Fate (PIPABETH FF) ✔️

Pocky Game Gone GOOD (really BAD?!)

finally edited, ur welcome my pookiebears! 💋 

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P I P E R

"Are you okay?" Annabeth asked, scribbling something down on her paper, already three quarters filled with notes.

The shocking sound of obnoxious laughter from nearby campers snapped me out of my dazed stupor, and I had to shake my head and knock on it with my palm in order to relieve myself of the blurriness in my mind. Stupid, stupid, this is so...!

My mind briefly flashed back to its fantasy, projected vividly just a few minutes ago.

Annabeth grabbing onto my hands, interlacing them like it's where they belonged. Annabeth, pressing her forehead close to mine, whispering sweet nothings, intimate words only to be kept between the two of us. Annabeth, so closed off and stern from the world, only open and true to me and me alone.

Annabeth. Her voice; kind and warm, but also cold and tough.

Gods help me. Or strike me down where I stand. That would work too, I grimaced, my ears suddenly feeling very hot with embarrassment.

I smacked my hands against my cheeks, once, twice, thrice, before groaning loudly to ignore the heat burning my face. "Gods, what's wrong with me today?" I exclaimed loudly, slamming my face onto the table, sighing loudly as my forehead met the wooden table with a dull thud.

Beside me, Annabeth laughed, pen in hand, scrawling something down on a piece of paper as the sunshine dappled us both. She'd insisted on studying outside because "it was nice out"– as if the weather wasn't like this nearly every single day. But, really, who was I to refuse if she asked me to go with her?

"Are you okay?" Annabeth asked, scribbling something down on her paper, which was already three quarters filled with notes.

"As okay as I'll ever be," I hummed in response, drumming my fingers rhythmically on the tabletop. "Unless, of course, I get splinters from this bench." I groaned at the thought– prickly little wooden menaces invading my skin, poking and itching and prodding disgustingly. I shuddered. "But if I do, I'll be counting on you to pluck them out for me." I laughed as Annabeth rolled her eyes, still facing her paper, pen tucked safely behind her ear. The blonde's hair was up in a ponytail, but smaller, looser strands of hair (side bangs, perhaps baby hairs that had grown a little too long) framed her face like a delicate portrait.

"What is it? Did I get ink on my face again?" Annabeth asked suddenly, eyes still trained on her paper. She dragged her finger past lines of ink, biting her lip and muttering something that only she could hear. At my dazed silence, the blonde spoke up again. "You're kind of staring. I can feel it."

My face turned hot at the sudden call out. "Wait, what? I wasn't– No, I..." I cleared my throat, blinking rapidly as I looked for a change of subject.

Wait a minute.

I snickered. "Hold on. Did you just say again? As in, it wouldn't be the first time for you to have ink slathered all over your face?"

Annabeth tensed, ever so slightly. "No. I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't be shy, Annie." I couldn't help the mischievous lilt from slipping into my words. "How did you even manage to get that stuff on your face anyways?" I asked, amused.

The taller girl glared and looked away, cheeks tinged pink. "I..." she trailed off hesitantly.

I bit back a laugh. "C'mon, Annie. I promise I won't... laugh..."