#I also would like to think it was a cloudless day

[driftingvoid-155]

Okay but what if it wasn’t remnant that reanimated Michael, but a random bolt of lighting from the sky that managed to hit his corpse Frankenstein style

[writersmacchiato]

Three Years | Edmund Pevensie x Reader

Summary: You see Edmund and Lucy again in the most unexpected of places after their departure three years earlier.

Warnings: kissing (between Edmund x reader)

. . .

Salt.

It was misting over your face, tangy as it melted on your tongue.

The sun was just rising over the horizon, the endless blues of the sea turning golden and pink as they reflected the light.

Besides the creaking of the ship, and the shuffling of feet below deck as the crew began to stir and rise for the day, all was silent.

You had been waking up early every day since the voyage had begun. Without any reason, drawn to the crow’s nest in the misty grays of dawn before the rest of the world awakened. Watching the sunrise from the perfect spot.

The day would be like any other that had come before.

When Caspian, in all his kingly charm, had requested that you accompany him on this trip to the ends of the world you had been expecting more dangerous conquests. All you had battled so far was seasickness.

“Good morning. See anything?” The aforementioned king called up his usual greeting to you, hair ruffling in the cool breeze.

“Sea and more sea!”

You don’t hear it but can imagine the chuckle he releases through the rise and fall of his shoulders as he walks away to resume his check of the ship.

The sun continues to rise higher and higher into the sky, a cloudless day stretching away. You had snuck away to catch a moment of quiet in the crow’s nest.

Watching the empty waves was beginning to bore you.

When.

It couldn’t be-

“Caspian!” You yelled, jumping over the wooden beams that held you aloft. Grabbing hold of the rope to slide down, all the while yelling Caspian’s name.

“What is it?”

“There on the eastern starboard, I saw something. Someone.”

Caspian runs to the railing, quickly yelling orders at the crew to begin a rescue.

Rescue?

You’re too stunned by the possibility of a rescue to react when Caspian himself dives into the water. You’ve been watching the waters - there have been no sightings of any boats or ships for days now. Not even a rowboat.

The creak of the pulley grabs your attention, dragging first Caspian into view and then the young girl huddled against his side.

It couldn’t possibly be-

Lucy Pevensie. Daughter of Eve.

She shouts your name and crashes into you with little grace. You don’t care that she’s dripping water everywhere, returning her fierce embrace.

“Oh Lucy.” You can’t help the wide smile.

And then you see him, standing besides Caspian with his own smile looking at you.

“Edmund.” You breathe so quietly you aren’t sure you say anything, but Lucy pulls away and beckons her brother over.

He says your name just as quietly and gets close enough for you to touch him but he doesn’t make the first move, just looking and looking.

“Well come here!” You wrap your arms around him, relishing the way he grabs onto you gently. Almost shyly.

He whispers your name again, to himself, committing every bit of this to memory. He thought he remembered everything; but now he realizes how much he’s forgotten. The way you felt against him, the feel of your hair against his face, the way you smell.

A piercing scream cuts your reunion short, and Edmund has even more reason to despise his cousin when he feels the loss of your warmth against him.

“Welcome aboard the Dawn Treader.”

. . .

Edmund tried to fall asleep, he truly did.

The creaking of the ship and the swaying of his hammock made of his stomach roll, but he could’ve adapted to it if it wasn’t for the snoring of Eustace. He also couldn’t stop thinking about you and how much his heart swelled, almost painfully, when he thought about the look on your face when you saw him. Like you were happy to see him.

He’s sitting outside now, on the eastern stern of the ship, giddy at the feeling of the wind against his face. Narnian air.

“Edmund.”

His gaze cuts from the endless water to your form, seemingly materializing out of nowhere. Like a dream. It feels too much like the many dreams he had back home, wanting nothing more than to see you again.

“Mind if I join you?”

He shuffles over on the bench, trying to contain his grin when you open the blanket you brought and drape it over your shoulders and his.

“Tell me about your world.”

You play with his hand, tracing over the lines on his palm. Edmund doesn’t know how to describe it to you; he’s fought battles by your side, danced with you under the Narnian sky while fireworks flashed across the sky. In England, he’s no one.

“There’s nothing exciting there. Nothing like what we did.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“I suppose so.”

You can tell there’s more he isn’t saying, something that is eating away from him. But you don’t pry. Not yet.

“Tell me. What have you been doing since I left?” Edmund asks.

You hum, fingers still tracing over the lines on Edmundo’s palm. Trying to reconcile three years worth of memories into something amusing or daring, but the truth is… that without Edmund, dealing with his sudden departure had left you in misery.

“Can I be honest with you, Edmund?”

He doesn’t answer right away, shifting slightly so he’s turned toward you instead of side by side. Hand gently squeezing yours.

“Of course you can.”

“The past three years have been amazing, theoretically. Caspian has managed to restore peace and order to the lands, Narnians have been rebuilding their lives and I… I missed you. I kept thinking to myself, ‘Edmund would love this’.”

“I missed you too.” Edmund says quietly. “Lucy had to drag me out of bed most days, because at least in my dreams I might get to visit you again.”

“Edmund?”

He hums in response.

You turn your body so you’re facing him too, the blanket you’d brought slipping down to your waist. Even with the chilly breeze from the ocean you don’t feel cold, feeling the warmth radiating from Edmund. From where his thigh touches yours. His hand still in yours.

You ask the question that you’ve thought about every night since he and his siblings walked through the tree back into their world.

“Why didn’t you kiss me?”

You don’t have to specify - when, where, what? Edmund knows exactly what you’re talking about.

The night of Caspian’s coronation, the sky lit up with fireworks. The way the colors flashed over your face, the whizz and crack of the fireworks vibrating through his chest. Your hands on his shoulder, his on your waist.

It felt like a moment torn out of a fairytale, the only thing missing was a twirl and a dip in the dance that ended in a kiss.

Instead, once the majority of the merriment commenced, the fireworks fizzled out and the food and drink all gone, Edmund walked you to your room. You remember the way your heart beat, so fast, feeling more nervous than you had on the battlefield days earlier.

“Goodnight,” Edmund had said, pressing a kiss to your hand and then he was gone in the castle shadows. The next day he was gone from Narnia.

“I did kiss you.” He has a hint of a smirk on his lips, but you can see the flush on his cheeks.

“On the hand does not count! Did you not want to kiss me?”

“Of course I did. I’ve spent three years thinking how foolish I was not to.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

“I knew Susan and Peter had spoken to Aslan and that they seemed upset. I had a suspicion of what they discussed. So, that night with you… I felt that if we got closer than we already had, I wouldn’t be able to bear it. Knowing how it felt and then leaving. I’m not sure I would’ve gone with them.”

“I thought I misread you.”

“I’ve spent three years regretting that night. I should have kissed you.”

“I think it’s time we rectify that, hm?”

You kiss him, and you’re struck by how warm he is. Slow and languid, the kiss is sweet. Filled with years of pent up longing finally being released.

Shaking your hand loose, your hand slides up to his neck, gently guiding his eager mouth closer to yours. He breath hitches in his throat, biting back a moan.

It gets messy, clumsy. Noses bumping against each other. His hand finds it way to your waist, your own hands slipping into the loose hair at the nape of his neck. You pull him closer and closer until he’s pressed right against you.

You pull away with a heaving breath, Edmund chasing your lips.

“I need a breather.” You huff out.

“I’ve thought about doing that every single night since Caspian’s coronation.”

“Oh, you mean after you chickened out and didn’t kiss me? And then left for three years?”

Edmund rolls his eyes, pulling away in his stubbornness. “I didn’t see you making a move either, oh fearless one.”

“I think I just did.”

“Three years later.” He mocks.

You shut him up with another kiss, this time finding a rhythm with your lips that makes your toes curl.

The voyage ahead was certain to become more dangerous with each passing day, but here, wrapped in a king's embrace, you think of nothing else but him. Edmund.

[navybrat817]

Focus

Pairing: Motocross!Steve Rogers x Motocross!Female Reader Summary: You have a crush on Steve Rogers, but you don't think you're his type. Word Count: Over 1k Warnings: Crush, longing, slight insecurities, swearing, nicknames, Curtis is a good friend, Motocross!Steve Rogers (he's a warning, okay?) A/N: Finally an intro for Champ and Daisy in our Dialed In AU! Took me how long, @yenzys-lucky-charm ? Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @saradika . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated! ❤️

A 450 rider like Bucky with a lot of wins under his belt, Natasha was serious when she said Steve was one of the best riders in his class.

It was one of the reasons people called him “Champ”, a nickname he wasn’t overly fond of since some of the guys liked to tease him after races where he didn’t place first. It also gave him flashbacks of when he was younger and smaller, virtually ignored or told he wouldn’t excel in anything physically.

With a lot of heart and a late growth spurt, he proved them wrong.

Bucky said once that his nickname should be “Adonis” because of his now statuesque looks and the pit lizards fawning over him or “Golden Boy” because of his success and admiration.

Steve never let any of that get to his head and refused to let the pit lizards distract him. He worked hard to get where he was and continued to give it his all on and off the track every single time.

His determination was one of the many reasons you found yourself drawn to him. He was the kind of rider and person many aspired to be.

Your crush only grew the day you two actually met.

A rider yourself, you earned the nickname “Daisy” thanks to the flowers on your helmet and general sweet demeanor.

The helmet was the very thing Steve complimented you on when he walked by you at your first pro race.

You hadn’t meant to stare when he walked by, but his reputation preceeds him. Clad in red, white, and blue like a patriotic God, his blonde hair sparkled in the sunlight and his eyes looked like the sky on a cloudless day.

The sheer size of him almost made you whimper when he got closer. How a man was able to walk with such confidence and dominance yet still had an air about that said he was humble was a gift.

He even stopped to speak to a few kids who were eager to meet him and you couldn’t stop smiling when one little boy wrapped his arms around his legs in a tight hug.

Who wouldn’t fall for him?

You were certain you still had a dopey smile on your face when he looked your way.

“Beautiful.” The deep timbre of his voice sent a shiver down your spine when you realized he was speaking to you, which you tried to blame on pre-race jitters. “Your helmet. It’s beautiful,” he said when you didn’t reply.

You deflated slightly because of course he didn’t think you were beautiful. You were just a rider and not like the girls who flocked to him.

“Oh, thanks,” you croaked, clearing your throat immediately to try and save face. “I like daisies,” you added, mentally kicking yourself for stating the obvious. Why else would they be on your helmet?

The lopsided grin he gave you brought your smile back to your face. “You’re Daisy. Heard good things about you.”

Biting your lip and glancing away briefly, you didn’t catch his gaze following the movement. “You have?” You asked, slightly surprised that your name made the rounds.

“Yeah.” He nodded toward the track. “And I’m eager to see what you do out there.”

Your stomach did a somersault, but you held your head high. “I’ll try not to disappoint.”

“I doubt you could disappoint anyone,” he quietly spoke, looking over his shoulder when Bucky called out to him. “Gotta go. Good luck out there, Daisy.”

“Thanks, Champ,” you said, shifting back and forth on your feet when he stood up straight and flexed his gloved fingers. Maybe you shouldn’t have used his nickname. “I mean, Steve.”

You couldn’t read his expression, but you felt better when he gave you one more lopsided smile. “Champ sounds nice coming from you,” he said before he walked away.

You tried not to swoon or check out his ass when he went on his way, but Curtis clocked you immediately.

“You might wanna wipe that drool off your chin before your race,” he said, nudging you with his shoulder when you glanced at the ground. “Nervous? Don't be. You’re gonna kick ass out there.”

“Not nervous,” you said, biting your lip again. “He said he heard about me.”

“Yeah. Riders talk, you know that. And the guys saw you practice, so they know you have skills,” he said, sighing when you lifted your head and longingly stared after Steve. “Look, don’t let him distract you.”

“I’m not letting him distract me,” you argued, moving your helmet between your hands. “It’s just nice to get a compliment from such a skilled rider,” you said, especially since a lot of guys had a tendency to ignore you once they knew you loved to race.

Curtis narrowed his eyes. “I’m a skilled rider and I compliment you. I don’t see you walking around with hearts in your eyes and having a little crush on me.”

Your cheeks flamed before you hit his arm. “More like you bust my nonexistent balls. That’s not the same thing,” you said.

He didn’t move an inch when you hit him, the wall of muscle that he was. “Perk of being my friend,” he deadpanned, looking in the direction that Steve went, too. “I’m not one for gossip, but Champ is single.”

You put your helmet on so your friend couldn’t see your face. “Good to know, but I doubt I’m his type,” you said.

Because why would he like you?

“Rogers is a fucking idiot if he doesn’t want a girl like you,” he said sincerely before he hit your helmet with the palm of his hand, the familiar grumpy stare back on his face. “But enough of that shit. Get out there and win your fucking race.”

Which you did.

Steve's heart skipped a beat when you removed your helmet and smiled.

Because the truth was, you were exactly his type.

And he’d sweep you off your feet if you let him.

They're sweet, okay? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Steve Rogers Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[burningembers91]

Lunch Date - Park Min-Su x Fem!Reader

Follow up piece to:

The Secretary

Synopsis: While out for lunch, Min-Su struggles to voice his needs.

A/N: This storyline is going to be a slow burner, but trust me... It'll be worth it. I really want to build up the tension and show how much Min-Su struggles with being his own advocate. I also wrote the first two pieces at work today, and had to resist the urge to write the third because I have so many other characters I'm writing for that I'm slowly losing track!

Park Min-Su had taken you to lunch today, or rather, his father had insisted he take you to lunch. The restaurant was on the top floor of a high-rise building, with 360 views of the Seoul skyline. It was a cloudless day, the sun streaming through the windows and bathing you in the most exquisite golden hue. Min-Su was hot, his shirt and suit jacket clinging to him as he fiddled with his tie. He could see you biting your bottom lip as you studied the menu, could smell your perfume clinging to your shirt. Your bare legs were crossed, your heeled foot tapping against the table as you hummed quietly.

He couldn’t bare to look up, couldn’t bare to make eye contact with you. Your presence was almost stifling, Min-Su barely holding it together when you were around. You were his secretary, you were meant to work for him, and yet you spent most of your time telling Min-Su to tell you what to do. “Would you like me to get you a coffee?” You’d asked him that morning, as he sat at his desk adjusting his too-tight tie, not entirely sure what he was supposed to be doing. “Uhh…” He looked wildly around, unsure if you were talking to him, despite the fact it was just you and him in his office. “Mr Park,” you smiled, coming to sit next to him at the expansive mahogany desk he had no desire to sit at. “If you’d like me to get you a coffee, please just ask.” “O-ok,” he stammered. He did want a coffee, you always made it exactly the way he liked it. But for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to ask you. he could barely maintain eye contact with you, all too aware of your nipples ever so slightly visible through the fabric of your shirt. You busied yourself with the day’s agenda, handing Min-Su various files, explaining each one in detail. You would wait patiently until he asked you for a drink, knowing that he wanted one. You couldn’t understand why he found it so hard to ask for things, but he was constantly silent. He finally plucked up the courage, and you brought him his coffee, just the way he liked it.

He peeked up at you from the menu and your eyes met. You had red lipstick on today, one that contrasted perfectly against the cream colour of your shirt. You smiled at him, and Min-Su forgot to take a breath. He was terrible around women, but you were something else entirely. He’d thought about you many times over the few months you’d been working for him. He thought about how, if he’d been a confident man, he’d have asked you out on a date. He’d have pressed you against the glass windows of his top floor office and undressed you, before fucking you against his desk. But as it stood, he could barely say your name, his words only coming out as the faintest whisper. You were so confident, so sure of yourself; a lioness working for a mouse. “I think I fancy the ravioli,” you smiled. “What are you getting?” There it was again, his complete inability to hold any form of conversation with you. You intimidated him, but in the best way possible. He didn’t really like the look of anything on the menu other than the chicken, but the chicken came with mushrooms and Min-Su couldn’t stand them. You knew that of course, it was your business to know everything about him, but you wanted to see if he’d say something. “Maybe the chicken,” he mumbled, taking a gulp of water. He didn’t know why he couldn’t voice his opinion, why he was so scared to open his mouth. He supposed it came from a lifetime of having everything planned out for him. from the moment he’d been born, he was told where to go, what to do, who to be and what his future would entail. His father was a stern man, and years of fearing his wrath had reduced Min-Su to a timid little lamb. He struggled to ask for help, struggled to have his voice heard by a man who couldn’t be bothered to listen.

The waiter came to take your order and Min-Su asked for the chicken, not mentioning the fact that he didn’t like mushrooms. He could so easily have asked for them to be substituted for something else, and his inability to speak up for himself made you feel sad for him. Lunch arrived, and you watched him push the food around his plate, the smell of them making him feel sick. “If you don’t like mushrooms, why don’t you ask them to take them off the plate? They could always give you something else.” “I don’t want to be a bother,” he said, shrugging. He wanted to be able to speak up, but he was terrified of people turning around and laughing right in his face. You leaned forward towards his plate, piercing the soft buttery fungi with your fork before popping it into your mouth, winking at Min-Su.

You were so confident, so bold. Min-Su didn’t understand how you had such certainty in your actions. You never flustered, never faltered. He liked the way you were so unashamedly yourself; he found it incredibly sexy. You didn’t care what others thought, and Min-Su wished he could be like you. As you headed back to the office, you turned to him. “You shouldn’t be afraid to tell people what you want,” you told him. “You should try it sometime.”

That night, Min-Su thought of all the things he’d tell you he wanted if he was brave enough. He’d tell you he wanted to kiss to you, to taste you, to make love to you in every corner of the office. He’d tell you that he didn’t want to be a CEO, that he didn’t want to sit at a desk all day. He’d tell you he wanted to be with you, to love you and hold you and never let you go. But the next morning, he couldn’t get the words to leave his mouth. You were in a green dress today, one that clung to your waist, hips and the curve of your ass. He wanted to tell you that you look beautiful today, but his mouth wouldn’t move. He couldn’t tell you any of the things he really wanted to say, but he could ask for something simple. “Excuse me?” he said, as you dropped off his daily agenda. “Please could you make me a coffee?”

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

The Meet Cute - Law's Story - 10

Source for pic

The Great Pretender 10 🔞

Word Count: 4329

Tags For The Whole Story: Fem!Reader; Law is a soft dom; you have bratty tendencies (not all the time); voice kink; praise kink; cursing; very suggestive behaviour and innuendo from the start; sexual tension; teasing; so much flirting; romance; slow-burn; fluff; slight angst; mature audiences (though explicit NSFW moments will be properly tagged on the chapter); possessive Law; protective Law; soft Law; teasing Law; manipulative Doflamingo; inappropriate Doflamingo; fake relationship trope; only one-bed trope; reader has some anxiety issues; reader is a control freak and perfectionist; modern day AU; Mention of ex mentally abusive relationship;

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: After moving away from the hustle and bustle of Grand Line City to help your father around the property following a horse-riding accident - and in the hopes of healing your broken heart after your asshole ex-fiancé cheated - you settle into the country calmness of the Calm Belt. You and Law (your father's doctor) start to build a flirty friendship because of your father’s procedure. So much so that when he’s invited to Baby 5’s wedding (his cousin), he asks you to be his date. His uncle Doflamingo - who is filthy rich - is very adamant on finding a suitable wife for him. Seeing as he wants to avoid that, he asks you to pretend to be his girlfriend for the weekend.

Notes: Forgive me guys, I haven't really had the time to write a lot this week, and I'll be teaching a course near the end of the month so, limited time again. I might have to stick to one weekly update instead of two. Sorry! Also, the 🔞 is for very suggestive talk. I hope you enjoy this one!

Masterlist |Chapter 9| | |Chapter 11|

“The game is pretty simple!” Baby 5 begins, a microphone in hand. The bride has rounded up all the couples on today's guest list - there are around a dozen, from younger couples to older couples - and she's explaining the rules of the first game. Law tried to shy away from the festivities, but Baby 5 wanted her favourite cousin to enter the games. You're pretty excited about it too, it might be fun. “One of you grabs a heart-shaped balloon and writes a love message on it. I'll collect them, inflate them, and read the message. It's the job of the other half of the couple to guess which message is meant for them.”

“Oh, this is fun!” You say while reaching for the balloon. 

Law takes the balloon from your hand with a smirk. “Very fun, let me.” The glint in his eyes tells you that his message will be interesting and you're both dreading and anticipating it. 

Law turns his back on you when he catches you peeking at what he's writing and you stifle a giggle. When Baby 5 comes to collect the balloon, she raises her eyebrow. “You let Law write the message? Oh, this is going to be interesting.” Law smirks and you gulp. 

“Alright, I have all the balloons here! Now, when I read what you think is the message for you, you come and claim your balloon, got it?” The crowd agrees and she claps excitedly. “Partners who wrote the message, no cheating!” 

Law senses your excitement and he chuckles, placing his hand on your lower back and pulling you closer to him. “This is a silly game.” He says, but you notice the slight amusement in his tone. 

“You don't have to pretend that it's annoying you, Law, I can see you're entertained.” You awe and clap at an older couple whose message was part of a love poem: ‘She walks in beauty, like the night, of cloudless climes and starry skies.’

“Oh, I will be entertained, alright. Pay attention, sweetheart, you don't want to miss my message.” He sounds so mischievous that you have to giggle. 

Baby 5 keeps reading the balloons and the messages are all heartfelt confessions and love poems. You can almost bet your savings that Law would never write something like that, and his smug smirk confirms it. 

As you look at him, your heart flutters slightly in your chest and, once again, you feel like you’re part of a real relationship. Your lips are still tingling from the earlier kiss - public claim? - and, suddenly, you feel bad for having pushed him too far. His reaction was unexpected and you were only thinking about yourself in the moment. Perhaps it wasn’t your brightest move.  

“Law?”

He hums softly near your ear, sending a ticklish sensation down your neck, his eyes never leave his cousin. 

“I owe you an apology.” You both clap as another couple guesses the message right - ‘If you live to be a hundred, I want to live to be a hundred minus one day so I never have to live without you’ - and then Law fixes his amber gaze on you with curiosity. 

“Why?”

An exasperated sigh leaves your lips. “I pushed too far this morning.” A light blush tints your cheeks and you look back at Baby 5 to avoid Law's piercing gaze. “We… we were both vulnerable with each other yesterday, baring our insecurities and fears and I… foolishly joked about…” You gesture around with another sigh. “Mingling.” 

Law doesn't speak, and though you're still watching Baby 5, hearing her read ‘I love you more than chocolate. But please, don’t make me prove it’, you can feel his gaze burning your face. 

A laughing girl walks towards Baby 5 and her girlfriend gives her a very heated kiss that gets the crowd cheering. Law pinches your chin with his index finger and thumb forcing you to look into his eyes and, for just a second, you're scared of what you're about to find there. 

Which is silly, because there's only tenderness. 

“Sweetheart, I love the way you push me. Trust me, it was nowhere near far enough.” He dips his head, his lips hovering just above yours. “I can read you like a book and I know when you're testing me playfully. Don't worry on my account, okay? I'll be honest if anything rubs me the wrong way, as long as you do the same.”

You nod, too stunned because he used the word love and it's still bumping around your head as if it were a ball and your brain the pinball machine. 

“Oh, my.” Baby 5 has just inflated another balloon and she's giggling into the microphone. “This one is interesting.” Somehow you know this has to be Law's message and he must sense it too because you both look back at the bride, your heart hammering with such violence that you think it might just jump out and start walking on its own. “It just says: ‘Mine’” She turns the balloon towards the crowd, some laugh, some gasp, you flare up, turning beet red. Your hand flies to your mouth to stifle a gasp that turns into a giggle. This is so Law! 

You take a deep breath and shake your head as you stride forward to retrieve your balloon, ignoring whistles from the crowd as they realise who wrote the message. “Oh, I should've guessed!” Baby 5 laughs as she hands you the balloon. “Look out gentlemen, I think this was more a warning than a message!”

You're still blushing as you return to Law's side, feeling all eyes on you. You especially notice a pair of flaming red ones piercing you from behind tinted sunglasses. 

“Mine, Law, really?” His smirk is impossibly smug. 

“I told you people shouldn't stare. Now they know.” His eyes scan the crowd and he grunts again, enveloping your waist with both arms and pulling you closer to him. “Or maybe not. Maybe I should tie that balloon to your dress so everybody gets the message.”

You giggle at his silliness - especially because nobody is paying attention to you at this point - and you playfully wrap your arms around his neck, feeling more like a couple than ever and trying to convince yourself that you’re only doing this for the sake of your ‘fake relationship’. “So I would be walking around carrying your heart, Law?” You tease him with another giggle, your fingers playing with the hair at his nape without you giving them permission to. The stare he pins you with is serious and unwavering. 

“What if you already are?” 

A rush of heat travels through your body at his words and you swear your heart stops for a beat, restarting again, pounding faster and harder. What? The smile on your face is quickly erased as you're trying your hardest to read Law's expression. He didn't use the signal. He didn't even say his ‘if this were true’ motto. Is he being real? 

You open your mouth to answer when you're interrupted by Baby 5. “Guys, I already called everybody for the next game! Come on, you can suck face later.”

You smile wearily and let go of Law, taking his hand instead to follow her. Yet you can't stop the loud beating of your heart or shake away the kaleidoscope of butterflies swirling in your stomach. 

Is this real?

-*-

You've been playing silly trust games, like walking blindfolded and only following your partner's instructions and answering quizzes with questions like, ‘what’s your partner’s favourite colour?’ or ‘what’s your partner’s favourite movie?’. Safe to say you got all of those right and passed with flying colours. 

Now, Baby 5 announces yet another game and Law groans, looking at his watch. “Got somewhere else to be?” You ask with a grin. You’re actually enjoying this way too much while Law looks more miserable by the hour. Doflamingo hasn’t addressed any of you since his earlier interaction, so you’re feeling confident since everyone else takes you for a real couple who’s madly in love. 

“Anywhere but here?” He smirks at you.

“I think this might be the last game, then you’re off the hook.”

“Alright, alright, everyone gather round! So for this final game, we’re going to have one partner blindfolded…” She pauses for dramatic effect and the guests cheer. “And, in complete silence,” she emphasises the words, “they’re going to have to find their better half by touch alone while navigating the crowd. Now, this is where it gets fun! I’m inviting the singles to join in on the disruption! We don’t want the game to be too easy, do we?”

Watching Doflamingo and Bellamy join the area, you tense up again. It’s time to step up your game. You’re not going to fail this. Law is also visibly tensing and you sense his uneasiness when he reaches for the blindfold and tells you to turn around.

“You’ll find me. I know you will, this is just a silly game and we’ve already proven that we’re very good at silly games.” He whispers near your ear before setting the silk material over your eyes and tying it up in a tight knot. Your head jerks back softly with the motion and you can’t help but let out a small gasp. Law notices it because in a heartbeat his lips are back near your ear. “You like that, sweetheart, being blindfolded by my hands?”

The voice! 

Swallowing the lump that suddenly formed in your throat and wiping your sweaty hands on your dress, you nod slowly, not trusting your voice enough to grace him with an answer.

“Noted.” He slurs and places the lightest of kisses on your neck, making you shiver as you try to focus more on the task at hand and less on the throbbing between your thighs.

“Everybody ready?” The crowd cheers at Baby 5’s words, but you remain silent. You’re not ready. This is losing control to the extreme, and Law is not near you anymore. So you’re already feeling lost and overwhelmed, because losing control to Law is one thing, losing control, period, is another. “Begin the search for your partner, couples! Singles, disrupt!”

You take slow shallow breaths to try and calm the beating of your heart. You know there are no obstacles in the area around you, just people. A lot of people. Some bump into you, making you gasp from the sudden contact, others snicker and laugh around you to try and confuse you and it’s all too overwhelming.

Maybe you shouldn’t have done this.

“Focus, sweetheart.” You hear him somewhere to your right, so you turn in that direction.

“This is a silent game, people!” Baby 5 admonishes Law without singling him out, but it’s alright because his voice grounded you and you do as he says: you focus. 

You move tentatively, small steps at a time, hoping people get out of your way before you bump them. You reach out your hands so you can try to discern guests, trying to find Law. Here, a suit, shoulders, it’s not him. Too short. “Nope.” You mutter and move forward, step by step. Your fingers grip against a tie and you dismiss another person, Law’s not wearing a tie. “Not you…”

Slowly you begin to gain your confidence back, quickly dismissing guests because you can easily feel they’re not Law. Until you bump against someone who doesn’t get out of your way. Muttering an apology, you extend your hand and find a hard, steely chest. But it’s too high. It’s not Law. “Not you.” You make a move to continue your path, but the person grips your hand before you can completely pull away. A small intake of breath parts your lips as your hand is pressed firmly against the chest again. 

“Are you sure I’m not who you’re looking for, princesa?” He whispers and your legs wobble while a cold shiver runs through you. You try to remove your hand, but Doflamingo’s grip is strong. “Check again.”

“No, sir.” You wince as he grips your hand harder, but you know he won’t do anything else, you’re in public. “I’m looking for Law, not you.” You say as you pull harder and he releases you with an icy chuckle. 

“Are you sure about that?” His question follows you but you pretend to ignore it as you trek forward, nerves rattled, panting breaths and wishing for this to end. 

And then you feel the lightest brush of fingers against your waist. You’re not quite sure the direction it came from, but it doesn’t matter because your instincts take over and you’re drawn to Law as if you are magnets. Your hands collide against his chest and a jolt travels up your arms and settles gently in your chest. “Law.” You whine in relief as his hands remove the blindfold from your eyes.

When his gaze meets yours, you see a hint of worry in his golden eyes. “Hey, it’s over. I’ve got you.” You nod, your fingers digging into his shirt as his arms wrap around you in a warm embrace. “Lost too much control, sweetheart?”

You stifle a resigned chuckle against his chest. “I never want to play this again. I hated it.”

His presence grounds you and soothes you. His scent envelopes you in a comforting embrace while his arms pull you back into the controlled environment your mind had wandered away from. You're still basking in his comfort when Baby 5 approaches you both with a wide grin, dragging Sai by the hand. “Congratulations, you two. You won our games contest!”

“Contest?” You ask, pulling yourself away from Law with a tremendous effort. 

“Yeah, silly! Maybe if you two stopped being so lost in each other, you would've actually listened to what I said.” She rolls her eyes and sighs. “You won a private photo shoot with my wedding photographer - the best in Grand Line City!” She squeals in excitement. “So go change into your formal attire for the rehearsal dinner and meet the photographer by the greenhouse in half an hour, got it?”

A photo shoot? For you two? As a couple? 

Your heart warms at the prospect of keeping a memento of the wonderful time you are having with Law. But your mind tells you that it will just be a memory of something that is bound to give you heartache when you eventually fall apart. 

“Sounds fun.” Law says near your ear, and his words are such a contradiction to the scowl on his lips that you can't hold back a laugh. 

“You could've fooled me. We'll be there, Baby 5. Thank you.” The grunt Law exhales only makes you laugh harder. 

-*-

You had previously selected the dress for the rehearsal dinner - or Nami did, actually - and it's gorgeous. The dress hugs your body perfectly with strategically placed slits to enhance your figure. Its colour makes your eyes pop and your hair stand out. It's perfect. As you look at yourself in the bathroom mirror, you can't help but feel a tingle of excitement at Law's reaction. He always has a compliment ready for you, but you've never looked so gorgeous as you do now. 

Closing your makeup case and adding the finishing touches to your hair, you glance at the half-open zipper on the back of your dress. Maybe if you really tried you could've closed it yourself, but you decide to ask for help instead. 

Today things with you and Law have been going great. You've bonded, you've kissed, you've flirted… It feels like a real relationship. Maybe… Maybe you can take this one step further, why not? You're both adults, if you like each other what's stopping you? 

‘Nothing’ is the word that keeps repeating in your head as you open the bathroom door. Your heart was already thumping dramatically against your chest, but one look at Law dressed in a complete suit has you salivating on sight. 

Your legs almost lose their strength when he locks eyes with you. He looks so handsome. 

“You look-... - you’re beautiful.” His eyes burn into your figure and a blush creeps its way to your nose and cheeks. 

“Thank you. You look very dashing yourself, Mr. Trafalgar.” You imitate a posh accent and he chuckles. Then you turn slightly. “Can you help zip me up?”

You hear a confirmation as he approaches you with large strides. You're in front of the vanity so you can see him behind you. And you're mesmerised by him. You watch his throat bob up and down as he stares at your bare back, his eyes darkening with a haze and you feel a tingle in your skin even before he raises his hands. His mere presence commands you and then you make the mistake of taking a deep breath. He smells divine. 

Law's hands touch the back of your dress and his fingers are light as feathers. He's breathing near the curve of your neck and each of his rapid breaths brings a shiver down your spine, a clenching to your heart, and an ache between your thighs. 

“You're driving me insane…” He murmurs against your skin and you close your eyes, the deepness of his voice enveloping you like a lover's caress. His fingers graze your back as he slowly pulls the zipper up. “You look gorgeous…” Law brushes his lips against the exposed bone at the nape of your neck. “You smell delicious…” Burying his nose in the curve of your shoulder, he takes a deep breath. “You look ready to devour.” Then he exhales near your earlobe, making you arch your neck and grip the vanity so hard with your hands, that you almost sense the wood cracking. 

“Law…”

He pulls the zipper all the way up and you see him grin at you in the mirror, that particularly unhinged grin that makes you weak in the knees. “What is it, sweetheart? If you don't say what you want, how do I know what to do?”

Since his hands are no longer occupied with the zipper, he brings one of them to your belly, opening it flat against your stomach and pulling you flush against him. You can sense how much he's aroused by this moment and, judging by the ache between your legs, you're equally turned on. 

But what do you want him to do?

“Law!” You whine, not sure what to ask for but wanting him to give you everything. 

“Yes, sweetheart?” His hand traces patterns against your stomach and teases the underside of your breasts and, even without touching them, you can feel how hard your nipples are from all his teasing. 

“I don't know what I want, just… Please!” His low chuckle caresses your ear and sets you ablaze. 

“Maybe I can tell you what I want. How about that?” You can feel the deep rumble of his timbre coming from his chest vibrating against your back. His voice makes you throb and gasp and you nod. “That's good sweetheart. Open your eyes.” You do, chest already heaving from shortened breaths and cheeks slightly flushed. “You're going to watch your face in the mirror as I tell you all the things I want to do to you, got it? If you close your eyes, I'll have to punish you.” His thumb grazes your nipple again and you whine because the touch is not enough to soothe and it only serves to ignite. “I need a verbal answer.”

“Yes, Law. I got it.” You train your eyes on your expression and flush further at how vulnerable you appear. Your breath catches at the way Law's hand covers you and at how long his fingers are. 

“Take a deep breath, sweetheart.” You obey. “I’m going to tell you step by step what’s been playing on my mind on repeat.” Anticipation builds in your core and you clench your fists, holding your breath “I want to start by slowly licking every inch of skin on your body, worshipping you like the goddess you are and leaving no crevice untouched. I will take extra care with your neck, learning just how sensitive you are, and leaving you breathless.” His tongue traces a sinful pattern against your neck and you gasp. “And when I slowly get to your breasts, I will roll your nipple against my tongue, take it between my teeth and bite you in a way that's going to have you dripping down your legs. You won't know if it's pain, pleasure or both. And you'll want more of it.”

Your legs start to wobble at the vivid image he’s painting. The sensuality of his words is further enhanced by his voice and his touch. Law has you under his spell and you can't - nor do you want to - break from it. 

His other hand wraps around your neck, thumb pressing against your artery so he can feel it flutter under his skin, so he can sense how lost you truly are in this moment. You look at your reflection in the mirror and the throbbing between your legs only intensifies. “My hands will follow the trail my tongue creates with a gentle caress. I will have you arching your back, leaning against my touch, squirming and begging for more even before my tongue touches your clit.” 

An unbridled moan escapes your lips as you think about Law's head between your thighs and you close your eyes for a beat, too lost in the moment. Law presses your neck gently and pinches your nipple making you jump and mewl. “Law!” A gasp escapes you and he smirks deviously. 

“Eyes open sweetheart.”

“Fuck!” You mutter, your mouth half parted and your hands clenched into fists against your sides. 

“I know, I know.” The smugness in his voice only makes you wetter and by heavens above, you need this man to touch you. “You'll be cursing too, when I place my fingers inside of you just to find out how much you need me. And how ready and willing you are for me.” He lowers his hand, his pinky going lower than your abdomen and you throb incessantly, yearning for his touch. “Hot. Tight. Slick. Taking my fingers so well.” His words brush against your ear but they might as well be caressing you everywhere. This is unbearable. You need some sort of release. He's just building you up, his flames licking higher and higher and it's taking up all the oxygen. You need more. So much more. 

“Please, Law… please…”

“Yes, sweetheart. It's okay. You would behave so well, being such a good girl. You know what would happen?” You mewl a weak reply, something unintelligible even to you. “You'd come on my fingers once, and on my tongue again, until I bent you over this vanity and buried myself so deep in you that you would barely keep your eyes open.” His hot breath caresses your ear before he whispers, “And then you'd come on my cock. Twitching and squirming and taking all of me so, so well.”

Fuck, it's too much. His filthy talk is making you want to close your eyes and give in, touch yourself or rub against something to stop this ache, this need, this insane desire he keeps weaving with his sinful words. You need - want - everything! You…

“I want it all, Law.” You confess, breathless, as you turn your head to the side, facing him with hazy eyes and parted lips. Absentmindedly there's a little notification in your brain that pops up reminding you neither of you used the signal before this interaction. 

But who cares? 

Because Law's fingers tighten on your jaw tilting your face towards him, the hand on your stomach grips harder, fingers protruding your skin and he smirks smugly once more, though you can very well read the hunger in his eyes. “Can you handle it all?”

You nod for a second before you turn in his embrace and dig your fingers into his scalp, pulling him down to your lips into a heated kiss. He's as pent-up as you apparently, because his tongue latches immediately onto yours and his hands hoist you up, setting you on the vanity again in a repeat from last night, though this time there's no lingering hurt or unwanted vulnerability. There's not even the haze of alcohol between you. 

There's just desire. 

And maybe something more… 

This time there will be no what-ifs. This is true. You know it, you feel it. 

And it's happening. 

Law's hands caress your thighs and you open your legs for him in a silent invitation. The slits of the dress are there for his use, and he doesn't hesitate. Without parting the kiss, Law's fingers travel the inside of your thigh and you moan in anticipation. You know you're soaked. You need his touch. You can practically feel the tips of his fingers near your panties… 

Until Law's phone rings with a sound so loud it makes you gasp, your heart pounding harder against your chest as you both part, breathless and dishevelled. 

“Fuck!” Law curses, uncharacteristically rattled, and picks up the phone with a grunt. “Baby 5, I can literally see you. We're waving at you. Open your eyes!” Then he disconnects the call, places his hands on the vanity one on each side of your legs and sighs as his eyes search yours. “We have to go…”

You're still slightly addled. Your heart is still out of rhythm and the throbbing hasn't stopped, but you both know the moment has passed and you need to go. So you smile reassuringly at him, your hands resting above his, ignoring the way that touching him sends a jolt of electricity up your arm. 

“Raincheck?” You try, turning your smile into a smirk. 

A chuckle escapes his lips as he helps you get down from the vanity. “Definitely.”

Taglist: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane @sprinkklz @baby5555 @hopelesslover06 @mars-mizuko @sleepykittycx @nerium-lil @eustasscapitankid @jqperi @rainbow2312 @ren-ni @alexturnersgirl

|Chapter 11|

[eleonoraalbright]

The Mystery of Mistletoe

Pairing: Peter Pan x fem!reader

Summary: You find yourself underneath a mistletoe with Pan. Unfortunately for you, when you rush off in a hurry it leaves Peter with an insatiable desire to know why you are afraid of the small plant.

You hummed a merry tune while your hand brushed over the bushes’ green leaves to find edible berries. The dazzling sun hung high in the cloudless blue sky, causing beads of sweat to roll down your forehead.

You wiped them away and continued your work. It was a great pity that berry picking had to be done during the hot afternoon. The cool mornings were too full to add this chore to the busy schedule, and the evening sun would trick your eyes into picking the wrong, poisonous berries.

Your two consolations were that three out of the four baskets were filled, and you had help with the task. Peter Pan himself labored alongside you in the humid jungle. You were very grateful for his aid though you couldn’t fathom why he did it.

Surely, as Neverland’s ruler, he had better things to do than this. You wouldn’t voice this question aloud, lest he decide to quit the drudgery. Pan straightened out from hunching over the greenery and arched backwards, a satisfying pop emitting from the stretch.

“Let's take a quick break,” he suggested. Even though you had half a basket left and a break would prolong your time out here, you agreed. You and Pan sat on a log to rest. You brought out your waterskin and took a much-needed drink.

The cool water soothed your parched throat. You would have taken another long swig, but Pan held out his hand for a turn. You handed it to him for he must have been as thirsty as you were. He tipped the water skin and gulped down the refreshing liquid.

A trickle of water escaped his mouth and ran down the side of his chin. You had half a mind to catch the single drop with your finger and lick it. Not one bit of water should go to waste, should it? You shook your head to clear your muddled thoughts. It wouldn’t be a good idea to do that.

Annoying insects buzzed around your head, adding to the discomfort. A mosquito landed on your arm and you slapped it off. Had you been thinking, you might have worn a long-sleeved coat to ward off the blood-sucking bugs, but the notion had seemed like lunacy in the oppressive heat.

Your options were being drenched in buckets of sweat or covered in small, red bites. You had chosen the bites. Now it seemed the wrong one to pick; the following nights would be spent scratching your arms, legs, and neck to relieve the itchiness. Pan let out a sigh and scooched closer to you on the log where it was partly in the shade. He tossed the empty waterskin to the ground.

“Do you think you could assign some other Lost Boys to berry picking tomorrow?” If you had to endure yet another day in the muggy forest, you would scream. Well, that was a lie. You were too tired to scream, the most you would be able to muster would be a grumble.

“I don’t think anyone will do any chores tomorrow. We’ll all need a respite from this blistering heat. Tomorrow we’ll go down to the river. It’s been a while since we’ve played any river games anyhow.”

“Oh, that sounds amazing.” You imagined splashing in the water, your whole body cooling off from diving down and swimming. You would have a breath holding contest with Qian, Devin, and Darragh.

Last time Qian had won, but you had been practicing. Maybe everyone would participate in the game Marco Polo you had introduced to them. They had loved it previously, a little too much.

Bjarki had gotten a bit too invested in the game and gave one of the smaller boys, Andres, a black eye and knocked out his tooth while trying to catch him. The scuffle had turned to a full out war which led to three boys getting concussions and almost drowning underwater.

No lasting harm had been done as they had been rescued and resuscitated. The group could also play sharks and squids which was similar to the game of sharks and mermaids you used to play at the pool, but with more violence.

Pan interrupted your thoughts by mumbling, “I wish we were able to eat mistletoe. It looks delicious.” You followed his gaze upwards and saw the plant dangling from a branch above you both. All drowsiness and lethargy disappeared from your mind as you hurled yourself off the log, tumbled to the ground, and scrambled farther away from the red berries.

Peter was surprised by your actions. He glanced at the plant again to see if anything was wrong with it to have caused such a reaction. Nothing was. It seemed to be a regular old mistletoe. He said with slight amusement coloring his voice, “You seem more terrified of that plant than the dreamshade.”

“And for good reason!” You blurted out. You were confused by Pan’s words. Wasn’t it obvious why you wouldn’t want to be caught under a mistletoe with him? It then occurred to you that, of course, he wouldn’t be aware of the implications and traditions from your world.

He wasn’t from it, so why should he? You breathed a sigh of relief and stood up, dusting yourself off. You laughed, “My mistake, Pan. The heat must be getting to me. I’m not acting like myself.” You grabbed two baskets and began dragging them away.

“Well, I think we have enough provisions. I’ll get these and see you back at camp.” Thankfully, Pan allowed you to leave. You didn't know whether your face burned from embarrassment or from the sweltering temperature. Instinct made you leap from him, but to be honest, kissing Pan might not have been the worst scenario to find yourself in.

You doubted that would happen even if you did explain the custom to him. Doubtless, he would think you were making it up in a poor flirting attempt and mock you. It was better for him to think you batty for a fear of a mistletoe plant or going delirious in the stifling atmosphere.

Peter plucked the plant from its place off the branch and inspected it. He had thought perhaps there had been an enormous beetle or arachnid in its leaves. Just as he thought, there was nothing outright alarming about the humble flora.

Heat had not been an issue for you before, so why would it be now? No, Pan was quite sure your peculiar behavior was because of the mistletoe. The question was what exactly. It seemed like some tests were needed to find out. Was it the whole thing or only parts of it that scared you? Peter Pan was determined to find out.

A day later, the sun was setting in the west, bathing the clear sky in a multitude of blazing colors. An array of pinks and purples washed over the blue and tinged the horizon edges with orange. The Lost Boys were chattering and laughing as they prepared their crude makeshift beds for tonight. A few tents were pitched up.

There weren’t enough to go around for all the boys due to an unfortunate mishap regarding a not-properly-put-out-fire and high winds, meaning the boys had to take turns in sleeping in them. Luckily for Pan, tonight was your turn to sleep directly underneath the stars. He watched from a good distance as you made your pallet ready.

You managed to take another blanket from an older boy and gave it to a younger one who had been complaining about being cold. You went to fluff up your flat pillow when you spotted the small gift Pan had left on the mat. Teleporting closer, Pan lurked in the nearby bushes to witness firsthand your reaction.

He saw you bend down and pick up the bunch of mistletoe berries he left scattered there. You brought them to eye level and stared at them hard as if unsure what they were. Recognition flashed in your eyes and Peter noticed with delight your head swivel this way and that, looking for the person who did this.

Well, that got an interesting reaction out of you. However, to his disappointment, you tossed the red berries into the fire and went off to bed. He was hoping for a bigger outburst from you. He had even speculated you might try to switch sleeping pads with someone else from fear that more berries would appear.

But no, you had been quite commonsensical. On the other hand, there had been that little panicked moment when you realized what the unwanted gift was. Intrigued by your reaction, Pan decided more testing was needed.

The temperature had cooled down considerably the following morning when Peter sent you on a ‘special’ mission. He assigned you the task to find a particular carrot which could force whoever ate it to dance an entire day and night.

The root was on Neverland’s southern side and grew in the rocky area between the forest and the beach. He told you it was identifiable by its bright, sparkly pink leaves. This was complete balderdash needless to say; Pan only wanted you in that region because he had a certain surprise in store.

He tracked your location and became more excited as you approached the destination. Hiding behind a large boulder, Pan spied as you trudged out of the forest and came into view. Your expression morphed into one of great confusion.

Spread out for what looked like the whole beach were leaves. You stepped onto the green mass and grabbed a leaf, tracing its spiky edges. You let it fall to the ground, placed your hands on your hips, and gazed upwards. As far as he could tell, you were very bewildered at the strange situation.

Pan waited with eagerness for you to throw a fit of some sorts or at least run away from the mistletoe leaves. Again, to his disappointment and ever-growing bafflement, you did not. Instead, you plodded along, kicking your feet through the leaves. Evidently, you were still on your quest to get the imaginary root. Pan cursed.

How thick-headed could you be? Did you not see that it was a trick? Pan left. He would let you waste all morning, afternoon, and evening searching for the stupid carrot. It served you right for being such an enigma; worrying about mistletoe one day and not caring about it the next.

Pan sulked. He sat on a log on the camp’s outskirts, fiddling with a crown made of mistletoe in his hands. This was preposterous. Why should he care whether or not you were afraid of the parasitic plant? In an instant, he answered himself: because it would be funny if you had a mistletoe phobia. What was different regarding the circumstances? It couldn’t be the presence of people.

He was there the first time and the Lost Boys had been there the second time, but you had thought you were alone in the last instance. Your first reaction was big while the other two weren’t. Peter held up the leafy crown to study it.

Should he try to recreate the situation to see if the same thing happened? He was so deep in his pondering that he didn’t notice when a Lost Boy came up to him until the youngster spoke.

“Hiya, Pan. Me and some boys made another tent outta the animal hide and we’re wonderin’ if–” He stopped and gawked at the plant his master was holding. “Say, ya got yourself some mistletoe! Neato! Ya gunna use it tah kiss some mermaids? Sure as heck wouldn’t mind smoochin’ those setta fish lips! Ya should–”

Seizing on the peculiar words, Pan leaped to his feet and clutched the boy's shoulders. “What do you mean by ‘use it to kiss some mermaids’?” Did this flora have a secret magical ability he was unaware of? Could this have any connection to your dislike of it? Would it have anything to do with why you flung yourself away from it and threw the berries in the fire?

The scared boy gasped, “If t-two people are under a mistlet-toe, they have tah kiss. It’s tra–tradition.” Pan released the boy. It all made sense now! Patting the boy on the back, he set off to one of his tree houses on the island. He had much to plan and prepare!

You plopped down at the Lost boys’ campsite. Your bones ached and hunger gnawed at your insides. All day was squandered looking for that carrot. You foraged high and low for that thing and had nothing to show for it, not even a sparkly, pink leaf.

You were beginning to wonder whether it existed or if the expedition was a mean joke played for fun. If that was the case, then it wasn’t a very good joke.

If it was real, you would be in hot water with Peter Pan for not finding it. Why would he want a carrot that made you dance? Your tiring questions were forgotten when Felix marched to the spot where you were sitting.

As usual, he spared no time on pleasantries. No, how are you? Do you want some food? Where have you been? To your annoyance, he stated, “Pan wants to see you at trumpet vine tree house.”

You huffed in displeasure, “Why?”

“I don’t know why. He wants you there now.” Felix gave you a stern look which clearly said, If you don’t get up of your own accord, I will drag you there myself.

You groaned. Pan’s word was law. Any protest against his commands would not end pretty for you. You complied with the order and made your way to the trumpet vine treehouse. The place got its name from the vines curling along its trunk and branches, beautiful reddish-yellow flowers bloomed to add a lovely fragrance in the air.

It was about a fifteen-minute walk away. Why did Pan want to see you and in a private setting to boot? Did he want the enchanted carrot? How angry would he get when he found out you didn’t retrieve it?

Should you pretend to have eaten it and dance for twenty-four hours. No, that was a dumb idea. Oh well, you would just have to tell the truth. You arrived and began to climb up the rope ladder.

You poked your head through the opening in the floor and your jaw dropped. On the ceiling, hanging above you, were dozens of mistletoe plants. What the hell was going on with mistletoe! Two days ago, had been the starting incident, then it was the berries on your pillow, then a whole beach full of them!

You didn’t notice Pan was in the room before he spoke, “Something the matter?” You had difficulty in forming a sentence. He pulled you up the rest of the way into the treehouse. He looked pleased with himself and rather smug. “Surely you’re not afraid of a little mistletoe, are you?”

“No, no, no! It’s– it’s fine. I wasn’t expecting it though. Nothing to be afraid of with mistletoe after all.” You prayed he wouldn’t be able to detect your lies.

He held onto your wrists and pulled you closer. “Oh? So, you’re not scared of anything we might have to do underneath it?”

“You know…” You admitted, defeated. “How did you find out?”

He smiled in a self-satisfied fashion. “I have my ways. It took a little bit of careful observing, a couple of tests, and a sprinkle of luck. But it was well worth it. Although it is an odd custom to be sure. What other eccentric traditions did you have back in the Land Without Magic?” He stroked your cheek with his thumb which trailed down your neck. His other hand grasped your waist.

Your attempt to answer was blocked by another query. He quirked an eyebrow up and leaned in further to ask, “Don’t you think that for all the grueling work I put in to understand your old world’s ceremonies and rules that I should be rewarded for my effort?”

Hmm, he did have a point. Giving him a small prize for all the work he endured couldn’t be that bad. Grinning, you performed the exact act that you had avoided doing not forty-eight hours prior. The kiss was sweet and simple and you pulled back three seconds later. 

“I would have preferred a kiss on the forehead, but that wasn’t too bad either.” He chuckled at your shocked and hurt face. “That was a mere jest, love. The kiss was near perfect. Much too short of my liking however.” He took a step to the right, bringing you with him. “That’s fine because we are under a different mistletoe and have plenty more to practice under.”

He was right as he always was. Evening faded into night and you and Peter were still in the treehouse practicing.

[flowerandblood]

The Gate of Salvation [2/3]

[ young pope • Aemond x catholic • female ]

[ warnings: fingering, smut, sexual tension, angst, religious guilt, doubts related to faith, chauvinism ]

[ description: During the conclave, a new pope is elected, but to everyone's surprise, he does not intend to show himself to the crowds waiting for him. His ideas terrify the cardinals, and one of them convinces his niece, who is studying marketing, to talk to the new head of the Catholic Church in his presence. Main theme: sexual tension & holy touch. ]

A mini-series created as a thank you and celebration of my 2'500 followers. I initially plan that it will have about 3 chapters.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

The Song of Songs (Oneshot) Death and Ressurection (Oneshot)

Aemond as a Pope Edit Series Characters Moodboard Aemond NSFW Alphabet

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

After her meeting with the Pope, she had been writhing around all night, terrified and humiliated, unable to sleep. She couldn't forgive herself for her stupidity, for not seeing in time that it was obvious her uncle was trying to slip her over to the head of the Catholic Church like a snack he might be tempted to focus on.

The worst part was that he had hired her and she didn't know how she could take it back, defy the Pope himself, communicate that she was rejecting his proposal.

She got up before dawn, recognising that she would not get any rest anyway, and decided to take a warm shower. She thought while standing under the stream of hot water that she would try to distance herself, be professional and not give satisfaction to either her uncle or the Pope himself.

She hoped that when he finally decided to give any sort of interview the commotion around him would quiet down and she could quickly offer her resignation.

She sighed heavily, running her hand over her wet face, wondering how she was supposed to reconcile this madness with her classes at the University.

A car with the same driver as the day before arrived outside her townhouse again and took her straight to the Vatican; driving through its streets, she noticed that many people had pitched tents in and around St Peter's Square, waiting for any new information about their Pope.

She sighed quietly, resignedly thinking about how unnecessary his stubbornness actually was.

This time it was not her uncle waiting for her in the square, but a middle-aged priest who could have been her father, dressed in a plain black cassock. He smiled at her in a way that seemed genuine to her and she reciprocated the gesture when he indicated with a movement of his hand that she should move to follow him.

"The Pope is just having breakfast in the garden and he will receive you there." He said as they walked along the marble corridors filled with works of art; she looked at him surprised and sighed quietly, glancing out of the window, finding that it was indeed pleasant warm weather, the sky was cloudless.

They walked out one of the back exits to the cloisters into a small garden consisting of a maze formed of walls of shrubbery, which, however, easily led them to its centre, on which stood a large arbour styled in antique manner, with a dome and Corinthian-style columns.

She grinned with some kind of disbelief when she spotted his figure seated at an ornate small white table, his cassock also white, he held in his hands a newspaper he had just been looking through.

She thought with amusement that he was reading about himself.

Only when they got closer did she notice that other gazettes from different countries lay folded on the table top; the front pages of each asking who the new pope was, why he wasn't showing himself, why he was silent.

"Your Holiness." Said the priest standing next to her and nodded; the young pope, however, did not even bestow a single glance on them.

She pressed her lips together as she saw his thumb go to his mouth, he licked it and then used it to flip the page of the newspaper.

The priest who had brought her left them alone, as if he had already become accustomed to the lack of reaction and any culture on his part. She stared at him in silence for a moment, standing in front of him in the same dress as the day before, not having time to buy anything else.

"Holy Father." She said softly, wanting to get it over with, standing a few steps beside him.

He did not look at her, instead lifting his hand and extending it towards her, a signet ring of pure gold on his heart finger.

She looked at him for a moment in disbelief, then swallowed hard and walked towards him, grasping his warm hand in hers.

She leaned in, placing a quick, brief kiss on his ring and let him go immediately; he took his hand without even giving her a glance and went back to reading the newspaper.

She pressed her lips together feeling his intense, pleasant-smelling male perfume again.

"What do you think of what they write about me?" He asked, carelessly tossing the newspaper he had just read onto a pile of others, the discouragement on his face bordering on disgust, as if what he had read made him sick. "They are already reaching my family. Day and night they chat outside my mother's house."

She felt a tightness in her throat at his words and some kind of sympathy, because although he must have known what his decision entailed and what the consequences would be, some journalists crossed all possible boundaries, recognising no sanctity.

She shifted from foot to foot, looking at the French croissants that lay on one of the porcelain plates and a jar of strawberry jam, and reminded herself that she hadn't eaten breakfast. She grunted quietly, looking away, staring at the field flowers that grew around them – she spotted a gardener in the distance who was cutting the shrubs with his big steel shears.

"They won't stop until you give them something, Holy Father." She replied truthfully, hearing him snort under his breath.

"They will always want more." He replied dryly and she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye – he was staring at her sitting with his legs crossed.

She shuddered and looked at him in disbelief as he pushed the other chair in front of her with his foot clad in white elegant shoes, moving it away.

"Sit down, child. You are pale. Did you eat breakfast today?" He asked disapprovingly, like a parent expressing their discontent. She shook her head and he sighed heavily, indicating with his hand gesture to the seat next to him.

She thought that this certainly had nothing to do with behaving according to protocol, but decided that it probably didn't matter much to him. She sat down next to him, smelling the intense scent of his perfume again, adjusting her dress, remembering not to sit with her legs crossed.

"Eat." He said dispassionately; she wasn't going to argue, figuring that since she was being forced to be at his every beck and call now, she could get something in return.

Therefore, she reached for the croissant and jam, which immediately drew the attention of her stomach – she casted him a wordless surprised glance as she heard the sound of the lighter being lit and the hiss of the cigarette he held in his mouth.

He took a deep drag and spread out comfortably in his chair, looking at her thoughtfully, letting the smoke out through his nose. He smirked, as if something in her gaze amused him.

"My chancellery contacted your University. They were happy to hear that you will be doing a sort of…internship here. You don't have to worry about your exams or classes." He hummed as if he was talking about something trivial and uninteresting, an irrelevant piece of information he had to convey to her, and took another drag, the tip of his cigarette igniting red.

"− what − but −" She started, but decided it made no sense; whoever he was, this man had clearly already planned everything for himself and had no intention of changing anything, much less asking her opinion.

"I thought you'd be pleased. Your uncle arranges for you accommodation and studies, the Pope makes sure you pass your exams without your personal involvement. Isn't that beautiful?" He asked with a sneer, and she felt a tightening in her throat, a cold sweat on her back; she stared wide-eyed at the half-cut croissant on which she had just spread jam, but lost the urge to eat.

He knew everything about her and thought she and her uncle were the same.

She pressed her lips together and leaned back against the backrest, placing her hands on the armrests even though she shouldn't be doing so and crossed her legs. She saw his gaze drop involuntarily to her bare knees, his cigarette burning slowly between his fingers.

"My uncle wants you to take me to your bed, Holy Father." She said quietly, recognising that she didn't have the strength for this, for their games, their hookups, the secrets they obviously adored, of which the entire Vatican was made.

She blinked when he chuckled, his pointing finger hitting his cigarette so that the ash from it fell to the stone floor beneath him.

"Tell me something I don't know. Eat. We have a lot of work ahead of us." He muttered, taking one last drag on his cigarette, letting the smoke out through his nose, extinguishing the remnants of it on his plate.

She stared at him with her heart pounding fast, thinking in disbelief that he really was a few steps ahead of everyone else.

He was perfectly informed, and although his words and actions seemed chaotic, there was purpose in them.

"What do you want, Holy Father?" She asked lightly, taking a piece of croissant into her mouth. He threw her an amused look and raised an eyebrow.

She had the impression that he took satisfaction in teasing her, his gaze fixed on her lips, which she involuntarily licked.

"Many things. Above all, holy peace and quiet, but I am not afforded it. Get up, let's take a walk." He said matter-of-factly and rose abruptly, putting his hands behind him, moving ahead without looking at her towards the corridors made of tall, evenly trimmed bushes.

She quickly swallowed the piece she just had in her mouth and stood up, following him, levelling her step with his, sunshine and birdsong all around them.

"We're being watched. It's harder for them to eavesdrop on me as I walk." He said coolly; she turned behind her and saw the gardener she noticed before, who was apparently just pretending to water the flowers around the arbour.

She looked at him in horror, realising that he must have been spied on all the time.

That they all wanted to know what he was going to do, surely he must have kept them in an iron grip since no picture of him had leaked to the press yet.

"What's going to make the atmosphere calm down and the journalists back off?" He asked discouraged, and she sighed quietly, looking up at the cloudless sky.

"Your private invitation."

She was surprised that her idea that he would hold a press conference where he would be invisible and only his voice could be heard appealed to him. He felt that, in fact, his faithful should hear his words and what he has to share with them, and this did not require his image to be revealed at all.

He decided to receive the TV and newspaper envoys in the Sistine Chapel, recognising that this was some kind of milestone moment that required a special place, a black veil was placed in front of his papal throne.

Although on the one hand it looked comical, on the other it added a sort of solemnity and impression of holiness, something tangible and yet inaccessible.

The cardinals and his office workers had prepared a script for him, which he tore in front of her eyes before the speech itself, handing her the shreds that remained of the pages, staring blankly at the black fabric in front of him. She took it from him, not knowing what else she could do; he demanded she be by his side in case someone asked an uncomfortable question.

Her heart was pounding like mad, she could feel the cold sweat on her back and wondered if he felt a similar anxiety.

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and although his face was stony, he seemed even paler to her than usual, his large hands on which she could clearly see the outline of his veins clenched on his armrests – he sat comfortably on his throne with his legs crossed.

"Holy Father, why don't you want to show your face to your faithful? Is this some new kind of Vatican policy, a way of getting the whole world's attention?" They heard the question echoed by the first journalist on the other side of the curtain; she saw him press his lips together and swallow loudly before his cold, matter-of-fact, dispassionate voice began to spread around them.

"My face is not useful to my faithful for anything. They need my action. My causality. They need my intervention in matters of urgency, in the problems of paedophilia in the church, in the embezzlement and misuse of church assets, in the restoration of law and order, in the opening up of the church to young people who feel forgotten and unwanted. My face, my history, my personal views will distract them from all these things."

He said without stammering. She looked at him in disbelief, realising that he couldn't have prepared this answer beforehand.

He was saying straight from his heart what he was thinking and there was something touching about it.

Somehow she understood what he meant.

"What about the pilgrimages, what about the Sunday masses celebrated by the Pope?" Asked another journalist. She heard him sigh heavily, noticed that his hand trembled as he raised it to his face, tightening his fingers on the base of his nose.

"The Pope is not alone, he has his cardinals who can assist him in his missions around the world. As for the masses, I will attend them as a guest, but I will not be visible. The Pope is not unique. The Pope is chosen as first among equals. As Pope, I still remain a cardinal, one of the apostles. I am not Christ. I am not God."

She looked at him in pain, breathing unevenly through slightly parted lips, remembering what she had told him a few days earlier.

They need a guide, not another invisible God.

She couldn't believe that after what she had heard she had begun to feel sympathy for him – his answers seemed thoughtful and sensible, and she wondered if she had just seen his true nature, or if he was as perfect a manipulator as any of the cardinals.

She wondered how he had convinced them.

How he became Pope.

When it was all over he left without a word; the journalists were led away, and she prayed that it would help, that public opinion would calm down a little.

She watched all the news editions that evening with bated breath – the whole world quoted his statements and his decision, to her relief, most of the experts spoke warmly of him. The newspaper headlines also left her under no illusions.

The Pope has spoken. He doesn't want to show his face, only his actions.

The Pope who chooses the fight against paedophilia over the glamour of glory.

The Pope without a face − a new beginning.

The end of splendour − the Pope retreats to work like any of us.

The end of the church as we know it. The Pope at last again the voice of the weakest.

The next day she arrived in the Vatican with a stack of newspapers, eager to show him the result of their work, hoping it would satisfy him and allow her to return to normality.

"The Pope is exercising, but he said he would receive you." Said the priest, who was called Father Lenz, and who was apparently his private secretary, always waiting for her to lead her wherever he just happened to be.

"He's exercising?" She asked with amusement, and he just raised his eyebrows, himself clearly not knowing what he thought about it.

He opened the door for her and she stepped into a large room, with a beautiful baroque vaulted ceiling and hundreds of paintings on one side, rows of tall windows on the other, illuminating an exercise machine consisting of a small bench with a mattress on which he placed his back as he pulled on the railing at the end of which the weights hung, his legs braced on either side of the machine for balance.

He was dressed in white tracksuits.

She stared at the sight in disbelief, waiting for him to notice her; it only happened after a while when he took a break and sat down, reaching for a bottle of water standing on the old wooden floor. She lifted up a bundle of newspapers and he nodded, running his fingers through his hair, trying to calm his breathing after his exertion.

She walked over to him and handed him the magazines she held in her hand; she felt a pleasant throbbing between her thighs feeling the smell of his sweat mixed with the scent of his perfume, his lips slightly swollen and pink from the blood that pulsed faster through his body.

He flipped through the front pages of the papers one by one and sighed quietly; she thought with surprise that there was a sort of expression of relief painted on his face, as if what was happening frightened him somewhere deep inside and filled him with anxiety.

He put them down at last, looking ahead, grabbing the white towel that hung over the railing at the other end of the machine.

"I prayed to God after I was elected. I prayed that he would show me the way, and although he usually answered me in some way, that evening he was silent. It was a silence full of rejection, as if the heavens did not agree with the decision of the conclave. How was I to go out to the crowds in such a situation, to convince them that Our Father in the heavens was sending me to them?"

He asked, rising with a quiet creak from the metal bench, surprising her completely with his words; because of his clothes and the way he spoke she had cognitive dissonance and had to remind herself that he was the Pope and not just a young man close to her age.

His confession touched her in some way – she was able to imagine his despair on the evening he was elected as people chanted his name, but it was the voice of God that he wanted to hear.

He stood a few steps away from her, drinking the contents of his small water bottle to the end, and stared ahead, as if he had returned with his mind to that time, as if he needed to get it out of himself.

"That's why I asked my faithful to pray from me. And what did they do? They despaired. They despaired that they could not see my face, that they could not touch me, tear me apart, dissect my private life and my past. I have never felt so lonely." He said with a regret from which she felt a squeeze in her throat and lowered her gaze, not knowing what to say, reminding herself with shame that she had thought the same thing about him as all those people.

"Perhaps it was also the will of the heavens. In the end, when the time comes everyone will face God alone. Maybe it was his words: don't follow the crowd, don't conform, that's not why I sent you." She said softly, but immediately regretted her words, recognising that she had no right to interpret anyone's spiritual experiences, much less those of the Head of the Church.

She heard him snort with amusement; he pulled a lighter and cigarettes from his pocket and for a moment she thought he would want to smoke in this beautiful baroque chamber, however, he moved ahead towards a small door other than the one she had entered through.

"Come." He hummed, so she moved after him, knowing that it was pointless to resist.

For the rest, the more she got to know him, the more she liked him.

They passed through a narrow corridor and began to climb up a stone staircase that spiraled around a large pillar – it seemed to her that they were in some older part of this great complex. They reached a small wooden door, and when he opened it they emerged onto the roof of one of the buildings located to the right of St Peter's Square.

The view in front of her struck her –the sun was rising over the Vatican, lazily leaning out from above the church standing in the centre of the square like a nimbus, the air around them pleasantly cool and crisp.

She watched as he moved ahead and walked closer to the stone wall, firing up his lighter and leaning forward with a cigarette in his mouth – there was something so obscene about the sight that she smiled involuntarily.

He looked at her over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow, taking a drag, then slid his cigarette out of his mouth with a motion of his hand and let the smoke out silently through his nose, shaking the ash to the ground with a flick of his finger.

"It has been reported to me that journalists are slowly making their way into my past. Don't worry, I don't think it's your fault. I knew it would happen, but I thought I had more time." He murmured lowly seeing her surprised, horrified face, suddenly as if tired and discouraged, taking another drag with a quiet hiss of fire.

She thought looking at his silhouette illuminated by the first rays of the sun, that he looked like a saint.

"I want you to hear it from me. Will you listen to what I have to say?" He asked calmly and she nodded, feeling her heart pounding fast, looking at him with her lips slightly parted, terrified of what he wanted to tell her.

"My mother I told you about is a nun. She adopted me a few years after I was placed in a convent orphanage." He said calmly, looking away, staring at the crowds of people walking around St Peter's Square.

"They took me from the woman who gave birth to me because she liked to inject various stimulants into her veins. She was asleep when one of her men decided he didn't like the way I looked at him, that I was complaining about being hungry. He decided that he would gouge my eyes out, but he only succeeded with one, my screaming would wake even the dead."

He muttered, not looking at her but somewhere in the distance, letting out a puff of smoke with a deep breath; she looked at him with her eyebrows arched in pain feeling the squeeze in her throat, her cheeks red with emotion.

She wanted to say something but was afraid to interrupt him, she knew that what he was telling her was of the utmost importance and she wondered if anyone else knew about all this, if he had confided in anyone.

"Sister Alicent after I was brought in wouldn't let me call her my mother. So I called every woman I saw that, cooks, cleaners, teachers. She adopted me in the end, unable to look at it anymore. She got a dispensation from the Pope." He said lowly, throwing the cigarette butt on the ground, crushing it with his completely white Adidas.

"Some trashy, cheap magazines are already writing about the fact that I am the son of a nun and the Pope, others with mockery recognise that I am certainly her immaculate conception. That they mock me doesn't bother me, but it fills me with sadness that journalists stand outside her house all day. She can't even go out shopping or gardening. I guess you think the only way out of this situation would be an interview where I would tell my story?"

He asked disapprovingly, looking at her finally; she was shocked and horrified that he was asking her opinion on such an important matter. She shook her head helplessly, shrugging her shoulders.

"You cannot allow them to make your mother a hostage, Holy Father. You must show strength. Call press conferences where you talk about what decisions you make, but don't answer questions about your family. In the Vatican, you are Pius XIII, not Aemond Targaryen. When they see that they cannot blackmail you, they will let go. In my opinion, you both have to bear it." She said what she thought, thinking in the back of her mind that journalists would always want more and the matter would only get worse.

He looked at her silently as if analysing her words and sighed finally, kicking a stone that lay under his feet with his shoe.

"Have you ever kissed?" He asked lightly and she looked at him with shock written all over her face, feeling her heart pounding like crazy, her cheeks burning with heat.

She couldn't believe such a question had come out of his mouth.

"You don't have to answer. I'm just curious. I've never kissed anyone." He replied after a moment, seeing her embarrassed reaction, as if he wanted to clarify and elaborate that his interest was purely scientific and theoretical.

She swallowed loudly, pressing her lips together, thinking that he had told her about himself, about the most private aspects of his life, and decided that nothing bad would happen if she answered him.

"Once, in high school." She muttered, stroking her arm in a gesture of uncertainty and embarrassment, looking away. She heard him hum under his breath, intrigued.

"Did it feel good?" He asked softly, standing a few steps away from her with his hands tucked into his snow-white tracksuit bottoms, cocking his head.

She looked up at him in disbelief, breathing erratically, clasping her hands tighter, involuntarily her gaze escaped to his full, glistening lips.

"It was a very moist, soft and warm sensation." She muttered feeling a tightness in her throat, her gaze fleeing from his eyes to his lips, unable to stop herself from imagining how wonderful it would be to feel how they tasted.

"Hm." He murmured, looking away thoughtfully.

They stood like that for a moment in silence – she could feel the wordless tension around them, as if electricity flowed through the air with their every word and movement.

"Did you confess this deed?"

She blinked and felt her heart stop. She shook her head, looking at him with slightly parted lips.

"Pardon?" She asked in disbelief, feeling discomfort in her lower abdomen and a cold sweat on her back, not believing that he was suggesting such a thing.

"Failure to maintain chastity before marriage is a sin." He replied indifferently; she pressed her lips together, feeling tears of shame and humiliation under her eyelids, her eyebrows arched in pain.

"So I am a sinner, Holy Father." She said coldly, and turned away, leaving without any pleasantries or even a simple goodbye.

She burst out sobbing as she ran down the narrow stairs.

It was only a kiss.

She just wanted to see what it was like.

In fact, she felt bad afterwards, but not because she thought it was a sin, but because she was not in love with this boy.

She asked Father Lenz for any of the drivers to take her home; seeing her face red from tears he asked what had happened, but she did not answer him.

She opened up to him, spoke about an intimate part of her life, and he could only judge her, make her another Eve, a fallen woman.

It was only a kiss.

She returned to her flat filled with regret and disappointment – she angrily pulled off her long dress she had bought and chosen specially to be able to present herself as expected, to keep herself humble, but for what?

She decided that she would never appear there again.

There was no kind of real contract between the two of them, she had only signed documents regarding her collaboration with the Pope's secretaries and a confidentiality clause.

She changed into her pyjamas, undid her hair, took the box of leftover cakes from the cupboard and lay in bed, browsing social media platforms on her phone, trying not to think about what had happened.

She tilted her head back and groaned in frustration when she saw that her uncle had started to call her. She muted her phone and flipped the screen down, sighing.

She lay back on her bedding, staring blankly at the window, and thought with pain that the man who should be giving her the strength to be a better person had made her doubt herself, made her feel sinful and dirty.

She started to think that maybe she should go to confession after all, that maybe he was right, that she was only making excuses for herself without wanting to admit that she was wrong, but she felt even worse at that thought and just burst out crying.

Exhausted by sobbing and remorse, she finally fell asleep, seeing only through her closed eyelids that the phone display lying next to her glowed again and again.

She shuddered, rising quickly to sit up in complete darkness when she heard someone's loud knock on her door; she looked around with a pounding heart, not knowing where she was, whether it was evening or morning.

She glanced at her phone and saw that she had slept for several long hours and the sun had set, on her screen 20 missed calls from her uncle and a plethora of text messages that she didn't have the energy to read.

She sighed heavily and got up, walking reluctantly to the door, knowing her uncle would now make a litany for her; she turned on the night light on the way so she wouldn't trip over anything and she turned the lock, opening it.

"Oh God."

She muttered, seeing the figure of the young Pope in front of her, still in the same white tracksuit and sneakers.

He had his hood up over his head.

He pulled the white earphones out of his ears with a soft flick of his hand – she could hear the heavy metal music playing from them.

"Will you let me in?" He asked indifferently; she looked at him in disbelief, thinking he was risking a lot by going outside just to see her.

She sighed quietly and stepped back, allowing him to go inside. She leaned out wanting to check if anyone had seen him and closed the door quickly.

She glanced at him over her shoulder and saw that he had turned off the music on his player and put it back in his pocket.

They stood for a moment in silence, his gaze focused on her naked thighs; she swallowed loudly with shame at the thought that she was standing before the Head of the Catholic Church in nothing but pyjamas consisting of cream shorts and a shirt buttoned up the front, under which she didn't even have a bra.

She turned her head, running her trembling hand over her face, her heart pounding like mad.

"I made a mistake." She heard his voice full of regret. "I wanted your uncle to pass it on to you, but you didn't answer."

"I didn't and don't feel like talking to anyone, Holy Father." She muttered, feeling a tightening in her chest, fiddling restlessly with the cross hanging on her neck.

She heard him swallow loudly and look to the side, pulling the hood off his head.

"I made you doubt in yourself. In your purity and your value in the eyes of God." He said lowly, and she felt tears gathering in the corners of her eyes for the umpteenth time that day. She closed her eyelids and tilted her head back, trying to control herself, not letting them flow out.

She did not reply.

"My words arise from my depravity, which I fight unsuccessfully. From my vanity and jealousy. I would rather have you locked up in a convent. You could then be by my side and no one would ever touch you again. You could be mine." He said softly, thoughtfully, looking at some point on the floor, as if he had drifted off completely in his musings – she felt her lips part in disbelief, her brow arching in pain.

I would rather have you locked up in a convent.

You could be mine.

What was she to reply to such a shocking confession?

She shuddered when he finally turned his attention to her, the gaze of his healthy eye sharp and piercing, while his artificial one was empty, white, lifeless.

"Though never before have my members reacted to the sight and thought of a woman, when I see you, I long to touch you, to taste you, to smell you. I have become addicted to your scent and try to recall it after evening prayer before I fall asleep." He spoke calmly, as if it was not an emotionally driven statement but something thought out, something that had been going on in his head for a very long time.

She felt with fear how her body reacted to his words with a greedy throbbing between her thighs and a moisture from which the material of her underwear was getting wet, her nipples hardened, more clearly visible from under her shirt.

She froze when she saw his gaze flee to her breasts, seeing exactly what she feared, his full lips parted slightly; she could hear his breathing clearly, fingers of his hands rubbing against each other in an anxious, nervous gesture.

"What do you feel now?" He whispered and she drew in the air loudly, feeling a tightness in her throat. She licked her lips dry from stress, taking a step backwards, hitting her back against the wall, feeling that she had nowhere to run. She helplessly clenched her thighs together, wanting to stop what was happening, seeing that his pupil widened at the sight.

"I'm wet." She confessed in shame, recognising that there was no point in pretending that there was something innocent in what was happening – her body was twitching with desire, begging for his touch and relief, her heart pounding like mad.

She heard him draw in a loud breath at her words while looking straight into her eyes, she saw fire in them, heavenly or hellish.

"Does it feel good?" He asked softly, gazing shamelessly at the spot between her thighs – she felt a wonderful heat in her lower abdomen and a tickling inside her, her walls were clenching around nothing at his question.

She thought helplessly that she had never felt anything like this before in her life.

"Yes." She whispered in a trembling voice, feeling her whole body quiver and pulsate, feeling desire in her fingertips, in her lips and down there, deep, deep inside her.

She shuddered as he approached her with a slow step and lifted her terrified gaze to him. His lips were parted in an anxious, hitched breath, in his eyes heat and darkness from which she felt a squeeze in her throat and between her thighs.

He stood over her, for a moment just looking at her – his trembling hands finally raised, reaching for the buttons of her shirt. They looked at each other with some kind of pain and suffering from which she felt a sting in her heart as a coldness enveloped her naked skin.

It seemed to her that it lasted an eternity – he took his time, his gaze fixed on the line of her bare body as he unbuttoned her shirt fully; he didn't expose her breasts, he just looked at her.

She gasped when he lifted his hand and ran his fingertips slowly over her sternum down to her stomach – she closed her eyes and sighed quietly, feeling her lips pulsate with desire, swollen and thirsty.

"− so soft − so warm −" He whispered; her quivering palm rose and touched his fingers, his hand larger and more massive than hers, she could feel the outline of his veins clearly under her skin.

She pressed his hand to her heart, heard him draw in the air hard as he felt it beat beneath his fingertips.

He looked at her, remaining still, as if frozen, knowing that one word from him, one expression of hesitation and they would be left with only shame, only regret, only disappointment.

She felt the tears under her eyelids, which involuntarily one by one ran down her face; he noticed it and shook his head, his breathing shaky, uneven, despairing.

"− you're so pure −" He whispered, nuzzling the tip of his nose into her cheek as if seeking refuge. She clenched her eyelids in shock at how intimate and desired this closeness was, his scent filled her entire lungs, his warm breath enveloped her cheek.

"− looking at you I feel terror because I regret − I regret that I will never feel you − that I will never give you what I want −" He muttered in a trembling voice; she felt his warm tears running down her skin.

They both gasped when his shaking hand tentatively began to slide lower and sobbed in pleasure as his fingers slipped hesitantly under the material of her shorts, deep between her thighs.

They were panting and quivering with desire, her trembling hands clenched on his arms as his fingertips pushed the material of her underwear aside with a shy gesture full of shame, she heard his low, helpless groan as he felt how wet she was.

"− God, help me −" He mumbled in a broken voice full of guilt – she tried but was unable to stop the moans of pleasure that left her mouth with each tentative movement of his fingers that brushed her swollen, throbbing womanhood, her body was so tense she felt she was on the edge.

"− please −" She whimpered pleadingly, placing her hand on his with a gesture full of desperation, wanting to feel him harder, deeper.

She tilted her head back as she finally felt him the way she wanted to, his fingertips digging into her fleshy, hot, moist folds with intense, circular strokes – she could feel his hot, ragged breath on her skin, his face pressed against her cheek, her hands clenched in a helpless gesture on the material of his sweatshirt.

Tears of despair and delight streamed down their faces, tired of pretending and fleeing, shivers ran down her spine every time the tips of his fingers teased again that tender bud from which her sobriety of mind was taken away; it seemed to her that their bodies were moving on their own, something hard and throbbing under his trousers rubbing against her thigh with desperate strokes.

"− forgive me − say you forgive me −" He mumbled pleadingly in a breaking voice.

She felt him trembling all over just like her, unable to stop now, knowing there was no way back, her face wet with her and his tears.

She reached her palm into his hair and combed through it with her fingers, letting out her breath with a loud sob, moving involuntarily to the rhythm of his hand as it pressed harder and harder against her fleshy skin with the lewd click of her moisture.

"− I forgive you − I forgive you and ask for forgiveness −" She gasped as she felt something approaching, moaning louder and louder.

She thought that despite the fact that he was touching her in this forbidden, sinful place, some incomprehensible kind of intimacy and innocence was added to what was happening by the fact that he hadn't exposed her naked body, that he hadn't wanted to possess her, only to experience something with her and in her presence.

"− good God, you're leaking − so sticky − I'll lick it off my fingers −" He whispered with a kind of awe, as if he were talking about something sacred and mysterious.

She felt that his words had done something to her – she cried out loudly, parting her lips in disbelief when suddenly a wave of warm pleasure surged through her body like a lightning bolt.

She felt wonderful tickling in her lips, in the tips of her fingers, in her breasts, in her chest, her inside's clenching greedily around nothing, her moisture trickled down onto his hand, she heard his low, surprised groan.

Her body suddenly became numb; she would have fallen if he hadn't put his arm around her in time, his hand ran over her cheek heated from the exertion.

"− you look like Bernini's Saint Teresa − so beautiful −" He mumbled in a trembling voice, panting hard along with her, looking at her dreamily. She sighed sweetly, laying her head on his chest, letting him embrace her tightly.

She could feel his manhood throbbing under the damp material of his sweatpants.

He came.

She stayed in his embrace not daring to look at him, not daring to think about what they had done, wanting to push back the moment when they would feel remorse, pain and regret, sinking only into this wonderful relief.

You look like Bernini's Saint Teresa.

A sculpture in which a holy woman curves in ecstasy after an angel pierces her with an arrow of Divine Love.

God's Delight.

______

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @randomdragonfires @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13 @snh96 @rwdkarla @echos-muses

[si1verghosts]

Hi!

3. A kiss on the forehead😌

helloooo dear anon!! i am sorry this took so long i could not for the life of me figure out to write but then ! i wrote this on the 4th and i realized it could work... maybe... sorta. this may not be what you were expecting/wanting but there's forehead kisses in there.... somewhere 🫡 also, if u are not american i apologize for giving you a july 4th fic 😭 but the holiday is relatively inconsequential here like theres no patriotism it's just a backdrop if u know what i mean.... anyway, i hope u enjoy <33

you taste like the 4th of july

di leon s. kennedy x fem reader (no use of y/n)

wc: 3.5k

18+ | cw: mentions of drinking | tw: thoughts about death and dying

tags: established relationship; fluff (i guess??); slight changes to canon to suit author's headcanons

read on ao3

a/n: for the past few months i've been working on this very insane multi-chap post di leon fic 😵‍💫 this was written with that in mind But does not have a place in that story... probably.... idk!!! either way, i think it can be read as a standalone just fine

additionally, there is a scene in here where leon picks the reader up. i would just like to say like... he gets thrown into concrete walls on a biweekly basis and gets up and walks it off without issue so i think he can lift anyone no matter their size or shape!!

not beta read or proofread - sorry if any of it is gibberish i've had a wicked migraine the past few days... will maybe attempt to proofread once i can see correctly again 🚬🧍‍♀️regardless, all mistakes are my own

i do not own leon or any other resi character mentioned, etc etc, please don't sue me <3

please do not use my work to train any sort of AI chatbot and/or writing generator.

-----

"It was a good day, wasn't it?" Leon asks, wrapping his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder as you stand over the patio table, cleaning up the abandoned plates and platters.

You hum. It was; a beautiful, cloudless July 4th, spent with Leon's friends in the backyard of your home. The only ones missing were Ashley and Ingrid; the former having a standing family commitment and the latter planning to spend her holiday on the beach, away from the country and your fiancé.

Typically, Chris hosted the Independence Day cookout, but Leon offered up your new home as this year's venue, citing your in-ground pool and the plenty of extra space you have for guests to stay. In reality, he just wanted the chance to out-grill Chris - he'd been preparing since Memorial Day; testing different spice and sauce combinations as well as stocking your freezer full of large cuts of meat.

He'd started before you were even awake, chopping and seasoning in the kitchen, slowly loading up the smoker. You'd joined him on the patio a few hours later, watching from your pool floaty as he poked and prodded at various things.

You don't even eat meat, didn't know the whole thing was so involved, but you did enjoy the view; worn blue jeans hugging his frame as he crouched to check a thermometer.

You had taken a short break from the water, tying up lights and setting a few little decorations around before your guests arrived. Rebecca was the first, tucking her jugs of pre-made cocktail and platter of deviled eggs into your fridge before joining you on the patio.

Chris wasn't far behind, unloading two coolers filled with beer and containers of homemade potato and pasta salads. He'd handed one off to you, grinning, "Claire made one just for you this year."

You'd thanked him, making another attempt to get him to share his family's recipes with you. It was futile, you probably couldn't even waterboard it out of either of them.

Claire had arrived on her motorcycle shortly after, pulling a bundle of fireworks out of her saddlebags. "Sorry I'm late," she said - even though she wasn't - dumping the pile on the ground, thankfully far away from the grill. "Had to stop for these."

Leon had crouched down to inspect them, listening intently as Claire told him about all the different varieties she'd purchased while you relaxed back into the pool.

Sherry arrived next, Jake trailing behind her. She'd left both him and her bags of chips at the table, giving Leon and Claire quick hugs before immediately joining you in the water.

She'd slipped in right beside your floaty, grabbing your hand to get a look at your engagement ring - she'd yet to see it, having been so busy with work. Her eyes widened at the ring as she pushed her sunglasses up to rest on top of her head, "Leon picked this out? Our Leon? Leon Kennedy? Are you sure?"

You'd giggled at her astonishment, "Ashley helped him out; took him to one of her favorite jewelers."

"I should've guessed," She nods. "For my 20th Birthday, he bought me this crazy cute pink tennis bracelet and I was like, 'no way you picked this out alone.' He fessed up that he got a little help from a friend named Ashley.

"At the time, I thought it was just some girlfriend - or hoped, I guess. Back then, I spent a lot of time hoping that Claire and Leon weren't just… working; I liked to think they were taking time for themselves, that they were happy," she had trailed off then, looking off to the tree line behind your house for a minute. Blinking the mist from her eyes, she shrugged, continuing on, "Anyways, I'm thankful to Ash for that bracelet, it was there with me though… a lot. And I'm thankful to you for making him happy, like I always wanted him to be."

With that, you slid off the float to give her a hug, holding her tight as you whispered your thanks. You had worked to bite back your tears - if she didn't cry, neither would you.

Luckily, Jill had walked in a few seconds later, providing a distraction in the form of the most ridiculously large watermelon. "Hey, Kennedy," she shouted, pulling Leon out of his conversation with Claire as she gestured to the melon tucked under her arm. "Can't burn this, can I?"

Leon had thrown his head back with a laugh - in previous years, Jill had always brought boxed brownies with extra crispy edges and Leon invariably had to make a comment about them. "I don't know," he had shrugged, "When it comes to you, Valentine, I'll never say never."

Jill had reared the watermelon back, acting as if she was going to throw it at him. Leon had thrown his arms up, shielding his face, causing everyone to crumble into laughter at the scene.

"It was nice," you agree, reaching to pick up the barong machete he had given Jill when she asked for a knife to cut the melon. "We do have kitchen knives, you know," you scold mockingly, gently waving the blade around.

"I know," he says, releasing you to reach around and pluck the machete out of your hand. "It's good to exercise these every once in a while, though."

You roll your eyes at him, "It's a machete, Leon, not a horse."

He waves you off, slipping through the patio door to wash the blade in the kitchen sink. You take the opportunity to speed clean, knowing it'll be a much harder task once he returns and wraps his arms back around you.

Thankfully everyone had taken care of their own plates and cups - they'd tried to stay and do more but you had ushered them out of the backyard, wanting Chris, Sherry and Jake to depart before the traffic picked up with the crowds leaving the city following the fireworks shows. Jill, Claire and Rebecca had taken up on your offer to stay, at least, piling into your guest rooms. You were glad to have them, secretly plotting to drag them to brunch once you all woke.

You finish piling the platters as Leon makes his way back outside. Before he can get his hands on you and derail your progress, you point to the stack, "Take those inside."

He frowns, "Can't it just wait until tomorrow?"

"We'll get ants; come on, five minutes and it'll be done."

He sighs, but doesn't protest further, carrying the heavy plates inside as you follow him with the utensils. You stack everything by the sink before turning to him, "Is there any of Becca's cocktail left?"

He cocks his brow, tilting his head, "You really want to try that again?"

It's a valid question - you had given it a go earlier and despite everyone's warnings to take it easy, you had thrown back a large mouthful right off the bat. You ended up wincing in pain, "Fuck, that burns. What'd you put in there, Becca?"

She'd shrugged, "Oh, you know, a splash of this, a splash of that. And," she teased, drawing out the vowel, "A bit of my own creation."

"Your own creation…" You had muttered, trailing off before it hit you, "Test tube alcohol?"

She had giggled, grinning, "Takes some getting used to."

You had tried another, much tinier sip. You were able to enjoy the sweetness of the juice for a moment before the burn kicked in again, causing you to curse once more, louder.

Leon had shifted his attention from Chris to you at your exclamation. Seeing the jug of Rebecca's cocktail in front of you on the table, he quickly pieced together what was happening, calling over to Rebecca from his place by the grill, "You trying to kill my fiancé, Becks?"

"Absolutely not; that'd be a stupid thing for me to do," she'd shot back. "She's the only one who can keep you in line, and we kind of like you like that."

"Well," you start, rolling the word around your mouth, "No. But yes - there's gotta be some sort of trick to it, right? Everyone else drank it just fine."

"The trick is," he starts, voice low, reaching out to grab ahold of your hips, "To not drink it. Let me make you some tea instead."

"Fine," you pout, relaxing into his grip, not bothering to argue - tea won't make you hate yourself in the morning.

He moves his hands from your hips, sliding his fingertips along your spine. "Go wait outside," he says, releasing you with a featherlight kiss to your forehead, "I'll bring it out."

With a brush of your lips against his cheek in thanks, you slip away from him, heading back out to the backyard and pulling off your shorts, settling onto the ledge of the shallow end of the pool. The air has cooled with the setting of the sun, becoming a comforting warmth instead of an overbearing heat. You dip your legs into the water, thankful you insisted on having a pool when you and Leon were house hunting.

Someone is still setting off fireworks; they're a few miles away, though - you can hear them more than you can see them. Resting back on your palms, you close your eyes, imagining what bursts of color may be accompanying each sound.

Leon joins you a few minutes later - just after the fireworks had died down - sporting his swim shorts and carrying your tea. He bends, setting the mug next to you with a kiss to your temple, nosing at your hair. "Earl Grey," he reports before drawling, "How terribly unpatriotic of you."

"You going to arrest me for treason, Agent Kennedy?" You laugh, reaching up to squeeze his thigh below the hem of his shorts. "You're the one who made it; they'd nail you as an accomplice."

He falls into a crouch, leg muscles bunching under the pads of your fingertips as he shifts closer to touch his lips on your cheek. "They can hang us together, then," he remarks, voice a bit too serious for it to be just a joke. "Side by side, off the same branch."

You sit back just enough to get your eyes focused on him, reaching your other hand out to thumb at his bottom lip. "Dulce et decorum est pro cor mori," you whisper, tacking on a hum in question.

He cocks his head at the unfamiliar words, nipping at your nail playfully, "English please, baby."

You consider him for a moment, the translation of the true phrase running through your mind; how sweet and honorable it is to die for one's country. The old lie, it's come to be known as - fittingly.

It's a similar sentiment to one that's grown to become your fear; that he'll die for the sake of the country, under orders from the government, believing it was his duty.

But you think your spin on it may be true; would be willing to find out.

You don't want to weigh him down with the thought, though, choosing to reel him in for a kiss instead. "I love you," is the answer you settle on, laying the words down right on his tongue.

He seems content with your translation - the method of delivery likely having something to do with it - humming into your mouth. He kisses you back lazily for a long, languid moment before he pulls away, "As much as I'm enjoying this, I've been wanting to get in there all day," he says, nodding his head towards the water.

"Go," you chuckle, giving him a gentle push away from you with the hand still resting along his face.

He lays another quick peck against your lips before standing, padding around the edge to the steps. He pauses for a moment to pull his shirt over his head, skin honeyed under the soft glow of the lights you'd hung around the patio.

A second later, he slips under the surface without hesitation; kicking off the steps, moving quickly to the deep end. He almost shimmers as he glides along the floor of the pool, the rippling of the gentle waves he'd created making him seem like some sort of mirage as he passes by you.

He comes up for air once he hits the far wall, tossing his hair back, smoothing the water from his eyes. He doesn't rest long, though, beginning to swim short laps across the width of the deep end.

You observe him, sipping your tea slowly, appreciating the way his back and arms work with each stroke. He continues long enough for you to nearly drain your cup, stopping short when another trio of fireworks set off in the distance.

Setting your mug down, you eye him, preparing to slip into the pool to soothe him if you have to, but he relaxes once he connects the sound to the flashes in the sky. The tension that had flooded the line of his shoulders drains into the water as he shifts to wade backward, moving closer to where you sit.

You finish off your drink as he starfishes out across the surface of the water, floating just a few feet in front of you. You wonder if you could use him as a floaty, pinning up a note in your brain to try it out sometime.

"I'm glad you insisted on a pool, sweetheart," he sighs, breaking your companionable silence.

You hum, pleased, kicking your legs out gently and causing the water to lap against his skin. More fireworks sound out; he doesn't tense this time, but he does get his feet back under himself, moving to where you sit along the ledge.

Sliding his hands up your legs, he pillows his head in your lap, wet hair fanning out across your thighs. You shift your weight back onto your right hand, laying the other along his jaw. His eyes flutter closed as you brush your thumb along his cheekbone and the scar that runs beneath it.

He picks at the tie of your bathing suit absentmindedly, tugging at the strings when you slide your hand into his hair, scratching at his scalp. "Sherry said something to me earlier."

He makes a noise urging you to elaborate, not bothering to open his eyes.

"She told me that when she was younger, she hoped that you and Claire were living your lives; that you were doing more than just working, you know? She said she wanted you guys to be happy," you explain, working to keep your voice even.

He cracks his eyes open, picking his head up to watch you as you continue. "She thanked me," you swallow thickly, "for making you happy, like she always wanted you to be."

He smiles at your words, and it's a beautiful thing. You still get all twisted up inside with how gorgeous he is; neurons overclocking themselves with the thrill of being the subject of his attention.

"I owe you a thank you, too, baby," he starts, pausing to nose at your wrist.

"You don't owe me anything, Leon," you tug at his damp strands still between your fingers, highlights catching the yellow glow from the lights around the patio.

"I do," he says, the words sending a jolt through you. You never intended on getting married, yet here you are now, eager to hear the phrase on the altar.

He kisses the thin skin of your wrist, lips lingering as if he can feel the thrum of your heartbeat; knows that the pace has picked up under his affection. "All this," he pulls back, taking a hand off you to gesture to the pool; the backyard; the house; to you. "It's something I never thought I'd get.

"Sherry's right - you're behind basically every bit of happiness I have now, sweetheart; I owe it all to you." He reaches up, untangling your grip from his hair, thumbing gently at the ring he put there, "Thank you."

You can't respond verbally, will burst into tears if you do. In lieu of speech, you lean forward, pressing your lips against his insistently.

He seems to get the message; understands that the pleasure is all yours, that you'd give him anything and everything you can - knowing he'd do the same for you.

He gets his arms back around you, continuing your kiss as he lifts you from the edge of the pool and into the water with him. You wrap your legs around his waist, safe and secure in his hold.

His teeth catch along your bottom lip and the neighbors down the street set off fireworks, the bright bursts of color painting your backyard in reds and blues and greens and oranges. The sparks reflect off the surface of the water as he slides his nose against yours and not for the first time, you think this may all be a dream. Maybe you died four years ago and this whole thing has been some sort of afterlife; you aren't sure you'd done anything worth this treatment, though.

Maybe it's more supernatural in origin; an intricate hallucination weaved by a Djinn that's got you chained up in some dark, damp basement as it feeds off your blood. Or maybe you just went crazy and the pool is actually a padded room, Leon's mouth against yours a product of your mind working to distract itself from your reality.

Whatever the case may be, it certainly feels real when he shifts his hold on you, hoists you up higher to get at your neck, laying kisses up and down the column of your throat, nipping at your jaw.

But before he can venture much further, the neighbor's fireworks show grows into an extravaganza, the relentless popping and bursting becoming a nuisance, shattering the illusion of your teeny-boppy movie moment.

"Jeez," Leon mutters, breath hot against the saliva cooling on your skin, causing you to shudder. "Did they buy out a whole tent?"

"Did you check that Claire actually went to bed?" You ask, shaking yourself free of his hold. "She could've joined them; brought everything I wouldn't let her set off here."

He hums, letting you down into the water, considering your words - even though you said it as a joke, it certainly is a possibility. You seem to come to this realization at the same time, eyes narrowing at each other as the spray of fireworks continues overhead. "We should…" He starts, nodding towards the stairs.

"Yeah," you agree, already beginning to move.

You pause to grab your towels, wrapping your own around yourself, throwing the other over Leon's shoulders when you catch up to him at the patio door. Stepping inside, you hear someone knocking around your kitchen.

Luckily, it's Claire. She steps back from the cabinet she'd been rifling through to face you and Leon with a frown. "Isn't this shit ridiculous?" She remarks, pointing to the ceiling in reference to the fireworks.

"You're one to talk, Claire," Leon shoots back. "Didn't you just set off about five hundred dollars worth of them in my backyard a few hours ago?"

"Yes, a few hours ago," she reiterates. "Nothing should be set off after the show at the Capitol is finished - after that, you're done; you missed your shot; better luck next year."

"Exactly," you nod in agreement at her reasoning, "They should put you in charge."

She grins at your words, moving to continue on, but Leon cuts in before she can start; "What is it that you were clawing through my cabinets for?"

She sighs, displeased with his interruption, setting her hands on her hips. "Where do you keep the ibuprofen?"

Leon shoos her out of the way, padding across the kitchen to get the medicine himself. Claire relents without argument, attention immediately shifting back to you as she leans over the counter. "So," she wiggles her eyebrows, "It seems like that pool was a good investment, huh?"

You bite at your lip, ears burning with embarrassment that she'd seen you and Leon necking in the water like teenagers - even though you shouldn't be flustered; it is your house, after all.

Leon sets the bottle of ibuprofen and a glass of water down in front of Claire, annoyance evident with the way he uses a bit more force than really necessary, causing the items to clack against the marble.

"What?" Claire questions, glaring at him. "It was cute."

Leon huffs in response, unable to hide the flush that crawls up his neck at her words. You can't help the giggle that bubbles out of you, enjoying the way they bicker like siblings.

Claire leaves Leon to stew, tossing you a grin as she collects the bottle and glass, bidding you goodnight once more before she leaves the kitchen.

You move around the counter to Leon, steps careful in an effort not to slip on the water that has dripped off him and onto the tile. The neighbors must've ran out of fireworks while you were distracted by Claire as it's silent when you wrap your arms around him, tucking your face into his neck. "Still a good day?" You ask, voice muffled against his skin.

He slings an arm around you, fingers fanning out along the small of your back, "Still a good day."

[honkytonk-hangman]

Flight Risk

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader

Summary: The sky beyond the baking tarmac is cloudless, and washed with deep reds and oranges, the way it always is by the time Jake lands when the monthly inter-squad training simulation has drawn to a close. Almost always.

Today, the sky had been a bright Carolina blue.

Today, Hangman had been shot down.

Warnings: cussing? jake being soppy. mentions of handsy dates, sexual referencessss

Notes: so this started as an AU for my fic Afterburn, and still technically is, however it can be read totally independently of that story as well.

Jake is perched in a casual lean against his plane, watching as the last jet in the pattern finally lands, continuing to wait patiently as the Super Hornet is guided to its designated area, just a few places down from his own. The sky beyond the baking tarmac is cloudless, and washed with deep reds and oranges, the way it always is by the time Jake lands when the monthly inter-squad training simulation has drawn to a close. Almost always.

Today, the sky had been a bright Carolina blue.

Today, Hangman had been shot down.

Jake takes a small amount of comfort in knowing that the pilot responsible for his simulated demise is also the pilot to win the day, despite that meaning his own squad losing out on the point. It wouldn’t happen again, however. He’d foolishly underestimated you, disregarded the gossip he’d overheard about Samurai squad’s newest member, choosing instead to judge for himself. Jake was a prideful son of a bitch at the best of times, and much worse at most others, but he wasn’t actually incapable of shutting the hell up and accepting his slice of humble pie.

At least, he’d accept it in his own special way, which is exactly why he waits long after the others have filtered off to the locker rooms. They’re already clocked off for the day by the time the ground crew have secured the last jet, and the pilot has climbed down. Jake shifts on his feet and gets a good look as you approach, purposefully giving you a suggestive up and down as you spot him and slow your walk.

“That was some flyin’,” he says, pushing off the side of his own jet and coming to stand before you. You blink at him, but raise an eyebrow as you manoeuvre your helmet to rest against your hip.

“I’m sorry, do we know each other?” you ask, eyes sparkling in amusement. Jake grabs at his chest, like you’ve shot him down again, and winces.

“Aw, c’mon, Kodiak” he starts, before fixing you with a piercing stare. “I don’t give out compliments that often, give it to me easy.”

“Only thing I’ll give you is my afterburner.”

Jake can’t help himself, he grins wide. He knows he should keep up the banter, you were clearly well equipped to spar with him, didn’t seem to take anything too personally so far, but all he can think as he stares at the first pilot to ever shoot him down, sweat slicking your flyaway hairs to your forehead, the sunsetting below the tarmac behind you, your cheeks a little ruddy from your time in the air, is that he’s going to marry you.

Luckily, Jake has the good sense to keep this to himself for now.

He steps forward slightly, and holds out his hand, watching as you eye it suspiciously for a moment.

“I’m Hangman,” he tells you as you relent and shake his hand.

“I know who you are, that's why I went for you first.” you reply with surprisingly little smugness in your voice, just plain truth. Jake lifts an eyebrow at you.

“Using me to raise your profile I see,” he teases. You don’t seem to notice that you’re still shaking his hand, and Jake feels slightly thankful, because he’s memorising the way it feels. You scoff at him.

“And what would you have done?” you challenge. Jake just looks your features over, and decides an evening ceremony will be perfect.

You realise then that you’re still shaking his hand, and you hurriedly pull away, moving to hold your helmet in both hands as if to stop yourself from reaching out again.

“I need to go do my post-flight checks,” you say quickly, sidestepping Jake and moving off toward the hanagar, and probably the showers. Jake turns and watches you go, his smile never faltering.

“Kodiak!” he calls out, waiting for you to stop and turn back to him before going on. “I enjoyed flying with you.” Jake tells you honestly, but musters his most serious expression so that you’ll know that too. He watches your brows furrow suspiciously for a moment, almost like you’re expecting him to laugh like it’s just a prank, but after a couple more seconds, your frown smooths into something more curious, before your face at last completely softens and you give him a small, but genuine smile.

“I enjoyed shooting you down,” you reply, your voice sincere, but your words catching him off guard and making Jake let out a surprised bark of laughter. 

Your smile widens just a little in the corners, like perhaps you had liked making him laugh, but soon enough you’re shifting your helmet in your hands again, and giving him a parting nod before once again you turn your back and walk away.

Jake stands still in place and watches as you shrink before at last disappearing entirely into the hangar. Once sure he’s alone, he places his hands on his hips and lets out a long, low whistle. He feels his heartbeat thump away rapidly in his chest, his adrenaline still spiking from just the thrill of speaking to you properly and in person for the first time, after being forced only to listen to your voice all afternoon on the radios.

It was a very nice voice, he thinks, both in person and on the radios, and it suits your very nice face very nicely. With a last whistle of approval, Jake begins making his own way inside, and even though he’d promised himself earlier that never again would he let you shoot him down, now he can’t help but think anything that brought you enjoyment was worth repeating.

Replaying your conversation over and over as he finally showers, changes, and heads home for the night, the first thing Jake does upon arriving in his apartment is reach for the pad and pen he keeps on the kitchen counter. He scribbles down the date, and writes out the highlights from your conversation as best as he remembers them. Peeling it off the pad, he folds it neatly, before placing it carefully inside the leather bound folder that held such items as his passport and birth certificate, before replacing it again in its hiding spot.

He wouldn’t need the contents of the note for a little while, he thinks, but when it came time to write the speech he’d give at your wedding, Jake wanted to know exactly where he could find it.

“Well, that was pathetic,” Javy nudges Jake in the ribs, and nods in your direction across the bar. Jake, who until now has been trying hard not to look your way, is finally given the perfect reason to do so, and swings his eyes over to you.

You’re sitting near the bar in your civvies, with a man who Jake can’t help but notice is not himself, and who is currently being awfully handsy for his liking. You don’t look completely comfortable either, but he also knows you have no trouble telling men to calm down when you aren’t feeling their advances. Neither reason adds up to exactly why Jake almost immediately chooses to abandon Javy by the pool table.

Part way across the bar, Jake realises that it’s not even a rescue attempt he’s trying for, clearly you were fine, no, this reaction from him is entirely new, spurred on by a good many things, but right now, by the abysmal looking date you were enduring. He slows his pace, and begins to move at a more natural gait, his lack of rush having no active affect on the crowds around him either way. Jake was both tall enough and wide enough that people tend to part for him as he walks regardless of asking.

He feels his chest puff out a little when you notice him coming before he even reaches you, and how even though he positions himself at the bar behind you, you seem to subconsciously turn a little to be able to look over at him anyway. Jake grins to himself when your ‘date’ seems to flounder at your seemingly captured attention, and quickly asks if you’d like another of the little cocktails you’d picked that night.  Jake can’t help but scoff internally. He’d asked you once why you drank beer with the squad, but only ordered fruit drinks when you had a date, to which you’d replied that you thought it appeared more feminine. Jake scoffs again, this time out loud.

“You’ll let this guy take you out, but not me? You don’t even like that, you’re not even drinking it!” he says quietly enough so that only you are able to hear the clipped annoyance in his words. You cock your head at him, and raise your straw to your lips either spitefully or indignantly.

“Still sour about that Jakey?” you tease. Despite the subject matter, and his frustration that these men you went out with seemingly had something Jake did not, he can’t help but feel pride pump through his veins upon seeing the way your face, especially your eyes, have lit up for the first time all night, something which he thinks should be a bare minimum when. If a man couldn’t engage you, then he just wasn’t good enough for you, was he?

Jake shrugs noncommittally in response to your question, both of you knowing full well the answer to that. Instead, he looks away from you briefly as the bartender approaches, but feels your gaze burning the side of his cheek.

“Two beers please,” he says, paying and waiting patiently for the drinks to be deposited on the bar before he looks back at you again. He nudges one in your direction, pretending as though he doesn’t care if you accept it or not, by taking a sip of his own. His faux-apathy is completely blown by the way he doesn’t take his eyes off of you, even as he drinks, waiting to see whether or not you’ll take the beer. You watch him with the barest amount of disapproval that you can muster, before almost shyly collecting up the chilled glass bottle in your hands.

“Are you forgetting something, perhaps? Oh, it’s super important, the name is on the tip of my tongue! What're they called again…?” you purse your lips and frown deeply, making an almost sincere show of recalling the information you’re after.

Jake waits as you seem to get it at last, snapping your finger and pointing it at him. “Fraternisation laws!” you exclaim overly enthusiastic for the topic at hand, contrasting with the way you stare flatly at him. Jake brushes your finger aside as he turns inward to face you fully, and cocks his head curiously down at you.

“You know I’ve already got my half of the paperwork filled out Teddy Bear, I’m just waitin’ on you.” Jake leans in toward you as he speaks, moving in near enough that one might call it risque, but he prefers intimate. For your part, you seem to be trying hard to suppress a smile, which you don’t succeed at, however you still shake your head at him anyway, and pull back, which makes Jake immediately step out of your space a little, returning to an appropriate distance for two officers.

“I bet you say that to all the pilots.” you say quietly, almost to yourself. The line is a worn cliche, he almost writes it off, except that your tone is entirely new, and entirely too put-out for your usual wave offs.

“Only the ones that keep shooting me down,” he replies after a beat watching you, not really certain how else he should reply to this development in your now storied routine of rejecting his interest, even though he knows that you like him very much. Fraternisation had been the last reason, though, nobody really took that seriously enough to not even bother navigating its murky depths of paperwork, but before that you’d listed not being hungry enough for dinner and having to video call with your model-building partner, neither serious excuses, right?

At this point Jake isn’t what one might say is desperate, but is what one might call unwilling to watch you sit through another completely inadequate date, with men who seemed to always be on the worst side of interested in you. That meant they fell somewhere firmly between sleazy and handsy, neither category of which was amongst Jake’s personal favourite reasons for liking you so much, which in no particular order included your excellence as an aviator, your sharp sense of humour, and your unbridled ambition.

Up until now, though, you’ve never once turned him away with something that sounded so much like it might be true. You’ve also never once stared up at him the way you are now, your expression significant, but unreadable to him.

Then, after thinking perhaps he had gotten somewhere real with you tonight, Jake feels a familiar twinge of disappointment as you turn back to your date, moving in closer to talk quietly with the man.

Jake looks down at his beer and lets out a sigh, ready to leave you to your fun, and return to his prior activity of pretending not to watch you from afar. When the man accompanying you noisily  steps back from the bar, the movement catches Jake’s eye, and he turns to see as the man looks briefly between you, before his eyes swing to Jake.

Jake hasn’t even caught on properly yet when your apparent former date turns on his heel and stalks darkly into the crowd, before at last disappearing entirely. Now free of your upsettingly poor choice of date, you swing your chair back around to face him, knees knocking into him with enough force to jolt Jake back to reality, where he discovers things to have played out almost exactly as he’d thought he’d been imagining them.

“Alright Seresin, you’ve got one shot at this,” you tell him, sounding like you don’t really mean it at all. Even so, Jake straightens and fixes you with his best self-assured smirk, but only because he knows you like it when he does.

“One shot is all I need,” he says proudly, before a few seconds pass and he finds himself blinking at the unintentional disclaimer he’s just given. “I mean, I’ll gladly take as many shots as you want, but–”

“Jesus, Jake! Anyone would think you haven't been laid in months!” you cut him off with a bark of laughter, your features in almost complete disbelief at such a thing. Jake pauses, hesitating with how he should respond, but eventually relaxes once more, and leans down on the bar again to fix you with his stare.

“Two months,” he informs you simply. You actually snort this time, which he finds utterly adorable, and you continue to chortle at his apparent joke, until you seem to realise he isn’t joining you. Your face falls then, and you blink at him in surprise, a flash of guilt mixing in with it, before you quickly attempt to play off your astonishment.

“Like, Seriously?” You ask, staring at him. Jake just nods, giving a short shrug, but doesn’t break your eye contact. After several more seconds pass, heavy with your bewilderment, you settle in your spot beside him one more, and let out a small huff. “Saving yourself for somebody special, then?” your eyebrows lift up as you ask, voice lilting with humour, but you don’t fully smile yet, like you’re afraid of still possibly offending him. Jake simply shrugs again, but rolls his eyes lightly. 

He’s well aware of his reputation before you, as is almost all on base who know him, or those who frequent the Navy bars scattered nearby. He thinks maybe he should have gone about distributing the updated information on him, however, because as far as Jake is concerned, he had been off the market for quite some time.

Unofficially, anyway.

“Oh, she’s very special, darlin’. Someone worth saving myself for. I think you’d like her a lot,” Jake does his best not to sound too goofy about it, but he swings almost too far the opposite way, and finds himself hoping to god that the purring quality to his voice as he speaks isn’t too much.

You stare at Jake for several seconds processing his line briefly, before at last scoffing and rolling your eyes as you turn slightly away from him to take a sip of your drink. Despite this reaction likely wounding a lesser man, Jake knows his words have resonated at least a little, because both your scoff or your eye roll half-hearted at best, both also completely undermined by the not-so-tiny smile you clearly can’t repress properly, even if you try to hide it by taking another sip.

“Answer me this, Seresin;” you start when a few minutes have passed, Jake having also taken to sipping his beer, choosing to let the subject settle between you for a bit. “I know about you, and I’m not like, slut-shaming you or anything, but how do I know all of this isn’t just the usual bullshit you parcel out? How do I know I’m not just another in a long line of others?” you ask, your voice surprisingly light for the frankness and seriousness of your words. Jake blinks at you, his brow furrowing this time, and notes the way your gaze flickers to the crease between his brows for half a second.

He places his beer down and blows out a puff of air. He doesn’t answer you right away, can’t really, because on some level he realises telling you that he’s been planning your lives together since the day you’d met won’t go down super well, but he also doesn’t want to misrepresent the level of his feelings toward you.

“Well, you don’t. I mean, you are,” he speaks carefully, already expecting the frown that appears on your face almost immediately, and quickly goes on. “But you’re the last in that line. I can promise you that.” Jake’s voice becomes involuntarily quieter as he finishes speaking, and he hates the uncertain sound the softness gives his words, but knows saying them again will only cheapen them.

You stare at one another for several heart-thumping seconds, and Jake wonders if the rest of the bar has all but disappeared for you too, or if you were still well aware of everything going on around you. For all Jake knew, the bar didn’t even exist right now. And then you move, your eyes bouncing up to blink at him slowly like a cat, before they drop to your feet in an embarrassed sort of way Jake can truthfully say he’d never have imagined of you.

“I asked Javy a few weeks ago if you were sick, or something,” you say, looking back up at him with a laugh in your voice now. “I saw you turn down, like, six different women that night, and I don’t know, I was genuinely concerned for your health.” You tell him, making a small smile pull at the corners of Jake’s lips that you’d been worried about him at all, had watched him long enough to see him turn others away.

“You know what he said? He just rolled his eyes at me and said that, no, actually, you weren’t fine at all, that you were in love with me, and if he’s honest, it wasn’t cute anymore, and had become totally insufferable,” You laugh properly this time as you relay the information, and Jake can’t help but chuckle too.

“And so you thought you’d let me stew for a few more weeks? Have I not been a good boy enough already?” Jake asks with an amused twinkle in his eyes. He knew he was getting to the end of his rope tonight, but in reality, it never mattered to him how many weeks or months you made him wait, any amount of time would have been worth it. You shrug and dip your eyes away from him to dance around the room.

“Not exactly. I mean, I didn’t totally believe Javy, but I figured there might’ve been some truth there. I mean what is this, like, the… fifth time in two months you’ve asked me out?” You question, half to yourself as you do some maths.

“Fifth times the charm,” Jake replies seriously, having no other memory anymore of how the quote is supposed to go and not entirely realising he’s said it wrong at all. You snicker at this glimpse at just how far gone he is, but he doesn’t mind.

“I’m sorry I didn’t give you a real chance before now,” you say quietly, before pulling a conciliatory expression. “But to be fair, if you were any other guy, I’d be totally right about you… I still could be,” you sound as though you’re trying to convince yourself, and trial off after biting your lower lip in a distracted sort of way. Jake nods, understanding your hesitation. You weren’t to know that he cared about you more than anyone he’d met before, more than anyone ever could, but he’s also aware that there was no point to talking the big talk when it came to things like this.

“Well now, excuse me Darlin’! I didn’t work so damned hard on my exceptionally slutty past for you to just sweep it all aside for me! It’s just plain disrespectful,” Jake blusters, playing up his accent as much as he can, but still only coming out sounding half indignant. You blink in surprise at his disapproval, and quickly try to hide the sound of your snort as it escapes through another laugh, clearly taken aback and not expecting this angle from him.

“So this is what's gonna happen instead; you’re gonna make me work just as hard for this, for you, and once you’ve made yourself an honest man outta me, then we can talk about being right or wrong,” Jake states matter-of-factly, like he isn’t simultaneously pleading you for more than this, and begging you to stand your ground at the same time.

Jake’s most frequent and recurring nightmare these past months had been the idea of getting you, then losing you. He isn’t lying about working hard to have his reputation, Jake didn’t do commitment, he didn’t do more than one night, and if he did, it was never because he wanted more. He knows relationships and intimacy are the furthest thing from his forte by choice, so if he was going to get the chance to be with you, he wanted to do it properly, to do it right.

Your laughter turns softer, pulling him from his reverie. He finds you watching him, considering his words as he’d trailed off somewhere in his head while waiting for your response. There's a small twinkle in your eyes that tells him you had no plans to take it easy on him ever, but as if you know he won’t be abated by that alone, you lean in toward him, resting your chin in your palm while blinking up at him coquettishly.

“Well, you’re already on the right track, with this whole ‘saving yourself’ business. I appreciate that, off the bat,” you say, and Jake is kind of relieved, because while it wasn’t necessarily something he had to do, you weren’t an item and had turned him down four times so feelings or no, Jake wouldn’t have been in the wrong if he’d slipped up once or twice, but he’s glad that you acknowledge your approval, at least because now he knows now and feels a gust of pride inflate his chest.

“To be clear, though, I would make you work for it regardless of your past. I know what I’m worth, what I bring to a relationship, and what I want out of one, and I know those things too well just to forget them. Not for anyone.”

Jake nods vehemently, once again in complete agreement.

“Good. That’s real good, sweetheart. I don’t,” he tells you honestly, now feeling a sense of distinctly unearned pride that you were already so intune and aware of your value. He knows that for most people, including himself, that those things are only learned once they’re older. 

Your face flashes with surprise, startled by his admission of what was probably at least some basic emotional intelligence. “I’ve never wanted to know it, it wasn’t important before…” Jake trails off, and feels a sense of hesitation and regret start to poison his tongue. Was that too much? Too callous? You were aware of his colourful sexual past, but plenty of people had those. Jake had been calculated in his endeavours, and he’s suddenly ashamed, and not sure if he wants you to know that.

For a few beats you look at one another, Jake trying his best not to break eye contact, somehow hoping it will tell you all you need to know about his intentions, but after a moment, it’s you who looks away, shifting back into your position resting both arms atop the bar, where you begin fiddling with your drinks coaster.

“You know, you don’t have to be quite that honest, you can try to like, impress me still,” you say after a couple more seconds pass, and Jake lets out a shaky, anxious breath when a sideways, wry smile accompanies your words.

“Rather you be impressed by the truth than anything else,” he responds, mimicking your lean, your arms pressed against one another now, and Jake could be mistaken, but he’s almost certain that you lean some of your weight into him.

“‘M just sayin’ you don’t have to, like, abase yourself just for me to think you’re dealing fair. I already know you’re not exactly a two rodeo pony, but if you’re trying to be, that’s all I ask.” you look up at him and catch his gaze. Jake thinks over what you’ve said, not fully being able to believe it, but he wonders now if this will be just as much about proving his worthiness to himself, just as much as it was to you.

As if  he has little screens in his eyes that relay his every thought like a teleprompter, your expression softens once again, and this time Jake is sure that you’re leaning into his side, your weight falling solidly, but comfortably onto him.

“C’mon Hangman, you’re the best, aren’t you?” you tease, even nudging him playfully. “Who says you aren’t the best at this too?” you go on to ask, raising your eyebrows challengingly. Jake feels both a thrill at the slight taunt to your voice, as well as a deep affection and reverence that you know exactly how to play him already.

He picks up what you’re putting down, and lifts his chin to look down at you, one eyebrow of his own lifting in an almost condescending manner.

“Certainly not you, that's for damn sure, sweetheart.” Jake damn-near gloats, chest puffing out and pride swelling up again substantially at the way you seem to enjoy this display.

“Well then, I can’t wait to find out!” You say, knocking into his side once more with your elbow. Jake’s smile flickers more genuine, and after a moment of brief thought, he uncrosses his arms on the bar and slings his arm casually around your shoulder. You move into him almost like you’ve been waiting for him to do this, like for the past few weeks you’ve been thinking about it and what you might do if he did.

You grin up at him and Jake smiles back, lowering his face down to yours so that when he speaks again, you’re the only one in the room who can hear him

“Just promise me one thing,” Jake asks, serious as ever now. Your features crease a little, but you nod.

“Sure, what is it?”

“Never stop shooting me down. It’s kinda sexy.”

You let out a shocked, joyful laugh, even as your eyes gain a mean little sheen to them, the contrast between your sweet chortle, and the evil look on your face only making his own grin widen. Jake makes a note to bring this up in his wedding speech.

[yuellii]

could you maybe write something with zima/зима :3? i loved your writings with neuvilette!!!!

“ Now... now I'm going out for a walk... The moonlight is... beautiful... It's good for writing... Maybe... you should try to write a poem too. ” — zima / gn reader

There’s a particular silence in the air in which you have yet to get accustomed to; but for Zima, it was his comfortably preferred state of existence.

He does not speak a word to you in the middle of this cold expanse, the top of his cheeks a snowy pink hue as the bottom half of his face is buried warm under the top of his coat. This old, stone bridge was icy, yet it was glimmering under the brilliant moonlight. A mere simplicity his eyes followed—from the cracks of stone to the sightless ocean, from the ocean to the cloudless sky, and from the sky to the lonely moon. A serenity that encompassed nature; also only a serenity that encompassed you.

You, who encompassed his blanking mind of ethereal solace no poet could ever portray.

Due to his nature of silence, though it does not register to him—perhaps it does not occur to you how lines and lines of the prettiest sentences form in his head just at the sight of you, nor the penmanship inking the inner folds of his sleeves. They were stained with all the words he can think of to describe you, and all the rhyming lines that rivaled you to the royalty and to the heavens. He was quite dramatic at heart… But you didn’t need to know that.

No, not when he can barely form words around you. Not when sometimes, he has too many words to say and he cannot speak a single one of them. Not when you cloud his thoughts with foreign phrases—so admirably, and so helplessly lovestruck in analogy—he can’t even begin to try and translate to English. And so he keeps his mouth shut under his coat, choosing a silence he knows so well.

He sees you stop at the top of the bridge from his peripherals, halting in his steps to join as you stare out into the moonlit ocean. You were just as cold as he was—he could see it in the crinkle of your eyes; but when your head leans to rest on his arm, there’s a beating of his heart that makes him feel warmer than a fire.

“Are you cold?” you ask, gently like the brushing waves below.

“…No.”

It’s so artful, painfully woven like ribbon around his eyes, like he’s blinded by your brilliance in rivalry to the moon. Any poet would kill for a muse like you.

Yet, he still can’t find the words.

Maybe one day, he’ll be able to ink something. Maybe one day, his pen will be able to form something as beautiful as you are. But for now, in this present moment ( from the moon, to the stars, to the ocean, and to the ever-gleaming ice framing perfectly around the Earth ), even all nature were utterly minuscule to the way he thought of you.

🕰️ ;; thankyew anon for liking all my neuvillette fics because i hope they are clear to show how absolutely deranged and delusional i am over him ( insanity )

[madwomansapologist]

YOU LOVE BLOOD TOO MUCH (BUT NOT LIKE I DO)

★彡 synopsis: awakened in a new era, sukuna found endless opportunities to hurt and maim others. he also found you, a sorcerer with an ever-expading soul bonded to oaths of pacifism and self-control. allured by the strength you decided to hide, sukuna realized this era could be far more fascinating.

chapter two: postpone or the one you threatened to obliterate satoru gojo.

warnings: conversations about death, megumi fushiguro is bad at feelings, teachers & students, yuji itadori is a ray of sunshine, sorcerers being clinicaly insane, ryomen sukuna, canon level of violence, blood and gore, cannibalist thoughts, protective satoru gojo.

word count: [1,5K]

kill count: [0]

From underneath the ash tree, admiring a caterpillar chew on a damp leaf, you realized how unfair it was for today to be beautiful. A boy just lost his life, you cursed the cloudless sky and warm breeze. It was supposed to rain.

Which burden is heavier? The guilty of murdering a child, or the responsibility of all lives reaped by a reincarnated Ryomen Sukuna? A hero wouldn’t hesitate. A hero would carry that burden for the rest with blood-stained hands and call it mercy.

Good thing Satoru Gojo is a calamity, and the elders never hesitated before calling you a monster.

Ignoring the blurs burned into your eyelids, you stared down at the mountains surrounding the college. Dozens of miles below, two dots no bigger than ants went up the concrete path. One pink, one white. A second later, the last one stopped moving.

“If you don’t want to see him”, you waved back at Satoru. “You better start walking now.”

Megumi sighed. “No. I will stay.”

“Go on, be a kid. Hide on your room until you have no other option.”

“I can’t.”

His wounds were fully healed, but the tiredness on Megumi’s voice is evident. You could almost hear all the gears moving inside his mind. Grudge and loathing battling to take control. In such a peaceful day, his silence is loud enough to hurt your ears.

Does he regret saving Itadori, or does he resent his teachers for allowing him to have hope? You don’t know which is worse. For it to be grief or responsibility. Megumi deserves more than being a hero.

“Was it pointless, sensei?”, he grumbled. Eyes set on the ground, words sharp and precise. “Did I only delay something that could’ve been quick and painless? Did I just make it all worse for him?”

“My. What a self-centered boy”, you hissed. For good measure, you also finger-flicked Megumi hard in the forehead. “Tell me, Fushiguro, do you think we kept him alive because you asked us to? Do you think we were forced to defend him?”

Megumi rested his head against the tree trunk. Ouch. Glaring at a caterpillar, Megumi realized he had no choice but admitting the truth. A simple finger-flick and his head throbs. “No, sensei. I couldn’t.”

“Exactly,” you smirked at him. Standing on the ash tree root, you reached for Megumi. His dark eyes could freeze you. Would Megumi like to know how much he reminds you of his father? “Let the adults handle this, alright?”

He accepted your help, and then Megumi followed your suggestion. Once the distant dots turned into discernible shapes, you decided to meet them halfway. Going down the trial’s steps, it took a minute for Yuji to spot you. Running towards you, he left Satoru behind.

“Morning, sensei!” Yuji bowed. You both silentlu agreed to pretend he didn’t just stumble on a step. “Wait, are you a teacher too? Are you my teacher too?”

“I… train your veterans, Itadori”, you answered slowly. For someone expecting Yuji to look devastated, or at least exhausted, his wide smile was an astonishing sight. “You’ll soon meet them all.”

With his arms crossed over his head, Satoru passed by you both. “He’s like an excited puppy, isn’t him?”

Suppressing your laugh, you gesture for Yuji to follow you both. Tilting your head back, you looked into his eyes. How warm. “Has he explained everything to you?”

“Oh, yeah, I think”, Yuji pouted. Rubbing his index finger against his chin, he spoke again. “Fight curses, eat rotten fingers, die.”

Postpone the execution of Ryomen Sukuna’s vessel, the elders announced it as an act of mercy. You wonder if they even know his name is Yuji Itadori. Not that it would matter. It was the best deal Satoru was able to negotiate, but not one you’re willing to accept.

A plan has already formed in your mind. All you have to do now is be patient.

“You shouldn’t worry too much about that last part”, you sighed. “We had a similar incident last year. Those cachectic elders can try as much as they want, but we won’t allow them to hurt our kids.”

Once again, Yuji surprised you. As he laughed, snoring a bit, you regretted cursing this beautiful day. The sky really knows best than you. This boy deserves a thousand sunny days.

“Respect your sensei”, Satoru remarked him. You rolled your eyes, knowing damn well he didn’t mean it. “She said something that funny, huh?”

“No, it’s just… I thought you were a monk.” Yuji pointed at your robe, looking at the sash with prayers sewn in golden. “Didn’t expect you to say something like that.”

“A monk?” Satoru cachinnates. “Her? Don’t make me laugh, Yuji.”

“Not a monk”, you sighed. “Tell me, Satoru, should I start his first lesson?”

He shrugged. “The boy is all yours.”

“You know what talismans are, Itadori?” You walked the familiar path with your back turned so you could look at him. Surrounded by trees, your voice echoed down the mountain. “You can make one to use as an intermediary for shikigami, create barriers, seal cursed objects…”

“Like Sukuna’s finger?”

Satoru hummed. “Many uses, not very efficient in any of them. Paper rots. They can be made in other materials, but it’s still pretty easy to destroy if you want to.”

“This is a talisman master Tengen crafted for me”, you pointed at the prayers on your sash. “The technique behind it is mathematically correct in every aspect. And still, I wear the same for a week at best.”

“You’re so strong, sensei. I mean, Sukuna tried to eat your heart and it didn’t affect you at all. You can’t do like Megumi and summon a shikigami from shadows?”

“Anyone would’ve assumed I use this one to summon shikigami. Good line of thought, you learn fast.” Yuji smiled at the praise, and you made a mental note about it. “But this one is a sealing talisman.”

“And what are you sealing, sensei?”

“Myself.”

“Cool”, Yuji said. A beat later, he spoke again. “What does that mean?”

“That she’s enough of a menace those cachectic elders put her on a leash”, Satoru explained. “Such a stupid binding vow you were tricked into.”

“Do you have a death wish?” Tilting your head towards the courtyard nearby, you grinned. “Because if you want me to beat your ass, all you have to do is ask for it. I’ll be nice and heal you once you admit defeat.”

Satoru lowered himself to face you, and smirked with his hands on his knees. “All that bark, but I see no fangs. And they call you a monster.”

“There is only one way for you to found out why”, you took a step forward. “C’mon, Strongest. I’ll have so much fun cutting you in half just to put you back together again.”

Yuji was about to shout for help when loud laughs imploded. He could swear the ground vibrated. In sync, you both continued to walk. Satoru with his arms relaxed, you moving swiftly in your scarlet robe. As if nothing happened.

Later he understood. They acted as if it meant nothing, Yuji gossiped. Because for them it didn’t.

“Let’s head to your interview with the director. If you’re not good enough, he’ll reject your registration.”

“Good luck”, you cheered. “Don’t embarrass us.”

“So, you two aren’t the leaders?”

In a matter of seconds, everything changed. It wasn’t a beautiful day anymore. You weren’t surrounded by nature, laughing with an old friend, teaching a willing boy about something you love. The sky was cloudless, the breeze was warm, and it was still the day after Ryomen Sukuna reincarnated.

“Hierarchies are worthless when they do not depend on strength.”

“Sorry, sensei!” Yuji slapped his cheek, trying to cover Sukuna’s mouth. “He does that sometimes.”

Crossing your arms, you glanced at the scars beneath his eyes. Satoru noticed them before you. “What a weird body you have now”, he said.

Another mouth opened in Yuji’s palm. “As soon as I dominate this vessel, I promise you will be the first one to die.”

“It would be an honor.”

At that, you felt poison on your tongue. “As if I would ever let that happen.”

“You will die after him.”

Ignoring the threat, you looked at Yuji. “A binding vow is a pact that can give sorcerer great powers as long as they follow agreed restrictions. Not even Ryomen Sukuna would break one. Tell me, do you want to make a pact with me?”

“Don’t…”

The fact Sukuna tried to intervene was that sold the deal. “What pact?” Yuji spoke over him.

“I’ll protect you from the elders”, you started. Reaching out to him, you thought carefully about your next words. “And in turn, you’re forbidden from making a binding vow without me to mediate.”

Yuji shook your hand. “Okay. We have a deal. A binding vow, that is.”

Feeling that familiar sting of Sukuna messing with his body, Yuji glanced at his hands. Only then he saw the tongue lapping up at your blood. He slapped it, whispering some curses.

“I’ll take that as a compliment”, you showed Yuji your fully healed hand. “The King of Curses wants a piece of me.”

“Another piece of you, that is”, Satoru corrected you. For once, he sounds serious. “How greedy.”

all rights reserved to © madwomansapologist | @mwalibrary @mwashelf

[ohwaitimthewriter]

Would you be open to writing another pota Caesar x human!reader? whatever you’re comfortable with, love your blog! :)

Hi, hi 👋🏻

Thank you so much for asking it and I'm also sorry it took me a hundred of years to answer your request!

But I got a little something and I hope you'll enjoy it! I might write a bit more about it, I don't know yet, but here we go!

Enjoy your reading!

Title: Under one sky

Pairing: (slightly implied) Caesar x human!reader

Warning: the kind of fluff which holds some melancholia.

Summarize: You long for a friend who looks at the same sky above you without knowing it

Words: 596 (a small one!)

Planet of the apes Masterlist.

It was a peaceful night. One of those rare nights when only the ambient sound of fireflies would stroke your ears in a restful lullaby. The little fire you'd lit to warm your body had long since gone out, but your mind had never wanted to sink into the arms of Morpheus. With your gaze glued to the glittering black immensity you could see between the shadows of the highest branches, you silently counted the stars.

It had been perhaps an hour or two since you'd given up trying to sleep, your head full of images of a past you'd been trying hard to reclaim. A past that had been snatched away from you overnight, and which had only collapsed, like a small stone triggering an avalanche.

You'd never been able to forget him, and ever since the day he'd never come to join you in the wooden shack at the back of your garden, he'd left a void embedded in the space where the childlike heart you'd once been was supposed to be. And you'd grown up with this space to be taken and never given to anyone else, yet how could you ever replace him? The only friend who had turned your dreary days into a ray of sunshine and thanks to whom you could now claim to have had a happy childhood.

You kept dragging that damaged heart of yours around with the sole certainty that you were living under the same starry sky as he was. It was perhaps the only thing that kept you looking for him, despite everything, despite the virus, despite the tiny chance of finding him in this forest, sharing the same sky became a warm comfort that stitched the ripples of your torn heart.

And you pictured him, somewhere, perhaps looking up at that same sky, wondering if he ever missed you, as much as you missed him, without knowing that Caesar was looking up at this very same sky, the same question venturing into the meanders of his thoughts. Thoughts preoccupied with the safety of his own people. A security he would have liked to be able to grant you, if only he'd been able to return to that little wooden hut. In that place where you had first found him in his younger days, when all he wanted was to find something to play with and amuse his childish heart.

Caesar wondered what had become of you. Had you survived? Perhaps he'd rather not answer that question, when the answer was surely no, as the virus was taking humanity in its wake. He gazed up at the cloudless black sky, where multitudes of stars shone freely, reminding him that today, apes were also free to build their lives in this part of the forest. The twinkling white stars watched over their brothers and sisters with black and brown fur as they evolved under their distant gazes.

Then, a star, brighter and stronger than the others, caught Caesar's eyes, and in a silent agreement, he wished to see it watch over you, wherever you were, since he could no longer do it himself. Were you thinking of him as much as he was thinking of you? Despite his constant worries, that face of the child you used to be always managed to find its way to him, and in front of that star, he hoped that the version of you he didn't know could see it too. And if you could, he hoped you'd know he was the one who'd sent it to watch over you.

[somepsychopomp]

and so what if I said I was drafting a fic where Eris tosses a golden apple among the gods but instead of "for the fairest" it says "for the best kingly lover" or something like that and both Zeus & Poseidon reach for it at the same time.

naturally neither will back down since their pride and reps are on the line. Both have had many lovers over the years and regard themselves as outrageously good and definitely better than the other at sex, but how can they determine who should rightfully get the apple & the bragging rights?

Well, they should share a lover and have them judge the two divine brothers. But what lucky mortal should get such a privilege?

Someone good looking themself, who'd be able to appreciate the sublime attention bestowed upon them. Someone young and without much experience, or preferably none, so they have little in terms of expectations or past lovers to compare to (not that either god thinks that any mortal could ever compare to them in bed)

Someone intelligent, who'd most certainly make the right choice (AKA after being bribed a little or a lot)

Someone like... why, Athena's darling pupil, the young King of Ithaca!

Odysseus is currently a bachelor king, but doesn't squander his life or status on heaps of whores. He lives a rather humble life, contributing to the construction of his palace himself, plowing the fields, and making frequent appearances among his people.

By the time Athena catches wind of who her father & uncle have chosen for their little contest, it's too late. She cannot dissuade them or rush to hide Odysseus- for she knows that no matter who he chooses, the loser would be more than willing to exact revenge against her student or his people.

There's also one other problem for Ody. A tiny, miniscule problem that doesn't even register as a concern in Zeus' or Poseidon's eyes.

Odysseus of Ithaca is engaged and madly in love with his future bride, and he will want no part in either god's attention.

But it's too late.

On one particularly beautiful day, Odysseus wakes up to a cloudless sky and the warm sun shining down on his island. The rocky coast is usually a darker shade of blue from the rough surf, but today the ocean glitters like sapphire and silver. Odysseus thinks today would be a wonderful day to go for a morning swim so he heads to the beach alone. And wouldn't you know it, right outside his palace is a little cove he's never noticed before. How strange, given that he's confident he knows every inch of his island.

Odysseus sheds his clothes and sandals, baring his body but feeling safe within the high walls of the little sunlit cove, and slips into the water. Another pleasant surprise- the sea is much warmer than he was expecting for so early in the morning!

He sinks beneath the water and luxuriates in the feeling, swimming a little farther out. It takes just a few breaths before he's nearly upon a large boulder jutting from the surf, a miniature island in the cove. Odysseus thinks it'd be great exercise to touch it and swim back.

He ducks his head underwater one last time before surfacing once he reaches the rock...

When he emerges, there's a man waiting for him. A man larger than any Odysseus has ever seen before, with a mane and beard of pure white hair and eyes the color of gold. He sits upon the boulder as if it were his throne, smiling with mirth at Odysseus and inviting him to come and enjoy the sight of the beautiful sky together.

Odysseus is instantly wary and tries to retreat, only for his back to come flush with a broad chest. An equally large man with black silken tresses and sparkling blue eyes purrs at him and encourages the little king to stay and enjoy the water...

[kotegiris]

[Butler's Wedding Party Card Story - Flure] A Knight's Oath

i had a request to translate more flure card stories so here you go! thanks again to a friend for sharing this card with me

Chapters 1 & 2

Chapter 1

※ Warning: This butler story contains spoilers for the event story “Butler’s Wedding Party”.

It is recommended to read up to chapter 15 of the event story before reading this.

For lords who are avoiding spoilers, please hit the button in the upper left corner to return.

………

-Several days after the party-

Due to Lato’s suggestion… I would be spending a day with each of the butlers.

Tomorrow is Flure’s turn. Feeling a little restless, I started walking around the mansion.

I noticed Flure’s voice coming from the library.

Flure: …So cool… I want to protect Aruji-sama like that too…

> Flure.

Flure: Uwaah…! Aruji-sama!?

> S-Sorry for scaring you.

Flure: N-No… I’m sorry for being loud.

Flure: I was so focused on this book… I was just surprised.

> What are you reading?

When I asked him… Flure closed the book and set it faced down.

Flure: U-Uhm… It’s a romance novel.

Flure: Uhm… Because of the wedding party… I was just thinking about how nice it is to have a lover…

Flure: So I decided to try reading a romance book.

> Oh, I see.

It must have been really interesting if he was that focused on it…

I turned my attention to the book and noticed the title on the book’s spine.

> “The Knight and the Princess’s Secret Romance”...?

Flure: Ah…!

Flure panicked and tried to hide the book’s spine, but… He quickly gave up and moved his hands away.

> Sorry, was I not supposed to find out…?

Flure: Uhm… No, that’s not it.

Flure: But since this book is… …About a romance between two people with a master-servant relationship…

> Huh?

Flure: ……No… Uhm…

Flure: …I’m just a bit embarrassed…Don’t worry about it.

> O-Okay

Flure: ……U-Uh…

> …What’s the book about?

Flure: It’s… Well, romance is a big part of the story, but…

Flure: The other parts of it are also great.

> Really?

Flure: Yeah. Just as the title says, it’s a love story between a knight and princess, but…

Flure: I really admire the knight’s strength and how he always saves the princess no matter how dangerous it is.

Flure: For example… In the scene where the two of them go to a field of flowers…

Flure: The princess gets attacked by a large group of bandits, and the knight protects her.

Flure: After that he makes an oath to her, “I will continue to protect you for the rest of my life”... He’s so cool…

Flure’s eyes were shining as he spoke. He really seems to admire the knight from the book.

Flure: Hah… I wish I was as cool as him…

> Flure…

Flure fiddled with the book like he was in deep thought. Then, he looked at me as if he had made up his mind.

Flure: Uhm, Aruji-sama…

Flure: If it’s okay with you… Can we go to a flower field together tomorrow?

> A flower field?

Flure: Yes. I thought about it while reading this book.

Flure: About how I want to go to a flower field with you like the knight from this book did.

Flure: Of course… Only if you didn’t have something else you wanted to do, though.

> Let’s go to a flower field.

Flure: Really?

> Yeah.

Flure: Thank you, Aruji-sama.

Flure: I really like the flower field scene…

Flure: I’m not trying to recreate that scene, but… How do I put it…

Flure: I’m very happy that I can go there together with you.

> Is that so?

Flure: …Fufu, well then… I’m gonna reread that scene.

Flure: I’m looking forward to tomorrow.

> Yeah.

Like that, I left the library so that I wouldn’t distract him.

-The next day-

Under the cloudless sky… Flure and I arrived at a flower field deep in the forest.

Flure: Isn’t it a beautiful field, Aruji-sama?

Flure: I’m sure that the field from the book also looked like this.

Flure happily led me to the middle of the field.

I wonder… Just what exactly was that scene like?

> What kind of scene was it?

Flure: Let’s see…

Flure: After the knight protected the princess from the bandits… He makes an oath to her.

> I see.

Flure: Ah, if it’s okay with you…

Flure: Can we recreate that scene now?

> Huh?

Flure: I’ve read that scene countless times, so… I think I can reenact it.

> Really?

Flure: Since we came to a flower field together… I kind of want to try doing it.

Flure: …Is that alright, Aruji-sama?

> Let’s give it a try.

Flure: Fufu… Thank you.

Flure: Then, uhm… I know it’s sudden, but can we start?

> Yeah.

Flure: …Then, here it goes…

Flure: ……Fuu…

Flure: …No matter what the future may hold… I will continue to protect you for the rest of my life.

Flure: More than any dangers we may face…

Flure: A life without you… Is many times more terrifying to me.

Flure: I…

Flure: Lo…Lo……Love….

Flure: …���…I… love….

> Flure…?

Flure: ……Sorry, Aruji-sama…

Flure: U-Um… Could you wait a moment…? My face feels… a bit warm.

> Y-Yeah.

At first, he was able to coolly say the oath, but…

Right now, he’s completely red.

And as I thought about the words he was going to say… I felt the heat rising to my face too.

Flure: W-Well, you know… It’s a little embarrassing, isn’t it?

> Y-Yeah, it is…

Flure: …Aruji-sama. You’re blushing.

> …You’re blushing too.

Flure: Y-Yeah… I know…

Flure: ……Fufu. It’s kind of a mess, isn’t it?

Flure: I had it all thought out, but… It’s totally different when you’re right here in front of me.

Flure smiled as he said that, and I found myself smiling too.

After that, we tried several more times to recreate the scene from the book and enjoyed our time together.

Chapter 2

-A little later- 

Flure: In the end… I’m still too embarrassed to say it.

> It’s okay.

Flure: Sorry you had to go along with it so many times.

> I don’t mind.

No matter how many times we tried… Flure wasn’t able to act out the scene to the very end.

Flure: O-Okay… This time I’ll do it for sure.

> You got this.

And so he opened his mouth to speak.

But it was at that moment…

BEEP! BEEP!

> T-The angel siren!?

When I hurriedly turned to look at Flure… The ominous sound of flapping wings resounded throughout the field.

Flap… flap…

Angel: “Die, for the sake of life…”

Flure: A-An angel…!

Flure pulled out his rapier and readied it towards the angel.

Flure: Aruji-sama…! Please release my demon’s powers!

> On it…!

You: “Come, sworn friends of the darkness. I summon thee.”

You: “By the Devil’s Contract, release the powers of Flure.”

Flure: Thank you, Aruji-sama!

Angel: “Die, for the sake of life…”

Clang!!

He stopped the angel’s attack, but… Due to the great force of it, Flure had a grim expression on his face.

Flure: Guh……!

> Flure, are you okay!?

Flure: I’m alright.

Flure: But…

Flure: Even though there are gaps in this angel’s attack… It’s incredibly fast…!

Flure: No matter what, stay by me.

> G-Got it…!

Angel: “Die, for the sake of life…”

Clang! Clang!

Flure skillfully used his rapier to fend off the angel’s attacks.

But the angel continued with its swift attacks.

> Flure…!

Flure: It’s okay…! Don’t worry, Aruji-sama.

Flure: It seems like… This angel isn’t that strong.

Flure: More importantly…

Flure: Aruji-sama, please try to stay as quiet as you can…

Flure: If the angel’s attention turns to you, then you’ll be in danger…!

Instead of replying, I vigorously nodded.

Flure gave me a fleeting glance and smiled reassuringly.

Flure: I… I’ll protect you to the end.

> (You got this, Flure…!)

Angel: “Die, for the sake of life…”

The angel flapped its wings and distanced itself from us.

And then… With incredible force, the angel charged at Flure.

> (Flure!!)

Flure: ……Hah!!

Stab…!!

Flure extended his arm just as the angel came close, and with his rapier, he pierced the angel’s body.

> (A-Amazing…!)

Angel: “D-Die, for… Di…e…”

Angel: ………

Then the angel’s light disappeared.

Flure: ……Hah…

> Flure, are you hurt?

Flure: I’m perfectly fine. Aruji-sama, are you injured?

> I’m okay.

Flure: I see… …I’m glad.

Flure: I…… defeated an angel on my own…

Flure: …I did it somehow… Thank goodness…

> Thanks for protecting me.

Flure: ……Of course.

Flure smiled with great joy.

Then the two of us decided to go back to the mansion to report about the angel.

-A little later-

After we finished giving our report… We decided to go on a walk together in the garden.

Step… step… step…

Flure: Today ended up being tiring.

> Yeah, it was.

Flure: To think we’d be attacked by angels… That was unexpected.

Flure: …And even though it was weak… I managed to defeat an angel by myself…

Flure: I… I was able to protect you…

Flure: …I’m so happy.

Flure: ……Maybe I'm a little too happy, but…

Flure: Just a little; I felt that… I was kind of like the knight from the book.

> You were very cool.

Flure: Aruji-sama…

> Let me say it again… Thank you, Flure.

Flure: I should be the one thanking you… …Thank you for being by my side.

Flure: I couldn’t use my bow since it was too close… Honestly, I was panicking…

Flure: But because you believed in me and trusted me to protect you… It gave me courage.

Flure: ……Maybe the knight from the book…

Flure: Also felt this way.

> Huh?

Flure: No matter who his opponent was… He was able to fight since he had his loved one by his side…

Flure: No matter how dangerous it was… He was able to face it since his loved one believed in him…

Flure: I feel like today I got stronger… because of you.

> Flure…

Flure: Uhm, Aruji-sama…

Flure: If it’s okay with you… Could we try to recreate that scene again right now?

Flure: I think… I’m brave enough to do it now.

> Yeah… I don’t mind.

Flure: Fufu… Thank you.

Flure: Then…

Flure: …No matter what the future may hold… I will continue to protect you for the rest of my life.

Flure: More than any dangers we may face…

Flure: A life without you… Is many times more terrifying to me…

Flure: I…

Flure: ……Towards (Name)-sama, I…

> (He called me by name…)

Flure: You’re special and dear to me… More so than anyone else.

Flure: …As your butler, this isn’t appropriate, but…

Flure: These feelings… I believe…… it’s “love”.

> L-Love…? > You mean…

Flure: I will always continue to protect you, so…

Flure: Believe in me and…

Flure: Please allow me to protect you.

> F-Flure…

Flure: ……O-Or something like that…

Flure: S-Sorry… I got a bit carried away…

> What you said just now…

Flure: …I couldn’t say the lines from the book word for word, so… I changed it a little.

As he said this with a blush on his face, Flure looked at me.

Flure: Aruji-sama… We were just doing a reenactment, but…

Flure: ……Everything I said… Those are my true feelings.

He gave me a reassuring smile while still blushing… And I felt my heart beat grow louder.

I wasn’t able to say it out loud, but Flure is way cooler than the knight from the book…

The two of us, with our faces bright red, locked eyes with each other.

END

[physics-of-one-piece]

I am done bottling up this story, I gotta talk about it bcs I'm so happy with it, I'm obsessed with it.

So that Rosinante x Reader x Doflamingo fic where Reader is Rosinante's wife is called...

Drums pls

🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁

I’ll build castles for you, my love (look at me, not my brother)

Part 1 is all about Rosinante x Reader (& Law my bby boy 🥹🥺), Part 2 which is all about Doflamingo x Reader might turn into another part cus I want to cover the pre-baby and then post-baby and I don't think with all the ideas I have one part will be enough.

I like to call this fic “Doflamingo takes Rosinante's wife and baby as his own because he is the older one and Rosinante is dead anyway but damn what a sick thing to do but also really fits Doffy, good luck, girl, you're stuck with the terrible brother” or “Doflamingo trauma dumps to Reader and attempts to gaslight Reader”

The amount of times I said "THIS PINK BITCH 😡😡🤬🤬" while writing Part 2 is INSANE. HOLY FUCK HE DESERVES TO BE THROWN INTO THE SEA. LET THE SEA KINGS EAT HIM, HOLY FUCK THIS PINK BASTARD.

Anyway, here is a snippet of one of the scenes 😊

“You know, Tsuru-san…” said Doflamingo casually as he strutted to the window, grabbing his large pink feather coat from the hanger, swinging it over his broad shoulders as he went. He placed his right foot atop the windowsill; the sound of his shoe landing on it resounded in your ears ominously.  With the saw-like, terrible sound of his strings, he pulled open the window, letting in the fresh spring breeze. You smelled the cherry blossoms in the distance. He turned from the window toward Vice Admiral Tsuru, a large grin on his face. “One day I’ll be the one kicking you marines out,” said Doflamingo darkly, smiling at Tsuru, the expression sharp and promising. Vice Admiral Tsuru looked incredibly bored by the implication. “You don’t have that kind of power, even as a warlord.” said Tsuru, staring back at him, unafraid. “We’ll see, dear Tsuru,” mused Doflamingo, chuckling, offering another unnerving smile before saying, “After all, what can a marine do against a god?” Your blood ran cold. You felt your stomach clench in fear. Despite his eyes being concealed behind his sunglasses, you felt his gaze shift to you at the same time as he turned to face you, and you fought back a shiver. “See you next weekend, querida.” said Doflamingo, and smiled at you. The curl of his lips was soft, the grin of pearly white teeth charming and pleasant, the dimples on his cheeks more gentle than the ones present in the smile he’d aimed at Vice Admiral Tsuru.  Even his deep voice sounded impossibly softer. Doflamingo didn’t look frightening in that moment at all. He looked quite charming and handsome, like some divine being offering you the rarest of blessings. You decided not to think about the fact you could now read his emotions by his smiles. In a flutter of pink feathers, Doflamingo leapt off of your windowsill. You saw the gleam of his strings in the sunlight as he unwound them from his fingers, attaching them to the clouds, using them to soar forward over the bay of Marineford, the blur of his pink figure reflected on the surface of the sea. After glancing down at it, you realised the bracelet of white-pink pearls Doflamingo had crafted you had the exact same pearls as the necklace of red pearls he wore around his neck. You watched the pink little cloud of Doflamingo grow farther and farther away, becoming smaller and smaller against the canvas of endless blue. You stepped away from the window, and hoped the sky next weekend would be cloudless.  A woman can hope.

The Doffy smile that flashes across my mind for the scene where he says bye is the one from this manga panel:

Taglist: @fanaticsnail

[clangenrising]

Month 16 - Greenleaf

Prev | First | Next

When Aldertail had volunteered to go herb gathering with him, Oddstripe had been delighted but he had definitely expected her to get tired and lose interest by this point. The day was hot but there was a nice breeze and, as they meandered the territory looking for patches that hadn’t already been harvested, Oddstripe couldn’t help but smile. 

“Y’know, I’d really love to find some thyme or juniper,” he said, hopping over a stone in his path. 

“What do those do?” Aldertail asked, carefully picking her way after him. Her legs were the best he’d ever seen them. There was almost no redness and the fur had nearly grown back in. Oddstripe was so proud.

“Thyme is very calming and juniper berries are just all around useful. On top of being calming, they soothe belly aches, help with coughs, and they can even treat aching joints when mixed with the proper herbs. I’d love to get some for Sagetooth.” 

Aldertail’s ears pressed back briefly. “Mm, would that help?”

“Oh, yes,” Oddstripe nodded. “When she isn’t suffering from her aches, she’s really, actually very kind. It can just be hard for her to stay that way when she’s in a lot of pain.” 

“I guess,” Aldertail shrugged. “I feel like you don’t just start being mean to people though, if that makes sense.” 

“I get what you mean,” said Oddstripe, “but something you have to remember is that your body and your mind aren’t two separate entities. They’re both you and they influence each other.” Aldertail winced in an attempt to seem less skeptical. Oddstripe laughed a little and tried to think of a better way to explain. “Oh, for example, when your mind starts to run wild, you feel sick to your stomach right?”

“Yeah,” Aldertail nodded. 

“So that’s your mind influencing your body!” Oddstripe grinned. “But the inverse is also possible. Like, if you’re very scared, we do those deep breaths and the act of calming your body calms your mind.” Aldertail hummed thoughtfully. “So when Sagetooth’s body aches it makes it harder for her to control the way she speaks to people. You’re right that it doesn’t make her something she isn’t but it’s also not entirely her choice. Even I can get snappy when I’m stressed or ill.” 

“Really?” Aldertail didn’t seem convinced. “I can’t picture you snappy.” 

Oddstripe blushed and laughed as he replied, “Oh, that’s very sweet of you.”

“It’s true,” she said. “You’ve only ever been kind and gentle.” 

“Well, I’ve been lucky that I’ve never felt ill enough to snap at you,” he said, full of pride. 

“Mm,” Aldertail chewed her lip. “So where would we find juniper berries?” 

“Hmm,” Oddstripe scrunched up his face in thought. “I know a place they’ll definitely be but its a bit of a distance. Would you still want to come along?” 

“Of course!” she nodded vigorously. “I like learning about medicine.” 

“Really?” asked Oddstripe. 

“Mhm,” nodded Aldertail. “It’s so… powerful. I can’t imagine being able to do what you do.” 

“Oh, it’s really not that hard to learn,” Oddstripe said, changing course. “I’ll show you.”

As they made their way towards the juniper bushes, Oddstripe went over all of the basics he could think of. Healing was something he was intensely passionate about and Aldertail indulged him in his ramblings for the entirety of their walk. Oddstripe couldn’t remember the last time someone had let him ramble like this. It felt amazing. 

They crossed the eastern border and Oddstripe assured Aldertail that everything would be alright. Eventually, the grass petered out and the earth beneath their paws turned to dry, sunbaked mud patterned with cracks and ridges. Oddstripe smiled at the feeling of it under his paws. It had been too long since he’d stepped foot in the desert and he had missed it. They passed little burrows and scurrying lizards and dry looking shrubs and then finally came across the big juniper bush.

“Tada!” Oddstripe declared, unfurling his tail towards the cloudless sky. 

“This is a juniper bush?” Aldertail asked, glancing around its leaves as if something would jump out. 

“Mhm!” he purred. “The berries near the bottom are usually gone because creatures eat them but we can jump up and snag a few branches to take home. Maybe we could even plant one closer to the territories.”

“That would be a good idea,” Aldertail squirmed. “I don’t like this place.” 

“Really?” asked Oddstripe, tilting his head.

“Yeah, it’s too open,” she shuddered. “Let’s hurry up and go home.” 

“Alright,” he frowned worriedly. He’d never considered that someone might not enjoy being able to see the world stretch out endlessly around them. He bunched his legs underneath him and sprang into the bush, but failed to grab onto any of the branches. “Mousedung. Let me try again.” 

He jumped again, this time snagging a branch in his teeth, and his weight pulled it down to a place where Aldertail could help him snap it off. He handed the branch over to her and tried again. The leaves rattled as he fell through them, this time taking another two tries before he caught another branch in his claws. It nearly slipped and he had to scramble to clamp his jaws down around it, smearing berry juice all over his muzzle. 

“Are you okay?” asked Aldertail. 

“Uh huh,” he said awkwardly. “‘Ah you ‘reah ih?” 

“Oh, right! Sorry!” Aldertail hurried forward to start chewing through the branch.

“S’alrigh’,” he chuckled, feeling silly. She met his eyes and flushed pink, quickly averting her gaze to focus on her work. He laughed again. She was such a sweetheart. 

A voice startled them both. “You shouldn’t be out here.” 

Aldertail squeaked and flattened herself against the ground. Oddstripe tried to turn around but struggled to do so without letting go of the branch which didn’t occur to him at all. The cat who had spoken, thankfully, stepped to the side into his view. She was a plain looking grey tabby with bright, golden eyes, and she was watching them with an expression that read to Oddstripe as professional. 

“Oh, sahhy,” he tried to say around the branch in his teeth. 

A small smile poked at the edges of the stranger’s lips and she glanced carefully at Aldertail before asking, “Would you like a paw?”

“Mm!” Oddstripe grinned and nodded clumsily. “Mhm!”

The stranger chuckled softly, dropping her gaze to her paws for a moment, before she stepped up and swatted the branch where Aldertail had been chewing it. The force of the blow was enough to snap it and Oddstripe stumbled away as the rest of the branch sprang noisily back into place. Aldertail squeaked again, and scrunched herself closer to his side. 

He laid his tail over her back, dropped the branch, and then licked his muzzle before speaking. “Thank you! I really appreciate the help. My name’s Oddstripe, what’s yours.” 

“Oscar,” the she-cat smiled with a polite dip of her head. “I’m glad to be of assistance but I really must urge you to leave this place.” 

“Oh?” asked Oddstripe, ears perking. “What for?” 

“This is coyote territory,” she said, scanning the area with a sharp gaze. “You aren’t safe here.” 

“Oh, I didn’t realize the coyotes had come so far west,” Oddstripe said. 

“You live here?” asked Oscar, brow furrowing. 

“No, no, but I used to live near here,” he said. “Now I’m out in the grasslands.” 

“I see,” Oscar nodded. “Well, I must insist you return home, for your own safety.” 

“We will, thank you,” smiled Oddstripe.

Oscar glanced around again and said, “Should you require an escort, I would be happy to oblige.” 

“I don’t think it would hurt,” Oddstripe said. “Aldertail, honey, is that alright with you?” Aldertail simply shrugged, eyes wide enough to show the whites. 

Oddstripe’s ears drooped in pity. “Oh, you poor thing. Here, let’s head back to camp.” He licked her cheek and helped her stand, then handed her one of the juniper sprigs to carry. Having something in her mouth would keep her occupied, he thought. Picking up his own branch, he glanced at Oscar and said, “It’s just this way.” 

“I follow your lead,” she deferred with a bow of the head. Oddstripe blushed, a silly little flutter dancing in his stomach. Something about her seemed right out of a story. He’d never felt that way before. 

Shrugging it off, he led the way, tail wrapped around Aldertail’s leg reassuringly. She stayed close to his side, ears flat against her skull, and Oscar stayed on the opposite side of him, at least two tail lengths away. Oddstripe wanted to walk closer but the distance was probably best for Aldertail. How considerate of their new companion, he thought. 

“So, Oscar,” he asked, able to speak around the sprig this time, “why are you out here in coyote country?” 

“I’m patrolling,” she said. “I look for creatures like you and give them the warning.” 

“Creatures?” Oddstripe chuckled but Oscar nodded seriously.

“Yes. Anything I can speak to. Cats, deer, snakes, most birds.”

“Wow!” Oddstripe marveled. “That’s amazing! I didn’t realize you could talk to those kinds of things.” 

“It’s simple if you have a teacher,” said Oscar humbly. 

“It seems most things are,” laughed Oddstripe. 

It wasn’t long before they reached the edge of the grass again. Oscar stopped under a scrubby little tree and said. “I should return to my patrol. Will you be able to get home from here?” 

“Oh, yes,” nodded Oddstripe. “Thank you so much, Oscar, it was lovely to meet you.”

She shook her head. “I’m simply doing my duty.”

“Well, thank you anyway,” said Oddstripe. She smiled, dipped her head in a polite bow, and then turned and bounded back into the desert. Oddstripe watched her go like he was trying to catch every last moment of her before she disappeared forever. Eventually, her shape disappeared into the shimmering edge of the horizon. 

“Oddstripe?” asked Aldertail quietly. 

“Oh,” he blinked and looked down at her. “Yes, dear?” 

“I’d like to go home, is that okay?” 

“Oh, of course it is,” he said, “let’s go home.”

“Sorry.”

“No, no, that’s alright. Sorry I got distracted.” 

“What was her deal?” Aldertail asked, craning her head to see if she could spot Oscar in the distance.

“I don’t know,” Oddstripe breathed softly, doing the same.