reader #gargoyle #male x male #mlm #mxm #male monster #male reader #series: something borrowed #oc: carlyle #oc: declan #nine of words

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dalishthunder · 8 months

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A Game of Go

Chapter 7: Helen of Troy

[AO3 Link]

"We must try to develop greater perspective, looking at situations from all angles. Usually when we face problems, we look at them from our own point of view. We even sometimes deliberately ignore other aspects of a situation. This often leads to negative consequences. However, it is very important for us to have a broader perspective. We must come to realize that others are also part of our society. We can think of our society as a body, with arms and legs as parts of it. Of course, the arm is different from the leg; however, if something happens to the foot, the hand should reach down to help. Similarly, when something is wrong within our society, we must help."

-His Holiness the Dalai Lama

You picked listlessly at the protein bar in your hand, face filled with an emotion Ramattra couldn’t quite place.

Despondence perhaps?

Eventually you put it down on the desk, only partially eaten, with a sigh.

“Is something the matter?” He asked after a moment, placing his tools on the work bench.

You gave him a small smile and shook your head, you had for the past several days worn a similar expression… and each time he asked if anything was wrong, you would shake your head with a downright doleful smile.

“I’m fine,” You said, though your voice betrayed you.

“Do not lie to me.” Perhaps his voice was a touch sterner than it needed to be, but he had grown tired of this game; He was not going to hem and haw around an issue he could see, but could not identify.

You immediately snapped to attention, a startled look on your face.

At least you were no longer downcast.

“It’s fine, really. It’s nothing you need to worry about,” You stammered, occupying your hands with the protein bar, picking and twisting.

“I am not worried, I am… concerned. I cannot remedy something if you do not articulate what troubles you.”

You gave him a sheepish smile, “I think the lack of sunlight is starting to affect me.”

He tilted his head, “I’m afraid I do not understand.”

“We actually need sunlight to synthesize certain vitamins in our body. Lack of sunlight can severely impact us, but I didn’t realize it would happen so quickly.”

“Humans truly are fragile,” He hadn’t intended for it to come out so callously, but as you winced, smile faltering for just a second, he felt a pang of guilt.

“Y-yeah. Just a bit.” There was more that you had to say, but you chewed on your words for a moment before continuing, “And you’re probably not going to like this, but there are certain micronutrients that human bodies need that aren’t present in protein bars. Not- not that I’m complaining, I knew going into this that I probably wouldn’t be eating the same sort of prepared foods that I was before, but I think the lack of vegetables or even a multivitamin might be fucking with my system.”

“Oh,” He hadn’t thought about that.

“Even if we can’t get any vegetables, a multivitamin and water-soluble fiber should be okay.” You quickly added.

Just another way for Talon to figure out that you were human.

Not that he wasn’t already positive that they figured it out already. They weren’t exactly known for being dullards.

“If that is what you need.” He stated simply, and you seemed to relax as though you had been preparing for some sort of battle. “Add it to our requisition forms. I’m sure it will be the easiest of the items on there to procure.”

“Thank you.” You swallowed before letting out a nervous laugh, scratching the back of your head. “I don’t know why I thought this was going to be a more difficult conversation.”

Something in him sank at your words, “I am a reasonable omnic.”

You seemed to bite your tongue at that remark, and he bristled a bit.

“I am.”

“I didn’t say you weren’t,” You raised your hands placatingly, brows furrowing. “It’s just… sometimes you don’t like my ideas, and I was worried that this would be another one of those times.”

He did not ask for your ideas.

He did not ask for your assistance.

He did not ask you to join him.

He could do this alone.

He had been doing this alone for a long time.

Ramattra stared at you for a moment, processor picking through each of your interactions, and he begrudgingly had to admit that… you weren’t completely incorrect. Since you had chosen to join his cause, he had been… less than charitable when you shared your ideas.

… Your words were not without some truth.

A pregnant pause filled the room, and you cleared your throat awkwardly, “So, um, thanks. For hearing me out this time.”

He mulled on his words, picking over them, sorting the wheat from the chaff, and after another long moment he sighed, “You said when you had first joined, ‘Follow the money. Target them, and the people will begin to rise up.’ Tell me which of those so-called ‘Hard Targets’ you deem most worthy of death and I shall bring them to their end.”

A small compromise.

Nothing that would delay his schedule, but a show of good faith.

He could see the way your hands quivered, eyes ablaze with a mixture of surprise and excitement.

“Are… are you sure?” There was a touch of horror in your voice as you spoke… you really were such a gentle creature, of course you would have your reservations, but there was steel in there as well. You could do this.

You just needed a push.

“Quite.”

You swallowed and he took a step towards you, tipping your chin up. It was a small compromise, but he still knew how difficult it must be for you. A wave of affection coursed through his processor, and found himself leaning down to touch his forehead to your own.

“Annihilation stirs at your command.”

It was impossible to miss the shiver that ran across your back, pupils dilating, blood and pulse racing under your skin. Your eyes fluttered closed after a few seconds, and you leaned into his touch, nose bumping against his faceplate.

Idly he couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to have your lips pressed against him.

Probably no different from your fingertips… though the texture would be different, wouldn’t it….

After all, the texture of your skin was different on your palms than on your cheeks.

How many different textures would he have discovered on your body should you let him explore it?

“You need only direct it.”

Annihilation stirs at your command.

You need only direct it.

You looked at the photos in front of you, people all smiling with shiny, perfect, white teeth.

Today you condemn someone to their death.

No trial.

No plea.

No jury.

You were the judge. The one who held the thread of fate between your fingers, scissors in hand…. Because even if you weren’t the one pulling the trigger, you were about to commit a murder. Blood would still be on your hands, blood you could never wash off no matter how necessary it was.

You swallowed, saliva thick in your throat, lead in your stomach.

You knew the atrocities these people committed regularly, you knew the world would be a better place without each and every one of them in it.

You supposed that made it easier….

Please don’t ask me to shoot anyone.

You really should have been more specific, but this had been your idea; Take out the wealthy and influential people who were actively oppressing humans and omnics alike.

You could do this.

No you couldn’t….

Yes.

You could.

Ramattra wouldn’t take any of your ideas seriously if you couldn’t follow through on even one of them.

You weren’t pulling the trigger.

You didn’t have to look your victim in the eyes as it happened.

But it would still happen.

You let out a shaky breath. You wondered if this would get any easier. If this was how Ramattra had felt when he had first decided how to help his people….

He had been born of war and violence… did he feel at home in it?

Did he feel any remorse for his actions?

… Did that even change the way you felt about him?

You knew that he wasn’t actively trying to hurt citizens, but so much of what he was doing was… crude. Like a bowie knife being used for surgery.

And you understood that that was how he thought people would listen; How he would be able to protect his people…. But you knew people. You knew how societies operated. It was kind of your whole thing.

… Okay, maybe not your whole thing considering it wasn’t what you did for a living, but still. It was something you understood intimately.

Ramattra would listen to you.

This was the first step in that.

Annihilation stirs at your command.

You need only direct it.

You could do this.

You would do this.

Today, you killed your first man.

… History would forgive you….

… Right?

Ramattra looked over the manifests you had devised, noting that you had added some food to it. Carefully worded and hidden, but food nonetheless.

Good.

He needed you alive and well… though he shifted uncomfortably at the thought of Talon discovering you. No matter how careful he was, there would always be that possibility….

He would need to train you in the art of self defense, devise some sort of weapon for you so that even when he was not by your side, you weren’t defenseless.

He wondered how you’d take to a gun….

Though his thoughts were disturbed as you were particularly loud when you threw open the door.

“Marcus Resnick.” The first words out of your mouth as you entered the room, pulling out a tablet and placing it on the table in front of him. “Inheritor of the Resnick fortune, and responsible for the merger between Nestle Co, and The Wonderful Company, and owner of millions of acres in plantations that exploit both impoverished children and the lack of omnic rights protections in many countries. Currently responsible for the civil unrest in both the Cote d’Ivoire and Cameroon, and heavily linked to the assassination of omnic rights activists Maria Santiago and André Papillon, as well as prominent political figures in the Republic of Ecuador.”

There was steel in your voice, in your eyes, in your posture as you looked at him.

“That was… quicker than expected,” He admitted. You were a gentle creature… he thought it would have taken longer for you to deliberate on the misdeeds of others to decide who he should eliminate.

Good.

Decisiveness was a good look on you.

“Yes, well… I appreciate you taking my suggestions into consideration…. And if there is anyone other than prominent politicians who deserve death, it’s probably him. Even in nations like the United States, The Wonderful Company is allowed to use fracking waste water, as well as irradiated water, to water their produce which has led to increased birth defects and cancers in multiple areas. Operating globally, they also control Fiji water which has led to droughts on the island nation that their puppet politicians have done nothing to address for the past eighty years. Even if he gives millions to charities a year, he’s a trillionaire who would grind us all beneath his heel if given the chance.”

There was so much passion in your voice, fire in your eyes, the way the corners of your mouth turned down as you spat out this man’s sins. It was… intoxicating.

He glanced at the tablet in front of him, you’d written up a report for him. He almost wished he could smile.

How quaint.

As though your words alone were not enough of a reason for him to kill.

“Not to mention the amount of pollution his factories contribute to-”

He reached out, fingers brushing over your cheek, and you stuttered, trailing off. Your skin was so warm under his sensors.

Once upon a time, Ramattra had tried to understand the human condition… read their myths and legends and spiritual texts.

He hadn’t cared for much of them outside of their prose and poetic symbolism.

But looking at you now, hearing your voice, he… understood why Troy fell when they had taken Helen.

Why a war could be waged for one, singular person.

Ramattra did not take pleasure in killing.

Satisfaction perhaps… but not pleasure.

… But he had to admit that he would take great joy in pruning the world into something you deemed beautiful.

Life by life.

#thunderous applesauce #ramattra #ramattra x reader #overwatch x reader #odt #a game of go

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tumblydovereviews · 5 months

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What Failing NaNoWriMo Taught Me

This is a change in subject from the usual media posts, but I wanted to try and broad out the scope of my writing a bit.

If you are even remotely familiar with the online writing community, you will probably know what NaNoWriMo is. Every November, writers from all around the world scramble to start an all-new story and to finish that very story by the last day of the month. And, did I mention that this novel needs to be 50,000 words at the least?

Being the bored person I am, I decided to take a risk and try the challenge out. And thus, half my October was spent forming a new world with new characters and a unique plot. On November 1st, I gathered up my supplies, booted up my laptop and started the grand journey into the wild west that is NaNo season.

Obviously, if you read the title of this article, you would know how that went.

I wrote only approximately 29,000 words for my novel. That's it. Out of the 50,000 words I was planning on writing, I barely made it half-way through.

But yet, despite my technical failure, I don't think competing in NaNoWriMo was a complete waste. I learned quite a few lessons from the journey, both writing and non-writing related, and I'm here to share them with you.

Hydrate, hydrate, HYDRATE: Like many others, I have trouble keeping a consistent amount of water in my daily diet. Somedays, I'll hardly drink any at all and on others, chugging down is all that I'll do. A few years ago, my lack of hydration actually landed me in the ER on an IV. Most of the time, we are taught only to drink water to keep our bodies going. But, I learned that when I was sufficiently hydrated while writing, I could go on for much longer periods of time compared to when I was thirsty. As it turns out, drinking water and fluids can also have a positive impact on our brain function!

Create goals based off your personal style: I'm not too bad of a chronic procrastinator. Like all of us have, occasionally I'll put projects aside towards the last minute, but for the most part, I'm a pretty good worker. My problem is working consistently- I concentrate much better in controlled bursts of time than in a long session, but at the same time, I don't like leaving work unfinished. If I start a chapter, I'm going to finish it no matter what, for better or for worse. For NaNoWriMo, I decided to aim on finishing at least one chapter of my story per day. That way, I would have a manageable amount of work while still staying productive in the process.

At the same time, life is WAY more important than writing: Throughout November, Thanksgiving, school, and the start of the holidays in general impeded my ability to write as much as I could have. And that's okay! Writing is just one part of my life, not my entire well-being. I try to divide the different aspects of my life into certain 'parts,' from my academic part to my author part for tumblydovereviews. This helps me to throw away any worries I mayhave about another 'part,' and instead focus my whole self onto one part at a time.

Grow a closer bond with your characters: I loved my characters. I thought about them throughout the day and as I wrote. I came up with their favorite activities, movies, and foods, and imagined scenarios for them in my head. In a way, this made writing them easier as I knew more about how they would react and why.

And, if no matter what you try, you still fail NaNoWriMo...: That's okay! Remember, the entire point of this challenge is to have fun while also completing a story in the process. No matter what happens, I'm proud of you for trying. You're doing great!

Will I decide to complete NaNoWriMo again next year? It remains to be seen. But one thing remains clear: even through my failure, I still love to write. I still love to read. I still want to create stories and worlds and essays. And, nothing will stop me from doing that.

#nanowrimo #writing #writing tips #fallure #essay #tumblydovereviews #creative writing #writeblr

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stellarstarcelios · 29 days

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☀️ "The Sun is Home" - Chapter 1: The Sun's Stubborn Light ☀️

☀️ Fandom: Overwatch 2 🔴 Pairing: Illari x Juno/Solarmars ☀️ Characters in Chapter: Juno, Illari, Venture 🔴 Word Count: 1380

☀️ Hiiiii, guys! Going back to this post I made the other night, I started and finished writing my first chapter of my Illari x Juno/Solarmars fic! I really do like how it came out even though it's a little shorter than usual for chapters I write in my stories!

🔴 I like this ship a lot, and besides that pairing, this story will also feature Juno and Venture being besties! I really like that idea as well. I hope you like this first chapter!

☀️ If you don't like this ship, do not reply/reblog with hate or mean messages. Just don't interact if you don't like it. I have nothing else against most other Illari or Juno ships.

🔴 Divider used made by me in Canva! Art above by me as well! I will try to put out a new chapter of this fic every Friday or Saturday, if I can! :D Shoutout to @whackacole3 for the ship name!

It was a little too much sometimes.

Juno had wanted nothing more than to learn everything she could about the world her parents once called home. Earth sounded like such a lovely place, a planet with people, fauna, places she had only imagined and seen in movies and books. The space ranger never would’ve thought she would be able to touch down on the blue planet, see the stars and her home as lights far above her head in the deep blue sky.

Juno had enveloped herself in what she could learn about Earth’s culture, its people, its many places and types of life. Things that her home planet was so devoid of. As much as she loved the new sights and sounds and smells…

At times, it was too much.

The sound of her mattress shifting with her weight followed Juno as she sat down on her bed. She laid her hands with one on top of the other on her lap, with her head ever so slightly bowed downwards. She let her lids fall over her tiring eyes, and a very soft, almost inaudible sigh escaped her.

The martian had been doing everything she could have today. After finally getting into the atmosphere to find her family friend, her, “Auntie Mei,” Juno’s journey led her to Watchpoint: Gibraltar, the Overwatch headquarters. Though there were brief tales of the organization back home, Juno had almost believed them to be of legend, of something that once was and never would be again.

Imagine her surprise at seeing Mei, looking as young as the pictures with the space ranger’s mother, with so many others around her.

It had been… a week or two now, she thought? Juno wasn’t quite sure. It seemed a lot longer than it had probably been. As much as she was excited and sure about Mei and Overwatch being able to help her family, the changes were so much.

Maybe too much.

Maybe she needed someone to ground her.

“Hey, you okay there, chica?”

A voice found its way to her ears, and Juno’s head tilted back up as she looked to see who had spoken. Their fluffy brown hair framed their tan skin, big brown eyes, and chipped teeth. They wore a yellow tank top, brown shorts, and a pair of big white boots.

Juno found herself taking a moment to think. What was their name again?

“Um… I… I think so?”

Venture leaned an arm against the doorway with their other hand on their hip. “You sure? You look pretty tired to me.”

Juno’s brows furrowed a bit as she realized how visible her exhaustion must have been on her face. She sighed again and rubbed her right arm with her left hand. “I guess so… um… I apologize, but, what is your name?”

“Sloan Cameron. You can call me Venture, or Sloan works too. I’ve got a billion nicknames though, so call me whatever, amigo.” A soft chuckle escaped their lips, one that made Juno feel a bit at ease. “So… Juno, right? What’s wrong?”

The space ranger moved her gaze away from the archaeologist, not wanting them to see her distress longer than they had to. “I am just… thinking. That is all.”

Venture’s lips pursed as they folded their arms over their chest. “It seems like more than that, Juno.” They straightened up their posture. “Too many thoughts bouncing around in your head?”

The martian blinked in surprise. “How did you…”

“Well, you’re not the only one.” Sloan pointed over their shoulder with a thumb, gesturing to a nearby room down the hall. “Illari seems to be just as tired and anxious as you are. I already talked a little to her.”

Juno nodded. “Illari,” she spoke, testing the Peruvian name on her tongue. “She is… she is the sun warrior, as I heard her be called, correct?”

“Yep. She’s an Inti Warrior. They were a group of ancient warriors in her country that could harness the power of the sun.” Venture shook their head a little. “But… she’s the last of them, unfortunately.”

Big brown eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

Amber eyes moved away. “I’m… not exactly the person to talk about that.” They tilted their head. “Maybe you can talk to her? She seems to be going through a lot like you right now.”

Juno furrowed her brows in concern, before averting her gaze again. Maybe talking with someone about her situation would help clear her thoughts, especially someone who seemed to be having as hard of a time as she was. The space ranger nodded after glancing at the archaeologist again. “Is she… which room is her’s?”

“72-S. She’s been in there for a while, so she probably needs someone to talk with.” Venture let out a little laugh, followed by a snort. “Heck, I think she’d do better with some company, amigo. Just… be gentle with her. She’s… been through a lot.”

*****

A soft knock came from the door of Illari’s room, her yellow eyes opening slowly. She didn’t want to talk to anyone right now, especially after her little spell of emotions. She vowed never to let anyone see her like this, not again.

Not ever again.

Another knock had her sighing as she stood and straightened up her posture. A thumb wiped her tears as she spun on her heels and walked to her door. “Who’s there,” she questioned.

“It’s… it’s Juno. I… I wanted to talk.”

The timidity in the space ranger’s voice made her widen her eyes a bit, but Illari soon narrowed them. “Leave me be. I don’t want to speak to anyone right now.”

As she turned to leave the door, Juno spoke again.

“I… I apologize. Sloan said you were in great distress, and… said you might need company.”

Those last few words made the Inti Warrior stop in her tracks and look over her shoulder at the door.

Juno clasped her hands in nervousness as she heard Illari’s footsteps stop. Maybe she had said something wrong? The last thing she wanted to do was upset one of her new acquaintances. When there was silence for a few more seconds, the martian began to turn around. Maybe this was a bad idea after–

The sound of a door sliding open made Juno turn her head to the side. Illari had a hand on the control panel of her door, face reading frustration.

Juno hadn’t really taken a long look at Illari before, but now that she was able to… she was beautiful. Her long, dark hair was braided as it usually was, and it framed her face so well. Her long lashes and deep golden eyes seemed to look into her soul and read everything about her.

Illari wore blue pajama pants, a blue top with long sleeves, white slippers, and a pink blanket draped over her shoulders like a cape. She looked comfy, but in an amazing way. She was… so pretty.

“What do you want, Juno?”

The stern voice of the warrior snapped the space ranger out of her trance, and she clasped her hands behind her back. “I–I didn’t mean to stare! I didn’t–I mean–”

Illiari folded her arms over her chest. “What did you want to talk about? I’m very tired and would like to rest before the sun goes down too far.”

Juno cleared her throat. “Well… Venture said you were… needed someone to talk to. I wanted to see if you needed someone to… what was the word I heard? Vent to?”

Illari pinched the bridge of her nose with a sigh. “Persona curiosa, Venture never sticks to their own business.” She could see the martian looking at her with a great deal of apprehension and she lightened her tightly folded arms a bit. “Did they say anything else?”

A shake of Juno’s head was followed with, “No. They just said… that we both seem to be thinking too much. There are many thoughts in my head, and I just… need someone to talk to, I suppose. Someone who can understand my plight.”

There was a heavy silence for a moment, before Illari gestured with a hand for Juno to enter. “I suppose you can come in. I… I’ve been very curious about you.”

#overwatch #overwatch 2 #ow #ow 2 #fanfiction #fanfic #overwatch fanfic #writing #my writing stuff #juno #juno teo minh #juno overwatch #illari #illari quispe ruiz #illari overwatch #illari x juno #solarmars #stellarstarcelios #fic: the sun is home

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