#my darling cora

[mrsrobinsong]

This is my (late) entry for the Cobert Winter Fanfic Exchange 2023. My theme was fluff, prompt 'Panacea' and dialogue "You're the only one that matters." This is a scene from my headcanon of what happened after the series finale.

You may notice that I changed "You're the only one that matters" to "Yours is the only one that matters". I hope that's ok!

This is my first time writing Robert, so I hope it turned out alright. Thanks for reading!

[juliasdowntonstuff]

Chapter 54

Chapter 54 is a bit of a more emotional chapter once again, and also quite a long one. Anyway, it is out now posted on ff and ao3 and I do hope you like Cobert in what seems to be their favourite place on earth — their bedroom.

A little taste of this chapter is under the cut as usual, plus two pictures of our fav Edwardian couple that represent this chapter's mood quite well I'd say.

Robert's brow was furrowed as he entered, his mind somewhere miles and miles away. Cora watched him as he untied the sash of his robe agonisingly slowly, taking it off and then proceeding to fold it neatly over the back of his chair before sitting down there with a low grunt.

"A penny for your thoughts?" Cora smiled shyly as she looked at him.

His eyes were still unfocused, staring into nothingness ahead of him, as he began to take off his house shoes. Before slipping out of them, though, he stopped and reclined in his chair, his arms coming to rest on the armrests on either side of him. "I'm afraid that would not quite cover it," he retorted absent-mindedly.

Right when Cora saw that he was slipping deeper into whatever hidden depth in his mind that was occupied with whatever was troubling him, she spoke again. "Come to bed, Robert. It's been a long day."

Maybe it was her soft tone. Maybe it was the truth behind her statement. Maybe it was her thinly veiled concern. Whatever it was, it finally snapped him out of his daze and he quickly sat back up, put his shoes away and slipped into their bed beside her. Turning out the nightlight, he came to lie on his back next to her, his arm raised to prop up his head some more. It had always been his way of inviting her in to cuddle up to him and she did so without hesitation. The crook of his neck had always been the perfect fit for her to rest her head in, and her hand found its way to his chest more subconsciously than not, just the way it always had.

"What is it, my dear? What is troubling you?"

She felt his chest rise and fall beneath her hand with each of the deep breaths he took. Whether that was a good or a bad sign would have to remain to be seen for her. Either it meant that he would share his concerns with her and needed to muster up the courage, or it meant that he was racking his brain for an excuse that would allow him to keep silent on the matter weighing so heavily on his mind. Cora hoped it was not the latter, but she had no way of being sure with her husband.

"I just can't believe that she kept this from us. From everyone. All these years, she carried the weight of this all on her own. To lose Papa and Marmaduke within a few years was such a great test for all of us already, but to lose a child then as well? While her husband was fighting on some distant shore, only to never return home to her, either?" His voice was quiet, but full of desperation as he finally spoke. "Do you think we should have paid more attention earlier?"

"Darling, if she had wanted us to know, she would have told us."

"But it is not right that Mary knew and we did not! I am her older brother, I should have been there for her. I should have protected her. I-"

"Robert, you can't be there for everyone all the time. You could not have helped her, and you could have prevented it even less. You had just become the Earl — so many years before you should have. You suddenly had all these responsibilities to shoulder while grieving for your father. You were thrust into this new life years before you should have. We all were. You heard Rosamund, not even your mother knew for quite a while. And you could not have helped her, you know how you are with anything medical."

He knew that she was right. He was aware of the circumstances; Rosamund had explained them in all detail that afternoon, not without tears. It had been uncomfortable for all of them, but such conversations were almost always bound to be. Robert thought back to the tearful hug he had shared with his sister. He remembered how small and vulnerable this usually strong and independent woman had seemed as he simply held her in his arms. Involuntarily, he had to think of the two young boys that could have been part of their lives had fate not decided differently many years ago, and he could feel his eyes beginning to sting and water.

[135crow]

♡ Rosinante

[downton-bridgerton]

Hugh Bonneville, along with Miss Piggy and Kermit the Frog at the Coronation Concert at Windsor Castle || May 7, 2023 (x)

[actual-sleeping-beauty]

I saw one of these that was I think meant to be romantic in nature but I'm curious to see if the results would be different if I specified platonic! So!

Obligatory note that this poll is (obviously) very English centered but I still would love to hear pet names in other languages if you want to tell them to me! (My personal favorites in Spanish are baby because my friends said it to me, and cora (an abbreviation of corazón) because my host parents called each other that.)

OG poll is here if you want to see it!

[spacebaby1]

MY MAMA (Child!Law Trafalgar & Mom!Reader)

"STOP IT," Law yelled at you "YOU ARE NOT MY MOM AND YOU WILL NEVER BE." Law pushed past you running to his room and you stood up and grabbed on Corazon's wrist when he called for Law.

"No, don't yell at him" You said stopping your husband from walking. "B-But sweetheart, he can't yell at you like that. He can't talk to you like that-"

"Yes, he can" you smiled a little, "he's my son, isn't he?" Corazon nodded looking down, he felt hopeless, "then let him cool down, Darling. I can handle his words, let him yell, scream or throw hands at us" you chuckled gently lifting your husband's chin, "He'll calm down soon, just please don't yell at my boy."

Corazon sighed at your words, how could you be so sweet to his boy after all he had said to you today and how he treated you. But, as an neglected child you easily understood Law's emotions; he is just a kid.

Corazon decided to make the dinner tonight so you agreed to fold the clean clothes, after putting the clothes away in the drawer you noticed the small picture album you owned, it had pictures from your school. So you sat down to go through it but from the side of your eyes you noticed someone peeking from the doorframe, it was Law. He tried to hide but you had seen him, with a smile you titled to side so now you could full see him, "Hey, you. Did you need anything?" You smiled Gentle as always.

"C-Can I come in?" He asked almost in a small voice. "Sure, Sweetie. Come sit beside me." You tapped the floor beside you and he did as you told him still not looking you in the eye.

"Are you hungry? Do you want me to make you a snack?" He shook his head and mumbled something under his breath, "Huh?" He turned towards you and you could see his eyes were glossy, and your heart dropped; was he crying?

"Law? Sweetie were you crying? Your eyes are puffy. What's wrong are you not feeling well?" The concern that you showed made the gilt Law felt run wild in his little head. His lips quivered as he just looked at you hoping for you to understand his tears and how sorry he was yelling all those words at you, he fell into your arms without warning, "It's okay, Sweetie, whatever it is, we'll fix it, what's wrong? Tell me? Want me to get your Cora-San?" He shook his head in your embrace, "Okay, Sweetie, Not calling for Cora-San." You rubbed his back, "there there, I'm here for you," you placed your head on his as he cried and cried till he couldn't anymore.

"You okay?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean what I said earlier, that wasn't very kind. I shouldn't have said that to you, I'm so sorry, I'm very very sorry. I just don't know how to explain it," he looked down at his fingers, "it's not an excuse no it shouldn't be."

You were confused, "What is Law? Did someone said something to you at school, you can tell us anything." He pulled at his hat before speaking, "it's my fault for yelling at you b-but I-uhh my teacher s-she well she-"

"Law did you teacher say something to you? Did she hit you?" You were getting scared and angry but not at Law, never at him. He shook his head to which you calmed down, and he spoke again, "She didn't do- well- today is mother's day." Oh, you said nothing.

"T-the teacher gave us each a flower and she said "give it to your mother" as a gift, a-and I didn't cry but I felt sad and I didn't like that feeling so I got angry at you, I'm sorry I didn't mean to be mean to you like that, you are kind to me and you cook my favourite food a-and I yelled at you." He was crying again in your arms, you just hugged him, apparently your old school never stopped with this tradition you chuckled. "Don't cry, it's okay to feel like that Law, I know how you feel, trust me it's okay."

He pulled away to look at you, "H-How?", you smiled and whipped his tears, "When I was few years younger than you, my mama and papa separated. I was too young to understand why I just knew they didn't want me because they left me with my nana, and I went to the same school as you when I was your age, my teache used to do the Same. Every mothers day they would give us a flower to give to our mama's but I didn't have one," you smiled to stop your own tears, "so I used to give them to nana and tell her that it was a gift." Law blinked at you, "y-your mom didn't like you?" He asked "but why?" You shrugged, "sometimes people change but that doesn't mean I am alone, yes I was for most of my childhood but I am happy now, I have you, your Cora-San. You are my family, and I love you more than a mother can love her child because I see you as my own, and I am not mad at you for yelling at me at all, you call speak your heart out with me and I will always be there for you, sweetheart."

Law's lips quiver as he fell in your arms crying again before you noticed Corazon was standing by the door crying his eyes out when he heard your words, he too jumped to hug you as they both cried in your arms, you chuckled blinking the tears away, "Stop crying you big baby" you told Corazon but he only cried harder, "I love you so much." He said crying and you laughed at them both for being alike.

[penkura]

Father's Day Moments

Note: Sorry this so late today, I've been busy with my own stuff this weekend, but I got it done! :) This is simply Father's Day moments with a small surprise in each of them, I had a blast writing these. 💚 I know again that this day can be hard for some, so if this isn't something you're okay with reading, please feel free to skip it and read something makes you happy today. 💚💚

Ace has rarely ever thought about Father’s Day, considering his own issues with his father and all that growing up. Even after joining the Whitebeard Pirates he never thought too much of the day, only when Marco or someone else brought it that it was about that time of year. Once he has own his children, the sweet little girls you both share, he still doesn’t think about the day as being that important, it feels more for the kids then it does for the dad in his mind. You do most of the caring for your daughters anyway, even though Ace helps as much as he can when he’s not busy, you two are a team, you should use the day to rest together, right?

That’s why, after you get Rogue and Ann to give Ace the little handmade cards you helped them with (he’s not crying, you’re seeing things), Ace tries to pass the girls off to Marco and Izo for the day, having asked the two the day before if they could take the girls off the ship for the afternoon so you two could relax together. They both had agreed, you find it very odd they’re so willing to take the two when they’ve jokingly called your daughters little hell fires, Rogue and Ann are happy to go with them onto the island you’re docked at for a couple hours.

You’re still skeptical even when all Ace does is pull you into bed for a nap (just a nap, he swears when you ask if he’s got other motives). “Ace, what’s this all about? You know it’s—”

“Father’s Day, yeah, I know,” Ace buries his face in your hair and you can’t help but nearly melt in his arms, he’s so warm all the time, it feels so nice just to lay with him, “But you deserve some time off too~”

The way he nuzzles into your neck makes you giggle, wanting to say something about how you already had your day until he speaks up again.

“I wanna have another baby with you~”

That’s not a surprise to you, he’s said it several times since Ann turned four and you first brought it up, just wondering what his opinion would be and Ace promising he’d get back to you when he had decided. He finally did just about a week or two ago, right after her birthday, telling you that one more would be perfect, your family would be complete whether boy or girl.

“Yeah, that sounds good, Ace.”

It’s a few moments of silence before you hear him snoring, but it still makes you laugh softly before running your fingers through his hair while he sleeps.

“Happy Father’s Day, you dork.”

~~

Father’s Day had left a bad taste in Law’s mouth for a long time, having lost his own father and then Corazon, it first made him resent the day before it became just another day that meant time was passing by. No one to celebrate meant he could ignore it, until you came along and blessed him with your son and daughter, the two angels he watches play doctor almost every day with their stuffed animals. Eight-year-old Rosi and two-year-old Cora, both his spitting image and the brightest part of his days, apart from you obviously.

The day is quiet while your children play, Law trying to take a nap for once when he feels someone come over and put something on his chest, cracking one eye open to see Cora has her toy stethoscope while Rosi holds her up so she can reach, and it makes him smile. They’re both just darling, even if Rosi is reaching the point where he’ll say how embarrassing such statements are.

“What’s up? I need a checkup from Dr. Cora?”

She giggles and nods, while Rosi huffs a little. Cora has gotten so big, its hard for him to hold her for very long. He asks if she’s almost done, when she nods again and takes her toy off Law’s chest.

“All done!” Law ruffles her hair a bit and thanks her, as Rosi tells her they should go check her stuffed bunny now. The two hurry back to their toys, as Law tries again to nap before he feels like someone else is watching him, opening his eyes to see you leaned over giving him a smile.

“Have you gotten to rest at all?”

“No, but it’s fine,” shaking his head a bit, Law notices you seem to want to say something, and gives you a look, “You okay?”

“Mm,” nodding you look over to your children, watching them briefly as they wrap bandages around the bunny’s ears, “Just…what would you say to one more?”

Law raises an eyebrow and sees how fidgety you are by asking, wondering if you’ve already gotten an answer and you’re just double checking with him that it would be okay, or if you just suddenly have baby fever again. Either way, he doesn’t think it would be a bad thing. It would be welcomed.

“I think that would be fine…”

The way you light up and grin makes Law start to smile too, even when you begin to ramble a bit about how you haven’t felt well, which he knew already, and how you had gone and taken a pregnancy test, and well, looks like your ‘one more’ is coming sooner than expected based on the pink plus sign when you show him the test. Rosi and Cora were both planned, and while this one wasn’t, there’s an excitement in his heart that Law can’t deny at the thought of having another child with you.

Its not such a bad Father’s Day gift honestly.

~~

To be honest, Penguin never thought he’d be this lucky. He never thought he’d be lucky enough to find you, to get married and have two daughters with you, and now have the joy of bringing home your newborn son on Father’s Day, two days old and baby Sage has joined his sisters in your home, the eight-year-old and four-year-old girls both squealing over how tiny he is.

Penguin beams with pride while he watches them, Wren has gotten over her jealousy of having little siblings ever since Ivy started to get older and could play with her. When you told them the baby was a boy, they were both ecstatic to get a baby brother, and loved coming to the hospital to see and meet him.

As the two try to push each other out of the way to see him while Penguin holds Sage, you put your hands on their heads and quiet them down.

“Hey now, that’s enough. We don’t want to scare him. Don’t you two something for daddy anyway?”

Wren gasps loudly before nodding and grabbing Ivy’s hand, yelling for Penguin to wait there while they ran off to their room. He gives you a confused look while you sit beside him and start to coo at Sage.

“Babe, what’d you do?”

“I didn’t do anything. It was all them.”

When they finally come back, both are holding drawings they’d made the other day with you watching them (mostly since they were using markers). Wren had drawn your whole family as penguins while Ivy had mostly done stick figure drawings of your now family of five, both making sure to include the newest addition. They both tell Penguin ‘happy Father’s Day’ as they hand the pictures over, and he has to fight to not to cry while he hugs them close, kissing them both on the cheek multiple times and making them giggle.

“You’re both the best daughters I could’ve ever asked for!”

~~

Sanji doesn’t take a day off, what are you talking about? The man is a chef, a professional one at that, and with your twins tenth birthday just two days away, he’s busy making their birthday cakes and all the snacks and treats their friends are going to want at the party too. Even though he knows it’s Father’s Day, you know it too, your twins and second daughter have already given him the cards they’d made, he did cry and didn’t try to hide it, and he went right back to work. It might be a day for him to relax, but he doesn’t for more than those few minutes earlier in the day. He’d taken your three-month-old son Elie after you’d finished nursing him, strapping him against his chest in a baby carrier and getting to work while your baby slept against him so you could rest instead.

Honestly, it kind of made you feel bad because you’d already gotten your day, and Sanji was using his to prepare for your twins birthday party and watch your youngest son, your older three children were busying themselves with cleaning their rooms. You’ve already finished the laundry for the day and go to the kitchen to see Sanji isn’t up and cooking at the moment, instead sitting at the table and playing with your small son’s hands while talking to him while Elie looks up at him.

“I feel really blessed to have all of you, Elie. I really hope that you and your siblings know that as you grow up…” Sanji sighs a bit and places a soft kiss on Elie’s head, “I never want you to feel like I did.”

“They won’t,” you surprise Sanji by wrapping your arms around his shoulders and kissing his cheek, “You’re a wonderful father and doing so well with them, Sanji. Just from watching you with all four of our babies, they all absolutely love you.”

“My love—”

“And don’t argue with me, you know its true.”

Sanji laughs and nods, knowing he’d lose that argument in a heartbeat. You’re always so headstrong and just want him to realize that yes, he’s doing a million times better than his own father did, he’s on par with Zeff nowadays, who your kids also have come to adore as their grandfather.

You look around the kitchen a bit, asking if Sanji wants any help, before he starts listing off everything he still has to do and you just watch him. He starts to take Elie out of the baby carrier and hand him over to you as he sees the look on your face.

“Yeah, I’ll uh…sit with Elie while you cook.”

He laughs again, before kissing your forehead and giving you a smile. “That would be wonderful, my love.”

~~

You never truly know how to celebrate Father’s Day when the father of your children is Zoro. It feels like he doesn’t care about it, even when you roll your eyes at him and tell him just to tell you what he wants, before he shrugs and says he doesn’t need anything. He’s got you, Keitaro, and Kuina, and the rest of the Straw Hats, what else could he possibly want or need? There’s nothing material he needs really, unless you want to get him the expensive sake he likes but you think a liquor store owner might find it highly concerning that a seven-month pregnant woman is buying alcohol, which just made Zoro laugh at you when you brought that up.

Ah right, that’s right, it’s not just you, your two children, and the rest of the Straw Hats anymore, or won’t be in a few short weeks. The baby you actually planned this time would be joining you all soon, that’s more than enough. He definitely doesn’t need anything when he thinks about that, just that you and this baby are safe through the rest of your pregnancy and the birth. That’s all he really wants.

Maybe some of that sake still but he’ll get that another way.

His morning meditation that day is interrupted when he senses Keitaro nearby, the seven-year-old trying to sneak up and catch Zoro off guard, though it never works thanks to his observation haki. Even when your son throws his arms around him and yells “gotcha!”, Zoro just smirks a bit, keeping his eyes closed.

“I knew you were there.”

“Daaaad, you’re cheating!” Keitaro whines and pouts, trying to climb onto Zoro’s back before giving up and going around to sit in his lap. “Mama said haki is cheating!”

“That’s only cause your mom can’t sneak up on me either.” He opens his one good eye and stares down at his little clone, the boy still pouting with his arms crossed over his chest. “Where’re your mom and sister?”

“Umm, Kuina’s still asleep, and mama was awake, but said she was going to lay down cause the baby was making her sleepy again.”

“And what are you doing up so early?”

Keitaro starts to look away a bit, shyly trying not to give anything up, before leaning his head against Zoro’s chest and saying “I wanted to hang out just with you…”

When he was younger, Zoro never thought that having kids was for him. He thought they’d get in the way, that there wasn’t any reason to really have them around apart from legacy, but then you showed up and turned everything upside down. Keitaro wasn’t planned, but he’d brought so much more to both your lives than either of you expected. Your sweet Kuina was a surprise too, you swear she’s made Zoro softer in more recent years, something he tries to deny but everyone else can see it when she’s got his attention.

And your coming addition, the one that was planned, even if they hadn’t been you still would welcome this baby happily. Sometimes, Zoro still isn’t sure that fatherhood suits him, but you swear to him that he’s the best father you’ve ever seen, even better than your own, and maybe you’re right, just from how Keitaro quietly wants to spend time with his dad, just the two of them before the day really gets started. Its more apparent when Kuina convinces him to read to her, and when your unborn child kicks at his hand while he talks to them.

“All right, buddy,” Zoro sets one hand on Keitaro’s back and strokes his hair with the other, watching as he starts to fall back asleep too, not used to being up this early, “You stay with me for now then.”

Maybe he’s not so bad at this fatherhood thing after all.

[kayrrhin]

hello!

i saw your commissions were opened after a fic i read, idk if you write for multiple characters but i’d like to request for robin, law, cora, yamato, and ace, with no peculiar pronouns for the reader, it can be fluff or nsfw, as you feel more comfortable with!

feel free to add more or not write for some ofc, no pressure it’s totally understandable, don’t overdo yourself, please and thanks!

I'm going to be honest, you made a commission which literally features all of my all time favorite babies so let's goooo, i also assumed it was all separated since there were no specification, good reading!

3am baking

characters: Robin, Law, Corazon, Yamato, Ace

fluff, use of pet names, ft. teenager law in Cora's part

Reader's gender is not referred so it can be any gender

Warnings: use of swear words, a bit suggestive at Law's part, french

Robin:

"wow, so far it looks good!"

You looked at the cupcakes you and your girlfriend were making, so far there was only the dough but wow it looked good.

"I'm amazed that we're able to make such good cupcakes at this time of day, at least so far the dough is good!"

You grin at the archeologist and wipe some of the flour off her nose.

"Thanks, love."

You smiled and began to put the dough into the moulds, putting them in the oven.

"Now all we have to do is wait!"

Robin put her arms around you from behind and kissed your temple,

"I just hope Sanji doesn't take this the wrong way"

You chuckled a little

"The only thing Sanji might do is cry because we made it ourselves and he didn't cook it for us, or be amazed because it's going to be super good!"

You kissed her cheek and smiled proudly.

"haha, I guess you're right, I have to say though, what a strange urge to want to cook at such an hour, darling"

"Yes, I know, but at least we'll have snacks to read"

She smiles sweetly and kisses you, her soft lips resting on yours.

"Actually, I just hope they're still good tomorrow"

You looked up in a thinking manner for a bit,

"aaah you're right...it's probably going to be a little drier depending on how it goes..."

Your lover chuckled and kissed you.

"Don't worry too much, with a bit of tea it's going to be great, love"

After a little while you finished the cupcakes and boy were they good, as was the sleep you got afterwards.

Law

"You're messing up your sleep schedule right now."

Your boyfriend said, watching you make cookie dough,

"Oh, you're one to talk! At least it's not to overwork myself but to make cookies!"

You smile and continue to work on your work of art, but you feel someone approaching you.

"Let me help you at least, it might be fun... I guess."

He seemed a little embarrassed but helped you with the cookies anyway,

"Aaaw, thanks, love!"

You smiled at him and continued to bake, when the dough was separated, the surgeon put them in the oven, setting the temperature correctly.

"Can you put a timer on please?"

"Yep, I got it!"

You set the timer and start waiting, Law lifts you up to sit on the counter and kisses you on the forehead.

"I'll never understand how you can cook for ten people in the middle of the night"

He then kisses your jaw and puts his hands on your waist,

"I'll say it's my will to eat that gives me this strength, or a mental breakdown"

He chuckled and kissed your lips, slowly moving down to your neck, kissing it and leaving a few marks here and there, he started to get a little more impatient only for the timer to remind you both that the cookies were still in the oven,

"Yes! My cookies!"

You got off the counter, took out the cookies and turned off the oven.

"wooow, these look dashing!"

"Yes. They are."

You laugh, seeing your boyfriend a little frustrated by the sudden stop,

"Come on, sweetheart, we can continue where we left off for a few minutes, the cookies still need to cool."

"I don't know if I love you or hate you, [Name]-ya"

Corazon

"I'm surprised we made it this far without burning the kitchen down!"

You've finished putting your mixture on the plate to put what will soon be brownies in the oven,

"Me too, you've really taken the easiest thing to do"

Your lover wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer to his giant body.

"Yeah, I figured at 3am, burning the house down wasn't the best way to make something"

You laugh, nuzzling your face into his chest, him, resting his head on top of yours.

"You're right, I'm not sure Law would like us to set the house on fire."

He pulled his face closer to yours and kissed the tip of your nose, then your temple, and lips.

"He'd probably kick our asses if we did, I wonder who the real adults are"

You both laughed and stayed like that for a little while, to be fair the reason he hadn't set the kitchen on fire was because you were making sure he wasn't near anything that could catch fire, mainly his coat which was left in the living room for that specific reason.

"I think the brownies are good, let me turn off the stove"

You did so and smelled the brownies,

"wow, that smells really good, mi vida, we did a great job!"

He kissed you on the cheek and stumbled, causing you to lose your balance.

"OH FUCK—"

You looked at the brownies that were about to fall out, but they were replaced by a pillow.

"hah?"

"Can you be careful??? First I wake up because you can't keep it down, when I get up you're immediately about to injure yourself, and you're the adults here?"

"Right! Sorry we woke you up..."

"and thanks for saving us from a third degree burn!"

The teenager looked at you both and sighed.

" It's okay, plus it smells good, it would be sad to let it go to waste"

You look at your partner and both laughed

"Well, I guess it couldn't have gone without at least one little mistake"

Yamato

"Woooh! [Name], look, it's growing!"

You giggled at your golden retriever boyfriend who was looking at the gateau au yaourt in the stove.

"Yeah, that's the baking powder, baby"

Your boyfriend looked at you in awe, it was the first time in a long time he'd cooked in a real kitchen, so when you said you wanted to make a cake at 2:56am, he looked at you and instantly got up, already jumping towards the kitchen.

"This is so cool! And it smells so good too! My love, you are so good at baking! You are a god/goddess!"

Your boyfriend lifted you up in his arms, you laughed at his gesture.

" Pretty boy, I think you're over-reacting, I only have basic cooking skill"

He laughed and peppered your face with kisses, which made you giggle.

"Love, can you put me down? I need to turn off the oven"

"Oh yes, sorry!"

He puts you down and lets you reach the oven, you turn it off and take out the chocolate cake, the smell of the cake reaches your nostrils, but you smell something else, like vanilla.

"Wow, that smells good, you know why it smells like va...ni...la?", Finishing your sentence, you turn your head to notice the empty bottle of vanilla extract on the counter.

"Um... it smelled good, and like vanilla so..."

"Please tell me the bottle wasn't full."

You prayed for a second, imagining that the strong taste of vanilla was too much for your taste buds and mentally cried, but your boyfriend assured you that the bottle was almost empty when he did so.

"Ok, time to try it then, I really hope you're not lying because it smells like vanilla hell right now".

You took a bite and ate it, it was indeed very good and the vanilla taste wasn't overwhelming, which reassured your taste buds, you kissed your lover and took the cake to bring it in your room.

"Ah! I told you I didn't put it all in!"

Your boyfriend exclaimed, proud that he had not made a dumb mistake (for once).

"Yes, you did! I think it's time to eat it while reading about Oden, don't you think, big guy?"

"YES!"

Ace

"oui, oui, baguette ! Quoisan !"

Your boyfriend laughed as he helped you prepare the croissants.

"Ace, shut the fuck up, it's 3am if Tatch hears us, we're dead"

The last time Tatch caught you, you were punished by cleaning the bathroom for 3 months, but you both had a sudden urge to cook after a long make out session.

"Come on, this time we're doing a good job and the ingredients were paid by us, this time if he catches us he won't have anything to blame us for"

He smiles as he rolls the dough into a croissant shape.

"You're right but still, I'm not sure having two dumbasses in your kitchen at 3am is the best way to wake up, even if you just want a glass of water."

the freckled boy finished making the shape and placed a napkin on the plate to let it sit and walked over to you and threw his arms around your waist.

"But I like to cook at night with my dumbass and my dumber self"

He chuckled and kissed your cheek.

"Pff, you're so cheesy, what's happening to you so suddenly, love? A second ago you were speaking broken French if I remember correctly."

You look at him, amused by his sudden display of affection.

"Hey, it's not my fault that my heart races when I see you."

"Oh, you're in your flirty state again, finish the croissant, idiot, and kiss me afterwards."

You both chuckled and he put his lips to yours, he was so goofy, my Lord.

"You two again???"

"Fuck, Tatch, wait, we can explain!"

[ohtobealady]

jealously

My sweet friend! Thank you for the prompt! I definitely used this as inspiration, so I apologize that the word isn’t in the Drabble exactly. No angst :)

—————‘,—————

Jealously

He managed one more button of his pajama top before he hoisted himself from his narrow bed. He wavered once he stood, swaying this way and that, and he chuckled.

“Steady on,” he muttered to himself before turning for his housecoat that lay upon his bed. He grabbed it, and stooping—-falling more forward than he meant—-he switched off the little lamp on his side table.

“There now.” He turned the knob of the dividing door, and he thought of her, sparkling in her pearly dress, diamonds glittering in her dark hair. He smiled as he hummed, he hadn’t stopped humming, “O Come All Ye Faithful” irrevocably caught in his mind, and pushed through her door and into her room.

To his utter delight, his eyes caught every source of light in the blue space: the fire crackling, her lamp burning … and she’d turned his lamp on as well, it seemed. After all, Baxter did have the night off. And, though he wasn’t sure why, this simple act moved him dearly.

“Robert?”

He blinked up to try and search her out, and there she was, in her bed. “Hmm?”

“I said I was beginning to worry that you’d gotten lost.”

“Oh, no,” he chortled. “Of course not. I was just helping Father Christmas.”

He tossed his housecoat on the golden chair and, going to shuffle out of his slippers, realized he’d left them in his dressing room.

“I said—“

Robert looked up and back over at his wife. Oh, his wife who smiled at him in that way she had. Rosy and lopsided. “Yes?”

“Did Father Christmas happen to pour you another drink?”

“No, no, no.” He stifled his giggle as he came nearer to her. He tried his best to pull back the covers of her bed. “But I did share just one more with Tom.”

“I see.”

“But it was only a very small one.” He fell into her bed, and waited a moment for the room to catch up with him.

Around him he heard the sounds of rustling sheets, he smelled the gentle breezes of warmed jasmine, and he glanced over at Cora. She was straightening the bedding around him, pulling tucked sheets from under him and covering his arms. She’d asked him to be careful.

He watched her hair move when she shook her head, an untidy braid that bumped at her shoulder. She’d done the braid herself, he knew, and imagining her at her mirror, weaving one strand over the other made him smile.

“I suppose you’re disappointed with me,” he tried to catch her eye. “After your stern warning two nights ago.”

“Of course not.”

She looked down at him, and the light made warm halos around her hair. It made Robert want to touch her.

“On the contrary,” she went on, “I think you were wonderful.”

“Indeed?” He laughed. “Good.” And without much other thought he lifted a hand to her darling face, and his tummy flipped when she leaned into his palm. “Darling.”

And then, not understanding exactly how he did so, he found himself lifting himself up and then rolling his wife upon her back so that he could kiss her soundly.

She laughed, quietly, as he kissed her soft cheeks, her jaw, the place just below her ear where she’d dabbed her perfume hours before. He opened his mouth there, against her throat, so he could taste her, and she laughed louder.

“Robert,” she chided as she wiggled from him, but he held her close, feeling beneath his hands and beneath the silk chiffon of her thin nightgown the dips and curves of her body.

His head swam. And he kissed her again.

“Darling,” she whispered, not laughing anymore, as her fingertips pressed against his chin to gently push him from her. And he obeyed, lifting himself to gaze down at her, looking at her reddened lips he’d kissed, her pinked cheek where his beard stubble had brushed, her blue eyes that he loved so much.

Just the other night she’d looked at him that way. Just two nights ago, after she apologized for spoiling the della Francesca. Just two nights ago, when he’d assured her there was not anything she’d spoiled for him. For she hadn’t. Of course she hadn’t.

“You’re beautiful,” he heard himself say. And then swallowing to wet his throat, he repeated himself, wanting her to hear him. “You are beautiful.”

But she only laughed. “Goodness. You’re drunker than I thought.”

“No,” he shook his head, and he willed himself to sound as sober as he could. For he meant it. “You are.”

“I barely touched a drop!”

He shook his head again, but laughed in spite of the weight of his heart in his chest. “You are beautiful. I don’t tell you, but you are.”

This had the desired effect, and he watched her head tip along the pillow, her soft sigh strangely alluring.

He kissed her again, and he felt the stirrings of desire when he felt her teeth catch at his bottom lip. He drew in a breath and kissed her deeper, pushing himself to lie further upon her, letting his hand find her hip and then thigh, to inch the hem of her nightdress hem up and up and up.

His mind, floating with whiskey, skipped over images of her he loved most: her chin tilted up in pleasure, a curl of her hair swaying as she found her rhythm atop him, her pinched brow when she pulled him tightly to her, needing him.

His fingers found the warmth of her bare hip, and he groaned against her neck. His breath smelled of liquor, but he meant this. He meant the way he kissed her, the way he adored her.

“It makes me feel better about spoiling it for you.”

He shook his head against her, the words she said coming back to him again. He pulled away from her.

“Are you alright?” Her flushed face looked so pretty.

“I love you. Very much.”

Beneath him, he watched her draw in a deep breath. “Darling.”

But Robert shook his head again. “You do know, don’t you?”

Cora smiled. “Yes.” And then, with her fingers threading through the hair at the nape of his neck, she pulled him to her. “And I love you,” she whispered against his ear.

[weministertomonsters]

Naga Father (Araza) x gender-neutral reader - 2

"Just a few kids from school won't hurt, Mr. Araza. You have to give Sam a chance at a normal life," you say in exasperation, shaking some food into your cat's bowl and balancing the phone against your shoulder.

You've been babysitting Sam occasionally for a few months, enough to feel somewhat comfortable with pressing the subject of holding a birthday party for Sam.

"He's not normal," is Mr. Araza's reply, and you grit your teeth for a second before you blow your breath out slowly, forcing yourself to calm down.

"I know you're trying to toughen him up in your own way... But he's going to end up hating you if you don't ease up now and then. Sam is smart, you know. He can figure out how to live in a world of humans on his own."

"I know what's best for my son," Mr. Araza says, and you hear the shuffle of papers in the background.

"Oh, are you working? Did my call interrupt you? Sorry, I'll hang up now. Just think about it, okay?"

Before he has the chance to respond, you hang up.

"He's a tough nut to crack, Ginger," you say to your orange cat who is happily crunching down on his food. "I wonder what happened to make him like that?"

On a whim, you grab your phone and look his name up. There he is, featured in an article from a prominent news station. He was one of the two nagas rescued from a monster trafficking ring that got busted fifteen years ago. There's a picture of him with the other monsters that were rescued. He's staring blankly at the camera, a blanket wrapped around his thin shoulders. The other naga was too weak and passed away in the hospital. Everything makes sense now.

You put your phone down and stare hard at the wall. No wonder he's so fiercely protective of his son and pushing him to survive the best he can. Your phone buzzes and you look down to see a text from your best friend, Cora.

Hi Tobi, it reads, I know this is short notice, but I totally forgot I had a marriage counseling appointment today and we can't leave Annabelle alone! Do you have 2 hours to spare? I made chocolate chip cookies this morning!

A smile curves onto your lips and you type a reply.

I'll be there in 10 minutes

Cora only lives a couple of blocks away, so you end up walking there. Cora and her wife are in the driveway, ready to leave.

"Tobi, you're an angel!" Cora says, coming forward. "I present to you my devil spawn."

Annabelle squirms restlessly in her mother's grip, nibbling on her forearm. The five-year-old had new teeth coming in and apparently, her mother's arm is a serviceable chew toy.

"She's got a ton of energy today," you laugh and scoop her up.

The pup smells like baby shampoo and cookies. You wave her parents off and hoist her onto your shoulder.

"So what do you want to do?" You ask her.

"I want ice cream!" She yells, her knee catching you in the ribs.

"Oof. Isn't it a little too close to lunch?"

"I want a burger too! With cheese!"

"Demanding, aren't you? An alpha in the making for sure. Okay. We'll have burgers and ice cream. Just don't tell your mommy okay?"

She grins and nods. The commercial strip is within walking distance and even if it's a bit far away you figure Annabelle could use a long walk. As you walk together you're making a mental note not to marry a werewolf. Even a half-werewolf would be hyper, but Annabelle is out of this world. She's so bouncy that half the time her feet aren't even on the ground. You're forced to herd her around now and then so she doesn't hop off the sidewalk.

You're relieved when you reach the ice cream shop because it has a fenced-in playground.

"I'm going to make a sandcastle!" Annabelle shrieks, charging towards the sandbox.

"Okay, darling." You grab your phone and text Cora.

Bestie, what's up with Belle today?

Too much sugar :( my bad. I caved and let her have frosted flakes for breakfast Cora texts back.

Oh boy. Then ice cream is going to be a bad idea. Idly you walk up to the swings, wondering how you're going to convince her to get something else. And then you notice Mr. Araza and freeze. He pauses too, looking down at you. You have to put a hand up to your face to hide your grin because he's on the monkey bars. It's sturdy enough to hold his weight, but he looks ridiculous. His son is underneath, head craned up to look up at his father.

"Hello," you say politely.

"Papa is stuck," Sam says, turning to look at you. "Help him, Tobi."

You gulp down a burst of laughter and bite your lip hard, trying not to let your amusement show. Mr. Araza's golden eyes narrow, and his tongue flicks out, tasting the air. His eyes turn into annoyed slits and he lets out a huff. His tail is wound through the rather sophisticated monkey bars, and you can see he's stuck in more than one place.

"How did you even get up there?" You ask.

"I was... Teaching Sam how to climb," he says, and you can't help the small laugh you make this time.

"I do not find this humorous, neither should you," he hisses. "My tail is going numb. If it's not too much trouble, I would appreciate a hand."

You glance down at Sam. "Hey, I brought a friend with me, and she's the same age as you. Maybe you could play together?"

Sam looks doubtfully at Annabelle, who has forgotten about her sandcastle and is digging a hole in the sandbox. Then he nods and shyly slithers over to say hello. You turn back to Mr. Araza and put your game face on.

"How about I make you a deal? Promise to actually think about throwing a party for Sam, and I'll help you."

His pupils widen in shock. "You can't be serious," he scoffs.

You reach out and poke at his tail. "I dunno, Mr. Araza. You seem stuck pretty good."

"For heaven's sake," he rolls his eyes and his shoulders slump a little. "Fine. Quickly now, I look ridiculous."

You grin. "Then it's a deal," you say and walk around him in a slow circle, calculating.

You're not sure how you're going to get him out. The monkey bars are about six feet high, and he's right on top.

"Okay, I think I've got this," you say and begin to climb.

The next ten minutes are the most awkward ones of your life. You almost fall off twice. Mr. Araza twists his upper body to look at you, and his mouth turns down.

"You're going to hurt yourself this way."

"I'm good," you say, hooking your feet against the bars as you grab the thinnest section of his tail at the end. "You've kind of tied yourself into a knot here, mister," you tell him. "Can you move the end of your tail to the left?"

His tail moves, the end of it curling around your wrist.

"Okay," you mumble.

You succeed in freeing that section and move upwards.

"You're not a cat, you know. You can't fit in just any space," you tell him and you wrap your arms around his tail and press your chest against it like you're about to lift something really heavy.

Which is exactly what you're about to do. His tail is a solid hunk of muscle, his scales rasping against your bare arms. Maybe you press a little too hard or something, but he hisses and it's not a  normal hiss. It's a "get your fucking hands off me right now" kind of hiss.

You jerk your hands back. "Sorry, sorry," you say.

You have just touched softer, more sensitive parts of his tail where scales have been ripped away. Naga scales are incredibly hard to damage or remove but after your research this morning, you can guess how that happened.

His claws clank against the bars as he repositions himself. He won't look at you but maybe that's a good thing. If he looks at you, he'll be able to tell that you know.

"Just get on with it," he mumbles, wiping sweat from his forehead.

You take a deep breath and carry on. He doesn't make a single sound after that, not even when you have to pull so hard that he shudders.

"Need some help?" An employee from the ice cream shop calls over, finally having noticed.

"No, I've got it," you call back.

Just one more section to go. Araza is sprawled on the monkey bars, his torso pressing against them. That can't be comfortable. The way he's gone so still and pliant worries you.

"Are you okay?"

He nods, his hair falling over his face.

"Look at me," you command. "Please?"

He darts a furtive glance over his shoulder. His eyes are glassy, like he's partly somewhere else. Not good. Quickly, you balance your feet on the bars and tug. He comes free and falls off the monkey bars with a thud, taking you with him.

"We're okay," you say to Sam and Annabelle, who look up curiously.

"They're playing," Annabelle giggles to her new friend.

Sam looks worried, but then smiles and goes back to playing. You realize your legs are tangled up in his tail and gently extract them.

"You okay?"

He shoots upright, rolling over to the underside of his tail is against the floor.

"I'm fine. Thank you," he says airily, brushing leaves out of his hair.

All signs of vulnerability are gone.

"Great," you say, trying not to sound too bright as you stand up and dust yourself off. "I'm sure you won't do that again," you laugh.

He flexes his claws. "I have learned a valuable lesson. Your human trappings are terrible replacements for trees."

"Try a park next time," you suggest. "Were you here for ice cream?"

"I promised him a reward for his hard work in school. I did not think he would suggest such a ridiculous-"

"We're here for ice cream too!" You say brightly. "How about we all go in and get some?"

If Mr. Araza is about to protest, Annabelle's excited screaming knocks it out of him.

"Please do not tell me that is your child," he says flatly. "She is untrained."

"She's just a kid," you say. "She can be very loud, I'll give her that."

"Come on," you tell the two children, "let's go get ice cream."

Later on, after you've dropped off a sleeping Annabelle- amazingly enough - at her home and gone home with a gift of a box of chocolate chip cookies, you get a call from Mr. Araza.

"I have made up my mind," he says.

"About the birthday party?"

"Yes," he says, and you begin to dance in triumph.

"On one condition," he adds sharply. "I don't know what a party entails. I'll need your help."

"Oh, you don't have to ask twice!" You say happily.

Maybe the upright naga is finally warming up to a little living...

~ • ~ • ~ • ~

The amount of times I mention "ice cream" in here, lol! 😭

[mrsrobinsong]

Escape (x).

Hugh Bonneville and Elizabeth McGovern behind the scenes of Downton Abbey: A New Era

[juliasdowntonstuff]

Chapter 55

Chapter 55 has just gone live on ff and ao3 :)

"Do you really have to leave us here already? You've only just arrived a week ago," Cora asked, hopeful disappointment evident in her voice.

"I am afraid so, but we will stop by on our way back," Harold replied, patting down his coat once again. The younger man shifted rather uncomfortably on his feet as he decidedly looked anywhere but at his sister. He did feel bad for leaving again so soon. Just a few months ago he thought he would never see her again, but there she was. She was standing there in front of him in a long grey skirt and white embroidered loose blouse, her greying hair tamed in an intricate updo like it always had. Cora looked weak to him, the effects her illness had had on her were still quite apparent — she had aged considerably in the past few months, her face now more wrinkled and sunken as she had lost quite some weight. But she was there, and for that he was grateful. And he really did feel bad for leaving so soon. Not bad enough, however, to postpone the trip he was about to embark on together with his wife.

Madeline, seeming even perkier than usual, added: "We promise. Downton is such a beautiful place to be anyway. I feel so incredibly fortunate, it was so nice to return to my homeland and be reminded of my old life. Please don't take this the wrong way; my life with Harold is wonderful," the young woman said, taking in her surroundings. Her gaze wandered across the vast green to her left and right, then up to focus on the imposing structure towering there over all of them behind her sister-in-law. It was such a beautiful house to call home, and Madeline was slightly envious of the people who truthfully got to say that. With her eyes settling on Cora once more, she continued: "But so is this."

"Don't I know it," the lady of the house laughed. And she did. She still remembered how foreign everything had been when she came here four decades ago with amazing vividness. Things here were all the same and yet also so different from back in Newport, it honestly still fascinated her to this day. Cora also knew how fortunate she was that she had found love here, and a home. "But I have to ask once more, where are the two of you going?"

"Oh, Harold wants to show me around Europe, our belated and early honeymoon, so to say."

"I just want to show her the beautiful places I have seen the last time I was here together with Mother. I did not think I would, but I enjoyed it all a lot more than I thought I would," the young woman's husband explained, his arm placed around her shoulder, keeping her close to him. "And look at me willingly leaving America for a third time," Harold added in jest.

"Those are not words I ever thought I would hear from you of all people, Harold."

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Just to kiss me (Part 3)

pairing: Finnick Odair x reader

(AO3 mirror)

Part One, Part Two, My Hunger Games Masterlist

summary: A night at the lake goes sour. Finnick does some reflecting

warnings: drowning, implied drug use, references to depression, some hurt/comfort (although there will be more in the next part)

required reading: The song "We'll never have sex" by Leith Ross <3

a/n: plot??? in my fic??? who woulda thought

wc: 3.4k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Oh, you kissed me just to kiss me

Not to take me home

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s cold. Sharp, shallow breaths, and his head pounds in his skull. The weight of a thousand depths on his chest. Something pressing behind his eyes; his head filled with lead. 

Finnick opens his eyes, and he’s met with the bright lights of the mens bathroom. Cold ceramic against his palms as he looks into the basin’s mirror; its ornate frame spanning the width of the double sinks. Beyond its walls, the dull thrum of the gala. Behind him, a man steps out of a stall, donned in shiny grease and draped fabric. Finnick flashes a well practised smile, and steps out.

He walks through the corridors, transforming. Shoulders back, upright, leisurely pace. Walk in like he's Finnick Odair; capitol darling. A deep breath, and he steps through gilded double doors. 

The Great Hall is packed, unsurprisingly. They all blur together, a writhing mass of limbs and wine. Hushed whispers and elbows and raised eyebrows: it washes over him like water. 

Easygoing and free flowing, he drifts between embankments of people. He tugs on the sleeve of his jacket absent-mindedly. Pulling at the threads was an art, at this point. Between sips of champagne, a gentle hand on the back, a well-placed compliment; he pulls and pulls, until they're almost threadbare. An art; skills honed in those four walls, the victory tour, press conferences, a life of cameras and glamour. Watching, always watching. And so he puts on a show. 

Some of his best work yet, he thinks. In the middle of a conversation about a raucous night with Panem's finest; he spots something. Someone. A girl in the corner, eyes flitting around the room like it's her first time. There's always one, shaky, doesn't know how to pretend like the rest of them; she hasn't built that reflex yet. His mouth moves faster than he can think; ichor flows like it's second nature. The group around him; enraptured. He likes this part, at least. Weaving stories, watching the fish in the river rush past his ankles. 

BANG! A spear into the heart of a writhing salmon, and he slams his glass on a side table. "....it was like a rocket! Cora's on the floor, Alaris can barely stand and I'm still trying to figure out which way's up…" laughter erupts from the crowd around him. The girl barely glances at him. He watches as she tucks herself behind the desserts tray, wholly more interested in the cakes than him. She's pretty, of course, but they always are. A newcomer floundering like he once did, overwhelmed by the sharp teeth and pink tongues. He's still tugging at the thread of his jacket. 

In the afterglow of conversation someone taps his shoulder, presses their lips towards his ear. Discreet. He doesn't look, Finnick knows better. Instead, he waits for instructions. 

"Venia Laurel, on your left, towards the door. He knows something." A familiar voice; of which her name he makes a point not to know. Quietly, he hums in affirmation. 

"How long do I have?" 

"He needs it done tonight."

He flashes a smile at a waiter, grabbing a flute of gold liquid. Under his breath, he says. "I need more time." It was a quicker turnaround than usual; and Finnick needed the time. Whilst stupid, many wouldn't divulge sensitive information that easily; he'd like to avoiding waking up in a bed other than his own. 

"Tonight." Firm. An unspoken threat in the air. He sighs and downs his drink. The mask drops when he begins to move away. And then, sharp nails latch onto his forearm. 

"He knows." She says lowly, voice trembling. Finnick stops like she's stabbed him. He turns, and her eyes are wide, bloodshot, scared. 

He knows. 

He rushes out of her grip, shaking. Thudding at his temples, the lights are too bright, the people too loud. Chest tight, he pulls at his sleeves and almost stumbles into an oncoming tray of hor d'oeuvres. 

In his haze, his manager, bumbling and rosy, slaps a hand on his back. Well-meaning, but it makes him jump. 

"Odair!" He splutters, lips curling so his moustache touches the apples of his cheeks. Any other time, it would've been comical. "We've got a certain Councillor Arachne, who wants a word."

Finnick rubs his eyes, tired. "Now's not the time, Stannis."

The man opposite huffs. "Not the time? She's bankrolling us -I mean - you with her campaign. All she wants is a word. Probably pimping you out to her friends, or something."

He winces at Stannis' bluntness. "Sure… sure. Lead the way."

Every step feels like lead. He's not listening when introduced to Councillor Arachne and another girl about his age. Arachne; a tall, spindly woman, dressed in a simple gown and pearls; stretches her face into a thin-lipped smile. Well-practised, too polished. 

"Mr Odair, how lovely to meet you again!" 

"The pleasure's all mine," He says, shaking her hand. It feels clammy, he's sure of it; the room's hot and thick with sweat. The girl besides her buzzes despite his nerves. "And this is…?"

“V-Vonnie. Sir. Mr Odair… s-sir. My name's Vonnie Dulaire, and I am so excited to meet you…!" She's bright, babbling on and on. Her lips are bubblegum pink, moving at a thousand miles an hour and he's barely able to concentrate - unable to stop thinking about the words spoken to him earlier.

".....and I'm probably your biggest fan! I was actually at the victory tour for your mentee, and it was electric...."

He knows.

".....is your suit custom? I hear there's a stylist you always work with that designs similar looks, like in your last interview…"

He knows.  

"....I can't imagine Ceasar actually said that to you, live! I've got a friend, who swears she 'doesn't watch that kinda crap' but even she said it was quite a scandal…"

He knows. 

"....I got it specially made and I think it matches yours, too. What do you think?"

He snaps his head upwards at the question. He gives her a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, but enough to dazzle. "Couldn't have said it better myself. I-If you'll excuse me." He nods, walking off towards the door. 

Finnick can't breathe.

Clawing at the collar of his shirt, gold jewellery like a noose around his neck, he stumbles onto the balcony - grateful for the cool air. He was careful, he made sure of it. Made sure there were no eyes, cashed in long-standing favours. How could Snow have found out? 

Dizzy, he steadies himself on the balcony. There wasn't the time for a panic attack, not now. He blinks away hot tears, gasping for a breath. Something clatters on the floor behind him. In the gloom, he makes out the silhouette of a stranger. Of you. 

~~~

You're frozen at first - paralysed with fear on the deck. Finnick isn't moving. A man basically born with gills, sinking into the inky blue. Why wasn't he moving? Did he fall? Where did the blood come from?

A thousand questions, not enough time. You don't think, not really, as you reach for the zipper on your gown. Haphazard, you wrench it off - not caring for the tears and rips created in your wake. Before long, you're in the slip dress underneath miles of beaded net. Barefoot, trembling, you don't hesitate. You take a step back, and jump. 

The first thing you feel is cold; consuming, numbing cold. Calm, for a moment. And then biting realisation. When you surface, you look for a sign of life - anything that can tell you where Finnick is. There are slight bubbles, a few metres away. Deep breaths, and you dive into the blue-black. 

~~~

He can't stop thinking about you.

Finnick sits in white sheets, looking up at the ceiling. Exhausted, but he can't sleep. Gentle snoring from beside him punctuates every thought. In the capitol he's constantly surrounded by beautiful things: gaudy, gauche, sickly-sweet and beautiful. Your meeting on the balcony shouldn't have been anything special, and yet… 

Even in your fancy dress, your personality shone through: kind, funny, genuine. He can't help but replay your laugh, your smile, in his head. Gently, he rolls out of bed. 

It's early in the morning, dregs of sunrise scatter through the window. He's draped in amber light as he pulls on a shirt; padding on plush carpet. In the mirror hanging up in Venia Laurel's bedroom, he looks a sight, he thinks. Sallow, glitter smeared around his eyes, and lean lined. There's a nasty bruise on his neck; bite marks at his stomach. He pokes at them demurely. It's tender, but he'll live. 

Methodical, he makes his search. He starts in the bedroom, pulling at cabinets and looking for false bottom drawers, anywhere that could conceal what he's looking for. Laurel's apartment is surprisingly messy - unexpected for such a clean cut actor. Finnick dabbles in secrets, and the older man certainly divulged; he knew of the actor's connections with ex-gamemakers, but nothing concrete to suggest he leaked plans to interested parties. 

When he searches the grand living room, he stumbles onto something out of place. A panel in the floor, it's lip jutting out of the wood. He presses on it, and it pops out with a hollow clunk. Inside, a chip the size of his thumbnail. Finnick pockets it, hoping it may be what Snow is looking for; hoping to appease the tyrant. It burns a hole in his trousers as he covers his tracks, before calling a pod to take him home. 

He can't sleep, for the usual reasons. Guilt, nightmares, fear; take your pick. It's too nebulous and vague to put a name to; he realises quickly. A ticking clock careening towards the end for as long as he could remember. Tick-tick-tick in his head, a countdown of which he dreads to hear it stop. White noise now, the scratch and itch of it all bone deep. He tried to do a good thing, for once; he tried to help Annie. But Snow knows - and now his punishment will be slow and painful. 

In the weeks that follow, waiting for a knife in the back, he analyses every word. On the balcony, the way your lips curled into laughter, how soft your hand was. It was a fantasy, somehow, one he had to convince himself actually happened. A conversation, lilting and light, that he locks up in his heart for safe-keeping. 

It keeps him distracted at events. Instead of worrying about Snow, he fans his breath, adjusts his collar, and stops picking at his sleeves; preening like a songbird. When he asks for the sleeveless sheer shirt instead of his usual, his stylist humours him and lets him choose, just this once. In the middle of a conversation, when he hears bright laughter, he turns around, looking for you. Waiting on balconies, pacing corridors. He's gone insane, he knows. But he needs something to hold on to. Someone that makes him feel like a good person - like he isn't Finnick Odair. 

~~~

You're not the strongest swimmer. Ironic, considering the circumstances. Moonlight streams into the depths as you look for a hint of gold. The water stings your eyes but in the gloom, you see him. Eerily still and rapidly sinking. You pump your legs desperately; darting towards him as best you can. Lungs screaming for air, you swim further down, reaching out for something to grab onto. The tips of your fingers graze his own. He looks peaceful despite it all: eyes closed and hand outstretched like he always does. Except this time you reach for him, a frantic grab in the dark. 

You touch something. His wrist. Curling your hand around his forearm, you pull, and grab onto one arm and then the other. You're dizzy now, hand hooked onto Finnick, kicking with all the strength you can manage. Upwards you go, closer and closer to the surface as black spots dance across your vision. A little further. A little closer….

~~~

The day of Hadrian's soiree, he pretends he's not looking for you. Pretending proves to be marginally easier than to act like he isn't disappointed when he doesn't find you. Instead, there are droves of people in masks. The hair on the back of his neck bristles: they make him uneasy. He finds it harder without a face to a name, beady eyes through masks that follow him around the room.

His own mask was gaudy; triple faced and golden. Its strap itches his nose, and his eyes are caked in glitter. At his stylist's the night before, she gave him talking points for the reporters - a face looking towards Panem's past, present and future. A handsome young Victor, making waves within the Capitol, championing it's people. Pseudo-patriotic drivel to feed the vultures, he thinks. 

Dregs of conversation drip through the night. It's always the same things - empty gossip and the like. Today's topic is no more poignant: the mentors announced for the 72nd Games. A few familiar faces, and faux shock at those not on the list. Everyone dances around the topic when he lingers, and disperses into whispers when he doesn't. Talking of bets placed and withdrawn at the news, he assumes. 

The truth is, he was tired. It was only right he took Mags' place when he won, but he was so young. Odair, bright-eyed and sprightly. A wonderboy, and Capitol favourite from the start. In the mirror of silvered bowls of food, he sees that little boy with bloodied palms and sunken eyes.

He blinks, hard. The image washes away. Seeing things in the light? A side effect from the little white pills he takes before bed, he's been told. He staggers slightly from the table. Annie tugs at his sleeve from behind. 

"You ok?" she whispers, concerned. 

Finnick brushes her off, chuckling. ".... I should be asking you that. It's not too much?" 

She shakes her head. It's the first time since her victory tour she's been at one of these events, and he's worried that it's too much, too fast. Perceptive as always, he watches for a tug of her red hair, or the blank look she gives when overwhelmed. Annie was getting better, lucid for the first time in a while. She smiled, she laughed, she shone. 

That's why he couldn't tell her what he did, what he had to do, to let her see her parents. To let her live. Another time, perhaps. 

She clears her throat, mischievously. "Looking for your mystery girl?“

“T-That's not-" 

"-what you were doing, I know, I know. That's also what you said the last five times." She bounces on the balls of her feet, restless. "I know you like the back of my hand, Finnick. It's not like you to mope in the corner - something's up."

Annie's unrelenting: she doesn't let the man worm out of her gaze. Despite his discomfort, it's nice to see her like this; the little spitfire in Class 9, kind and sweet and determined to help. A change of pace, he presents his forearm to the younger woman. 

He smiles, "We should dance." 

~~~

You break the surface with Finnick in tow. He's completely still in your arms. Desperate and tired, you try to remember the swimming lessons from your youth; on your back, resting him on your legs with an arm hooked around him. Kick with everything you've got, keep his head above water. It's messy and ugly, as you pump your legs towards the shore; searching for the moment the depths below give way to sodden banks. 

You hit silt, suddenly. Your toes touch the lake bed and you desperately try to drag him onto shore.  Without the spray of the water, you can see him properly: sallow and grey. Like a corpse. His stillness is terrifying and you try not to think about what it means, or how long it's been since he's taken a breath. On autopilot now, you lay him on the banks, pressing shaky fingers to his pulse. Nothing. Rushing, you tilt his head upwards like you've been taught. With trembling lips pressed against his, you pinch his nose and breath out. You press your hands against his chest and push down, hard. Quick compressions, and you count from thirty. 

Nothing. And so you try again. Warm lips around his cold ones, deep breaths out, and quick compressions. Again. Desperate, harder, determined. 

When Finnick splutters to life, you think you could cry from exhaustion. His eyes are wild, as he coughs and thrashes; a hand tight around yours. 

"It's okay…. y-you're okay…" You soothe, holding back sobs. It seems to calm him as he lies down, brow furrowed and taking deep shaky breaths. Up this close, his pupils are dilated, and he seems disoriented, dazed. There's a sticky cut at his brow, but his eyes are locked onto you. Green and striking in the low light. Alive. 

For a while, you stay like that; watching his chest rise and fall as you hold hands by the lake. He's closed his eyes, but still breathes steadily. You barely register anything but him, until a chill blows past. Cold. Wet. Tired. The adrenaline of the moment dies down. You have to coax his hand out of yours to grab the things you dropped before… before all this. Every few seconds you glance over your shoulder to make sure he's still there, to make sure he's alive. 

He settles his head onto your shoulder, and you cradle his hands with your own; listening for the cruel staccato of his breath. He's groggy, asleep maybe. You've wrapped yourselves up in the blankets, too tired to move. You should, really: the remnants of your dress strewn onto the jetty, shiny from where you are by the trees. Cottonmouth and lead-limbed, you wait for him to become lucid. 

Something's wrong. You've felt like this before holding Vonnie's hand on the bathroom floor after a night out with the wrong crowd. Calm, and then a moment of mania before a rough comedown. You can't help but to search for needle marks on Finnick's arms, his neck, anywhere. He's pliant, unusually so, but you don't find anything. 

Your heart sinks, when you realise. The pills in his car. Morphling? He could've slipped or fallen in. He could've… jumped. And if he's been drinking….? It wouldn't matter how strong a swimmer he was usually. You dread to think of what could have happened if you were even a minute later. Tears fall even faster. You hold onto his hand a little tighter. 

When Finnick comes to, properly, you've fallen asleep. He opens his eyes to you by his side: hair down your shoulders, glitter-peppered skin, pearls in your locs, and in a white flowing dress. Well and truly, he thinks he's died. Somewhere faraway he doesn't deserve, waking up besides you. His head hurts. 

You startle, awake from your shallow slumber. Eyes red-raw, you've been crying. He wipes at your cheek and smiles weakly. 

"Let me take you home." 

Defiant, you shake your head. "No. N-no. You need to see a doctor. I can call a pod and-" 

"-no. We can't. No doctors. I'll take you home."

"Finnick, you almost died. You need help, medical attention…"

"I can't. Please."

He must look so pathetic like this, he thinks. You soften under his gaze. "N-no doctors, then. But I'm not leaving you alone like this."

"I'll be okay. I've got a first aid kit at home - don't need you worrying about me."

You stand up. "I'll come with you, then. Help patch you up." 

Exasperated, he moves to argue but doesn't have the energy. And so, he nods faintly. Despite his injuries, he towers over you, to wrap you up in the blanket, criss-crossing at your chest. It feels intimate, too close, warm breath in the cool air. With the way you look up at him, he hears his heart splinter. He pauses. 

"I'm sor-" 

"No." You say.

Finnick frowns. "I'm s-" 

"No." Your lower lip trembles, threatening to spill over. So he sighs, softly, and makes towards the deck to get your dress. Hand tight around his arm, you stop him. He's not going anywhere near the lake, not if you can help it. Hands up like he's guilty, he waits and leads you towards the car.

_

_

_

[eustasskiddsprosthetic]

So, I'm thinking of a Sabolaw actor AU!

For the longest time, Sabo's an amateur actor who does this as a hobby. He loves making short films and he loves writing, so this was an avenue of self-expression for him throughout his twenties.

One day in his late thirties, a casting director finds one short film of his and immediately hired him to be the lead of a chirpy adaptation of a YA thing.

Instant hit! People adored his good looks, his giggly laugh and bug eyes. His popularity skyrocketed and the hype sustained his career ten years later. He's just that smart when it comes to marketing!

So now, as a forty-something, he's the star of a quirky, eccentric adult film written by the enigmatic Corázon. He's interested in the script because a lot of people fancast him as the male lead and figured this would be a good project to appeal to public opinion.

This is where he meets Law, who has taken an instant dislike to him. Whatever, that happens.

Law's apparently Corázon's personal assistant but he acts more like a baby sitter. Law would light his cigarettes up for him, get coffee and even writes corrections for Corázon. They were apparently father and son and Sabo kind of envies their good relationship.

More than that, though, Sabo adores how sweet Law was towards the mute Corázon. He saw a lot of shy, reserved people—especially if they were minorities—get yelled at, berated and insulted regardless of rank. It could be straight up harassment or backhanded compliments to their achievements.

Law, in contrast, was doting, polite and even talks for Corázon, even if what he said was either "Thank you, Cora-san will think about it" or "Piss off." Sabo thought vulgarities sounded cute from his mouth.

Their first full conversation happens in a dressing room where Law was filling in for a makeup artist. Law was doing his makeup and Sabo leaned in so Law did not have to strain himself.

"You come here around, lovely?" Right, Sabo flirts with him a lot. He's kind of insane about it.

"No."

"Your words are cold but your hands are warm, darling."

Law sighed deeply. "Have you memorised your lines? You forgot them the last time."

"Oh..." Sabo did not like talking about work so casually. "Yes, yes, I have. Would you like me to recite one?"

"Sure."

Sabo did not mind that Law was ignoring him and that he was pretending to tidy up the makeup supplies. He recited a monologue, admittedly cringing slightly. He planned to negotiate a slight rewrite.

"What am I thinking of? What a silly question. I think of you when I don't think of anything in particular. I think about what you're doing now, how you're feeling, what you want to do when you come home to me. Even right now, I think of how I can love you better. I think of you all the time, even in my daydreams. You inspire me, my love."

Sabo noticed Law's ears go a little red but he kept a neutral face.

"Don't take this the wrong way but," Law paused to glance at the floor. "I'm glad you have the role. You're not the guy my dad had in mind but you fit it perfectly. Thank you for agreeing to do this."

Sabo laughed. Law was oddly sweet today.

They got a bit friendlier from that day onwards. They would talk occasionally about things that's not just work, even if Law seemed reluctant to. From the few bits of information Law gave, Sabo found himself falling for him more and more.

Law had a puppy. He liked black coffee, just like Sabo. He liked hardcore rock music, indie stuff with a splash of poppy-addictive Red Velvet music. He liked the colour yellow. He liked reading. Law wore the fluffiest, softest cardigan to work sometimes.

Law's stoic demeanor finally broke when Sabo let him infodump all about Sora the Warrior. Law speaks so enthusiastically even to someone he supposedly 'hates' and Sabo just melts. He could listen to Law talk all day. He would think of his sparkly eyes even in his daydreams. He could count the stars in them...

Today, Sabo was going to film the sex scene with his co-star and he made sure they would do it in at most five takes. She seemed willing enough and wanted to get it done in one. Admittedly, they did not get along in real life despite having chemistry on camera.

When they started filming, Sabo tried his best to be 'in love' as the script says. This was a moment where their relationship would deepen and it was admittedly the hottest moment in the film. It was fine if she hesitated, since she played a timid character. The director reminded him of this. Sabo got annoyed but he agreed to try again.

It got worse because they were both irritated. Gah! Just before Sabo wanted to take a break, he had a reckoning. He realised that her lips were pale... Sabo glanced up and saw Law pretending to look busy by tapping away at his laptop. They were pale, just like Law's. He closed his eyes and finally felt the passion he needed to make this work.

Even the director blushed at what he saw.

After the scene, Corázon taps Sabo on the shoulder without Law next to him. Sabo follows Corázon into a small, under-utilised office. He opened the window and smoked a cigarette. Here, he took his sunglasses off and Sabo sees that he's actually quite handsome with a large face, pale skin and dull blonde hair.

"Be careful, boy."

Where did that deep voice come from? Sabo was surprised to hear it come from Corázon himself.

"His heart is in pain," Corázon continued. He blew a puff of smoke out the window. "Treat him well."

"You can't cut me out of this project," Sabo reminded him lightly. Threats like this were unprofessional. "We have a contract."

Corázon smiled. He was cunning like Sabo and Sabo oscillated between liking and distrusting him.

"It's not about that. I know your type, and... Well... I'm a protective father, do you see?"

Oh, it's that kind of consequence. For the first time in his career, he stood some distance away and bowed deeply. Corázon did not expect that but he seemed to appreciate that.

Sabo knew cynicism when he saw it, however. Why won't these people just believe in him! He needed a fucking drink.

He went to the bar some distance away from the studio and wow! Holy fucking shit!

Law looked at him first. He changed out of his hoodie and now wore a black button shirt and jeans. Sabo knew he had game but damn, Law's so slim and fit and so damn sexy. Sabo ordered a drink and sat there. He stared at the wall, thinking of his work, what he had to do tomorrow, he quickly remembered his lines...

"Hey, handsome. You look like you have a lot on your mind." A slightly tipsy giggle.

Sabo looked up. Now, he thought of Law. Law had such a cute smile when he wasn't so irritable. Law sat on his lap without asking and of course Sabo let him. Law gave him fuck-me eyes and Sabo knew that was only because he was sort of drunk but Sabo just felt his heart squeeze and his dick harden.

If only Law were sober! Damn it! This would be so much better if Law wanted to seduce him. He wanted Law to look at him with those lustful eyes and mean it. Sabo laughed bitterly.

Law's legs were long and warm against his. Law held his face and tried to kiss Sabo but Sabo put his hands over Law's mouth. Law pouted and he was so fucking cute, Sabo would gladly kiss him just not like this. He tried to get Law off his lap.

"You're still the same dork I fell in love with twenty years ago." Sabo finally had enough. Law tilted his head to the side in confusion. Sabo remembered Law hated loud noises and would wear white noise-cancelling ear-plugs. Upon closer inspection, Sabo saw that it was the same pair too. Law kissed his ear and Sabo let him come closer.

"Fine, you win. I'm hopelessly smitten. I wonder, Law, I wonder where we'd be if you believed in my feelings towards you? If you listened to me that day..."

Also, did I mention that they were (very bitter) exes? Yeah, that's a thing that happened a long ago...

[assortedseaglass]

The Seamstress & The Sailor - Chapter Fourteen

[Masterlist]

Warnings: Language, Smut, World on Fire spoilers

Word Count: 4.3K

Notes: Angst and horniness, coming right up.

June 1940

No matter how hard he kicked, Tom couldn’t get his legs loose of the damn sheet.

“Calm down, calm down!” Tom had come round to find himself crammed into a corridor lined with other injured men, his shoulder bound with gauze strapped to his chest. The accent of the man shouting at him told him everything he needed to know. Still in bloody France. The man, a doctor judging by the white coat he wore, held Tom’s shoulders and pushed him down. Tom hissed as the touch aggravated his wound.

“Get your dirty, grubby hands off me now!” He kicked his leg and caught the man holding down his legs. “Let go of me and I’ll take my chance!”

“Listen! If you leave now, you will die!”

“Oh, so I just stay here and surrender like you lot?” Tom spat in the man’s face as another doctor and nurse arrived. “Paris has fallen. She just told me,” he indicated to the woman. “And not a shot fired. How’s a bunch of cowards going to keep me safe?”

“Pardon?” The doctor holding his shoulders lunged at Tom, who squared up to him from his position on the bed.

“Jacques,” the nurse grabbed him. “Jacques!”

The doctor at the end of the bed spoke. An American. “Before you say another word about French cowardice, just remember it was a French ambulance crew who rescued you.”

Tom relaxed his shoulders and pushed out his chin. “Christ. You think you rescued me?” His temper was rising. “Thanks to you I’m in a city crawling with Nazis. And where are my clothes?”

“Incinerated.” Said the nurse.

“You fucking what?” He panicked. The only thing keeping him sane was gone.

“I assume you are after this?” Jacques, the doctor, picked something up from Tom’s bedside table. Tom snatched the photograph from his grip and rolled onto his good shoulder, Bess safely tucked beneath his pillow.

“Now piss off and let me die in peace.” His voice was final, and the medics left him. Certain that they were gone, Tom took out Bess’ photograph and traced her face with his finger. The letters were surely gone, and there was no way that he could get one to her while Nazis lurked around every corner. He had to get home, and soon.

✼　 　✼　 　✼　 　✼　 　✼　 　✼

Distantly, Bess heard the ring of the telephone in the ground floor hallway. Manchester was warming as sun gleamed off the stone buildings and rose into the smog strewn sky. Every door in Carver Mills was open. Other girls’ laughter fluttered through the stairwell and, occasionally, so too did the warble of a record being played. Bess was lounging on her bed, watching white bed linen flutter on the washing line beyond the window. A rare day off and a chance to relax. She was just closing her eyes when Mrs Russo’s voice called up to her.

“Bess! Phone for you, darling.”

No-one ever telephoned Bess. The only people who would were Cora, Dot and Dadda, and they’d have to borrow Mrs Mason’s telephone or else use the phone box on Plymouth Street. Trying to ease her rapidly rising nerves, Bess swung her legs from the bed and hurried barefoot down the cold stone steps. Mrs Russo was stood by the front door, apron on, phone tucked beneath her ear as she dusted the hallway cabinet. She smiled when she saw Bess coming down the stairs.

“Here she is, love,” she said to whoever was on the other end of the phone and passed the receiver to Bess. “Your sister,” she mouthed, before striding into the bright light of the day armed with a mop and can.

Bess held the receiver to her ear. “Hello?”

“Hi honey,” It was Cora, her voice unnaturally bright. “How’s the day off?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.” Cora never called. “What’s happened?” There was a sniffle on the other end of the line and Bess’ heart lurched.

“Oh, Bess,” Cora’s voice wobbled.

“What’s happened?” No reply. “Cora? Is it Dadda?”

“No, it’s not Dadda-” Her voice was small, defeated.

“Oh darling,” realisation dawned on Bess. “Has something happened to Roger? Do you want me to come ho-”

Cora spoke over her. “It’s not Roger.” Her voice was firming up, and before the words left her sister’s mouth, Bess swayed where she stood. This was the sound of someone readying themself to deliver bad news. Having heard their friend’s raised voice, Helen and Joan appeared on the stairs. Bess looked up at them wide-eyed as she waited for Cora to deliver the devastating blow.

“Bess, it’s Tom.”

“What about him?” Bess’ voice was sharp, steel walls rising to avoid any pain.

“Douglas got a telegram this morning. Darling, Tom’s missing.”

The soft flesh of her knees split as she hit the floor, though she didn’t feel it. A hand groped for the receiver, now dangling from its wire, and Bess vaguely saw that it wasn’t hers.

“Hello? Cora? Yes, it’s Helen-”

Bess’ body was pulled sideways and her arms trapped at her sides. Joan had wrapped her arms about her and was holding her tight. Bess lay there silently, pressed into Joan’s chest as Helen spoke lowly into the telephone. A minute later, she joined them on the floor and covered Bess’ body with her own. Joan whispered gently in her ear, though what she was saying, Bess couldn’t tell. When Helen reached out an arm to grip Bess’ hand, it was then that she realised she was shaking. Quaking with paroxysms of despair.

“Come on, little love,” Joan brushed some hair out of Bess’ face. “Let’s get you upstairs.” Together, Helen and Joan hauled Bess to her room, patched up her knees and laid her own the bed.

“Dry your eyes,” Helen passed Bess a tissue. She’d been crying? All Bess knew was that in the time Cora had telephoned, she had seen nothing but Tom. Tom, trapped in a prisoner of war camp. Tom, lost in the wilderness of battle-scarred Europe. Tom, lying unfound in ditch. Tom, in a shallow grave next to the rotting body of her brother.

She stared at her bedroom wall. The light turned from egg-yolk yellow to bitter plum, the only indication that the day had faded into evening. Helen and Joan left few hours ago. Or was in ten minutes? Bess was beyond the world of noticing. When a knock came at the door, she did nothing, only continued to stare at the cold wall and peeling wallpaper.

“Bess, love?” Mrs Russo stood at the door to Bess’ bedroom. “Some post came for you.” When Bess didn’t move, the older woman stepped into the room and placed the letters on the bedside table in front of where she lay. “You’ll catch your death lying here,” Mrs Russo leant over Bess’ lifeless form and shut the window. “Come down later, if you feel up to it. I’ve made soup.” She kissed Bess’ head and left, the click of the door and her retreating footsteps the only sound.

When all was quiet again, Bess sighed. Before the war, she had been content, and that was all a working-class girl from the north of England could hope for. She would never open her own fashion house. Never marry a rich man. Likely never leave Manchester. But Bess did have her work, her family, her pride. She’d heard Dot speak about her fear of never achieving anything. Looking back at her life when she is an old woman and seeing nothing but duty and boredom. When did greatness and notoriety become the measures of a good life? Bess always told her, is it not enough to be joyful and love and be loved? To be content and happy. What now, then, when contentment and happiness had gone from her life? Albie alone in France, buried God knows where. Tom with him, or soon to join him? An older sister who would never know first love without fear. A younger sister whose remaining years of childhood were defiled by war, and a father wounded by grief.

Bess’ eyes drifted the letters Mrs Russo left. Her name was smudged a little, and for a fleeting moment, she thought it was Tom’s handwriting. The address, however, proved her excitement wrong and she stilled. Who was left to write? She took the letter and ripped open the envelope.

“I know what you’re trying to do. Telling me all about your little date in the hopes it will make me jealous. Would it make you smile, love, if I told you it was working?”

Bess dropped the letter like hot coal. She ran to the bedroom door and slammed it shut. Leant against the doorframe, she clutched her heart and felt it hammer against her chest. Even missing, Tom Bennett could still make her weak. Tentatively, as though it would scold to touch it, Bess padded to the bed and picked up the letter once more.

“Does he know you like I do? Does he know that you collected feathers and eggshells when you were small, or that you write secret letters to a criminal like me?”

With every word, her breath quickened and pulse raced.

“Can he read you like I can? That you only smoke as a means to avoid speaking?”

Her mouth went dry.

“That when your eyes darken and those perfect lips of yours part, when you blush and it spreads right across your nose, it means you desperately want fucking?”

Bess’ head hit the pillow.

“It means you desperately want fucking”

Despite her terror. Despite the grief of the day, Bess laughed. He wanted her. Until the moment he went missing, he wanted her. If he was alive, perhaps he still did. She reached for the photograph of Tom, propped against her lamp, and held it behind the letter. The other hand ran down the buttons of her loose shirt and ruched the hem of her skirt. Over the edge of the letter, Tom’s eyes watched her.

“Can he satisfy you like I can, Bess? Are his fingers long? Have they been inside you yet? I know I could do it, Bess, if you’d let me.”

Heat welled between her legs as she pressed a palm against her sex.

“If I try, I can hear you moaning my name. I can feel your cunt against me. If your family hadn’t come home I’d have ravished you, Bess. I’d have fucked you with my mouth, my fingers, my cock.”

Bess’ fingers dipped into the warmth of her folds, and with half-lidded eyes she committed Tom’s photograph to memory.

“Made love to you until your mind could think of nothing but me. Can this James boy do that for you? Can he satisfy you like I could?”

Over and over she read the letter, over and over her nimble fingers worked her arousal undone.

“I’m mad with wanting you, love. I’ll kill any man that gets in my way to you. You’re mine, Bess.”

With a shudder and moan of his name, Bess unravelled to the image of Tom on her tailor’s stand. Tom beating Walter Watson to a pulp. Tom between her legs. Weak from her release, the letter fluttered to the ground and for a few blissful moments Bess forgot her heartache. Tom Bennett still wanted her. She giggled and reached for the letter, desperate to read his words once more. As she leant over the bed, she saw the mess of paper on the ground. Tom’s photograph, his letter, and the second envelope. She must have knocked it to the ground in her haste to be rid of the first.

She froze. It was him. Again. The smudged scrawl. It was definitely him. Abandoning her attempt to retrieve the first letter, Bess once again ripped open the envelope. Would it be a repeat of the first? In a perverse way, she hoped it was.

“Your letters are the best thing that happens to me at sea, but I couldn’t bear being the cause of more pain.”

In direct opposition to his first letter, the second caused Bess’ heart to stop.

“We’re going into something big, Bess, and I’m scared I won’t come back.”

“Oh, Tom.” Bess stood from the bed and hurried her way through the tiny flat.

“If I don’t, know that I think of you every second of every day.”

She opened the door, eyes never leaving the page.

“I’ll spend the rest of my days regretting what I did to you but know this, I adore you.”

Tears were falling now, and she could feel them. Angry, heartbroken, elated, fearful tears.

“Think of me, as I’m forever thinking of you.”

Her feet brought her to a door on the second floor of the boarding house. She knocked twice and brushed some tears form her red cheeks. The door swung open, and Joan stood before her, cigarette in hand and hair in curlers.

“Bess?”

Bess could do nothing but hold up the letter and laugh sadly.

“He adored me.”

✼　 　✼　 　✼　 　✼　 　✼　 　✼

Tom watched as Webster’s blood funnelled through the tube and into his veins. What with the pain in his shoulder, the city heat and his growing unease at the Nazis walking the halls of the hospital, the sight did nothing to settle his stomach and he looked to the ceiling.

Webster, while admiring Tom’s spirit, was himself growing annoyed at the man’s impatient recklessness. He understood as much as any other his desperation to be away from Paris with the one he loved, but the reality was not as easy as their imaginations would wish.

“What are you going to do with out help?” Webster whispered quietly. “All these men need my help. You’re prisoners of war now.”

“I’ll head for the coast.” Even agitated, Tom seemed a cocksure and certain man. If not for the war, Webster would have liked a drink with Tom Bennett.

“And which way is that, hm?”

Tom paused. “I’ll think of something.”

“Listen,” Webster sat up a little, careful not to disturb the needle in his arm. “I’ve talked to a couple of French guys who are setting up an escape route. They can help you.” Tom’s eyebrows rose and he waited for Webster to continue. “You can go across the Pyrenees into Spain, Spain to Gibraltar then home from there.”

Tom smirked. “I get lost walking home from Belle-Vue, mate.” Exasperated and having reached the end of his capacity to cope with the Mancunian, Webster rested his head against the bedframe with a sigh. “What? You’ve never heard of Belle-Vue? You don’t know what you’re missing.” Bright lights flashed before his eyes and he could see Bess on the carousel, head tipped back with laughter. Tom smiled.

“First, you need to get registered as an injured prisoner of war,” Webster’s voice was hurried, eager to test out his plan.

“Yeah, then what?”

“Then you die.”

Tom looked at Webster flatly. “Well I hate to be picky-” Webster ignored him.

“Once you’re declared dead it makes it easier for you to escape. They won’t be looking for you.”

Tom spotted a flaw in the plan. “Won’t they want to see a corpse?”

“We’ve got no shortages of corpses, buddy.”

“And this’ll work, will it?”

“You’ll know before I do.” Tom stared at Webster, disbelieving. “We’ve never actually tried it before.”

Tom scoffed nervously. “Great.”

“The sooner you leave, the sooner you’ll be reunited with your girl-”

“She’s not my girl anymore.” Tom snapped, and the two watched in silence as the dark blood ran between them.

✼　 　✼　 　✼　 　✼　 　✼　 　✼

“And Bess, thank you for the clothes. Douglas brought them over on his last visit.”

Despite herself, Bess felt a pang of jealousy. Douglas has clearly made a new friend since her move to the city. She’d have to drop in soon.

“Of course, Albie would’ve been glad to see them go to a good home.”

Robina Chase nodded awkwardly, caught somewhere between giving thanks and condolences. She turned away and began to dress as Bess packed away her tools. Summer meant preparing for autumn fashions. Or, in wartime Britain, autumn tailoring.

The front door opened and shut with a thud, and Robina sighed. “Will you stay for a cup of tea, Bess? What’s one more person, hm?” Bess smiled and followed the woman downstairs, where she saw Harry, Jan and a man that could only be Demba; Mrs Chase had already told Bess all about the Senegalese soldier Harry had brought home.

Harry kissed his mother’s cheek, and then Bess’. “I’m so sorry about Albie, Bess. We’ll miss his face at the dances.”

“And he’d miss the dancing!” Bess smiled to ease the sadness rapidly descending on the entrance hall. “You must be Demba.” She held out a hand to shake the stranger’s. His smile was warm when he shook her hand, and Bess could see why Harry liked him so.

“Pleased to meet you, ma’am.” He said.

“Miss!” Bess teased with mock offence.

“Pardon,” Demba held is hands to his heart and the three of them laughed. Mrs Chase clicked her tongue and hurried away to fetch the tea.

“Hello, Miss Bess,” A little voice said from behind Harry.

“Hello, Master Jan.” Bess held out a hand to him, which he took, and she led him into the sitting room where Robina was setting out the china. He perched himself on an armchair, and Bess took the seat next to Demba. Harry stood somewhat agitatedly behind them and watched as his mother picked up her newspaper.

PARIS HAS FALLEN

The headline was accompanied by an image of the Luftwaffe flying over Paris. Noticing the silence, Robina lowered the newspaper.

“Harry tells me you saved him.” She addressed Demba. He smiled graciously before replying.

“He saved a lot of men.” A true gentleman. Bess smiled before Robina could ruin the moment.

“How very reassuring,” she gave her son a pointed look.

“Like his mother and father perhaps?” Demba seemed unaware of the bump in the conversation. “His courage?”

“Harry’s father had many qualities, but it transpires that courage wasn’t one of them.”

“Can we talk about something else?” Harry’s tone was terse.

Robina bristled and picked up her newspaper. Bess wanted the plush settee to swallow her whole. She took a sip of her tea.

“The Germans didn’t bomb Paris,” Robina’s voice was hopeful. The three young people opposite stared at her. “That surely is a good sign.”

“Of what exactly?” Bess could hear Harry trying to restrain is frustration.

“That when all is said and done, at least they are a civilised people-”

“Je suis désolée,” Demba and Bess turned to look at Harry as he spoke. “Ma mère ne sait pas de quoi elle parle.”

KNOCK KNOCK KOCK

Thank Christ. Bess and Demba relaxed in their seats. Jan saw and giggled. The same could not be said of Robina, who sighed and threw her newspaper on the couch. “Surely this week can’t get any more surprising.” She strode towards the front door. The four left in the sitting room said nothing, and Bess stuck her tongue out at Jan to make him smile.

When Robina returned with Lois Bennett, Harry jolted forwards and, struck by a similar awkwardness to his mother, abruptly stopped whatever motion his body had been about to enact.

“Lois!”

“Bess?”

“Bess has been tailoring some clothes for me.” Lois sat next to Robina, and Harry plonked himself next to Bess, causing her to shuffle sideways into Demba. Silence reigned once more, until little Jan spoke up.

“Is Douglas coming?”

Robina laughed.

“No, sorry. But he sent you this,” Lois leant over her now enormous bump and picked up a package wrapped in brown paper. “It isn’t brand new. It’s the same one Tom had when he was your age.” She locked eyes with Bess, who suddenly found a loose thread on her trousers to fuss with. “Dad says next time you play, you can wear it.” Jan smiled, unaware of Lois and Bess’ sorrow.

“I feel rather as though I’ve arrived late at the theatre and need someone to explain the plot to me.” Robina look to Bess and Demba for agreement.

“I am sorry,” Lois said sincerely. “I had no idea you had so many people here.” She stood up and Harry did the same so suddenly it nearly caused Bess to spill her tea. He was pleading with Lois.

“Lois, wait. I…”

Sensing that she was intruding on familial politics far more complicated than she first assumed to know, Bess jumped from her seat. “Come on Jan, let’s see if Tom’s shirt improves your aim.” The little boy laughed and followed her into the garden, the red football jersey trailing behind him.

“She’s an odd girl, Demba.” Robina said as the four remaining in the house watched Bess and Jan play. “Would be ever so charming if she only sorted her hair and wore rouge. There’s a spinster in the making.”

“Mother, please.”

From the garden, Bess kept one eye on Jan and one on the people in the sitting room. When Demba was the only person left sitting, she ran inside.

“Harry?” She was a little out of breath. “Do you have a camera? I want to get a photo of Jan in his jersey.”

“Just a minute.” Clearly glad of an excuse to leave, Harry left the room. No-one spoke, and Bess saw Robina’s eyes follow the path of Harry’s footsteps on the ceiling above. He returned a minute later with a camera and handed it to Bess. “Keep it,” Robina opened her mouth to protest but Harry silenced her with a look. “I never used it.”

“Thank you,” Bess squeezed his hand and ran back outside.

“Jan!” The boy stopped kicking the football against the wall and looked at her. She held up the camera. “Give us your best pose.” The little boy placed his arms against his hips and foot atop the ball. Bess laughed and clicked the camera. “Very good!”

Lois put her head into the garden. “Harry is taking me home, Bess. Do you want a lift?”

“No, you’re alright, I’m going to stay with Jan for a bit.” She beamed at the boy and he smiled back, thinking of his older sister as he did. “And if you need help, when the time comes,” Bess nodded to Lois’ bump. “You let me know.”

“Thanks, love.” Bess and Jan watched as she retreated into the house.

“Right then, young man,” Bess clapped the little boy on the shoulder. “Show us what you’ve got.” She ran into the makeshift goal and Jan lined up the football.

✼　 　✼　 　✼　 　✼　 　✼　 　✼

That night, after her dinner with Mrs Russo and the other girls, Bess made her way to her room. Switching on the wireless, she tuned it to some music and covered her windows with the blackouts. From her bedside table, she retrieved the stack of Tom’s letters she had gathered over the nine months since the war began. All but one, which she left tucked beneath her pillow. Rereading it had become a common occurrence in her night-time routine. And morning routine, come to think of it.

Sat at the kitchen table, under the soft lamplight, Bess twiddled a pen between her fingers as she read over his last letter.

“I adore you.”

Tom was right, he knew her better than anyone. All those years of stolen conversations and silent glances. And just as Bess had found her voice, found herself opening her heart to him in her letters he was gone. Tom might never come back, but Bess wasn’t ready to let go of him yet. Contentment and love could still be hers if she tried.

Retrieving a leaf of paper, Bess unscrewed the cap of her pen and began to write.

Tom,

Your letter arrived the same day I found out you are missing, and you broke my heart for the third time. Your letters could never hurt me, and I only wish I could look forward to more.

She stopped to hastily wipe away a tear. Looking at Tom’s letter, she answered each of his admission in turn.

If I never see you again, I hope you are resting now in the knowledge that I too, think of you every single day and will never stop.

If, by some miracle, you come back home to us, know that I will spend the rest of my life regretting the night we fought and that day at the train station. I’ll never stop telling you how much I adore you.

Dream of me, wherever you are, as I am forever dreaming of you.

Yours, as I always have been,

Bess.

She placed the sheet of paper in an envelope, writing Tom’s name and date on the fore. With nowhere to send it, nowhere to send her love, Bess rested her head against the table and wept.

Notes: Jan and Demba deserve the world! I changed the order of some of the TV scenes just to make it flow a little better. We’re with Tom more for the next chapter, which will probably be up sometime mid-next week as I’m heading home for a hen do. Will try to get some writing done on the dismally long journey. Want to really get inside his head and his feelings!

Tags: @aemonds-wifey @multiple-fandoms-girl @jessssica1234 @babyblue711 '@exitpursuedbyavulcan @myfandomprompts @anditsmywholeheart @allthefandomtherapy @valerie977 @bookwyrmsblog @phantomontheinternet @chainsawsangel @greenowlfactif @thelittleswanao3 @yentroucnagol @beiigegalx @skikikikiikhhjuuh @just-emmaaaa @mefools @aquakaris @its-actually-minicika @whoknows333 @arcielee @honeymaltgelato @girlwith-thepearlearring

[spacebaby1]

Law is sick

Rosinante Donquixote × Mom!Reader ft: Child!Law

"Achooo"

You stopped cutting the apple in the kitchen when you heard a sneeze, it was quiet for a minute so you went back to cutting when you heard it again, this time louder, "ACHHOOOO." You placed the knife down and cleaned your hands on the napkin.

"Sweetie?"

"Yes, Darling?" Cora-San replied thinking you are calling for him, "Not you Sweetheart, the small one." All you heard is a chuckle and Cora-San calling for Law to come out of his room.

You waited a minute before Law showed up rubbing his nose with the back of his shirt sleeve, "Yes, Mama?" You crouched down to his level and gently placed your hands on his forehead and cheek, "Sweetie, you're burning up, why didn't you tell me that you weren't feeling alright?"

"Huh?" He blinked barley able to keep his eyes open, "Oh, my little boy. Come here" you picked him up that's when Cora-San showed up in the kitchen as you were leaving, "hey, can I cut that ap-"

"NO! Sweetheart, I'll do it just get me cold water in a bowel and the towels from that cupboard?"

He nodded before ruffling Law's hair, "Wow, you're burning from your head! SHOULD WE TAKE HIM TO THE HOS-"

"Shhh, you're gonna give my baby a headache, he'll be fine, I'll take care of him, but if his fever doesn't go down, we'll take him to hospital."

"Mamaaaa" Law whined snuggling in your arms, and you motioned for Cora-San to get what you told him as you walked to Law's room before placing him on the bed and pulling the blanket over him, "here, I got the water and the towel." Cora-San said placing the cold water bowl on the nightstand before making his way on the other side of the bed and gently stroking his son's hair, "you'll be fine, buddy. We are here, Mama's gonna take care of you." He was making face to make Law smile and laugh which worked for a while but you could notice how scared your husband was and he was freaking out internally from the look he kept giving you everytime Law would cough or sneeze.

After an hour you and Cora-San were in kitchen while Law fell asleep. As promised you cut the apple for Cora-San but he just stood there zoned out looking at the plate, "Honey, he will be fine, don't freak out, you are gonna scare him." Cora-San whined and you handed him the apple slice, "eat!"

"Are you sure we don't need to take him to hospital? What if it's his dis-"

You slapped a hand on his shoulder, "Don't say that! It's not!"

"I'm so sorry, I just get scared" Cora-San sighed rubbing the back of his blonde hair, you hugged him, "it's okay, it's just a cold, the weather is changing and he's been out playing a lot it's just that nothing more, now eat up."

You both couldn't sleep but somehow you managed to get Cora-San to sleep but kept your room door open just in case Law called out for you. It was 4 A.M now and you still couldn't sleep, still wide awake looking at the wall, and just when you were about to doze off a small voice made you jump, it was Law's voice and you literally jump out of the bed making sure to not wake Cora-San up.

Walking to Law's room you heard him calling for you even clearly now, "hey-" you thought he was awak but his eyes were shut as he cried in his sleep hands grabbing on the blanket tightly. Immediately you rushed to his bedside and sat beside his head and placed your hand on his head and the other on his heart, "shhh, it's okay, I'm here, Mama is here, Law my beautiful boy, shhh, Mama's here." You heard a loud thud followed by footsteps coming towards the room you just knew it was your husband, who probably fell on his way to Law's room.

His hair was everywhere as he made his way inside the room to find Law silently crying now holding on your hand that you had placed on his heart. Cora-San sat on the floor and placed his hand over yours on Law's head as he started to cry, watching his boy like that made him cry and you didn't know to cry or laugh at how sweet your husband is towards his baby boy.

You ruffled his hair and he looked at you with red eyes full of tears and sleep; "why are you crying?"

"My boy..." was all he managed to say before you got an idea, "Honey, do that thing!" You said almost immediately Cora-San looked at you confused, "w-what thing?"

"The calm thing, the one you do to calm me down if I'm panicking or scared, do it, can you?"

Cora-San gasped, his D.F powers, of course! He immediately placed his hand directly on Law's head and spoke,"Calm." Almost immediately, Law calmed down, and his cries were long gone. Both you and Cora-San shared a small smile.

Law woke up around seven in the morning to find himself in bed in-between both of you as both of you had your hand place on his heart, he blinked before rubbing his nose and snuggling into you which made Cora-San groan in his sleep and throw his hand over you and Law as you held Law tightly still fast Asleep, "M-mama, Papa" Law whispered to himself and fell asleep again in the comfort of his parents embrace.