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tame-the-lion-writes · 1 month ago

Note

for the CatReader Au

the boys try to speed up the bonding process by slow-blinking and now reader is fighting the devil himself to not give into instincts and slow blink back

(MY FIRST CAT READER AU ASK H U Z Z A H)

Soap tried the blinking first, crouching at the door of his bedroom. And when Gaz came across him, he asked what on earth he was doing; as soon as he got an answer, he joined.

"You two gonna be there all day? We got livestock to feed," Price sighed, hauling a recently-bought sack of chicken feed over his shoulder.

"Just a minute longer, sir. Tryin' to bond with the cat."

"Tryin' bond with the devil, more like," Ghost muttered under his breath, still pissed about the mice left in his room just two days ago. He was ready to head out as well but stopped just to give the cat a glare.

"Oh, c'mon now. Cats give stuff to people they like," Soap laughed, continuing to slow blink at the little lady staring straight at him. She still hadn't moved from her spot in bed. Not had she blinked for the past ten minutes--probably from sheer spite. (Didn't stop them from trying, though.) "Maybe she thought ya can't hunt."

"No, no--she knows what she did. The fuckin' brat--"

"Soap," Price cut in, "where are you getting this info anyway? I doubt the usual cat behaviour applies to our little...," he trails off, looking at the cat with an exasperated expression, "... friend."

"Couldn't hurt to try."

"Will hurt if you keep puttin' off your chores," Ghost muttered, giving Soap a quick smack to the back of his head. The Scot responded with a sharp yell, rubbing the spot gingerly.

"OI!-- LT--"

"Guys, shush!" Gaz scolded, pointing to the cat and drawing their attention back to her. Sure enough, willpower had failed her; she'd given into a slow-blink and a half when she saw the rest of them staring--at which point she hissed and buried herself under the blankets.

"Small victories, Gaz," Price eventually chuckled, amused. He clapped a hand to the back of the sergeant's shoulder. "Small victories."

Bonus Thoughts:

Soap gets his own slow blink next. Then Price.

Ghost gets it last, but only after sneaking into Soap's room several times at night because he refuses to show the rest of the boys that he's getting soft on the cat. It takes another week or so, though.

"Just slow blink already, ya lil' shit."

Petty staring contest intensifies.

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foldingfittedsheets · 8 months ago

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We had the most egregiously evil little pony horse when I was growing up. I know everyone says that. Ponies are one of the animals that truly understand how to commit crimes but she was really deeply atrocious. One time she tried to murder me. Her name was Fancy.

I feel I should slightly explain here. See, my parents bought two acres with a house and a barn and pasturage and went “We’re farmers now!” They had absolutely no idea what they were doing. And at a certain point along that journey my mom got her hands on a horse. Technically she was half pony half horse so she was this weird middle size.

Fancy belonged to a friend of hers and he showed her how to saddle Fancy. And that was it. That was all we knew about this horse. So my mom brings her home and saddles her and we decide to go for a ride on this new creature in our lives. But Fancy, being the savvy bitch she was, was far too canny for our dumb asses.

Her maiden ride went to my older brother and ended rather abruptly when the saddle slid completely sideways and my brother toppled off her, miraculously unharmed but unwilling to ever try again. This made me like Fancy somewhat, because I hated my brother.

Those familiar with horse trickery would have caught her ruse but Fancy had deliberately held her breath to make the saddle seem tight enough. But in stride she let the breath out, the saddle loosened, and my brother came toppling down. She planned that fuckup.

I was a bit more game, being a dedicated horse girl. I wanted to succeed where my loathsome brother had failed. Keep in mind: none of us had ever ridden. We had no idea what we were doing, and in the only defense I’ll ever make of that hoofed demon it was probably not pleasant to have a human flopping on her back like a sack of potatoes. But I paraded around in a circle until she scraped my leg against a fence post. I lasted longer than my brother but had to admit riding an animal radiating malice at you is not comfortable.

We didn’t really ride Fancy much after that. She was a decorative aspect to the fields. Sometimes I’d sit on her bare back while she was eating. Every so often she’d buck me off for assuming familiarity with her.

But Fany's coup de grâce took several months. Most of the pasturage had electric fence running along it to keep the livestock from testing the fences or getting a taste for freedom. My parents were constantly moving fence posts and reallocating land to different purposes which is how one of the major gates ended up with electric fence running over top. During a move the wire got left up from the last border and now it was strung over what should have been an open passage.

I was taking a ride on Fancy, living in a fantasy that I had any idea what I was doing. My mom was out working in the yard, and as she passed through she left the gate open, forgetting the wire hazard. You know who didn't forget?

Fancy.

She beelined for the open gate and I realized a second too late what her plan was. I hauled back on the reins with all my strength but she powered through, charging at the wire. If I'd caught on sooner I could have tipped forward and probably cleared it.

It was roughly chest height. But she was too savvy, keeping a slow pace right up until the passage, and I didn't have time to react. The thought of getting electrocuted sent me down into a terrified backward limbo, desperately trying to flatten myself along her back.

Her assassination almost worked. But instead of beheading me the wire caught under my chin, pressing back into my neck like a garrote. The only good news was that the wire wasn't live, but I was still in terrible danger. I squealed and wiggled and managed to twist my neck enough that the wire scraped over my face instead of pressing deeper. Once we were through Fancy stopped and turned to regard me, disappointed that her murder had failed. My neck was bleeding but my head remained attached.

My mother was absolutely terrified and I was pretty shaken myself. We unsaddled Fancy for the last time, as full on attempts on my life were a bit more than I was willing to bear for the sake of pretending to be a fantasy hero on an epic journey. My neck still has a faint scar from her homicidal tendencies.

Fancy got to remain a decorative horse for many years after that, free of our attempts to ride her. Her last torment was when my mother decided to try to breed her to achieve an animal that was less interested in murder.

But Fancy, true to form, brutally attacked the stallion sent to service her, even when hopped up on horny hormones. There would be no foals from Fancy, and her saga ended when we sold her to another unlucky soul.

#ramblies #writing #story #funny story #true story #horses #horse #horse girl #ffs foibles #pony

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obsessivevoidkitten · 14 days ago

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The Manticore's Game

Kinktober Day 11: Paralytic Venom

Male Manticore Yandere x Gender Neutral Reader CW: Noncon, nonconsensual to consensual, venom, paralysis, non-human genitals, manticore, nibbling, licking, playful yandere, sweet yandere, general yandere behavior, he fucking purrs like a big house cat y'all, happy ending, kinda fluffy Word Count: 1k (I wrote this relatively quickly just today. I hope you all love it. Someone wanted me to write happier endings and yeah I do need a few sprinkled in a bit more often.)

There were reports of a mighty beast-like man devouring sheep from the flocks of the shepherds on the outskirts of the kingdom. It was in your jurisdiction, so you sent some lesser warriors to investigate and resolve the matter, but they had retreated in terror and refused to go back.

You were the head of the lesser noble house that oversaw the region and a skilled knight, and none of your subordinates were up to the task of defeating the monstrosity. So it seemed the task fell to you personally.

Bravely, you went on your own to the mountain village and tracked down the monster's lair. You found him at the entrance to his cave. He towered above you, fangs bared. You could see why the others had retreated. He was a rare and powerful creature, a manticore!

The beast had long shaggy hair that started black but ended in red, yellow eyes, fingertips with retractable claws, massive black and red wings, and a large scorpion tail.

Unlike the others, you fought through your fear and charged. You tried bashing him with your shield. But the manticore blocked the blow with his muscular arm before stabbing its tail into a chink in your armor.

You buckled instantly, falling to the ground like a chunk of lead. You couldn't move and were completely helpless as the monstrous man crouched beside you and removed your armor piece by piece. The last one that he removed was your helmet. After he removed it, you could smell the musk practically rolling off his crotch.

He wore no clothing, though he was covered in fur from the waist down. You were sure he was going to kill you, but instead, he stung you a second time, and you woke up hours later beside the village with no weapons or armor.

It was humiliating. Of course, you had to restore your honor. But you also weren't unfair. The next time you faced him, you used a blunted blade. He hadn't killed you, so you wouldn't kill him. Though you would imprison him as a livestock thief and make him work off his debts.

Once again, you ended up on the ground after the first sting. The beast stood over you and laughed before taking your belongings to taunt you. After that came the second sting, which sent you to sleep. Once more, you woke up outside the village.

It went on like this for months. It became the manticore's favorite game and your greatest embarrassment. He must have collected dozens of sets of armor as trophies.

Once more, you tried to best the beast, and once more, you wound up on the floor. This time was different, though. After removing your bothersome armor, he hauled you into a cotton and feather lined nest.

And, for the first time, the manticore spoke.

"Azin is in rut. Need mate. You're Azin's best friend! Always play games! You're all Azin thinks about. Will make the best mate."

He didn't stop at removing your armor. He took away all your clothing and didn't administer the second sting that would put you to sleep.

Azin purred loudly as he nuzzled his head against various parts of your body. He flipped you onto your back and licked and nibbled on your chest. His cock was hard, It stuck out large and proud from his sheath. It was also much muskier than normal, the strong smell alone made your crotch tingle.

You were a little scared but were more embarrassed than anything else. Maybe the venom had mellowed you out a bit, or maybe you just felt that comfortable with Azin after all the non-lethal combat the two of you had engaged in. If he wanted to hurt you, he would have.

His slimy cock craved the warm embrace of your hole, but even in rut Azin had the presence of mind to stretch you out first. Using gobs of precum as lube, he carefully tended to your entrance with several strong fingers.

Once you were good and prepped, he propped your legs up on his shoulders and then slipped his entire length into you with one fluid motion.

"Ahhhh," he sighed, "You take Azin so well~"

And he filled you so well. You would have been moaning, but all the paralytic he had envenomated you with would allow were soft gasps and whimpers. Azin licked and sucked your neck, your cute little sounds of pleasure spurring him on and into a frenzy. He pushed you into a mating press, his large furry nuts smacking into you as he bred you.

Nothing in your life had ever felt so good. No, not just good, but right. Having him pounding into you just felt right. Your paralyzed managed to shake slightly in orgasm just as he emptied his cum deeply into you.

"Azin loves you so so much! Going to breed you lots and keep you safe always!"

The two of you panted a bit before going several more rounds. When it was finally over, the venom had worn off. You cuddled up to him, his loud rhythmic purring helped lull you into the best sleep you ever had.

Of course, when you woke up, you'd have to do the only thing you could... take him back, marry him, and have him live with you in your little castle. There was really no other honorable option.

Azin's kind mated for life. It would be cruel to abandon him, and you had come to see him more and more as a friend rather than an enemy. You couldn't exactly just imprison him and make him work now.

Marrying him was honestly the perfect solution. With him at the castle, he wouldn't be stealing food. And just the fact that your house had a manticore would ensure safety from political rivals. It would be a great way for him to make up for his unlawful consumption of sheep. What assassin would dare trespass into the home of such a beast?

Sure, you'd be known far and wide as the monster fucking noble, but at least the dick was amazing!

#yandere teratophilia #yandere terato #yandere x reader #monster boyfriend #gender neutral reader #yandere monster #yandere boyfriend #male yandere x gn reader #male yandere #My OCs #My OC Azin #Yandere Manticore #kinktober 2024 #kinktober

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all-purpose-dish-soap · 1 month ago

Note

I'm really thinking about that one Ghost post you wrote about him basically making himself at home at the reader's place when she found him near dead in the woods and it still is scratching my brain all right 😭 him devoting his life to her and the fact her husband is there completely upset about this all is the perfect drama.

the thing i love most about this is that i never mentioned ghost by name in that post <3 not once <3 but you're right. it is so, so ghost-coded. ghoded, if you will.

you're the hands in which he rests, a weapon; submissive in the way (as was once said) a sheep-guarding hound is submissive to the livestock it protects.

so mismatched is his demeanor with yours--harsh and scarred--and that it frightens the townspeople around you. and your guards.

when you do get hurt, they jump at the chance to accuse Ghost of hurting you. no matter how you insist you're fine and demand the townsfolk see reason--you witnessed the attack, for god's sake! not to mention your wound is shallow and looks much worse than it is. but the guards lock him up in the small dungeon under your family's estate.

at your direction, Simon doesn't fight his captors. you both know, for all his strength, he'll be killed if the guards see their chance to take his life. they've never trusted him.

and so he's hauled off, chained up like a dog, lying in wait for his sheep.

when you return to see him, having pushed through those who insisted you stay away, that he's dangerous, that he hurt you--only then does Simon strain against those chains. he wants to be at your side. he's driven half out of his mind with worry that the assassin who hurt you might come back and finish the job without him there to protect you.

he'd pull the chain bolts clean out of the rotting brick to get back to you if not for the guarantee you'd be kept from him if he did. although it's not by your choice.

he's even willing to confess to crimes he never committed, would never commit, if it meant being in your debt, imprisoned in your home, back by your side.

you stay with him as long as you can. his arms are locked behind him and he rests on his knees, more animal than man, as he presses his face against your waist. his desperation abates once you take his face in your hands to comfort him. he's lightheaded.

you assure him you'll be back, that you'll figure this out and get him home and out of those chains soon. he strains against the chains again as you pull away.

it's not until there's a second attempt on your life that he's vindicated.

the only story anyone knows is that when you screamed, by the time your guards made it up to your bedchamber, the blood from your attacker's corpse was already soaking into your rug. one of them tried and failed to coax the bloody dagger out of your shaking hands. your palms were clean.

you tell the guards this was the man who attacked you before. you tell them to bury him and not speak of this again; to leave your chamber for you to clean.

once they're gone, Simon emerges from the shadows, hands bloody, to disentangle your hands (white knuckled) from the dagger, to usher you into the wash basin. you see the iron cuffs on his wrists, chains snapped off, and say nothing.

nobody is ever quite sure who released him. just as nobody is sure who the assassin worked for.

strangely, your husband seems to avoid you after that.

;)

more Ghost / masterlist

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cheesecakethots · 1 year ago

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Part 2

Your mother had described meeting her soulmate, your father, as the most influential moment of her entire life, despite the fact it had been so ordinary.

They had simply been passing each other in a busy marketplace, and happened to brush hands. The static and pull they both felt only meant one thing, and the rest was history.

Your siblings met their soulmates before you, your older brother even having met his as a young child. Maybe that’s why you were chosen, and not them. Maybe that’s why they didn’t fight for you, after all.

The village you live in had a harsh winter, with no crops being able to grow and people starting to freeze to death in their own homes. You had known the village leaders were the superstitious type, but you almost scoffed aloud when they declared the hardships faced must’ve been the work of a vengeful spirit or yokai.

You had been woken up when some of them dragged you out of bed, still in your flimsy old nightgown that did nothing to protect you from the frosty bite to the wind. Your father didn’t intervene, didn’t cry, didn’t do anything as he watched them carry you away. Your mother had broken into sobs when you screamed at her to save you, but still did nothing. Your siblings didn’t even bother to leave their rooms to watch you be hauled off like some livestock on route to a chopping block.

The woods were long and hard to traverse, but it wasn’t long before they had taken you to the centre, using old and frayed rope to tie you by the waist to a thick tree trunk. They didn’t turn back when leaving, didn’t so much as spare you a glance while you screamed and screamed and screamed.

You stopped after ten minutes, instead allowing yourself to cry silently, hoping that you would wake up soon with your parents ready to comfort you, your siblings waiting to laugh off your silly nightmare. No such thing happened.

It’s been about half an hour now. Maybe less. Maybe more. You’re certain at this point that no hungry spirit is going to find you, and instead you’re going to die a slow, cold death, all alone. Well, maybe not slow.

You don’t hear the soft crunches of snow in front of you, too busy staring at your own feet that are starting to go blue.

“Hm, what do we have here?”

Your eyes glance up. For a second you believe that you’re hallucinating, taking note of the clearly wealthy man in a large hat before you, as well as the men in armour situated behind him.

The man raises an eyebrow. “Well?”

Mouth opening and closing, you attempt to splutter out something, but what comes out is a shaky, unsure breath.

He scoffs, moving closer, “Speak up, will you? Or is your throat frozen?”

A cough leaves you, your throat feeling scratchy and dry, but you spit something out nonetheless.

“Th-They l-l-left me h-here,” you stammer, your voice shaking and teeth chattering wildly. Every breath you take feels as though the ropes around your torso are tightening and tightening.

“Who left you here?” He asks, despite the fact that he sounds rather uninterested.

“Th-The village. M-My fa-family. They left me h-here to die,” you whisper, and you’re surprised by the bitterness you somehow have the strength left to conjure. You look up at him, tears still streaming down your face, “H-How cou-could they throw me a-away like that?”

Something in his expression shifts, and he takes another step towards you, head tilting to the side as he considers something.

“Why did they leave you here, then?”

“Sa-Sacrifice to a yokai. T-They thought it w-would s-stop the wi-winter and help the cr-crops grow.”

He chuckles, but there seems to be little amusement in his tone. “How ridiculous.”

You cough again, your body shivering all the more. You’re going to die soon, you know it.

“What would you offer me if I were to save you?”

Hope doesn’t crawl into your veins at his words, instead a dry sob leaves you, “I have n-nothing left to give. Nothing.”

“Not even your gratitude?”

His eyes meet yours once again, and you can’t help but note how very pretty they are, despite the fact you’re on the verge of death.

“I-If you save m-me, I’ll forever be indebted to you.”

“Hm. It’ll have to do.”

The ropes holding you up fall before you can even realise what’s happened, and in turn so do you, landing on your hands and knees, your body quaking violently.

“Up. Otherwise you’ll freeze to death here. Stand up.”

But you can’t. Any apologies you have die on your tongue when he tuts, kneeling in front of you.

He reaches a hand out to roughly pull you up by the wrist, “Archons, I have to do everything aroun-“

His grip on you leaves as fast as it came, and he stumbles back on his feet a little, watching as you peer up at him, eyes wide.

You don’t have much time to consider the consequences of what has just happened, as your body finally gives way, and you collapse into the snow in front of your soulmate.

#will do a part 2 at some point probably #for that one anon that asked me to write for him #yandere scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #tw yandere #tw.yandere #yandere #yanderecore #yandere genshin x you #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin #yandere scaramouche x reader #yandere scara #tw close death #tw near death #scaramouche x y/n

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short-honey-badger · 10 months ago

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Peppermint Tea 8

Holy crap the amount of likes and comments and reblogs you all have left is amazing! Thank you so so much for enjoying!

Anyway! On to the next part.

Masterlist

The sound of the native birds of your island is what wakes Mihawk. He cracks his eyes open, wincing when his back protests him moving as soon as he wakes up. He stands and moises his way to the kitchen, filling the kettle and setting it on the stove. Mugs and tea bags are next, and Dracule makes sure to dump some sugar into your own cup. He then moves on, collecting fresh fruits and vegetables from your garden and investigating the smoke room. He finds very little inside and decides that his haul now is enough for breakfast.

Fixing it up doesn't take all that long, and soon, he has a platter of foodstuffs that looks similar to the one last night. Dracule makes a mental note to try and bring you some type of livestock, though he dreads the thought of anything bigger than a house cat on his ship.

The tea is placed on the tray, and Dracule makes his way to your bedroom. He eases the door open, and a soft smile crosses his lips at the sight of you curled up with an arm around Hank. The big pooch whines and drags himself off the bed and out the door, going to do his business. Mihawk takes his spot and sets the tray away from you but still on the bed.

“Sweet thing,” Dracule rumbles and slides his hand up into your hair, scratching your scalp just the way you like it, “It's time to get up. I've made breakfast.”

Those seem to be the magic words for you rise like the dead and look at Mihawk through squinted eyes. He thinks she looks adorable when you rub your eyes, pout on your lips from being woken up.

“Hawk?” You mumble out and wince when your head throbs like a bastard. You whine and lay back down, not wanting to deal with the pain, “Don't feel good.”

Dracule can't help but laugh at your pitiful state, “Oh, Darling. I'm not surprised you don't feel very well,” he coos and gently pulls you back into a sitting position. He shifts to sit behind you, back against the wall, as he drags the tray of goodies closer to both of you.

“One must be careful when indulging in alcohol. Is this your first hangover?” Mihawk asks quietly, and you shrug, not really understanding what he's going on about. You frown when he laughs at you again and cross your arms over your chest, only to wince when you brush across your breasts.

“Owee,” you murmur quietly and wonder why your chest aches so badly, only to drop your head in shame when you happened to remember most of last night.

Mihawk gently lays you back and lifts your shirt, shushing you gently when you squirm and try to fight him, “Hush, let me look. There is nothing to be embarrassed by,” he chides and sends you a look that has you ducking your head and looking away from him. Mihawk examines the seldom hickies and love bites with a smug twist of his lips, hands reaching up to gently trace the bite mark that still lingers from last night.

You look beautiful all marked up, and a dark feeling blooms in his chest at the sight of what he did. Mihawk wants to see more of them on you, proof that you want him. That you are his.

“Just sore, sweet thing,” Dracule comments lowly and kisses your cheek, lingering to leave a trail of hot kisses all the way down your neck and to your shoulder, “We will have breakfast and then you will have a hot bath while I do my morning routine.”

You nod, completely at the warlord's mercy as you glance down to see that he hasn't stopped his gentle ministrations, thumbs rubbing over your nipples over and over again until you can think of nothing but the man who holds you. Even your hangover doesn't seem as bad with Dracule here.

Mihawk glances over the tray and picks up a cubed melon slice, lifting it up to your lips and grinning when you obediently open your mouth for him. He feeds you one piece after another until you are pleasantly full and ready to go back to sleep, “Tea first, sweet girl,” he orders when he feels you shift again.

You nod slowly, wincing when your head aches at even the slightest movements. The tea has cooled, but it still tastes wonderful to your cottonmouth. You sip until it is empty, and Dracule takes the mug away from you when he notices you finished. He taps your thigh gently, “Up you go, Darling.” He encourages softly.

He leaves you to find some clean clothes and a towel while he goes to the bathroom and begins to run you a bath. He is surprised by the amount of modern utilities he finds in your cottage and wonders who you really are. While simple, your home was filled with older but no less luxurious items. The hot water and plumbing were just one of the many things that he's noticed.

Mihawk's thoughts are interrupted when you appear in the doorway with a thin robe and towel. You smile at the sight of your friend starting you a bath, “Thank you for taking care of me, Dracule,” you say, and step close to press your lips to his cheek when he rises from his slouch over the tub.

Hawkeye feels hot satisfaction curl in his chest at your thanks. He turns and pulls you in for a kiss, hand coming up to tangle in your hair and pull you close to him. Mihawk likes the way you say his name. All breathy and full of gratitude, and all for him.

You whine at the less than soft treatment, but you can't bring yourself to care or complain about it. Not when you love it when Dracule touches you like this. He kisses you breathless, leaving you a gasping mess as he turns away to fiddle with the knobs of the faucet. You pout a little, annoyed that Dracule is never as affected as you are after a kiss like that.

Your annoyance disappears the second that Dracule steps behind you, hands placed on your shoulders as if to slide your robe down. Nerves surge through your entire body, and you clutch the thick fabric to your chest, “I um. I can take It from here, Mihawk.”

You shiver at the feeling of his warm breath on the back of your neck. Your hair is up in a messy bun, allowing the warlord to press chaste kisses to the flushed skin there, and thankfully, no more than that.

“Take your time, dear one. I'll be outside if you need me.” Dracule assures you, and then he is shutting the door behind himself and leaving you alone in the bathroom.

You shrug off your bathrobe, and a relaxing sigh escapes you as you settle in the hot water, eyes closing as you do what Mihawk bid and take your time.

It's an hour later by the time you step outside. It's nice and sunny like usual, and you grin when Hank bounds up. The big lug presents you with a stick, and you toss it into the woods for your dog to go running after. You glance around, humming wordlessly as you look for Dracule.

You find him at the back of the cottage where the sun shines brightest. Your home is situated up a small embankment, leaving your backyard to drop off into a cliff face. Dracule stands at the edge of the cliff, looking regal and dramatic as the wind blows his dark hair this way and that.

You wonder why he keeps coming back here. He's told you before that your island is like a safe haven from the rest of the world, but sometimes you aren't sure that you believe him. You don't know what the rest of the world is like, and when you first came to this island, you yearned to leave and explore the world. How much of the world has Mihawk experienced to say that your island in the middle of nowhere was a safe place for him.

What did your friend go through for him to run and hide away from it all?

“I can hear you thinking from up here, dear,” Mihawk says, and you nearly jump out of your skin. He turns and gives you a smug smirk, “What's on your mind?”

You huff at him and step by his side, eyes flickering to the crashing waves of the ocean. Your devil fruit reacts to the sight, sending flurries scattering about the two of you. You debate asking the real question you've wanted answered since Dracule stepped foot on your island. Just who exactly was Dracule Hawkeye Mihawk?

“Nothing, just admiring,” you say instead. You didn't want to give him any reason to leave early.

Dracule huffs at you with a roll of his eyes, “Is that so?” He presses and eyes you, “You can ask me things, Dear One. I won't lie to you.”

“Even if it's about who you really are?” The words are out of your mouth before you can stop them. You tense, flurries sticking to your skin as your nerves get the better of you. The silence is thick between the two of you, and you are terrified to even look in his direction.

“I introduced myself when I saved you from those pirates, did I not?” Dracule's tone is one of forced calm, and more snow begins to fall when you hear it. You can't help but feel like you've messed up. A warm hand catches your chin, and you are forced to look into the golden, ringed eyes of your friend. His gaze is as cold as your devil fruit, and you find yourself shivering under it.

“You did,” you agreed carefully, “But, you just… don't speak about yourself often, and I'm curious.” You swallow harshly and catch the bird following the movement of your throat. His eyes catch your own in the next moment, and you force yourself to hold his gaze.

It feels like it takes an eternity, but Dracule relents, eyes softening just a fraction and grip becoming more tender, “I have a good reason for not doing so, Snow Angel,” he murmurs.

You suck in a sharp breath at the new name, wetting your lips as you latch on to the pretty words that he spills. You want to say more, but your lips won't move. Your jaw won't work to form the words that you want to say to him. Dracule has you, hook, line, and sinker, just where he wants you. He traces the curve of your jaw with his thumb, then leans forward to press his lips to your brow.

“Promise to not ask me again, and I'll tell you in my own time,” Dracule suggests softly and you lose yourself even more to him, “I do not take the sharing of personal information lightly,_.”

And there it was. The nail in the coffin. Mihawk rarely calls you by your name, so hearing it in his sinfully melodic voice sends shivers of pleasure racing up your spine. The flurries melt, and you find yourself nodding eagerly.

“I promise not to ask again,” you say, and feel like you are about to explode when Dracule gives you a proud quirk of his lips.

“Good girl,” Mihawk praises softly and brings you in for a quick kiss, pleased that you see his way of things. The tension in the air is all but gone, and the warlord leads his snow angel away from the cliff edge.

“Come, I didn't get those books for you for nothing, Dear One. How about you read one of them to me?”

You let Dracule pull you back to the cottage, Hank meeting you with a happy bark at the door. His anger still lingers in the back of your mind, but you can let it go for now.

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