Yet MORE drabbles.
A few drabbles I wrote for Nix. Which have been sitting on my hard drive for many moons. >_<
All SmoAce, if only implied, even if you can't actually tell who the characters are.
---
Prompt: Cards
"Pick a card. Any card."
"The one that's poking out of your sleeve.
"... you suck, Smoker."
"I'm not right now. But I could."
"... oh, really, now?"
"If you play your cards right."
"... I'm not sure I want that mouth near me anymore."
---
Prompt: Dragon
"It thinks I'm its mother."
"Yes. I can see that.
"It wasn't my fault!"
"Now that? I can't see."
A sigh. "Smooo~ker."
A twitch. "What."
"Well?"
"Well, what?"
Scowl. "You're upset."
"Upset? Of course I'm 'upset'. You brought a baby dragon on board my damn ship!"
"I couldn't just leave her! She was all alone!"
"Wh- it's suddenly a 'she' now?"
"Um. Yeah?"
"Let me guess - because you thought I'd be more likely to approve if it's female."
Dazzling smile. "Captain, it's like you know me!"
Smouldering glare. "I do. I know you're an idiot, and that you're not keeping a dragon on MY ship."
"She's only a baby. I'll make sure she doesn't stay when she gets too big."
"Portgas. Sh- It's already ten feet long. It's going."
"Bu-!"
"NO."
Pout.
"No."
Eyes watered.
"... fuck you."
"That's my next request!"
---
Prompt: Feet
"You know what they say about guys with with big feet," Ace commented randomly, flopping onto Smoker's bed. Since the first few times the pirate had flashed in through the porthole and made a non-sequitur, Smoker had become somewhat used to this sort of thing.
At least he wasn't naked this time. Either of them.
"That they have big shoes?"
Ace pout-scowled, which was a unique talent. "No. You know what I mean."
"That doesn't mean I can't take the opportunity to piss you off." He picked up another file, pointedly not looking at the drama-whore. "Shouldn't you in the galley?"
"What I mean," continued the maniac, "is that you don't need to overcompensate with that jitte. I mean, even Tashigi agrees."
Wait. "What?
"Well, not to your face, obviously. She's shy. But I asked, and she agreed."
Smoker stared, as Ace reached across and patted his knee gently. "It's all right. Everything will be fine, now."
It was amazing how far a human can be thrown. Especially when they have go through the side of a ship as well.
---
Prompt: Fuel
"I'm nearly out of fuel," Ace croons, his skiff bobbing uselessly as a pair of Marines tie it to the Lady Justice, "and we're days from land. You wouldn't want me trapped out in the middle of nowhere, starving to death, yould you?"
Smoker considered this. "Would being dead shut you up for once?"
A pout blossomed across the pirate's face. It was an impressive pout, because Ace had begun mastering it before he was two years old, and the freckles increased the effect even more. Smoker remained completely unmoved.
"Smo~ker! You're so cruel. Won't you let me stay a few days? I won't take up too much room..."
The Marine shrugged, drawing a cigar from one of his jackets loops. It looked like he was going to need it. "The brig's empty at the moment."
"I meant," Ace said pointedly, "that I could stay in your cabin. In your bed."
"The last time you 'stayed in my bed', you set my sheets on fire."
Pout, pout. "It was an accident!"
"I'd be more likely to believe that if you hadn't said 'If you don't fuck me, I'm going to set your bed alight' a minute beforehand."
"Oh, yeah. I forgot that." He slunk closer to the Commodore, who stared dryly back at the beseeching gaze. "Aren't you going to take pity on the poor, fuel-less pirate, Captain?" With sex, went unspoken.
Smoker rolled his eyes and resisted the urge to slap the idiot. "I do actually remember that you can use your Logia for your damn skiff."
"... oh."
"But you can stay anyway," the Commodore muttered, and had a hard time dragging the pirate off him while his crew pretended not to notice.
He blamed the freckles.
---
Prompt: Ice Cream
"You're more of a vanilla guy, but not," Ace declares, which probably makes sense, somewhere. Maybe.
Smoker doesn't bother looking up. "That's nice."
Being ignored, naturally, will never stop Ace from talking. He takes it as an invitation. An engraved one, with gilt edging - and 'Please Waste My Time, I Like It' written in large, elegant font.
"See, you pretend to be this boring guy who doesn't have time for frivolous shit like... I dunno, sprinkles, or chocolate chips, or even just nice flavours. You want everyone to think you're not interested in being a chocolate kind of guy."
Ah. He'd finally snapped.
"Whereas, me? I'm not vanilla! I'm exciting, and I like people to know it. I stand out. I'm... exotic. I have style, right?"
He definitely had something, but Smoker wasn't sure what.
"I mean, the least you could do is be raspberry ripple," Ace continues, obviously enjoying himself by the way he's waving his arms about as though preaching to a congregation of ice-cream obsessed psychologists. "Which is mostly vanilla, sure. But the raspberry sets it off, you see? It adds depth to what would otherwise be a really boring flavour."
"That's nice," Smoker says again, because the only other option is throwing his book at the pirate, and that will probably result in no sex tonight. The brat can be surprisingly stubborn.
Ace nods enthusiastically, despite Smoker not even being sure he was listening. "Right! So I'm, like, I don't know. Mint choc chip? Or maybe like a series of limited edition, experimental flavours. Whatever. Point is, I'm interesting Exciting! And I taste good."
At least that was true.
"But what I meant about you was that you're not actually vanilla. You just want people to think you are." He looked at Smoker, as seriously as a man who was likening ice cream flavours to personalities could. "The truth of the matter is..."
"Mm?"
"You're nicotine flavoured."
Smoker didn't get laid that night, but the thwack of book meeting skull was worth it.
---
Prompt: Ink
There's a thick stack of paperwork on his desk, forms to be filled, reports to be written, notes to be taken, and there's also no ink on the entire ship.
Smoker knows. He checked.
Twice.
He also knows - not that he has any, God forbid, proof - that this is All Portgas' Fault. After nearly a year of putting up with the idiot swaggering aboard the Lady Justice and making himself at home whenever he felt like it, Smoker has developed a sense for these things.
He walks into the galley (because that's where the pirate will be, of course, pouting until someone feeds him) as calmly as possible, because if Portgas knows Smoker is annoyed, then he's won this round.
"You're annoyed," Portgas says brightly, the instant the Commodore takes a single step into the galley, because while Smoker knows when It's Portgas' Fault, the pirate has developed the far more aggravating talent of Smoker Is Annoyed Now detection.
In return, Smoker ignores this comment, glares until the Marines who were previously engaged in conversation with Portgas make their excuses and flee, and points out, "My pens are missing."
Portgas furrows his brow. This might have suggested innocence, if he hadn't been grinning like a moron. "That's terrible, Captain. What's that got to do with me?"
"My navigator's pens are missing. Doctor Mihura's pens are missing. In fact, there doesn't seem to be a pen left on the entire ship."
"I still," Portgas announced, in a tone of injured pride, "don't see why you're telling me this."
Smoker shut his eyes and counted to ten. When he opened them again, ready to explain in detail exactly where he would be shoving the next supply of pens if Portgas didn't tell exactly what he'd done with them, the pirate appeared to have died.
He stared at the idiot, wondering whether it was really coincidence that the narcolepsy had kicked in at that moment, and then left the galley as quietly as possible.
The longer he got out of doing paperwork, the better.
---
Prompt: Mangoes and Coconuts
"... Why have you done this."
"Because they smell good!"
"Why have you done this."
"You said my hair smelled like coconuts, so I thought you might be jealous. But now you smell good too! Right?"
"Why have you done this."
"Huh. I thought you liked mangoes."
"Not in my hair, you moron!"
All SmoAce, if only implied, even if you can't actually tell who the characters are.
---
Prompt: Cards
"Pick a card. Any card."
"The one that's poking out of your sleeve.
"... you suck, Smoker."
"I'm not right now. But I could."
"... oh, really, now?"
"If you play your cards right."
"... I'm not sure I want that mouth near me anymore."
---
Prompt: Dragon
"It thinks I'm its mother."
"Yes. I can see that.
"It wasn't my fault!"
"Now that? I can't see."
A sigh. "Smooo~ker."
A twitch. "What."
"Well?"
"Well, what?"
Scowl. "You're upset."
"Upset? Of course I'm 'upset'. You brought a baby dragon on board my damn ship!"
"I couldn't just leave her! She was all alone!"
"Wh- it's suddenly a 'she' now?"
"Um. Yeah?"
"Let me guess - because you thought I'd be more likely to approve if it's female."
Dazzling smile. "Captain, it's like you know me!"
Smouldering glare. "I do. I know you're an idiot, and that you're not keeping a dragon on MY ship."
"She's only a baby. I'll make sure she doesn't stay when she gets too big."
"Portgas. Sh- It's already ten feet long. It's going."
"Bu-!"
"NO."
Pout.
"No."
Eyes watered.
"... fuck you."
"That's my next request!"
---
Prompt: Feet
"You know what they say about guys with with big feet," Ace commented randomly, flopping onto Smoker's bed. Since the first few times the pirate had flashed in through the porthole and made a non-sequitur, Smoker had become somewhat used to this sort of thing.
At least he wasn't naked this time. Either of them.
"That they have big shoes?"
Ace pout-scowled, which was a unique talent. "No. You know what I mean."
"That doesn't mean I can't take the opportunity to piss you off." He picked up another file, pointedly not looking at the drama-whore. "Shouldn't you in the galley?"
"What I mean," continued the maniac, "is that you don't need to overcompensate with that jitte. I mean, even Tashigi agrees."
Wait. "What?
"Well, not to your face, obviously. She's shy. But I asked, and she agreed."
Smoker stared, as Ace reached across and patted his knee gently. "It's all right. Everything will be fine, now."
It was amazing how far a human can be thrown. Especially when they have go through the side of a ship as well.
---
Prompt: Fuel
"I'm nearly out of fuel," Ace croons, his skiff bobbing uselessly as a pair of Marines tie it to the Lady Justice, "and we're days from land. You wouldn't want me trapped out in the middle of nowhere, starving to death, yould you?"
Smoker considered this. "Would being dead shut you up for once?"
A pout blossomed across the pirate's face. It was an impressive pout, because Ace had begun mastering it before he was two years old, and the freckles increased the effect even more. Smoker remained completely unmoved.
"Smo~ker! You're so cruel. Won't you let me stay a few days? I won't take up too much room..."
The Marine shrugged, drawing a cigar from one of his jackets loops. It looked like he was going to need it. "The brig's empty at the moment."
"I meant," Ace said pointedly, "that I could stay in your cabin. In your bed."
"The last time you 'stayed in my bed', you set my sheets on fire."
Pout, pout. "It was an accident!"
"I'd be more likely to believe that if you hadn't said 'If you don't fuck me, I'm going to set your bed alight' a minute beforehand."
"Oh, yeah. I forgot that." He slunk closer to the Commodore, who stared dryly back at the beseeching gaze. "Aren't you going to take pity on the poor, fuel-less pirate, Captain?" With sex, went unspoken.
Smoker rolled his eyes and resisted the urge to slap the idiot. "I do actually remember that you can use your Logia for your damn skiff."
"... oh."
"But you can stay anyway," the Commodore muttered, and had a hard time dragging the pirate off him while his crew pretended not to notice.
He blamed the freckles.
---
Prompt: Ice Cream
"You're more of a vanilla guy, but not," Ace declares, which probably makes sense, somewhere. Maybe.
Smoker doesn't bother looking up. "That's nice."
Being ignored, naturally, will never stop Ace from talking. He takes it as an invitation. An engraved one, with gilt edging - and 'Please Waste My Time, I Like It' written in large, elegant font.
"See, you pretend to be this boring guy who doesn't have time for frivolous shit like... I dunno, sprinkles, or chocolate chips, or even just nice flavours. You want everyone to think you're not interested in being a chocolate kind of guy."
Ah. He'd finally snapped.
"Whereas, me? I'm not vanilla! I'm exciting, and I like people to know it. I stand out. I'm... exotic. I have style, right?"
He definitely had something, but Smoker wasn't sure what.
"I mean, the least you could do is be raspberry ripple," Ace continues, obviously enjoying himself by the way he's waving his arms about as though preaching to a congregation of ice-cream obsessed psychologists. "Which is mostly vanilla, sure. But the raspberry sets it off, you see? It adds depth to what would otherwise be a really boring flavour."
"That's nice," Smoker says again, because the only other option is throwing his book at the pirate, and that will probably result in no sex tonight. The brat can be surprisingly stubborn.
Ace nods enthusiastically, despite Smoker not even being sure he was listening. "Right! So I'm, like, I don't know. Mint choc chip? Or maybe like a series of limited edition, experimental flavours. Whatever. Point is, I'm interesting Exciting! And I taste good."
At least that was true.
"But what I meant about you was that you're not actually vanilla. You just want people to think you are." He looked at Smoker, as seriously as a man who was likening ice cream flavours to personalities could. "The truth of the matter is..."
"Mm?"
"You're nicotine flavoured."
Smoker didn't get laid that night, but the thwack of book meeting skull was worth it.
---
Prompt: Ink
There's a thick stack of paperwork on his desk, forms to be filled, reports to be written, notes to be taken, and there's also no ink on the entire ship.
Smoker knows. He checked.
Twice.
He also knows - not that he has any, God forbid, proof - that this is All Portgas' Fault. After nearly a year of putting up with the idiot swaggering aboard the Lady Justice and making himself at home whenever he felt like it, Smoker has developed a sense for these things.
He walks into the galley (because that's where the pirate will be, of course, pouting until someone feeds him) as calmly as possible, because if Portgas knows Smoker is annoyed, then he's won this round.
"You're annoyed," Portgas says brightly, the instant the Commodore takes a single step into the galley, because while Smoker knows when It's Portgas' Fault, the pirate has developed the far more aggravating talent of Smoker Is Annoyed Now detection.
In return, Smoker ignores this comment, glares until the Marines who were previously engaged in conversation with Portgas make their excuses and flee, and points out, "My pens are missing."
Portgas furrows his brow. This might have suggested innocence, if he hadn't been grinning like a moron. "That's terrible, Captain. What's that got to do with me?"
"My navigator's pens are missing. Doctor Mihura's pens are missing. In fact, there doesn't seem to be a pen left on the entire ship."
"I still," Portgas announced, in a tone of injured pride, "don't see why you're telling me this."
Smoker shut his eyes and counted to ten. When he opened them again, ready to explain in detail exactly where he would be shoving the next supply of pens if Portgas didn't tell exactly what he'd done with them, the pirate appeared to have died.
He stared at the idiot, wondering whether it was really coincidence that the narcolepsy had kicked in at that moment, and then left the galley as quietly as possible.
The longer he got out of doing paperwork, the better.
---
Prompt: Mangoes and Coconuts
"... Why have you done this."
"Because they smell good!"
"Why have you done this."
"You said my hair smelled like coconuts, so I thought you might be jealous. But now you smell good too! Right?"
"Why have you done this."
"Huh. I thought you liked mangoes."
"Not in my hair, you moron!"