#but trafalgar square is behind it

[adoresia]

I’m in London rn AND THE MC DONALDS TOILET STANK SO BAD😭😭

Plus the toilets were down TWO sets of stairs😟

I think I’m in Oxford Circus or smth like that

LMFAOOOOOOOO WAIT IM CRYING THE TOILETS IN MCDONALDS ALWAYS SMELL LIKE 10 CANS OF BOUNCE DET ASS IM SORRY😞😞😞

IM KINDA CLOSE TO OXFORD CICRUS OMG?? (like a 20 minute train ride away but still 😛) WHERE DID YOU COME FROM? why London out of all places 😔😔😔

[licorice-tea]

The Object Of All My Desires

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x reader

Content: so much angst, unrequited feelings (or so law thinks!), pining, yearning, (verbal) fighting, cursing, reader refers to law as a “stalker”, which is valid tbh bc he’s being a little weird, but not really, strawhat reader

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: oh my god i spend so long on this and i just kept hitting mental roadblocks! but then, tonight i got the inspiration to write like ~500 words and finished it up. there were only meant to be 2 parts, but similar to the second season of bridgerton (which it’s inspired by) there will be a 3rd! (the 1st part is based on the first meeting of kate/anthony, this part is based on that entire pinning phase+the confesssion, and the last will be shorter and basically be a resolution of everything.) also, im looking for beta readers! pls dm or comment if you’re interested!!! and if you’d like to be tagged in the next lmk! thanks for reading <3

Part 1 • Part 3

The second time you and Law were around one another long enough to have to face the other and, god forbid, speak, would come 2 years after your first meeting. After all your training apart from your crew, you had finally united and started traveling together again. You and your nakama took on all the challenges Fishman Island had thrown at you and soon moved on to the next adventure: Punk Hazard. It was there you met the standoffish Captain of the Heart Pirates again, and he proposed an alliance to Luffy between your two crews. So here you are; in an alliance with a captain you’d managed to piss off 2 years ago, and who clearly still carries that grudge with him.

Law already doesn’t like being part of the alliance with Straw Hat- but you only make it 1000 times worse. It’s unbearable having to be on the same ship as you, let alone sit at the same table over meals or pass each other in hallways. Not to mention, you seem to make everything a competition. And he doesn’t want to be in as childish a feud as the one that the swordsman and the love cook have, but you’re forcing him to act that way. You’re absolutely insufferable, and how he ever found you remotely intriguing or pretty to begin with is beyond his comprehension.

And yet, Law can’t pull himself away from you, nor you from him. He lingers in dark hallways just to pass by you as you go about your errands on the ship. He stares long enough to burn holes through you, then turns away milliseconds before you catch him (or so he thinks.) But every time you approach the reserved man, he exudes an air of annoyance.

It all makes you wonder, “What’s his deal?” Besides your little tiff back in Sabaody 2 years ago, you’ve never done anything to offend him in his time on the Sunny… Maybe you just need to clear the air. Yeah, that’s it; confront Law and ensure there is no bad blood between the two of you. No grudges, just goodwill.

You hope.

~

The Strawhats and co (Law) are docked at a small island, just for a day or so. Frankly needs supplies, Sanji; ingredients, Chopper; medicine, Zoro; booze, etcetera. And since most of the others have something specific they’re in search of, you have a free day to explore and shop!

You bid Brooke goodbye and thank him for watching the ship, then make your way up the dock and into town. It’s a quaint area, but the market near the entrance of what resembles a town square is overflowing with interesting bits and baubles.

Though you are happy to have this time to yourself, you’re not alone. Law is a mere 20ish feet away. He doesn’t greet you or even make eye contact, instead choosing to lean into shadows and stand behind vendor booths. You can tell that he’s trying to go unnoticed, pretending to be interested in whatever wares the shopkeepers have for sale every time you turn back to check for him.

And it’s fine, for a while. This could be a good opportunity to try and talk to him and ensure that the two of you are on good, if not neutral terms. It’s a little strange that he’s following you now after the two of you have had close to no interactions during his week or so on board the Thousand Sunny, but you don’t mind.

You cannot, however, pass up the opportunity to harmlessly scare him when he gets momentarily distracted by one of the little shops. While Law is reading titles of comic books (how strange…), you double back so that when he looks up, he can’t find you. He scans the marketplace, but to no avail- you must have run off somewhere.

Then you tap his shoulder, and the man nearly jumps out of his skin as he whips his head around to see who it is.

“You really like stalking me, huh?”

“…I’m not stalking you.”

“No? Well, whatever you want to call it, it’s the second time it’s happened.”

“What are you-“

“Sabaody, 2 years ago.”

“I wasn’t stalking you then, either.”

“Fine; following me through at least 3 groves while trying to be quiet and stay out of sight.”

Law scoffs. “Whatever.”

“Hm…” You lean to the side to see what’s behind him; display shelves with various comic books. “What were you looking at?”

“Nothing, I wasn’t even looking here.”

“Ah, so it’s ok for you to lie to my face, but not me to you. Got it.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

You nearly laugh. 2 years ago, after proceeding to follow you through several groves of the Archipelago, Law had insisted on knowing if you were a pirate or not, and the conversation had somehow escalated into an argument. It was a stupid little thing. But, you find it funny now, which is why you’re attempting to make jokes about the encounter and ensure him there are no hard feelings reserved over it. “Again, Sabaody.”

“Well… maybe you should stop carrying a grudge over that.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I only bring it up because I think it’s funny.”

“I think it’s childish.” Law doesn’t know why he says this, to be honest. He wants to come off as smart and witty, though he might not have executed it very well.

With a scoff, you cross your arms. “Law you’ve refused to even look at me in your time with my crew. When I try to talk to you, you act like you don’t hear me or straight up ignore me. Then you go and stare at me from across as if I can’t see you. And I’m childish?”

“Yeah, you are, and I don’t like you. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Better than you being an awkward asshole with no explanations as to why.”

“I’m not fucking awkward, shut up.”

“Oh no, you just follow people around for the better part of an hour without talking to them. Very charming.”

Law huffs, unamused, and storms off without another word.

You sigh and continue browsing the stalls. “Ok, so, maybe there is some bad blood between us….”

~

Things are awkward between you and Law for the remainder of the evening. Not only is he avoiding you, but you’re also avoiding him. And though you still try your best to be at least a little friendly, he straight up ignores all of your attempts. Whereas before your little confrontation in the marketplace, the stoic man would have at least responded with an eye roll.

When it’s dinnertime, you take your seat next to Robin as usual. Casual conversation and laughter flow around the table easily and seemingly endlessly… until Law walks in. He sits in the only empty chair, next to Chopper’s, and nods at Sanji in thanks for the food. And you, foolishly, try to incorporate him into the conversation. Maybe you do it to try and heal the small rift between the two of you, or maybe you simply want to provoke him further (though you'd never admit it.)

“So, Law, how was your day?”

Everyone pauses their conversations to not-so-discreetly listen in. They had also recognized the growing tension between you and the ally captain, for seemingly no reason at all.

“Mind your own business.”

“Hard to do when you’re always in mine.”

He nearly spits out his drink.“What?”

“You heard me.”

“I’m starting to get sick of your behavior, y/n.”

“So sick that you just can’t seem to leave me alone?”

“Watch the way you speak to me-“

“My apologies Law, I’m so used to being watched by you rather than having conversations, I must have forgotten my manners-“

“Shut up!”

“Fuck you!”

Now that both of your voices are raised, the crew sees it fit to intervene.

“Watch how you speak to them, Trafalgar-“ Sanji warns.

Similarly, Robin tries to talk you down. “Y/n, he’s our ally-“

The attempts to calm what had nearly turned into a screaming match prove futile, as Law storms out. You scoff and cross your arms. He’s so infuriating, it makes you sick to your stomach.

Silence passes as your crewmates look between each other, none wanting to be the first to… console you? Admonish? Give advice.

“You two should talk, y/n.” Says Robin, ever so mature.

“If he wants to talk, he can come to me instead of constantly staring at me from across the deck without saying anything.”

“Well, he’s clearly not very good at showing it, but you realize that he likes you, don’t you?”

You blink and turn to look at her. This must be another one of her dark jokes. “Very funny, Robin.”

“Oh, y/n, come on!“ Usopp groans; he’s had enough of the yearning and tension. “You seriously didn’t know?”

“No! Because he doesn’t like me. He’s been holding a stupid grudge against me since the first time we met back in Sabaody-“

Nami backs up Usopp’s point; “A crush, y/n. He’s had a crush on you and he’s too shy to talk to you normally-“

“So, what, it’s ok for him to just watch from afar but then act like a jerk when I try and talk to him?”

Surprisingly, Chopper speaks up next. “…Maybe your intentions came off different than intended?”

This makes you bite your lip in thought. Perhaps they had.

Nami pats your shoulder, “Now, go work this out so the rest of us don’t have to deal with all your unresolved tension.”

You unintentionally pout; the last thing you want is to talk to Law right now. But, your crew urges you on, and all but pushes you out the door.

~

You find him pacing back and forth on the starboard deck of the Sunny.

“Law?”

He whips around and you swear you see his scowl become even more pronounced than usual. The crease between his brows deepens, as the corners of his lips turn into a borderline pout. “Not done tormenting me?

“Tormenting? I just… I came to talk to you.“

“I find that hard to believe. From the moment we met, you have been nothing but rude and a nuisance to me.”

You scoff, all plans of reconciliation forgotten. “Believe me, Law, the feeling is mutual.”

“Fuck off.”

“This is my ship, so why don’t you fuck off? Jump overboard for all I care.”

“Maybe I will if it gets me away from you.” Law turns on his heel and storms off the open deck and into a hallway.

“Good luck swimming, asshole!”

Your rebuttal brings him right back to his former position, face to face with you so that your screaming match can continue “I hope you know that every moment I have to spend on this ship is torture, y/n, all because of you.”

“I haven’t done shit to you, Law.”

“Then whose fault is it that I feel this way? Go on, name someone else so I can take it out on them instead.”

“It’s your fault if you feel any type of way about me besides amicably. I’ve been nothing but kind, and-“

“Bullshit. Whether you know it or not you’ve done… something to me, I can feel it.”

“Oh yeah? And since when do you know anything about how you feel, all you do is brood.”

“I don’t brood. And I know that you are the bane of my existence.” He spits back, making sure to emphasize the word bane.

You hold your breath, refusing to play into this childish argument any longer. Or maybe it’s because, even if it’s just a little, his words genuinely hurt. You realize then, that you don’t want to be the so called ‘bane of his existence.’ He takes your silence as an opportunity to continue, though at a much lower volume than before.

“… And the object of all my desires.”

After a moment of disbelief, your scowl turns to a raised brow. “Excuse me?”

“Every one of my waking hours is plagued by thoughts of you. It doesn’t help that I can’t go anywhere on this goddamned ship-“

“Don’t you talk about the Sunny that way-“

“- without seeing you!”

“Well you must enjoy being around me if you’ve decided I’m,” you create air quotations with your hands, “the object of all your desires.”

You feel so out of your depth now. All you know to do is to bite back with witty remarks, even when he opens up to you. And he seems to do the exact same.

“It’s a nuisance.”

Your lip trembles, but you refuse to cry in front of Law while he plays this sick mind game with you. “I didn’t know liking me was such an awful fate.”

He lets out a shaky breath. “There are so many other things I should be focused on, but all I think of is you. It’s not awful, but it’s making me weak.”

“You’re such a prick, Law.”

He’s bewildered, mouth gaping as he tries to understand what could’ve been wrong with what he’s just confessed to you. “I’m saying I like you, y/n, I- Do you hate me that much?”

“No, I don’t hate you, idiot! But you- when you started traveling with us, you made me feel like I had done something to offend you, and then when I confronted you about it in the market you started to really hold a grudge, then you - I just- that’s not how you treat people!”

“Y/n-“

“Are you messing with me right now, Law? Is this another play to try and gain the upper hand in this… ongoing thing we have?”

“No, I wouldn’t…” He trails off and shakes his head. He probably would, if he weren’t so enamored with you and on the condition he possessed the social skills to pull off such an elaborate scheme. “It’s not.”

You’re silent again, but both you and Law are refusing to break eye contact. He must notice your still watery eyes and trembling bottom lip because he steps forward. His hand travels to your arm, then your chin. Forced to look at him, you are pained to see a similar unhappy look in his eyes. Minus the tears. You could almost take him for sorry if it weren’t Trafalgar Law, of all people. So instead of falling into his arms like you suddenly feel a desperate need to; you step backward.

You fold your arms over your chest as you look off somewhere- anywhere besides his eyes. “Law, nothing good can come of this.”

“This? What is this, y/n?”

“These.. feelings.”

“You feel the same?”

“I didn’t ask to feel this way!” You bite back, “But… yes, I do.”

“So what should we do?”

“We aren’t going to do anything, Law. You just stay in your lane, and I’ll stay in mine.”

“I thought you didn’t like that I was avoiding you?”

“Well now that I know why, what else can be done? Nothing can happen between us, Law. And we can’t allow feelings to complicate this alliance. I can’t allow that, at least; it’s too important to Luffy.”

He searches for reasoning that will trump yours but comes up with none. And so, with a heavy heart, he concedes. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Nothing happened.” Law confirms.

“And nothing will.”

You nod and start walking away. “Goodnight, Law.”

“Goodnight, y/n.”

And once you’re back safely in your room, the tears start to spill. You hate this- you hate him. You hate the way he makes you feel. You hate that you’re in love with him, and it took you this long to realize.

The tears don’t stop until you’re knocked out, and by the time you wake up, they’ve stained your cheeks.

Taglist: @augustanna @lavanderdreamve @pinksaiyans @khaleesihavilliard @jennapancake

[portgasmalia]

𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐃𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 ﹙including: sabo, trafalgar law, eustass kid, roronoa zoro﹚ ﹙theme: smut, pure smutty headcanons. mdni!! ﹚

flame emperor sabo

oh, he did not need any instructions about what you wanted or needed to reach the most intense orgasm. with his position as the second in command, sabo knew exactly how it felt to be in control of people. and god, he loved that control way too much to let it slip so easily in the sheets with you. what he did not expect was how you obeyed to his words. the seductive syllables that slipped from his warm tongue past his wet lips. and so sabo did not need to instruct you on how to place your hands while your legs were wrapped up around his waist. his palms were flatly placed on the sheets beside your head, calloused fingertips dug into the white fabric underneath your intertwined bodies. your hand was perfectly placed underneath his slender underarm, the manicured fingernails wrapped so tightly around his wrist while sabo‘s hips snapped into yours. over and over again, the flame emperor coaxed out the whiny sounds of your tightened throat. he could watch how your face twisted with pleasure, how each of your muscles twitched when he hit the perfect spot, and how the beads of sweat trailed down your temples. sweet cries repeated his name, the memorable sound ringing in his ears as your nails scratched along the sides of his wrist and dug deeply into the soft skin. a beautiful reminder to the revolutionary, once he pulled the brown leather gloves on or off and saw the crescent-shaped, or sometimes lined, marks.

roronoa zoro

there is no denying that zoro loves to pound into you from behind. watching how his thick dick disappeared between your legs, squeezed tightly by your welcoming, gummy walls. or how perfectly your ass cheeks jiggled with each rough thrust of his hips which also resulted in his favorite position. sprawled out on the bed, the head turned to the side and the watermelon pink stained cheek pressed against the soft fabric of the square pillows. zoro‘s scared chest pressed against the curve of your back, his hips slamming against the soft flesh of your butt with each thrust. you witnessed each second, he fought the urge to unload his seed after your gummy walls squeezed his thick dick so deliciously tight. it happened multiple times in this particular position, as zoro pressed his hips further against your backside and the way his grip on your hand tightened. your palm was placed beside your head, manicured nails dug into the soft fabric of the sheets. zoro‘s large paw placed above yours, calloused palm against the back of your hand and fleshy fingers laced with your slender ones. as soon as the feeling of your cunt around him became too much, and the swordsman slowed down the pace, his fingers stroke through yours, slightly squeezing. he might not realize the little gesture but you were thankful for how he held your hand and gave you an inaudible insight on how well you made him feel.

trafalgar d. water law

he loved how eagerly your fingernails clawed at his upper arms or his back, he admired to see your attempts to stop the rough pounding you earned by teasing him, or interrupting his exhausting studies once again. but what the doctor loved much more, is the feeling of having you struggle against him while being completely overstimulated by his actions. trapped underneath his body as he pounded into your sore cunt. you could not remember how many orgasms you already went through, the punishment started hours ago and law wasn't even halfway through with it. hands placed effortlessly beside your head, not having enough strength anymore to fight against your boyfriend's relentless movements. "see, i told you punishment would be worse than waiting a couple of hours longer," he would mutter against the shell of your ear, placing soft kisses along your jawline. law's hands were placed around your wrists, fingers lazily wrapped around your soft skin while the pointer finger laid perfectly in your palm. it all belonged to his plan. giving him a chance to always know that you're still feeling good about what he was doing. one pinch of pain was enough for the doctor to stop. slowly, tapping the tip of his pointer finger against the soft skin of your palm and waiting for the slightest squeeze as an answer. all he needed was the little measurement to snap his hips stronger against yours and hunt down his own orgasm.

eustass 'captain' kid

being with kid meant to prepare for the worst. not in the way that it was not pleasing at all what he did with his towering body, it happened to be the entire opposite. the snap of his hips against yours was rough, burying himself to the hilt inside of your warm, gummy walls. stretched out again, never really prepared to take his girthy length but you loved the feeling he forced upon you. there was no need to deny how kid dominated you in each situation of life. as a captain, he gave you orders. as a friend, he gave you advice. and as your boyfriend, he certainly took control in the sheets without questioning. your hands placed above your head if he was sprawled out on top of you. one hand beside your head to keep his towering, muscular body from crushing you while the other held your hands together by the wrists. the calloused and rough palm of one of his large paws was enough to capture both of your slender arms in a tight grip. always giving him another glint of power, another strong beam of pride about how muscular and tall he was, compared to you. the way his fleshy fingers overpowered you without having to use his entire strength to hold your in place became kid's little act. if he towered above you, roughly snapping his hips against yours as skin slapping against skin filled the captain's chambers. or while you were on all four, the damp, flustered span of your cheek pressed against the soft sheets with the ass high in the air. kid was pressed tightly against your jiggling ass, admiring how the flesh of your butt wiggled with each forceful thrust. arms neatly placed on the curve of your back, wrists held together tightly by the large hand of your boyfriend.

[grandlinedreams]

Hii I just found out about your blog today! I really like your writing 🤭 Can I request a straw hat reader and law trying to keep their relationship a secret but they failed. Then the reaction from both crews! Thank you!

Hi bb!! Thank-you, I'm honored!! 🥺💖 but oh absolutely!! I hope this is to your liking, bb! (Ig this is a little non-canon? indeterminate setting)

Palm up, you stare at the little square of white that inches across your skin at a steady pace. There are limits to vivre cards, you know that ㅡ but you can't help but silently will everything involved to move faster.

"You're not sneaky, you know." You whirl, finding Nami leaning against the doorway with an amused look on her face, arms folded across her chest.

"I don't know what you mean," you say warily, mentally kicking yourself for pulling the paper out without making sure you wouldn't be spotted with it, even as your fingers close around it protectively.

Nami's head tilts. "That secret candy stash," she says, "you're not very good at hiding it. You're just lucky that Luffy hasn't figured out where to look yet."

"Oh," you answer, trying not to sound too relieved that she doesn't mean the vivre card you've been watching for the last ten minutes. "Right. I'll have to move it around, then."

Nami studies you silently for a moment in which you're almost certain she knows, but then she pulls from the doorway with a sigh. "We're supposed to be meeting up with the Heart Pirates, so you might want to come out and join us before Luffy figures that something is up."

"Right behind you," you answer, waiting until she turns to put the vivre card away and moving to follow. Outside, you're just in time to watch the swell of waves break, exposing gleaming yellow metal.

"There they are!" Luffy crows excitedly from where he's perched atop his usual seat, waving to the Polar Tang despite the fact that nobody can see him yet.

"Remind me why we're still letting them hang around?" Zoro asks and you turn towards him, though Robin answers for you.

"Because it's important to keep good relations with our allies." She glances towards you. "You agree, don't you?"

You swear there's something in her gaze, a glint of amusement that runs deeper than watching you fumble to agree.

"Whatever," huffs Zoro. "Still think that guy's full of himself."

You bite your tongue, waiting until you're certain you won't say something you regret. "Luffy is our Captain, Zoro. If he trusts them, then we should too."

You feel a lot more than trust towards Trafalgar Law. But though it's gotten easier to keep those feelings under lock and key, it's still hard to not want to bounce forward and fling your arms around him the way Luffy does.

"Traffy!! Good to see you!"

"I've told you to stop calling me that, Strawhat," Law grouses, struggling to free himself from the rubber man's grip. "And get off me!"

Luffy seems far from upset by Law's greeting, cheerful grin still wide and bright as he lets go to offer the same greeting to Bepo, just a few feet behind his Captain.

You pretend not to notice when Law glances at you, your own attention pointedly fixed on some obscure point until you can't feel the weight of his gaze anymore. Only then do you lett yourself look back at him, fingers twitching at the memory of his vivre card on your palm.

ㅡ

Luffy's plan for the ally rendezvous ends up being to anchor both the Sunny and the Polar Tang at the back coast of a nearby island with the intent to keep either crew from being spotted and recognized. (It's more Law's idea, but all he does is roll his eyes when Luffy repeats it with much more enthusiasm.)

After that it's a blur of cooking food in the kitchen, platters laden down with piles of food and lowered down onto the beach, where a bonfire (small and carefully contained) is going at Luffy, Usopp, and Chopper's request.

"Is there a reason you're avoiding me?"

"I'm not avoiding you," you say from where you're picking up dry kindling for the bonfire. "Didn't we agree not to tell either of our crews we're together?"

"True," Law agrees as he approaches, "but I hardly think pretending that I don't exist at all is going to work either. They'll think you hate me."

"I think Zoro has that covered," you mumble. "But you know I don't hate you, Law."

"I do?" There's a hint of amusement in his tone, smirk tugging at his lips. He's teasing you, the jerk. "Could have fooled me."

You roll your eyes. "What if you're the one who hates me? Hm?"

He approaches, the height difference all the clearer for how he seems to tower over you, even as he leans down. "Hate is the furthest word from how I feel about you."

You've only shared a handful of kisses with Law and each time, you've been the one to initiate them. Perhaps a testament to how he's missed you, Law leans in, lips pressing against yours.

Your eyes close, and you're tempted to drop the bundle of wood in your hands in favor of curling them into his shirt ㅡ only to break apart at the same time as Law at the sound of your Captain's voice in tandem with Bepo's.

"Hey Traffy!! Where'd you go?"

"Captain? Captain!"

Law sighs. "So much for that," he says, pulling away from you completely and turning back in the direction that he'd come from. "Don't take too long coming back either, or they'll think you got eaten by a Sea King."

Watching his back, it's only then that you realize he's somehow eased the bundle of sticks from your grip and walked away with it ㅡ effectively leaving you with zero reason as to why you'd left in the first place.

"Jerk," you mutter, but you're smiling, bringing a hand up to trace your lips and the lingering warmth.

ㅡ

Sunset is a milky blend of reds and oranges, vibrant against the deep blue of the sea, inciting a deeper sense of contentment that makes you dig your feet into the sunwarmed sand.

"Comfortable?" Law seats himself beside you without preamble, the brush of his arm against yours intentional. You debate for a moment before you lean against him, gaze flicking upward to watch his lips curve into a softer smile when you rest your head on his shoulder.

"I am now," you mumble, let your eyes drift shut as you try to commit this to memory. "I wish we saw each other more."

There's a deeper meaning to it, a wholly selfish want for something more stable than what you have ㅡ going months at a time without sreing each other, vivre cards the only way of guaranteed safety. (It isn't safety, not really. Just the reassurance that the other is still alive.)

"I know." Law answers. "...every time I hear about whatever stunt you lot have pulled, I check your vivre card." Another deeper meaning, vulnerability where he usually can't afford it. "We could tell them, you know."

You snort. "Tell them what? 'Sorry, we've been dating behind your back for the last two years?'"

"You're dating Traffy?"

You feel Law tense under your head at Luffy's voice, and you turn to find him staring at the two of you.

Shit.

"Luffy, I, uhㅡ"

"Yes," Law cuts in, "we are." It startles you, how freely he's admitting to it now when he's the one who wanted to be so damn careful about it.

"Oh," Luffy says. And then he grins. "That's so cool! I mean, as long as you're not gonna steal [Name] and make them join you all the time."

You wonder if somewhere down the line, you've hit your head and entered a different dimension. Surely you have, for Law to be so blasé in admitting to your relationship and Luffy ㅡ well, that's on par for him.

Luffy takes it a step further, however, turning and cupping his hands around his mouth. "You guys!! Did you know Traffy and [Name] were dating?"

You flinch, Law's expression unreadable as there's an answering call ㅡ Shachi.

"No offense Captain, but we figured it out last year!"

"I thought they seemed awful chummy! Congrats, you two!" Nami.

And then Luffy is bounding off back to the others, and your shoulders slump. "Well, that was a lot of worry for nothing," you lament, though you reach for Law's hand, lacing your fingers before you stand, tugging him to his feet. "Come on, boyfriend. We have some explaining to do."

[firstdivisiongirl]

Hello, Aly! Long time no speak. May I please request Trafalgar Law from One Piece with number 2 (Can’t I just give you $20 and you can buy something for yourself) for the 25 Days of Christmas 2024 event? Thank you so much! Happy Holidays to you! :)

Hi friend. Thank you for the request!! This combo feels so Law. He seems like he’s not a shopping person. Happy holidays and hope you like it!!

Trafalgar Law x Reader: Can’t I Just Give You 20 Berries and You Can Buy Something for Yourself?

If there was one thing Law hated, it was buying Christmas gifts.  Especially for you.  He loved you.  Don’t get him wrong.  But he just never knew what exactly to get you.  He always wanted it to be perfect and that you would like it.  So he hated when this time of year came.  It meant more sleepless nights and more stress.  And trust me, he did not need any more of that.

Law asked you everyday if there was anything that you may want.  Sadly for him, you said surprise me.  It was really getting annoying.  About two weeks before Christmas he decided on what to do.

After lunch with the crew, you were washing dishes.  He approached you from behind and gave you a tight hug.  “Hey,” he said, kissing your temple, “how are dishes coming?”  You sigh, “coming along.  I hope I can finish up soon so I can go out and pick out your Christmas gift.”

He took a deep breath, “I wanted to ask you something about Christmas actually.  What do you really want?”

“Don’t really know.”

“That doesn’t help me.  Can’t I just give you 20 berries and you buy something for yourself?  Then I can stop stressing trying to figure out what you would like.”

“But that’s the fun part.  Being surprised.”

He sighed.  Guess he really didn’t have a choice.  Back to square one.  Maybe one of the crew members could help him.

Please do not copy, modify, translate or repost my writing on other platforms. Comments, reblogs and likes are highly appreciated!

[armysantiny]

Perfect Little Pet – KHJ

P: Hongjoong x afab gender neutral reader | G: smut, oneshot | Inc: cruella!au, cruella!hongjoong, assistant!reader, 'Captain', 'pet', Felix mention, journalist!Wooyoung, Yunho mention, Wooyoung/Yunho mention, set in the UK, Trafalgar Square, flaring tempers i.e. Hongjoong's, fashion studio, cruella movie-esque fashion show, Hongjoong occasionally abusing his power, wet dreams, fwb ending, a lot of British references and general mannerisms, two smut scenes | Wc: 5.9k

W: d/s tones, 'Captain' used during sex, bent over the desk, dom!Joong, sub!reader, overstim, begging, wet dreams, blowjob, cumshot on face, backshot during sex, one/two uses of the word slut, 'pet' used during sex (please let me know if I've forgotten anything, I'm writing this post up at 1 am)| R: 18+ mdni

Summary: Captain. Anyone who’s anyone knows who that is; none other but the rising name in fashion and making a name for himself for his eye-catching and punk-inspired shows. And right there in the back, is obedient little y/n, the childhood friend. The assistant to the Captain and one of the few to know Hongjoong for who he is behind the scenes, uptight and frantic and so achingly desperate to be perfect. Good thing they’re the Captain’s perfect little pet.

Min's notes: We're starting the year off strong! And you may have figured it out already, but @hee0soo, I'm your secret santa! I had so so so much fun writing this, you have no idea. When I tell you I was giggling like an idiot when you answered my question in the server, it was perfect. I hope you like reading this! And this happens to be my longest fic <33 also, 'on the dole' = on benefits hehe

There’s graphite on his hands, smudged all over the sketchbook, and Hongjoong takes another look at the plain mannequin standing by its lonesome in his office. Something’s missing, he knows it. Is it the hem? The length of the sleeves? Whatever it is, Hongjoong can’t bloody tell and it’s driving him up the wall. The designer groans, dissatisfied with own progress and discards the sketchbook on his desk. He gets up with just as much frustration, boots stomping across the floor in the direction of the balcony. His production facility looms below him, hard at work.

Almost taunting him.

“Just one more…” he mutters, taking a reluctant step back into his seat, “one more of the bloody things and I’ll be ready for runway…” Sure, it is self-imposed encouragement, but it is encouragement. Hongjoong isn’t a beggar. He’ll take what he can get. And take, of course. Until his pencil simply drags along the paper with no real goal and he snaps the dastardly thing between his sleek fingers, throwing its remains against the closest wall. It clatters to the floor just as the frustrated designer storms towards the door to his office, opening it and unleashing a powerful tension upon the production floor.

“Bring y/n up here!”

Y/n shivers from where they stand, helping move a box of supplies into the stock room. No matter how long they’ve stood by Hongjoong’s side, there is nothing that will help them get used to the sound of him barking out a command like that. A frustrated Hongjoong is a live wire – temperamental, snappy, and not someone to be approached without caution. They freeze with the box for just a moment before it’s taken out of their hands by one of the new starters.

“Captain sounds pretty miffed,” they say, pulling on the sleeve of their hoodie, “go on, I’ve got this!”

“If you’re sure…”

“Course I am luv, go on already~” And y/n is all but gently shoved out of the stock room, left to face their employer. And childhood friend.

All eyes are on y/n as they walk through the building towards those ever-familiar stairs, trying to ignore the weight of everyone’s gaze. It’s just Hongjoong, our Joongie, there’s nothing to be anxious over, their mind repeats, heels clicking along the wooden panelling amongst the unusual human silence. Seconds go by excruciatingly slowly, and finally, y/n stands in front of Hongjoong’s office. One steadying breath, and then another.

The door opens before they have a chance to knock, Hongjoong all but yanking his assistant inside and locking the door behind them both. There’s an impatient energy in the room, furthered even more by the fact y/n watches their friend pull them along to the mannequin and frantically go about putting his prized mannequin back by the window where it overlooks the production floor.

“Lean against the wall for me, will ya?” Hongjoong asks, reaching for his sketchbook once again, certain he’s found a muse in y/n. They have this gait around them that would work just so well with his new line, it would be criminal if he doesn’t capture it on paper at least once. Well, perhaps a few times, because the creativity comes back with a vengeance. His pencil glides along the cartridge paper with ease, framing y/’s silhouette perfectly and a grin erupts on his face.

Finally. Finally, he can make a start on creating the showstopper piece.

Time is but an illusion as Hongjoong works on his piece, occasionally looking up to really solidify the vision he’s got in mind. Y/n’s holding themselves just the way he needs them to, providing just the right amount of feedback and silence he needs, and Hongjoong might as well be inside a creative paradise of his own making. He’s found the right formula. He’s found his new muse, perfectly shaped in the image of y/n, his little assistant. The outfit seems to come together all on its own as he draws, each stroke of the pencil working in tandem with each other to create a look he knows will absolutely shock the viewing public in Trafalgar Square.

It’s around an hour later when the design is finally complete, Hongjoong’s mind at ease as he does one last look over everything. He’s done it. The look is perfect. There is just one thing…

He’s rather hungry now.

“Right,” he starts, setting his sketchbook down, “that’s us done here y/n, thanks again pet~”

“O-oh, it’s no prob—”

“But do get us a spot of lunch, would you? I’ve been dying to try out that new brunch café. I want either a chicken alfredo or a chicken Caesar salad, understood?” He tosses y/n his wallet as they begin to leave, turning on his heel and collapsing into his office chair with a yawn.

“Your regular coffee too, Captain?” Y/n asks. Oh, what a darling they are.

“You know me too well~ of course I want my coffee. I want them both here by the half hour.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Checking the time as they leave the café, y/n breathes a sigh of relief: they’ve got at least another fifteen minutes to make it back to the factory if they can get to Hongjoong’s favourite coffee spot before the lunchtime rush, otherwise they’ll be late. So, they make a break for it, taking extra care to leave their Captain’s lunch flat in their bag lest they have alfredo decorate the inside of the gifted Nevada Leather Weekender slung over their shoulder. The coffee spot itself is only a few metres away, less than a few minutes to run, but every second counts in the world of the Captain.

Lady Fate is on their side it seems, because there absolutely no sign of a queue, or even the beginnings of one, when y/n makes it to the coffee shop. Aurora, a quaint little place y/n remembers Hongjoong spending almost every free minute in before they watched their friend shoot to success, when they were still just two friends with a dream. Their running slows to a brisk walk as they enter, greeting the barista with a smile and getting a card ready as soon as they confirm they’re after the usual iced latte with two extra shots of espresso and a shot of vanilla. Once payment goes through and the coffee is in their hands, y/n is out of there in a heartbeat, eager to make it back in time.

“Look at you~ exactly two minutes early,” Hongjoong muses as he sees y/n walk into his office. He pockets his stopwatch, hangs his custom-made coat on the coatrack and takes his coffee. “If there’s anyone I trust to make coffee the way I like it, it’s that pretty one with the deep voice. Face of an angel, but, God, that voice?”

 Oh. His lunch is on the desk, but y/n is still here.

Strange.

“Well, are you waiting for me to say something? Run along now, pet, go… oh, I don’t know, busy yourself until I need you.” He chuckles, shooing them away and waving with his fingers once y/n is finally out of the door and Hongjoong can eat his lunch in private, just the way he likes.

Y/n’s bag slides down their arm and onto the floor of their studio flat as they step inside, well-earned exhaustion lacing their bones and pulling a yawn out of their mouth as they fall onto their sofa. They’re used to running all over London for Hongjoong, sure – hell, their daily step count always passes ten thousand – but it’s the weeks leading up to one of his planned fashion event-hijackings that y/n truly feels the burn. Where they truly feel pushed to their tether.

 But it’s always worth it in the end, they remind themselves in between making themselves a cup of tea, watching the kettle boil. Together, they will achieve worldwide success, their brand – Silver Light – will be in every boutique and everyone will know who the Captain is. Y/n spoons a teaspoon of sugar into the mug, pops in the teabag and pours the boiling water and milk, huffing at the connection their mind puts together.

They’re the teaspoon of sugar. Not the main event, no, but an addition to make things sweeter. To make Hongjoong’s plans sweeter.

“New sources and evidence have since come to light regarding the hijacking of Oxford Circus last week. The impromptu fashion show was caused by the organisation called Silver Light, headed by someone calling themselves the ‘Captain’, who witnesses say was armed with a cane, yet no one has been harmed. Following an insider comment…”

The rest of the news story plays on tv, y/n’s interest piqued when they recognise the journalist behind it all. One of Hongjoong’s newer friends, a trusted insider working for the BBC that y/n’s met a good few times. They grab their phone from its charger, unplugging it and dialling the number they’re looking for. It’s a few seconds before they hear the call pick up on the other end of the line.

“Can it be~?” Wooyoung’s voice sings through the phone, “the Captain’s assistant is calling little ol’ me~?”

“Good evening to you too, Wooyoung.” Y/n laughs, ever fond of the charming journalist. “I’m watching your news report tonight, my… you know just how to create the right kind of excitement. A master with words, one would say. Just how do you it~?”

“Y/n, darling,” y/n can almost see the playful rolling of the journalist’s eyes, “you’re flattering me, you know? But flattery gets you everywhere with me, so thank you ever so much.”

The conversation goes on for another half hour, y/n giving Wooyoung all the subtle information he needs to create the next buzz around Silver Light’s next big show. There needs to be a sizable crowd for Trafalgar next week, and Wooyoung is just the right person to weave his words and create that buzz y/n knows Hongjoong is looking for. All manner of press and paparazzi should be there; Silver Light needs to be on the front cover of every broadsheet and tabloid in England.

And when they switch to video call so Wooyoung can jot everything down, y/n chooses to ignore the knowing glance sent their way. They’ve had this conversation before, plenty of times even – concern that all of y/n’s efforts aren’t their own will, that Hongjoong’s somehow forcing them to be his assistant. That couldn’t be further from the truth.

They make themselves another cup of tea, and sigh when Wooyoung still refuses to back down.

“Woo, I know that look,” they sigh, already knowing what comes next. The concern, the lecturing. The you’re being his servant, y/n, you deserve more than that. “This isn’t something Hongjoong is making me do, I really do want Silver Light to succeed. This is my dream too, even if it doesn't look like I want it as much as he does, or it looks like he’s forcing me.”

“Y/n…”

“Have a little faith in me, hm?” They bargain. “I’ll be fine, I promise.”

“If you say so—” Wooyoung’s gaze snaps to something above the camera, “oh, Yunho’s home, he brought food! See you soon y/n~”

“See you soon, say hi to Yunho for me.”

The call ends, and y/n is left with their thoughts, a hot cup of tea, and a muted news channel playing on their tv. Rather than let themselves succumb to the impeding thoughts on the horizon, y/n sips on their tea, unmutes their tv and scrolls through BBC iPlayer until they find the most recent unwatched episode of MasterChef and hits play. The thought manages to persist, though.

Are they just Hongjoong’s errand runner? A simple cog in the machine that Hongjoong pays just that bit more attention to than the others?

Hongjoong’s footsteps echo along the floor as he walks through the production floor, inspecting every station as he passes them by. The Trafalgar show is but days away and he cannot afford a single error whatsoever. He’s counting on this one to be a success; Wooyoung’s articles have created the right kind of stir he needs, y/n’s been busting their ass helping him with the finer details, the last thing Hongjoong needs is his plan falling apart.

So why the fuck can he see someone stitching a button incorrectly?

“You!” He barks, storming over to the unsuspecting employee, fury lining his brows. It stuns the rest of the room into silence, terror in their eyes as they watch. “Are you trying to ruin this week’s show?! Just what the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?!”

They shiver, the poor thing, watching as Hongjoong furiously inspects the garment for any more errors. It’s a simple mistake really, a small oversight but they know better. Everyone at Silver Light knows better:

Captain doesn’t give second chances.

But then Hongjoong smiles. Not a genuine one by any means, no, but something that’s a little too sweet.

“What’s your name, darling?”

“M-my name is Felix, Captain—” whatever Felix tries to say is cut off by a heart-attack inducing bang, Hongjoong’s cane slamming down on their workstation in the blink of an eye. The shock sends Felix tumbling, and they prick their thumb on a fashion pin, droplets of blood staining the floor where they stand.

“Oh, just get out!”

“Captain, wait! P-please!”

“You’re fired, get out!”

A pin-drop silence echoes through the building, Hongjoong’s frustration palpable to everyone watching. The workstation is unmanned now, no one remaining to take the task, yet the buttons still need to be taken out and resewn on. Properly, this time. Exhaling, Hongjoong slips his cap off in favour of brushing his hand through his hair, the black and white split-dye messing up and framing his face.

What he needs right now, is y/n to make his problem go away. To be his reliable ally and fix the problem in his way.

He pats his coat down, looking for his phone and almost wants to cry out in relief when he finds the infernal device in his back pocket. A deep breath slips past his lips, and he calls y/n.

And like the angel they are, y/n picks up.

“…Joong?” They rasp out, clearly still tired. “It’s my day off, is everything alright over there?”

No, everything is not alright, Hongjoong wants to rant, the stress itching away at under his skin.

“I really, really wish it was, pet. How fast can you get here?” He asks, praying that the rustling he hears from the other end is y/n changing into their usual work outfit.

“Y/n? Pet?”

“Still here!” They call out, and Hongjoong has half the mind to kiss them when they arrive. “Just checked the traffic, I can make it in twenty?”

“Make it fifteen and I’ll get you that pretty gem of a car you’ve had your eye on.” Hongjoong offers, huffing out a laugh when y/n readily agrees, and the line goes dead seconds later. They’re on their way to Silver Light, and all his problems will be solved. For whom else can Kim Hongjoong rely on other than his y/n?

The clock ticks by agonisingly slowly, teasing Captain with every second that y/n is still on their way. Sure, he can fix this specific coat that Felix so wonderfully fucked up, but there’s a whole line of these that need to be done, and the designer is only human. He can’t do this alone. But he can relax because as soon as Captain resigns himself to hand-stitching every coat, y/n comes in through the door, hurrying over to the workstation and shoo-ing Captain away.

“And you fired him?! Over a button?!” Y/n asks, completely baffled as they listen to Hongjoong rant while they’re stitching the buttons properly. “You really have lost your marbles, Kim Hongjoong.”

“But you still came to my aid! Y/n, you know I couldn’t do all of this without you~” They deadpan, scoffing with smile they can’t control when Hongjoong latches himself onto their back in gratitude. “You’ll be able to handle doing the rest of the coat buttons, right?

Y/n rolls their eyes. They can handle it.

“Bring Felix back, and I’ll stay until the end of the day,” they bargain.

“Deal!”

Y/n doesn’t regret offering to help Hongjoong, really, they don’t, but they have a day off in the middle of the week for a reason. Exhaustion nips away them as they finish the last of the coat buttons, hanging the last one on the rack and patting the sleep out of their face as best they can. Felix is back inside, replacing y/n at his workstation with a meek smile and y/n doesn’t know whether to be happy the young man is back or give the split-dyed designer running the entire outfit a piece of their mind—

And Hongjoong’s calling them into his office.

There’s a corkboard standing when they enter, Hongjoong pinning post-its with various last-minute details. It’s chaotic — more so than usual. Y/n takes a few steps towards the board, reading Hongjoong’s ideas and avoiding the eccentric designer running circles around them.

“Why the last-second rush around?” They ask, still obediently helping Hongjoong sort out his mismatch of written thoughts. “I thought we figured all the details? You’re going to smash the event, Joong, I know what you’re capable of.”

“Awe, thanks y/n~” Hongjoong pats their shoulder. “Your unwavering faith in me is awe inspiring~”

“Oh, shut up,” y/n laughs, then yawns. Bloody hell, they’re tired. “I know I said I was going to stay for the rest of the day, but I’m asleep on my feet here... I can come in tomorrow?” It’s a risky bargain trying to convince Hongjoong like this, but it’s worth a try.

“Y/n, pet... You’re just fine, just sit in here for a bit,” and there goes their chance at rest as Hongjoong admonishes them. “And I need that brilliant mind of yours for later; can’t have you sitting at home, now can we~?”

 No, no he can’t apparently. So, y/n stays, because of course they do.

But now it’s a day before the big hijack, at the god-awful time of one in the morning and Hongjoong is still deliberating over what to wear for the event, lovingly dubbed Project Trafalgar by his darling y/n. Y/n, who answered his messages only half an hour before and watches Hongjoong run around from their spot on his bed, legs crossed and looking oh so cute.

So easily corruptible. But he stores that thought away.

Hongjoong holds up one of his favourite blazers for y/n, a navy cropped piece he’s admittedly worn far too many times. It’s supposed to go with the rest of his outfit that’s already spent a good few hours working on, one that’s going to blow people’s minds away when he reveals himself once Project Trafalgar finishes successfully. Y/n tilts their head, examining the clothing and giving a sleepy thumbs up, nodding their head as they approve of his choices.

“You know~” Hongjoong sings as he goes to hang the blazer up in preparation for tomorrow. “Sometimes I think you’re the true genius behind our success, you always know just how to make everything look absolutely perfect.”

Y/n laughs, and Hongjoong wants to hear more of it.

“Is that Kim Hongjoong appreciating me I hear?” They tease, and Hongjoong gets to hear more of that endearing laugh when he mock-glares in their direction. “I’m just taking the mick, relax. I appreciate what you said, this is important to me. Silver Light and yourself.”

“You’re important me to me too, pet.” And it’s true.

His outfit hung up and decided, Hongjoong finally starts to feel the pull of exhaustion himself. Y/n really wasn’t lying when they said the designer was going to crash from his adrenaline high. He stretches, lithe and cat-like, and disappears into his ensuite to change into something a bit more… suitable for sleeping after an all-nighter putting together his outfit. His cleanser and other nighttime hygiene products are on the shelf above the sink, and Hongjoong figures that he might as well get started removing the stress of the day from his face.

“Y/n, darling,” he starts, “do you think that—”

Hongjoong stops talking when he gets no answering noise in return, and he pokes his head out of his bathroom. Y/n is asleep. He chuckles; of course, y/n is asleep because unlike himself, y/n actually has a normal sleep schedule.

So, he forgoes the question was going to ask them in favour of heading to his bed, lifting’s y/n’s head and resting it on his lap after he sits down. Their hair is soft, he finds, loosely getting his fingers tangled as he finds a strange comfort in the moment he's found himself in. The silence doesn’t help either; letting Hongjoong’s mind spill out words of gratitude he knows his pride would never let him say. It’s better that way, anyway.

But Captain isn’t entirely devoid of basic human empathy.

“Get some rest, pet,” he mutters, “you earned it, my busy little assistant.”

Hongjoong shivers, his head thrown back on the sofa of his flat as he watches y/n through near-shut eyes. They’ve got the head of his cock in their mouth, swirling their tongue around the tip and good lord does Hongjoong want to just buck his hips into y/n’s warm, pretty mouth and—

Not yet. Not if he wants to stretch this out and enjoy it just that little bit longer.

But apparently, he isn’t the only impatient one in the room because y/n wastes no time in getting more of his length inside their mouth, hand wrapping around the remainder. Cold hands and a warm mouth are a killer combination, and Hongjoong shivers with a groan, bucking his hips forward and enjoying the sound of y/n’s muffled surprise.

“Don’t you start acting like that, pet,” he says, reaching down to grab their hair. He gives a few testing thrusts and fuck does he want more. “You’re just as eager as I am, you and I both bloody well know that.”

A rhythm develops, one that has sinful noises bouncing around Hongjoong’s flat and a coil of heat building in his abdomen, his orgasm drawing closer by the minute. Y/n’s moans send vibrations up his cock, and it’s really not all that fair. Not when he’s trying so hard not to just shoot his load down y/n’s pretty throat.

But fuck if y/n isn’t trying to suck his soul out, their criminally talented tongue making his cock twitch. Higher and higher his voice climbs, until his hips are twitching, breaking his rhythm and Hongjoong wraps his legs around y/n’s back, gently forcing them to look him in the eye.

“Where do you want it, pet?” He’s met with y/n’s questioning blink before they tap their face and their chest. “Fucking tease, want me to paint you in my cum? That right, baby?”

They nod, pulling themselves of Hongjoong and yanking off their top in record time. His cock is in their mouth again, twitching as the coil builds and builds, until Hongjoong pulls out, pulling y/n’s face back and coming with a shout of their name.

“Fuck, darling...that was—"

Y/n’s startled awake when Hongjoong shoots up out of bed, watching through tired eyes as the frazzled man looks around the bedroom. They do the same, deciding under the cloud of sleep to not question how and why they ended up in the same bed, but whatever time it is, is no humane time to be awake. So, y/n pads around for their phone, checks the time, and groans.

It’s three in the morning.

“Joong...everything okay?” They ask, shrugging the cover over their face, eager to return to sleep.

“Hm? Oh— yes, yes... everything’s fine, just have Trafalgar on my mind.” Of course, he does. They roll their eyes, an affectionate chuckle and reach over to yank him back down, filing away the sound of Hongjoong’s squeak in the depths of their mind.

“Go back to sleep, love…it’s too early for you to fret.” Y/n says, the comfort of their words wrapped in the inviting warmth of sleep. They fall back asleep just as well, quickly enough that they miss the tint on Hongjoong’s face and his mumbled agreement.

There is all but one precious hour until Project Trafalgar is underway, and Captain has been fidgeting with his hands for the last half of it. He goes through every step of the process once, twice and he’s about to go through it a third time when Captain feels a hand on his shoulder. It’s y/n, and he takes a few deep breaths as per their instructions as his mind hits the breaks on his fretting.

“Captain, you’re doing it again.” They admonish. He blinks; he’s doing what? “Bloody hell, you’re the greatest fashion visionary in British history, this will go perfectly. Ok?”

“Ok.” Captain nods, maintaining eye contact. Reliable little y/n, always by his side. He keeps up with the eye contact, looking into the eyes watching him with so much confidence and unbridled trust that he can feel the confidence resurface under his own skin.

And then y/n leans forward to peck his lips, and his heart does a thing.

“Go on, show them all who Silver Light’s captain is.” Y/n chuckles.

“Are you saying they forgot, pet?” Hongjoong counters, the need to fret over last minute details gone entirely. “Tonight, will be unforgettable, I can promise you that much pet. Make sure you’re watching, hm?”

And watch, y/n does, as they stay hidden away from the obvious police presence Silver Light seems to attract and watch as Captain’s show begins. The music is loud, attention-grabbing and y/n feels excitement light up every nerve in their body. Months. Months and months of sweat, blood and tears has gone into every moment, and they watch the models come into view, each wearing an individual piece from Captain’s new line. It’s gorgeous. Utterly stunning, and y/n can’t help but snap a few pictures and record a quick video.

They’re going to need material to send to Wooyoung, after all.

The next half of the models make their appearance, and y/n very much joins the crowd’s cheering, clapping as each piece is given its moment and basking in the theatrics of it all. Everything sings with Hongjoong’s personal touch. It’s dramatic and elegant and everything that y/n knows to be the essence of Hongjoong’s taste and the Silver Light brand. The crowds are loud, and y/n uses the opportunity to slip away unnoticed from the police and the general public, back into the safehouse Silver Light had so kindly borrowed for tonight’s event. Sure, they’re going to miss when Hongjoong reveals himself and scatters leaflets inviting everyone to purchase an item from his collection, but they’ve seen that all before.

And then they fall asleep on the closest sofa.

Hongjoong bounces in with excitement as he pushes the door of the safehouse wide open, the leftover adrenaline coursing through his veins. He laughs, victorious and gleeful before yanking a now wide-awake y/n.

“Someone looks happy~” they comment, and Hongjoong stops outside his makeshift office, letting his adrenaline take the lead and planting a kiss on their lips.

“Oh, y/n,” he exclaims, pushing open the door and pulling y/n inside. “You have no idea! My darling pet, I~ will be making good on that promise I made.”

And almost immediately he has y/n pressed against the wall as he captures their lips in a kiss, eager and finally getting to act on that bundle of unspoken desire in his chest. A hand is cupping their cheek, tilting y/n’s head as Hongjoong’s tongue pushes past their bottom lip, demanding entry in the only way he can. He explores the warmth he had dreamt about, a chuckle sounding in his throat as y/n’s mouths feels just as good as he had imagined.

“Perfect…” he whispers, a trail of saliva connecting their mouths as he pulls away. “my perfect, perfect y/n…”

Hongjoong gasps in pleasant surprise when y/n makes the move to attack his neck, kissing and sucking on his skin with vigour. He relents, exposing his neck for his darling y/n and busies himself with the task of removing their clothes. By simply ripping them clean off, enjoying the surprised whimper that vibrates against his neck. He pulls them back just that little bit, running his gaze across their exposed body and—

Oh, how pretty his y/n is.

The hairs on the back of y/n’s neck stand up under Hongjoong’s eyes as heavy breaths leave their lips. This is happening now, and they want it, no matter what tonight will do to their friendship with the man in front of them. Whatever lingering hesitations they’ve ever had go out the window, and y/n wastes no time themselves in removing Hongjoong’s clothes, just that bit gentler about it than him.

“Pretty little pet,” they shiver as Hongjoong whispers in their ear. “Want to be good for me, don’t you?”

And they do. They really, really do.

Somewhere in between heated touches and the new hickeys being made on their skin, y/n watches as Hongjoong sinks to his knees, grabbing the inside of their thighs and getting dangerously close to their cunt. He’s taking his time, kissing just close enough to their folds, making y/n twitch in anticipation, but it’s not enough. They want more. Y/n needs more. So, they buck their hips, chasing the feeling but whimper the moment Hongjoong pulls himself away and holds them still.

“You said you’d be good for me, pet, didn’t you?” They nod.

“Then beg. Beg for me to get my mouth on that gorgeous little cunt like the good little slut we both know you are for me.”

So, y/n begs. Pleads with Hongjoong to shove his face in between their legs and eat them out until their knees buckle, for him to push his lithe fingers inside and wring cries out of their mouth. For Hongjoong to fuck them.

Satisfied, Hongjoong digs his fingers into y/n’s thighs as he pulls their legs apart, tutting as his favourite little pet tries closing their legs, suddenly shy. What, did they think he was joking?

“Still or I leave you like this, understand?”

“Yes, yes Captain…” And Hongjoong likes that.

“You keep calling me that, pet.” He says, and wastes no time in pulling himself closer, licking a fat stripe along y/n’s folds. They’re wet, and Hongjoong goes to town, indulging himself and sucking on the sensitive flesh until his nose is buried in y/n’s cunt, drinking up the sounds of his pet’s gasps and whines, his title a song on their lips. He keeps going, bringing his fingers to y/n’s untouched clit, rubbing against the bud in achingly slow circles.

He spends minutes like this, slipping two of his fingers inside y/n’s sopping cunt and sparing little mercy as he coaxes them closer and closer to orgasm. Hongjoong’s cock is stiff in his dress pants, straining against the fabric and the taste on y/n on his tongue is going to make him fucking come if he isn’t careful. He peers up from where he’s kneeling between their legs, hooded eyes making contact with the desperation looking back at him.

“Hong— Captain! Please!” Y/n cries when Hongjoong slips a third finger inside them, hands scrambling for purchase against the wall of the office. They’re close, so achingly close and fucking dammit they need to come so badly. But Hongjoong doesn’t relent, raising a brow and watching them writhe where they stand.

“Please, what, pet?” He taunts. “Use your words like the good pet you are.”

“I— I want to come! Please, Captain, I’m so— fuck, fuck— so close, I need—” Whatever words they want to say are stolen out of their throat, replaced instead by an overwhelming pleasure that has them squeezing their eyes shut, at the mercy of Hongjoong’s will. It’s unrelenting, and soon enough their orgasm is crashing through them, shooting stars through their vision all the while Hongjoong makes them ride it out on his fingers, the man getting off his knees and pulling them into a heated kiss. They can taste themselves on his lips, and it only spurs on another wave of desire.

They’re bent over the desk when the last of the first aftershocks leave their systems, head held back by neck as Hongjoong whispers dirty promises and slides his cock into their inviting – and only a little sensitive – cunt. A second goes by, the designer allowing y/n to only just get used to it before he starts thrusting, a leisurely quick pace.

“All this time, darling,” Hongjoong groans from above them,” all this time I could have had this perfect body of yours bent over my desk. Made for me, you were, absolutely made for me.”

And fuck, aren’t they just?

Hongjoong can’t hold back anymore, and he presses his chest against y/n’s back, pounding away into their tight hole and groping their chest in his hands, nipples caught in between thumb and index finger. Y/n’s cries are only motivation, and in the few seconds it takes for him to figure out the best angle, Hongjoong decides he’s allowed to chase his own high, giving into the devil on his shoulder and biting on the soft flesh of y/n shoulder.

“It’s so much, oh god—”

“Fuck- just a little longer pet, c’mon,” he rasps, his own orgasm well within reach. “Where do you want it, hm? You can answer that much, can’t you?”

“Yes, yes, fuck— on my back, I want it on my back!” And what else is Hongjoong to do, but oblige? He fucks them into them with the slightest hint of abandon, holding y/n impossibly closer and the orgasm builds, and builds, until he’s pulling out and coming onto their back with a drawn-out moan, his hips stuttering as the waves of pleasure begin to die down.

Exhaustion makes its way into the room, but it’s welcome this time, as Hongjoong very graciously helps y/n rest on the sofa he’d luckily had moved inside the office. There’s some wipes and a towel, and he makes quick work of cleaning the both of them up, ruffling up y/n’s hair when they watch him, almost surprised.

“And what’s that look for?” He huffs, tossing the used wipes away and patting them both dry. “I’m not that bad.”

Y/n simply laughs and shakes their head. They’re rather cute sometimes.

“Just,” they gesture to the office and between the two of them, “all of this; the event, the sex, the… us, I guess? I’m going to be sore tomorrow but fuck, that was amazing.”

Hongjoong nods along as he heads over to his desk and pulls out two water bottles, handing one to y/n as he sits down beside them, the pair donning robes. Nothing but the finest cotton, of course. There’s a silence that overcomes the rooms, and Hongjoong welcomes it – y/n too, sinking into the plush cushions and eying the evidence of sex in the room.

And then Hongjoong breaks the three minutes of silence, because his mind suddenly craves an answer.

“Y/n, pet… do you think this will change anything?”

“Between us, you mean?” He nods.

“Well, you’re treating me the same way you normally do, I don’t exactly want to date you…seems pretty same-y to me.” Y/n reasons, but then they pause. “Though, the sex continuing would be a pretty nice bonus~”

Hongjoong laughs, “so our little relationship is on the dole then, is it?”

“Oh shut up, you.”

© copyright work of armysantiny 2024-2025

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[sophie-hatter-jenkins]

Rose

Written for @hinnymicrofic February 2024, using December 2023 Prompt 28

Written with love, because everyone gets busy sometimes, and the world always needs more hinny! Also - as usual, stretching the definition of micro!

Rose sat on the bench, watching as the flock of pigeons pecked in the dust at the foot of Nelson’s Column. She enjoyed watching the birds. Everyone else seemed to hate them, to regard them as a menace, but she always found them comically amusing. 

She tried to come here most weeks, though it wasn’t as often now. The journey was too much for her aching hip. But she’d force herself if she possibly could, because what was the alternative? Sitting alone in her little flat? Rose much preferred to be out in the fresh air, especially on a day like this. 

Besides, coming here, to Trafalgar Square, always made her feel closer to her Stanley. It reminded her of trips to see the paintings in the gallery behind her, when they were first courting. They didn’t know much about art, her and Stanley, but the gallery was free, and neither of them had much spare cash in those days. Besides, it made her feel very posh, dressed in her best frock and hat, looking at the paintings. Afterwards, he’d buy them an ice cream, and they would sit together on these very benches, watching the pigeons, laughing together and falling in love. 

She sighed to herself. He’d been gone eleven years now, and it still felt like she was missing a limb, but sitting here, on a bright, sunny day, he didn’t feel so very far away. She smiled to herself, and closed her eyes for a moment, breathing in deeply as she allowed herself to imagine that he’d left her for just a minute to go and buy those ice creams from the little kiosk by the steps. 

Her eyes drifted open once more, and wandered over the other people gathered in the square. There was a group of school children, racing back and forth, and scattering the pigeons, while their increasingly harassed teachers attempted to corral them. Three young women that she thought were probably nannies chatted in Spanish as they pushed their young charges in buggies in the direction of Admiralty Arch and St James’s Park beyond. A man in a smart business suit carrying a briefcase was talking to someone on one of those new-fangled mobile phones. 

Then a young couple caught her eye. They approached from the direction of Whitehall, walking hand in hand, and eating ice creams. Hers was chocolate, and his was strawberry - exactly what she and Stanley would have chosen. She wasn’t sure exactly how she knew, but it was immediately obvious to her that they were very much in love. Perhaps it was the easy way that the girl tilted her head into the boy’s shoulder, or the way he dropped occasional kisses into her hair. It warmed Rose’s soul to see it.

They made a handsome couple, she thought. The girl was extremely pretty, petite, with a wicked smile and the sort of hourglass figure that Rose had so envied in her youth. She had long red hair that tumbled down her back, and a healthy crop of freckles dusting her skin both above and below her denim shorts and stretchy strapless top. Some of her friends at the bridge club might have had something to say about the substantial amount of skin the girl was showing, but personally, Rose thought she looked cute as a button. She liked to see the young making the most of their youth. It was gone all too soon.

Her boyfriend was tall and slender. At first glance, you might think he was skinny, but the lean, whip-like muscles visible down his arms below the sleeves of his faded green t-shirt told a different story. His hair was black, and very messy, and he was wearing wire rimmed glasses that reminded her of the ones Stanley used to wear. As she watched them, the light breeze caught his hair, and Rose saw a strange scar running down his forehead and through his eyebrow. She frowned, wondering what could have caused such an injury. It was a shame, she thought, that such a handsome face was so badly marked, but the girl didn’t seem to mind and that, supposed Rose, was all that mattered. 

Together, they wandered across the stone paving, stopping to look up at the statue of Nelson as the boy tossed the last of his wafer cone into his mouth. The girl gazed upwards, frowning as though confused, and the boy dipped his head to say something to her. The girl looked even more puzzled, then her face cleared, and she nudged the boy playfully, clearly catching him in some joke at her expense. The boy caught her wrists, grinning at her, and she giggled, then protested when he leaned forward to lick her ice cream. They were both laughing when he released her, and she offered him the remains of her cone. He made short work of it, and then drew her towards him, crashing his lips into hers.

Now that’s a proper kiss, thought Rose. The two of them stayed there, locked together, as though they were the only two souls in the entire city, and when they finally broke apart, Rose could see a look of euphoria on the girl’s face. Grinning broadly, she took a pace backwards, spread her arms wide, tilted her chin to the sky and began to spin around. She appeared to the woman as the embodiment of pure joy.

The boy just stood and watched her, his own expression making it clear just how besotted he was. His hand dropped into the pocket of his jeans, and even at quite a distance, Rose could see him swallow hard, as though he was bracing himself for something. A moment later the girl stilled, facing him. Rose thought perhaps he might have called her name. For a moment, neither of them moved. Then, the boy dropped to one knee, and in the same movement pulled a small red box from his pocket, presenting it to her. 

The girl’s hands flew to her face, which flushed bright pink, a vivid shade that clashed violently with her hair. She nodded vigorously, and her eyes brightened with tears. Gently, the boy took her hand, and slipped a ring onto her finger, then stood and pulled her back into his arms once again. A few minutes later, arm in arm, they began to stroll back up towards Charing Cross Road, passing quite close to Rose as they did so.

“Congratulations,” she told them.

“Oh! Thank you!” exclaimed the girl, beaming. The boy said nothing, only grinned.

Rose sat and watched them go. They both seemed so young, perhaps not even into their twenties. Once again, she was reminded of her and Stanley. They’d married young too, but then again, so had most people back then, eager to put down roots after the war. Stanley had worn his RAF uniform on their wedding day, and he had looked so very handsome. They’d been separated for so long, Stanley aboard a Lancaster bomber as a navigator, while she did her bit on the home front, working as a nurse at a city hospital during the Blitz, each of them facing terrible danger every single day. She remembered how terrified she’d been that he might never come back to her, and when she saw him standing at her door on that wonderful day when he did, the wave of relief was so powerful that her knees buckled underneath her. They’d been married six months later, battered and bruised and very much not the same innocent couple eating ice creams in their Sunday best in Trafalgar Square, but perhaps loving one another more fiercely because of it.

Twisting her shoulders, Rose could just pick out long red hair alongside a messy black head in the crowds, silently wishing them every happiness. She was glad they would never have to know the horror of a war that threatened their very existence, or the pain of an enforced separation where neither could be sure whether the other was even still alive. They would make a beautiful bride and groom, she was sure. 

The shriek of a delighted toddler, racing through the flock of pigeons momentarily pulled her attention away. When she looked back, the boy and the girl were gone.

[arsenal-womens-1]

Chapter 23 page 28

Page 28. I’m stuck on page 28 because I know when I turn to page 29, she won’t be there. We have to pretend we never dated or knew each other. How can I forget our story? It had just started; it wasn’t time for it to end. In the ideal world, it wouldn’t. But here I am, sitting next to her as if we didn’t just spend the last two and a half years loving each other. I still love her with all my heart; I think I will forever.

I met Georgia when we were young; we grew up together. It wasn’t until 2020 that anything happened between us. Through the whole of the lockdown, we were something, and for two years after, we were together. We were the only ones to know. Now she’s leaving to go live in Germany, and I’m going to Spain with one of her best friends, Lucy. I know I should be happy; I mean, I’m going to be playing for Barcelona, the team I’ve always wished to play for. But now I want to go with her, but I can’t.

I understand why she has never told the world about her sexuality, but her teammates, I don’t get. Getting dragged back to the present as one of the girls says something about crashing Serena’s interview. We all form a line and start singing, shouting, "It’s coming home," barging through the doors. We go around the table; Mary and Lucy get up on the table and do some sort of dance. For being the TikTok queen, Mary doesn’t know how to dance the best. I can’t really say anything; I can’t dance to save my life.

Rushing out of the conference room, we go back to the changing room. A few split off to go outside wailing; some of the German girls walk past. I walk into the locker room to see a bunch of girls dancing to "Every Time We Touch." Hanna is sitting in her cubby; I decide to sit next to her. We don’t say anything to each other. After about half an hour and a lot of alcohol later, someone walks in and tells us that the bus is outside.

We all pack up our stuff and make our way onto it, deciding to sit away from the girls. I know I will get questioned about it, but I need to think. My signing for Barcelona isn’t public yet as I’ve not actually signed it yet. I’m flying out after Trafalgar Square; I’ll be stopping there for the day, then going to Ibiza for a day or two, then back to Manchester to pack up the rest of my stuff. I know the fans are going to be devastated as they want me to stay.

Laying my head against the window, the cold cools down my face. I watch silently as the bus pulls away, leaving behind a whirlwind of emotions, knowing that the next chapters of my life were about to unfold in ways I couldn't yet predict.

We pass fans coming out of Wembley Way. I still can’t believe what we have just done; we are on top of Europe; we won. We actually won. This whole last three months have felt like a dream, from getting called up to playing in the first match to winning the whole thing.

Closing my eyes, I just listen to the girls, the staff, and the outside. After a bit, the bus stops; the sound of the doors opening tells me that we are at the hotel. I wait for everyone to get out before getting off. There are people with cameras all over the place. Getting in front of the hotel fast, all our friends and family are waiting for us. A few run to their friends and family, others walk. I just stand there; mum and dad aren’t here as they had work.

I stand, watching everyone reunite with their friends and family. I couldn't shake the bittersweet feeling that this moment marked both an end and a beginning of an era. Jill and Ellen are retiring, but that means there will be new talent going up to the bar they have.

I get six shots of vodka; I take three and walk over to Ella and Alesia and hand them one. I promised them if we won I would buy them a shot; technically, I haven’t bought them one, but it’s the same thing. A bottle of gin is passed to us; I down a bit.

Feeling something cold against my back, I open my eyes; the sun shines straight into them. What? Looking around, by the look of it, I am outside. I can see the hotel. Getting off whatever I’m on, I look back at what I was on. Where did I get a pink flamingo pool float from?

The last thing I remember was at 3 am; one of Ella or Alesia’s friends was on the table. Why was she on the table? Why am I outside walking slowly up to the hotel? My head is banging, and I feel like I’m about to throw my guts up. I’m never drinking again. Finally, I make it back to the hotel to see about sixty people.

Eating, all them very quiet heads turn when they hear the door open. Slapping my hand over my mouth, I run to the nearest bathroom. After a minute or to I stop throwing up, clinging to the wall I push my self up walking back to the room. People turn to see who it was a few look concerned, and others are amused.

I need to find Ella and Alesia. One to see if there OK and two to find out where I got the flamingo from and why I was asleep outside. But first, a glass of water and some paracetamol and ibuprofen seeing a table of bottle water and boxes of paracetamol and ibuprofen I take some. I looked up as someone walked into the room. It was Ella and Alesia—I didn’t need to go looking for them.

“Hey, girls,” I greeted them. They mumbled a quiet “hi” in response. “I need to ask you something.” Ella nodded, prompting me to continue. “One, why was I asleep outside? And two, where did I get a pink flamingo pool float from?” Confusion was evident on both their faces. Alesia spoke up, “What pink flamingo? And what do you mean, you slept outside? You went to bed around 4.” She struggled to hold back laughter as she recounted this. Now, I was even more confused.

“What do you mean you don’t know where I got it from? And how did I end up outside if I went to bed?” They both tried hard not to laugh but looked genuinely perplexed. “Well, when Alesia and I left you in your room, you had just stopped crying about something. You weren’t making much sense by then.”

After hearing their explanation, I rubbed my temples, trying to piece together the fragmented memories of last night, wondering how everything had spiraled into such a blur.

"Okay, thanks for bringing me to my room." Walking to my room to try and piece some of this together and try to find my phone, getting to the hall of my room I see Jess, Carter, and someone else passed out in the hall. Opening my room door, everything looks normal; my phone is on the bed. Going over, I open it; I see a crap ton of Instagram notifications. Opening the app, I go on the notification thing and see I posted a story at 3:56 am, so just before I went to bed. You can’t really see much; all you can see is me, Ella, Alesia, Lotte, Georgia, and Ellie. Maybe one of them knows.

Walking into the bathroom, I look in the mirror. It’s then I realize I’ve got a hickey. I remember someone knocked on the door; I let them in. But who was it?

[rebeccasteventaylor]

You know you don’t just run into someone in central london by accident. It’s huge.

So how did did Daniel find Betty there?

I think perhaps - he thought about where she was likely to be. And behind them, at Trafalgar Square, is the National Art Gallery - full of great art (and free). And behind that the National Portrait Gallery (also free). I think Daniel, if he knew where her office is, might have deduced that Betty would spend her lunchtimes at the gorgeous free art gallery - and he just waited there. Day after day💓.

Daniel stood there in Trafalgar Square, watching the people go by, waiting for the day Betty comes walking by…

[meraki-yao]

RWRB Movie Analysis: Henry's Seclusion and Perception-Part 2

A little follow-up of this post after I realized something while watching Henry flinch after Alex tried to hold his hand during their Paris date.

This is more up to interpretation but in the same way Henry was isolated in a space without any sort of moral support during the week after the email leaks while Alex wasn’t, I think the same could be possibly said with their view on public displays of affection.

I’m gonna preface by saying that even in the RWRB Movie verse, both UK and USA are evidently mostly LGBT+ friendly. Alex’s US kind of goes without saying, while for Henry, given the sheer amount of people that ended up coming to support him all across the country, I think the same could be said for his UK.

So given that their big environment is LGBT friendly, the difference here is their own circles.

Before President Claremont was elected, Alex was just like any of us, as he put it himself, “an anonymous working class kid”. His socializing circle wasn’t really limited. On top of that both of his parents are democrats. Even before he figured out his own bisexuality, he was definitely exposed to LGBT communities and individuals, colourful queer people who showed off their gender, sexuality and relationship/partner proudly. Besides, from his interaction with Nora, his mom, even Henry during the NYE party, Alex is clearly a physically affectionate person to begin with. He is used to displays of affection, and has see queer public displays of affection.

So when he starts to fall for Henry (which I firmly believed started properly since the state dinner), he doesn’t really register displays of affection as something to be hidden despite now being in a homosexual relationship. This aspect is not that different in his mind. The only times we see Alex really make an effort to conceal it is when they want to… do dirty things, like the polo match (Matthew/Prime release the full scene please) and the DNC hotel visit, which in any case is something that one would make effort to hide even for a bit.

Look at the movie again. Alex reaches out to hold Henry’s hand in Paris, Henry flinches. Alex steps forward to kiss Henry at the airstrip after the night in the V&A, Henry stops him, even if it’s private airstrip with only Henry’s staff. The one sentence Alex said that sent Henry spiralling and trying to break things off was “We could walk through Austin holding hands, and it won’t even matter if anyone sees us.” (which is one of my favourite lines in the book by the way, granted used in a different situation) Alex finds public displays of affection towards Henry very natural.

Henry doesn’t.

However much he loves touching and kissing Alex in private behind closed door throughout the entirety of their relationship, he was never comfortable, or confident for them in public settings, even if there’s actually no one except their own professional secret service/ personal staff there.

And I think one of the contributing reasons is unlike Alex, he never really got to see queer people be openly proud of their identity and partners.

Henry, as the prince, has his social circle and travels limited. You’re not gonna see him on the subway or walking through Trafalgar Square. He’s not gonna be able to walk the streets and just see queer citizens out and about the way Alex did. Given the context clues in the movie, I’m guessing he’s limited to causes the crown wants to serve (veterans, climate, diplomacy, which all have their own values as social issues but doesn’t suit Henry) and unlike the royals in our world (yes I pay some attention to the irl royal family) he couldn’t even choose topics that interest him, that he wants to serve, like arts, LGBT, and mental health (there’s a sequel idea!!! Henry getting to choose how to use his title for causes he’s part of and care about), plus it’s clear his family, the king at least, had no interest in getting involved with LGBT issues, so he didn’t have any chance to approach the community while on duty either. Considering his grandfather warned him against pursuing relationships when he was 18, he probably was forced into some sense of shame or fear regarding any possibility of having a public relationship, which was also part of his argument during the Kensington confrontation. Seeing as Nick and Matthew decided Paris was Henry’s first time with someone he actually had feelings for, I’m guessing past hookups in said “English Boarding School” were done out of sexual frustration and some degree of rebellion, but even then it was more on the sexual side instead of anything truly affectionate, and that was still extremely secretive with stacks of NDAs.

So on Henry’s part, he was secluded in a almost forcefully heteronormative environment, never really got to see people like him in real life, in front of his eyes (reading queer history and news about LGBT rights is very different from seeing it yourself), and was told that this was something to be ashamed about, something he can’t do, something impossible. That’s why he never felt confident enough to ask for touch or touch Alex in anywhere remotely public. (He was drunk at the karaoke, and I think most of the Texas vacation was on the Claremont-Diaz’s private property, so those don’t count)

Until the palace pride protest, where thousand of people like him came to storm the palace with their rainbow flags and banners, their support, and their own identities display.

Faces with this massive display of queer pride right in front of him, Henry, maybe for the first time, sees so many people like them, and he sees that it’s okay for him to be gay, that there is nothing selfish, shameful, repulsive or unacceptable about who he is and who he loves. They’re here for him. They’re just like him. They’re proud of it. They show it.

So this time, in front of his family, a window away from the outside world, it’s his turn to ask for Alex’s hand, held between his. He’s finally confident enough in everything so tell Alex, through a wet smile, “I love you.”

Both of them look out, at the sea of colourful love and pride. Alex, who has seen this many times before in his life, but probably the first time he sees this knowing he’s part of that sea. Henry, who gets to see the crowd be proud of something he’s tried so long to conceal and hide.

Henry can be proud of his sexuality too.

And he shows it, on the balcony of Buckingham Palace, with thousands of people cheering for him and his boyfriend. 

[contremineur]

I love to imagine London fallen quiet, silent really, just past the toll of twelve; walking past the white bulk of St. Paul's or by the steps of Paternoster Square; not in the panicked silences of nights of the Blitz but merely unpeopled streets, London asleep, lit bright by the moon, quiet as the pond and woods behind our house. I stroll down Fleet Street in my dreaming to peer in the dark alleys and entries that lead to the Inns of Court; a stray dog may stroll by but of even the police I hear no more than their echoing talk. Up the curl of Goodge Street I lay my hand flat in affection on the stout black door of Johnson's house, and as in my night the church is lit, I enter the sadness of St. Dunstan's, its silences like the streets outside. In the short night of a poem I reach Trafalgar Square, still lit, like an etching, by the moon, unpeopled yet even by lovers; then pale dawn edges up and people appear, morning-eyed, stepping from their dreams to speech, and like them I take coffee in the crypt below St. Martin's. I watch them, the creatures of a city I have dreamed, the flowering of an ache to be at home and there, and they vanish up the bustle of Charing Cross or past the fruit market at Villiers Street, they vanish as I start awake to other thoughts, or fall past them in the peace of dreaming.

Glenn Shea, The flowering

from here

[justforbooks]

Nicholas Shakespeare’s elegant biography of the James Bond author Ian Fleming takes its subtitle from a journalist’s observation, quoted halfway through, that its subject was “for a moment of time, a complete man” while working for British naval intelligence in the second world war. Yet you can’t help read it as a promise to give the reader what was left out of previous biographies such as John Pearson’s crisp, more portable authorised life from 1966. And is there a claim, too, for the alpha male credentials of the man called “Flemingway” by his friend Noël Coward? Journalist, stockbroker, thriller writer and – like his famous creation – a playboy and 70-a-day smoker, who died of a heart attack in 1964 at the age of 56 after a plagiarism row over the origins of Thunderball, the ninth Bond novel.

After a dutiful account of how Fleming’s Scottish financier grandfather became a millionaire – later cutting Fleming and his brothers out of his will – Shakespeare gets going with his subject’s troubled boyhood in the shadow of his father’s death in the first world war. Family friends in Switzerland take his education in hand after hasty exits from Eton (hanky-panky with a woman) and Sandhurst (gonorrhoea). His exams aren’t good enough for the Foreign Office; an engagement to a Swiss lover ends amid maternal threats to cut off his allowance. He falls on his feet at Reuters – it was that kind of life – further honing his knack for a scoop at the Sunday Times, a handy source of contacts for his war work.

Testimony woven from diaries, papers and interviews gives the book a flavour of oral history. Shakespeare goes to great lengths – not least tracking down a 94-year-old veteran, the last surviving member of a covert commando unit that Fleming organised – to dispel the idea that Fleming’s service, occluded by state-sanctioned secrecy, was just “in-trays, out-trays and ashtrays”. The book’s first half puts the future author at the heart of military and journalistic history – a search for German weapons of mass destruction; the race to get an inside scoop on the Cambridge spies – as well as the bedroom shenanigans of the English well-to-do. (Shakespeare, who encourages us at one point to smile at the mention of a “germanely” named Nazi admiral, Assmann, shows his assumptions of his audience when he writes confidently of “that small, turn-of-the-century intellectual clique, the Souls”.)

Fleming may be “the man behind James Bond”, in the subtitle of Andrew Lycett’s 1995 biography, but Shakespeare’s project, you sense, is partly to say there’s more to him. Eager to prove Fleming’s interest beyond the reasons that will draw most of his readers to the book, he is almost comically insistent on the degree to which his subject was ahead of the curve. Not only might he have sparked the idea of creating the CIA – in a memo written when the US-UK special relationship was being forged – but he also came up with the idea of putting a Christmas tree from Oslo in Trafalgar Square.

As for the dozen Bond novels that poured out of Fleming after 1953’s Casino Royale – written in a month in his winter bolthole in Jamaica a year earlier – they were, in Shakespeare’s telling, essentially the literary expression of a midlife crisis accelerated by the encroachments of fatherhood and a faithless union as the third husband of Ann Charteris. They had got together with an affair that caused a high-society scandal during her previous marriage to the Daily Mail heir Esmond Harmsworth; she later cheated on Fleming with the Labour leader Hugh Gaitskell, who told him that the “sex, violence, alcohol” formula of the Bond novels was “to one who leads such a circumscribed life as I do, irresistible”.

Fleming, injecting the American dirt of Mickey Spillane’s Mike Hammer novels into the English thriller, launched 007 on what Shakespeare calls the “spam-munching gloom of Attlee’s Britain”, writing (Fleming told his publisher) in order to make “as much money... as possible” and to have “as much fun as I personally can”. Respectable sales rocketed when JFK took a shine to From Russia, with Love – and the movies were yet to come. While Fleming was self-deprecating – telling Raymond Chandler the Bond novels were “straight pillow fantasies of the bang-bang, kiss-kiss variety” – he was proud enough to greet the director of the first Bond movie, Dr No, by telling him: “So they’ve decided on you to fuck up my work.”

“Luck had to be accepted with a shrug or taken advantage of up to the hilt,” Bond thinks in Casino Royale; he sees luck “as a woman, to be softly wooed or brutally ravaged, never pandered to or pursued”. Squint enough and Fleming took some care to cast his main character in ironic light. Early in that novel, the reader gets a fly-on-the-wall thrill of watching fieldwork in action, with the scene of theatrical care Bond takes to ensure his hotel room isn’t being searched; but soon enough his French sidekick turns up to let Bond know his upstairs neighbours have been listening in to his every move.

In Shakespeare’s biography, the novels are mostly a source of supporting quotation – he doesn’t get bogged down in questions of what it means to read Bond now, confining himself to a remark on how his “cavalier treatment of women... carried the sexual climate of the Blitz into the austerity of the cold war, and was less modern perhaps than it was later cracked up to be”. And perhaps there’s no need for his defenders to overstate the case for Fleming’s novelistic subtlety. Bond has always been shaped by a collective amnesia that allows us to make him what we wish him to be at any given moment; when he parachuted into the Olympic opening ceremony with the queen, it was as the best of British, not as a connoisseur of (Fleming’s words) “the sweet tang of rape”.

The novels, in a way, are irrelevant to 007, but the course of history would surely have run otherwise had Fleming not had the foresight to change his protagonist’s name from the original “James Secretan” – Fleming’s typescript revision perhaps his most significant literary act.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[lisbeth-kk]

December moments

Prompts used in this chapter: coat and scarf - warm and cosy - wonder

Sherlock and John go out to get some much-needed fresh air, and Sherlock has a specific request on where to go.

December 17

Sherlock feels like a new-born the next day. His body temperature is back to normal, there’s only a hint of sore throat left, and his respiratory tract is once again open. A note from John is left on the bedside table. 

Morning, my love. I’ve only got a few hours of work today, so I’ll be home by 1 pm. John. 

A warm feeling floods Sherlock’s body and the fond smile forming on his face is one only few people get to see. He takes a shower, makes tea and toast and checks his email. Nothing of interest, which is perfect for his upcoming plans. 

***

Ten minutes to one, Sherlock hears the front door unlock, and seconds later John walks into the sitting room. Sherlock’s seated in his chair dressed in a suit to show John that he’s ready to tackle the world again. John realises this instantly and his smile is bright and gleeful when he approaches Sherlock. 

“Hi, there. You’re back in business, I see,” John says and crouches down in front of Sherlock, placing his hands on Sherlock’s knees. 

“I am, John, and I have a request,” Sherlock states. 

“Have you now,” John retorts. “Let’s hear it then.”

“I need air, but not only that, I want to go somewhere specific,” Sherlock says and looks expectantly down at John. 

“Okay,” John says hesitantly. “You know I won’t allow you anywhere near the Thames or a dreadful crime scene yet. And you’ll wear your coat and scarf. The woollen scarf.”

Sherlock chuckles at the doctor persona’s appearance. As to be expected, of course. 

“Not to worry, John. I intend this to be to your liking too. You’ve mentioned that you want to go every year, but you never do, so now I’m offering to take you to Trafalgar Square to look at the tree.”

Sherlock says this in a proud and confident tone, but he is a bit uncertain if John really wants this, even though he talks about it every December. They have after all seen the spectacle on telly. 

“Do you really want to go to see it?” John asks incredulously and stands up. 

Before Sherlock even gets a chance to roll his eyes as an answer, John straddles his thighs and snogs Sherlock deliciously senseless. 

***

“The Norwegians really hate us, don’t they,” John says and shakes his head at the malformed tree. 

“Hardly,” Sherlock retorts. “It probably looked quite nice where it stood in the forest but cutting it down and transporting it here ruined some of its glory, I think. It’s the same every year, isn’t it? We’re so excited that they still gift us the tree, but all we do are finding flaws.”

“I guess,” John concurs.

Sherlock embraces John from behind, placing his chin on John’s good shoulder. He kisses John’s cheek before moving his lips to John’s ear. 

“How about you and I get warm and cosy somewhere else,” he purrs. 

“You’re a wonder, Sherlock Holmes,” John tells him. “Let’s do just that.”

Read it on AO3

@totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes @calaisreno @a-victorian-girl @phoenix27884 @safedistancefrombeingsmart @gregorovitchworld @topsyturvy-turtely @helloliriels @peanitbear @sabsi221b @raina-at

[nehswritesstuffs]

HEART PIRATES WEEK 2024 - Day 1 of 9

I told myself last year that I was going to participate in Heart Pirates Week this year, and by thunder I'm going to participate in Heart Pirates Week!

Day One: Jean Bart - Cursed

457 words; I know the rules state that entries should be safe for work, but I also know each workplace is different, so I will be listing different qualifiers for each one; today’s warning includes references to Jean Bart’s past, as we all know that is not sfw by any means; these are going to end up being short because I said so (and I need some things that are shorter bites to practice on); very much NOT beta-read holy shit pls I’m on a time crunch here

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

The skin on his back crawled.

It had not done so in a while, to the point he nearly forgot the sensation. How long had it been…? Months, at least…

His skin feels like fire. No, like ants. Not quite—like flaming ants that are just beneath the burn that’s centered on his back. He freezes in the middle of the town square, only for Clione and Bepo to stop walking as well.

“What’s wrong?” the Mink asked. “You’re acting strange.”

“It’s… there’s something that’s not right,” he replied. The large man glanced around the square—it was no different than any other seafaring port they had frequented since he had joined under the Captain. Everything looked normal, and yet…

…oh.

“There’s someone here,” he said gravely. “There’s someone like me.”

“You sure about that, big guy?” Clione asked quietly. “How can you tell?”

“I simply can.” Jean Bart moved his way through the crowd, using his scar as a guide; the more it itched, the closer he was. The trio eventually came to the entrance of an alleyway, where there was a figure hunched behind a stack of broken crates, back to the wall as they shivered in the Spring Island’s autumn.

“No…” the figure said, shaking their head in a motion so shallow and quick they might as well have been merely shaking. “I can’t go back.”

“You won’t,” Jean Bart said firmly. He held out his hand and tried to put the most sobering face on he could. “We have the same curse, in the same place, I imagine.”

“You… you were also…?” The figure leaned forward slightly, trying to get a look at good look at the trio. A scar ran down the side of their face, marring the skin so severely it looked like it had been extra branding, the scab tissue picked at and picked at until what remained was a gnarled mess. Was this a man…? For all the pirates could tell… though their voice dropped as they whispered, “a slave…?”

“I was a member of the Household of Saint Charlos,” Jean Bart confirmed. The person’s eyes went wide with hope. “I don’t know how you found your way here, but I know where you can go where no collar waits.”

“Where…?”

“With the man I will follow ‘til my dying day: Captain Trafalgar Law. He does not care for curses and neither does the rest of the crew.” Jean Bart stretched his hand out a bit further. “Welcome.”

Was the Captain a little irritated that they came back from the market with what marked their eighteenth mouth to feed? Yes, just a little, but he also, really, truly, couldn’t say no… not as long as they had the bunkspace.

[aquilathefighter]

Fluffbruary 1: Museum

All of my @fluffbruary ficlets can be found on AO3 here!

“Come on, come on!” Hob tugged on Dream’s hand like a child at the zoo. “We’re almost there!”

Hob raced through Trafalgar Square, creating a cloud of pigeons in his wake. He jumped up the stairs, Dream in tow, desperate to get to the National Gallery at opening.

They rushed through the doors, Dream holding fast to Hob’s hand as he speedwalked toward the exhibits.

“Beloved. Could you consider slowing down?”

“No way! Are you kidding!? I want to be the first ones there!”

They entered the exhibit hall, walking past the pieces of art they’d certainly seen before. Dream, having inspired them, and Hob, from visiting year after year since its inception.

There’s nobody around when they turn the corner. Dream’s jaw drops, Hob beaming at him.

On the wall hangs a chalk pastel drawing of two figures wrapped around each other. The one on the left is stark white; long and lithe strokes forming its arms and legs. At the top of the figure’s head stands a burst of black, messy strands crossing every which way. Holding the pale figure is a tanner one, broader and flusher. Its arms are tight around the pale figure’s waist, giving a sense of protection. Sleek brown hair brushes the figure’s chin. The pair are lying in lush green grass, wildflowers abound.

Dream steps forward, fingers brushing the frame.

“…it is us.”

Hob wraps an arm around his waist.

“Do you see why I rushed to get here? I wanted you to see it before any other visitor.”

“Hob, I—”

“Had it commissioned. I’ve got enough money, and clearly the world likes it enough for it to be here. No one could see that one on the left and not fall in love.” He leaned over and pressed a kiss to Dream’s cheek.

Dream turned and pulled Hob into a tight hug, brushing their noses together.

“You never cease to surprise me, Hob Gadling.”

“I aim to please,” Hob grinned, then leaned the inch forward to briefly meet his lover’s lips.

“I better stop, don’t want to get in trouble for touching the art,” Hob whispered as he let go, slipping his hand into Dream’s.

“Shall we continue to browse, or are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

Dream only nodded. When the next visitors came to see the drawing, there was a curious pile of sand left behind.

[dontcxckitup]

SENSES & OTHER SPECIFIC HEADCANONS.

MUSE:  Gareth 'M' Mallory

what does your muse smell like?

Usually his aftershave, which has notes of light sandalwood and citrus. Something light and fresh and not too obtrusive. You smell it, it's in your nose, but it won't linger for long.

what do your muse’s hands feel like?

A bit coarse from the work he has done in his life; slight callouses on his right ring finger due to the writing he does every day (he still needs to sign a hell of a lot of papers).

what does your muse usually eat in a day?

Not much, really. On a working day, he rarely finds the time and muse to make breakfast or get lunch (however, you might occasionally find him at MI6's canteen to get a sandwich); in the evenings, he often frequents restaurants, either in the Trafalgar Square area, or Covent Garden. When he has a day off, he will start it with fresh fruits and curd, toast, sometimes even a Full English. Lunch, he still doesn't know what that is. And for dinner, it varies and depends on his mood; he sees it as useless to cook for one person, so he might just make a quick pan with vegetables and chicken nuggets, or a sandwich. However, he can never say no to a good pot of pasta.

does your muse have a good singing voice?

We wouldn't know, since he never sings. But he generally has a good, smooth voice, so he might as well just have one. Come in and find out.

does your muse have any bad habits or nervous tics?   

Stress is something he lives with on a daily basis. However, if shit really does hit the fan, he will reach for a good bottle of scotch or cognac; he also tends to grab anything to keep his fingers still - aka paperclips, pens, etc.

what does your muse usually look like/wear?

Gareth dresses distinguished and impeccably, but not too fancy. A blue shirt, suit, tie that fits the colour scheme. Braces. Chelsea boots. No hairs or lint on his clothes. He dresses for the occasion, and since he has lots of responsibility in his job... Even outside of work you will most likely find him wearing a shirt, but he will also wear a pair of jeans and coats. At home, when he is relaxed, he often wears sweatpants in the evening. Woollen jumpers. His old t-shirts from the army ('I hate sand' and 'Little Sht' being his favourites).

is your muse affectionate?  how much?  how so?

He can be. But don't expect him to show it in public. Gareth often seems rather cold, but that is just on the outside; when he loves someone, he has a hard time telling them with words. He will gift them books, copy a poem to slip them the note.

what position does your muse sleep in?  

Usually on his right side, facing the bedroom window. It isn't that he doesn't want to cuddle to someone lying in his bed, it is just the position he is used to. He will turn his back on the other person simply because he knows the nightmares he has can get heavy, and he doesn't want to wake the other.

could you hear your muse in the hallway from another room?

Oh, if Bond has fucked up again - yes. Yes, you will hear him down the hallway! He enjoys walking up to someone without them noticing, and suddenly standing behind them, though.

tagged by/stolen: @richardxoliverxmayhew tagging: @tealeavesandthorns @brokenthimbles @doctorveranair @jo-m-portman-rp @xseen2muchx @mr007pennyworth @jamesbloodybond @chiefofstafftanner @agent-scotch @kingofthewebxxx and everyone I forgot!