#never apologise for a message length

[antidesire]

12:59 antidesire

not another vendetta/id!leon post.. wuh oh. thank you for 500 followers ♡

f!reader x dbf!leon, 18+ only. reader wears a bikini, a skirt and some makeup, alcohol consumption, reader is 21+, leon is pushing 40. size kink!!, praise, leon calls reader good girl, baby girl, little one, small, reader calls leon daddy like a couple times, reader is very eager to please, a lot of dirty talk, cunnilingus, p in v, creampie. this is purely fictional always use protection and practice safe sex. 4.5k+ of filfth, probably more rushed and messy than it should be not sure how i feel about it, i apologise.

leon s. kennedy,

you only knew of the older man from your father, the two had met during a pub crawl one night, and your father was quite the talker, giving him the rundown on all the best liquors, telling him all kinds of crazy stories about his life (nothing compared to mr. kennedy) and all the trouble he got in to in his younger days, so the two hit it off like a house on fire and suddenly leon kennedy was a part of your father's friend group despite being younger compared to your father, he seemed to relate a lot to him (his entire tab being paid for by his new friend probably helped too).

you were used to it, how sociable your father was, he always made time to enjoy his weekends, whether it be out on the town or inside, and that day was scorching hot so he had decided a garden party was the only option, it seemed silly not to what with the pool in the back yard and a barbeque grill.

with a group message to all his and your mother's friends, the plans were set.

you wouldn't say you were being promiscuous or inappropriate- not on purpose, surely never. it just so happened that your favourite bikini was on the skimpier side, a little triangular bra and thong, and in a colour that complimented your skin strikingly well, some heart sunglasses for some contrast, cute- that's what you'd call it, cute.

did your mom's friends approve? absolutely not, whispering their outrage and shock under their breaths, sending glares over to their husbands, it did make you laugh.

your mom might've cared, and your dad as well- too bad they were already more than tipsy by the time their guests arrived.

the water felt so warm thanks to the sun beaming down on the garden, with your butt perched on the edge of the pool you dangled your legs inside the cool water as you leaned back on your palms, basking in the rays.

"leon!" you heard your father call out in excitement and your head whipped around, you'd never heard of a leon before. "it's so good to see you man, how have you been?"

leon was gorgeous, and that was to put things modestly. he didn't look as old as your other father's friends and good lord he was a hundred times sexier than any of them.

his hair was dark, not too long, but you noticed one side swept over his eye. he had partial stubble along his chin and upper lip, and his dark locks contrasted with his icy blue eyes.

suddenly you were the one ogling, sunglasses tipped down the length of your nose, determined to know more about this leon.

sloshing of the water turned your dad’s attention back to you, encouraging you over to meet his friend, “this is my daughter,” your dad told leon your name before introducing him to you.

“it’s nice to meet you leon.” you smiled, holding out your hand politely to which he shook and you could’ve sworn you saw a smile tugging at his lips.

“it’s nice to meet you too.” he nodded, and you didn’t miss the way his eyes swiftly grazed over your body before distracting himself with the bottle in his hands, “i come bearing gifts.”

you watched from afar when your mother called you into the kitchen to aid her in preparing some food that couldn’t be handled on the grill your father was cooking in, “mama, does leon have a wife?” you blurted out the question before you could even swish it around in your head a little longer.

“hmm, I don’t think so, why’s that?” she laughed, tossing some salad and dressing in a bowl.

“m’ just wondering, dad’s other friends all do.” you hummed, shrugging to make it seem less suspicious.

the food went down well, even better with the delicious cocktails you and your mom whipped together earlier, a delicious buzz whirling throughout your body that had you up and moving towards the kitchen to grab another one.

“you got a spare glass? smashed mine.” you heard a voice call out, jolting in surprise, head bumping the cabinet above you,

“shit.” you cursed under your breath, hand flying up to rub the top of your head, glancing back to see it was the older man you had your eyes on earlier.

“sorry, i didn’t mean to scare you.” he laughed, footsteps coming closer, “you alright?” a cold but firm grasp was suddenly at your waist, an excuse to lean in and observe the ‘damage’.

oh god, you could smell his cologne, musky and expensive, “i’m good, you didn’t scare me- well, you did a little, but it’s fine.” wow, real smooth.

you could almost feel the vibrations in his chest when he chuckled, you had to lean back against the counter to distance the two of you, your face furrowing in confusion when he only got closer, hand reaching up above your head, “they up here?” he gestured towards the cabinet above your head.

was he toying with you right now?

“t-they’re all the way at the back, we used most of em’ already.” you mumbled, barely loud enough for him to hear, “let me check.” you spoke up before twirling yourself around, your hands pushing yourself upwards to go on your tippy toes so you could reach the glass at the back.

you purposefully shoved your ass back against him, back arched to give him a nice view of the expanse of your bare back, small strings of your bikini high on your hips, you were just generous like that. you feigned innocence as you felt around for a few more seconds, “ah-ha!” you cooed, plucking the glass down and turning yourself back to face him, “here you are.” you smiled, tapping the rim of the glass against his chest as his eyes hung a little lower on your body.

“thank you, sweetheart.” his fingertips grazed yours before taking the glass from you, your eyes dashing down to his hand, noticing blood.

“you cut yourself.” you jut your bottom lip out into a pout, extending your arm to grab his wrist and pull him over to the bathroom, glass in his hand long forgotten about.

"it's just from where the glass smashed, it's not a big deal." he was trying to brush it off but you were already grabbing the first aid kit before he could finish his sentence.

"let me look at it under the light." you encouraged him closer as you put yourself up until you were sat on the sink, first aid kit on your lap.

the light from the cabinet above the sink did make it easier to see the cut, it also made it easier to notice how slender his fingers were, veins running all the way up his bulky arms, disappearing under his black compression shirt he wore, "you're not warm like that by the way?" you glanced up from his hand, referring to his shirt, "you can join me in the pool after." you cooed, voice overly sweet as you dabbed some disinfectant on his cut, grabbing a bandaid next.

leon shook his head, a small chuckle leaving his lips, "i'm not sure your parents would appreciate that." oh, were you too obvious? oops.

your eyes rolled at that, legs swaying in the air back and forth as the rip of the paper from the bandaid could be heard in the silence, your nimble fingers pushing the dressing around the cut securely before giving his hand a squeeze to gesture that you were done.

a small sigh escaped your lips as your head leaned back against the cabinet, still perched pretty on top of the sink, your thighs looked plush and soft like this and the way the glitter from your lipgloss sparkled under the light was like its own little spell, a cautious one.

but you, you threw all caution to the wind now he voiced acknowledgment about your little games, your eyes dragged shamelessly over him, twiddling the string of your bikini panties between your fingers, "d'you not wanna touch me?" you spoke quietly.

you heard leon exhale before you felt his fingertips at your lower thighs, pushing them open so he could step closer, “you’re not playing fair.” his head tilted, fingers pinching at the soft flesh of your thighs, “you do this with all your dad’s friends, huh?���

you hummed out, your hand placing on top of his and pushing it even higher up your thigh, “i’m not normally like this, you’re special.” you cooed out, leaning in towards his ears, “i pinky promise.”

you yelped when his fingers pulled the elastic of your panties back until it snapped back against your skin, “aah.” you shivered, legs raising to clench either side of his hips.

"i won't tell anyone." you whined, rubbing your thighs against him to distract the lingering stinging sensation.

the way you sweetened your voice and fluttered your eyelashes had him reeling closer, so close you could feel his hot breath at your neck, smell the scent of sweat on him from the hot scorching day.

your fingers trailed upwards, pushing at his shirt until he grasped firmly at your wrists, shoving them out of the way, “if i got you here, i wanna do things my way.” he spoke directly, eyebrow raised as he looked for what seemed like your confirmation, to which you gave him a prompt nod, perhaps a little eagerly.

“good girl.” two simple words and your stomach was doing somersaults, all the blood rushing straight to your cheeks. it sounded like pure honey falling from his lips, sweeter than the cocktails you had previously enjoyed.

leon didn’t miss the way the little pet name clearly had you dazed either, he was quite attentive, fingers grazing back and forth over the goosebumps on your thigh whilst the other was placed at your chin, thumb rubbing along your jaw, "you're such a pretty little thing, your old man told me he had a beautiful, smart daughter at home.. i should've believed him more, i shouldn't have come." he snickered, shaking his head.

"it's too late for that now." you huffed, knocking your head to his and catching his lips until they meshed with yours, feeling his stubble graze your skin, igniting pulses of desire straight between your legs.

he didn't bite, you only felt him relax a little into the kiss before pushing himself away with an expression you couldn't read on his face, "you're making it hard to think straight."

you laughed at that, "don't think at all, that's what i like to do." you winked, "just do what feels good." you giggled and leon could feel his heart skip a beat, you were so damn cute.

"fuck.." he threw his head back, chuckling at the situation he found himself in. when his attention was back on you he noticed your fingers between your legs, rubbing your fingers against your clothed pussy.

"mh-mh," he shook his head, swatting away your hand, "let me take care of you, sweetheart." he breathed out, fingers tucking under your panties, dragging them all the way down before flinging them somewhere on the floor, long forgotten about along with his sense of morals.

you whimpered at the feeling of cold porcelain on your bare skin, feeling your pussy brush against it when he pushed your thighs open, "s-shit.." you whimpered.

you almost forgot to keep breathing when you watched him kneel down, taking a position in between your legs, perching them both over his shoulders, fingertips squeezing and rubbing the outside of your thighs, "you don't mind if i'm a little selfish and have a taste first, yeah baby?" he blinked up at you and if the feeling of your thighs already squeezing around his head wasn't enough, maybe the audible moan followed up by a mantra of "yes, yes, yes" was enough.

"you're so cute, you get excited about the littlest things." he observed, leaning in to press wet, open-mouthed kisses along your inner thigh, stubble scraping along your skin.

"n-no i don't." you tried to deny out of embarrassment, only getting a chuckle of disbelief in response, knowing your body's reactions spoke for itself.

he breathed you in, eyes fluttering shut as his tongue dashed out to lick upwards to your clit, the tip of his tongue circling over the sensitive little nub which had your finger flying in his hair, "ohh, my god.." you mewled, hips already pushing up towards his face for more which he was happy to oblige.

flattening his tongue allowed you to feel him everywhere, every little inch of your cunt being showered with attention, your legs kicking against his upper back until he pulled back, allowing you a second to breathe though he didn't waste it, spitting on your clit and letting the saliva run down your pussy just so he could tongue fuck it inside you.

he had a firm grasp on your thighs now, tongue pressing past your puffy lips and inside you, pushing his tongue further and further, breathing you in until the tip of his nose pushed deliciously against your clit, grinding against it for further friction, "pleasuhh-nghnn," you brokenly moaned, legs trembling either side of him, but he kept going and it was almost embarrassing how sloppy he sounded, eating you out like he was starved, only pulling back when he wanted to pay attention to your poor puffy clit, tongue flicking and prodding before his lips sealed around it, sucking the sensitive little nub into his mouth and groaning which added a mouth-watering vibration, "daddy, please." you gasped out.

you clearly spoke too soon when a sudden knock of someone's fist against the wooden door pulled you out of your bliss.

you could've cried when he pulled away to stand up, pleasure fizzling out into nothing, legs squeezing together to maintain the warmth of where he had been perched, "don't.." you pleaded, grabbing a hold of his arms and pushing him towards you, bare soaked pussy grinding against the belt he had on around his waist.

"leon, you in here?" your father's voice spoke up again, the door handle rattling, leon gave your arm a reassuring squeeze before he plucked your bikini panties off the ground, stuffing them in his pocket and opening the door just wide enough to slip out.

being the gentleman he is, he wiped the residue of glistening saliva and cum from his mouth and chin with the back of his hand before speaking up with an excuse, "sorry, was just cooling down."

you heard your father announce needing help with something that happened in the front yard.

both their footsteps wandered away and you cursed aloud, jumping off the sink and stomping your feet on the floor, why now?!

your head peaked out of the bathroom ever so slightly until you knew the coast was clear, scurrying to your bedroom to pick up your skirt, tugging it up until you were decent enough.

with quick steps you rushed down the stairs only to see everyone in the front yard, “what happened?” you asked your mom.

“steve got a little too drunk and saw the keys still in leon’s bike.. he crashed it into the bush.” she pointed to the damage and your eyes widened, it wasn’t like it was irreversible damage but by the way leon was tugging it out of the branches and accessing things, it didn’t look good either.

“oops..” you whispered under your breath, noticing the panicked man profusely apologising and promising to pay for any damages.

leon didn’t look too concerned though- with all things considered, only brushing the man off and mumbling about how he’ll fix it himself, that no one else should be touching it anymore, as he perches it up, stuffing the keys in his back pocket- alongside your panties.

“i’m sorry man, you always have a place to crash here or we can get you a cab back home, come back for it when you can, don’t stress yourself any further.” your dad tried to fix the situation, patting leon on the back as his other friend looked like a kicked dog, wife in his ear scolding him.

“think i’ll have to crash here, i’ll bring a friend over to help me take it back tomorrow, would rather not let her outta my sight anymore.” he forced out a chuckle.

the night drew in much quicker what with your father’s friends' antics, despite leon trying to play it cool and telling them it was no big deal, clearly, there was some tension which had everyone saying their goodbyes as the sun set and the night grew on.

“darling, can you go grab leon some fresh sheets and pillows for the night?” you heard your dad call out, turning on your feet before leon could even protest.

you hopped up the stairs and towards your room, plucking out your clean strawberry sheets with a matching plush pillow for the older man, happily bringing it down and presenting them to him, “sorry if they’re not your style.” you cooed, eyelashes fluttering at him once again.

“they’re just what i like, don’t worry.” he played along before, two-finger saluting both of your parents goodnight with a thank you as they declared they were going to bed, clearly the alcohol and mood change helping their swift decision to head to bed

“is everything okay?” you followed closely behind him like a puppy dog, bumping into his back when he halted his steps as he reached the living room, throwing the bed sheets on the couch.

“it happened, no point still being angry about it, i can fix it anyway.” he told you, glancing behind his shoulder before turning to face you, arms crossing over his chest as though he was expecting something from you.

“what?” you pouted, looking up at him, doe eyes and puffed out cheeks.

“you can’t leave me alone even after almost getting caught?” his head tilted and suddenly you felt a lot smaller underneath him.

you didn’t know how to respond, part of you was humiliated, the other wanting to bite back, “i was worried!” you whined, fist coming up to hit his chest.

leon laughed, pushing his hair out of his face and walking into you until your knees buckled and you fell back against the couch, “you’re so cute.” you didn’t have time to think, already feeling his thumb push past your lips and settle on your tongue.

“such a pretty little thing.” he sighed out, eyebrows furrowed as he admired every little detail on your face, eyes grazing over your features.

“you want me so bad don’t you sweetheart?” his voice hummed out sweetly, forcing you to nod your head, though you didn’t need to be, willing to do anything he asked of you, waiting at his beckon and call.

“sweet thing.” leon pulled his hand away, grasping the end of his shirt and pulling it over his head, your eyes wasting no time taking in everything you could, the way his muscles were defined, how a light sheen of sweat was sticky on top of his skin and how the trail of dark curly hair lead from his bellybutton down into the waistband of his boxers.

“please..” you whined out, hand going up to squeeze his arm, pulling it until he was touching your neck, dragging it towards your chest.

his eyes lazily followed your movements, fingers tugging under the straps of your bikini bra until the skimpy fabric fell into your lap, “want my skirt off next daddy?” you asked him, head tilted up as your fingers already went towards the zip.

he shook his head, tongue darting out to lick over his bottom lip, admiring your pretty tits and the peek of your thighs under your skirt puddling over your lap, “no no, keep it on, it’s cute.”

his pants came off next, your eyes watching him cup his erection through his boxers, stroking himself on top of the fabric, "lemme help." you shifted closer, tongue licking the outline of him, the texture of the cotton fabric grazing against your tastebuds, licking a trail upwards to the tip of his dick pushing against the fabric.

you let leon push down his boxers, his hard cock slapping back against his chest, standing tall with the tip the prettiest red you had ever seen, glistening with a bead of his pearly precum.

you giggled, leaning in to lick from his balls, upwards his length, tongue feeling the veins running up the underside of him before the muscle reached his tip, kitten licking up the sticky cum whilst his hand rested at the back of your head. pushing you further against him, his other hand gripped at the base of his cock, slapping the tip of himself on your tongue and watching you go cross-eyed.

you let him guide you until the tip of him was pushed past your swollen lips, "mmh, that's it sexy." he groaned out, "you're so sweet, baby, i'd love to have you choking on this cock one day." he chuckled out, feeling you push yourself further down, as though you were proving yourself, hearing your pathetic little sputtering and gagging already.

"be careful little one, s'okay." he stroked the top of your head and you let your throat relax, drool pushing past the corner of your lips and tears stinging at your eyes, "you don't have to take it all, you're only a small thing."

his words were making your fingers curl into his hips, nails dragging down his skin hard enough to decorate him with red marks, you so badly wanted to keep going but you were far too excited, you had lost yourself already trying to impress him, failing but he found it cute, he found everything about you so fucking cute.

"shh, shh.." he hushed you when you pulled your mouth away to speak, thumb flicking away some stray tears that landed on your cheeks, "don't worry about it sweetheart, you make me feel good just sitting there looking so pretty."

you could feel your heart flutter out of your chest, swallowing down any humiliation and need to apologise for the sad attempt of pleasing him with your mouth, you couldn't help it, your head was a little foggy as soon as he started speaking.

you watched as he next lifted his hand up, finger twirling in the air, indicating that he wanted you to turn around, "all fours for me." he helped you maneuver into a comfortable position on the couch, your back arched, head stuffed into the strawberry printed cotton sheets and your legs spread to accommodate leon behind you.

"you have the prettiest little pussy i've ever seen, y'know that?" he uttered behind you, hand squeezing your ass, spreading you open as he pushed himself flush against you, feeling the way your pussy pulse around nothing whilst he teasingly dragged himself back and forth your slippery folds.

"n-need it, need it so bad.." you mewled out, wiggling your ass a little to try and find some friction, your skirt shifting up higher on your waist. you lurched forward suddenly when he pushed his cock inside you without warning, your squeal muffled by the sheets.

"oh.. shit, fuckkkk.." he dragged out his words as he felt your pussy pulsate and contract around him, "holy fuck, you're so- mhfm," he had to cut himself off to take a second, "so fucking tight." he exhaled, hand placing at your lower back where your skirt was, grabbing a fistful of the fabric to help you push back and forth on his cock.

"you gotta be quiet yeah? don't wanna wake your parents up.." he chuckled, hips reeling back before pushing into you again, "imagine the look on your old man's face, finding his sweet daughter fucked stupid by the man he invited into his home." he grunted, pulling you flush against him with the help of his grasp on your skirt.

"poor thing, you can't help it can you baby? you wanted this dick so bad, i don't blame you sweetheart, i really don't." he cooed mockingly as his pace became more consistently deeper and more violent.

drool was pooling on your freshly washed sheets, countless sobs of pleasure and chants of leon's name deafened thanks to your head being stuffed into the couch. you couldn't care about anything he was insinuating, if this was bad then why did it feel sooo good.

you felt a stretch in your shoulder when he grabbed your arm behind your back, pulling it towards him, "that's it, pussy feels so damn good." he groaned much louder than he should've considering what he scolded you before just moments before.

"feels s'good!" you sobbed out. you could feel his hips slapping against your thighs and your ass, you could hear it every time he drilled his fat cock into you, incoherent babbling against the sheets and fat tears rolling down your cheeks, growing closer and closer each time he shoved himself down your dripping cunt.

"right there? yeah, i know you like that dick, can feel you fucking squeezing me back in every time i'm not deep in your guts." he laughed out euphorically, feeling as though you were driving him crazy, he'd never been this dumbfounded over pussy before.

"in—" you squealed out, legs trembling, "inside! o-oh my fughnnn, cum inside!" you blubbered out desperately, fingers clawing at the sheets underneath you, no regard for your volume, far too gone.

your breath was heaving and you couldn't stop the constant squeals of joy and tears flowing as your body shivered with pure bliss, leon noticed this and didn't let up on his pace, hips jackhammering into you erratically and if he didn't have a grip on your skirt and your arm you would've been flung to the other side of the couch, "that's it baby girl, cum on my cock, you're doing so well, m'so proud." he praised.

your stomach clenched and spasmed as your release washed over your entire body, muscles trembling and jolting, voice breathless and hoarse whilst leon fucked your sticky release back into you, desperate to chase his own high, holding you steady so you wouldn't fall limply against the couch.

"ah!" leon grunted, soppy wet sounds of your pussy bouncing off of the walls as he continuously pounded into your abused pussy, "i'm cumming, fuck, fuck, fuck!" he gritted his teeth, pushing his hips flush against you as he whispered out breathlessly, "take it, take it baby." warm hot ropes of his cum spurting out and filling up your pussy.

you were completely spent but something about the sensation had you feeling so warm, so full it made your toes curl and you regained enough energy to push back against him, not wanting to lose even a drop of it.

you both spent more than a few minutes like this, basking in each other's warmth and closeness until you were collapsing from exhaustion, whimpering at the empty, sticky feeling between your legs.

leon leaned down, pressing soft kisses to your back and shoulders, rubbing and squeezing your waist to relieve any tension, "let me clean you up." was the last thing you heard him say, your eyes growing heavier and heavier.

leon didn't mind, he cleaned you up well, lifted you up, and quietly headed to your bedroom, tucking you into bed after ridding you of your skirt which he ripped, so you could enjoy your peaceful slumber for the night as he slipped away back downstairs to remove any evidence of what happened before the sun would come up and he would have to face your father once again.

[allisluv]

Hii here with like kinda angsty thought: how would finnick react if reader flinches during an argument? Like he raises his hand to scratch his neck or smth, but she gets the wrong message??

-🎸

old habits die hard.

pairing: finnick o'dair x fem!reader

content warnings: reader has been in a previous abusive relationship. mentions of previous arguments and abuse, flinching, hurt/comfort, established relationship, improved communication at the end, angst with a happy ending.

word count: 546

It happens so quick.

One minute, you're arguing with Finnick, and the next, he's raised his hand to scratch the back of his neck. Your brain whirls into overdrive and you flinch, hands flying up to protect your face.

As god-awful as it sounds, it is an instinct by now. Living with your ex has thrown you into a permanent state of fight or flight. You've been dating Finnick for the better part of six years and the thought of him raising a hand to you has never even crossed your mind. It's just your luck that your ex's actions have taken permanent residence in your psyche.

Dread runs through your veins when you hear Finnick inhale a sharp breath. You lower your hands from your face, but the devastated look on your boyfriend's face makes you want to hide away again.

Tears are gathering on Finnick's waterline and he furiously blinks them away. He bites his bottom lip to stop it from trembling and says, "I would never."

You don't trust yourself to say anything, so you're quiet instead. You know Finnick isnt the type of guy to lay so much as a finger on you. You know that, but still, deep down, there's a nagging feeling that says, what if?

You never thought your ex would hit you, either.

Finnick sighs, running a hand down the length of his face. "Can I give you a hug or do you need some space?"

The words end up getting caught in the back of your throat. When you finally manage to push through the pain, your voice is strained and broken. "I want a hug."

Finnick obliges, but keeps his hands where you can see them, just in case you change your mind. When you don't cower away from him like he had expected, he wraps his arms around your waist and rests his chin on top of your head. He kisses above where your hairline starts. "I'm so sorry, angel."

"It's not your fault--"

Finnick cuts you off before you can get much further. "No, I shouldn't have shouted. I didn't mean to scare you. I should have walked away and came back when the both of us were calmer. I never want you to feel scared and I definitely don't want you to think that I'm going to hit you because I'm mad. I would never do that to you, and the fact I have to clarify that makes my heart ache."

You squeeze your eyes shut, feeling the warmth of your tears staining his cotton shirt. "I know you weren't going to hit me," you eventually say. "I know that. I-- sometimes I just forget that everyone's not like him. I'm sorry."

Finnick pulls away and cradles your face in his hands. The pad of his thumb reaches out and swipes away your tears. "Don't you dare apologise, angel. None of this is your fault, and I'm not mad. I just-- 'm sorry for scaring you. I'd never do that intentionally, you know that, right?"

You nod, and he presses a kiss to your forehead. "We need to talk some more about this later, when you're ready, but for now, I think we should cuddle and watch some tv. How does that sound?"

[manicpixiefelix]

head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

Part 14.

Summary: Our second look through Oliver's eyes as he thinks back on the night he and Felix get champagne drunk on the bridge, and then when he gets to Saltburn. Looking around both Y/N and Felix's rooms, he gets to know more about them, and finally he meets the Catton Family.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: suggestive themes, reader is said/implied to be high for some of the chapter (based on my experiences & understanding of weed)

A/N: 8506 words. you have all deserved a good feed and i am here to provide. sorry it's been a week, the dam broke, things are looking good in my personal life which is nice, and i am BACK on main fic nonsense. we get another Ollie POV, please let me know what you think, im so excited to have everyone at the estate and hanging out!! got big plans going forward!! excited to be setting it all up!! yeah please feedback, my darling friends!!

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

----

Sometimes Oliver feels like he was put on this Earth solely to exist in Felix Catton's affectionate gaze. Everything else in life is just filler.

That night on the bridge, he and Felix in suits, drunk on champagne and bathed in the twilight of the evening, will haunt him, he's sure. He welcomes it with open arms, surfacing when his mind is idle and elsewhere. Felix smiling at him, Felix trying to bring him closure even if he doesn't really need it, Felix hanging on his every word, ever story he would fabricate to keep Felix's eyes fixed on him and only him. Felix so close, Felix with his arm around Ollie, Felix's thigh pressed up against his as they sat alone on the edge of the bridge.

Felix, Felix, Felix.

Oliver feels dwarfed by him, never more so than these moments where Felix insists on occupying Oliver's personal space, and then some. But he'll never complain; Felix's affection is intoxicating, addicting even. To be so wrapped up in it, in him, it's bliss, though Oliver never wanted to seem needy for such affection, that's why he waits for these moments, for Felix to make first contact. He wonders if Felix had realised the way you so quickly had in the beginning.

Everyone reaches out for Felix, everyone else appears so desperate. Its why Oliver's always held back from touching him, always waited and let Felix make the first move. Felix was made to be wanted, he basks in it; Oliver gives him the chance to want. Isn't there a thrill in that? A novelty?

And to be wanted by Felix... That was a gift in itself too.

Oliver had, admittedly, been worried that he'd lost his chance at that. After sleeping with you, Felix holding him at arm's length, he could feel his grip slipping. Plucking at the strings of Felix's clear saviour complex was enough to claw back into his life, but he now knew his place was precarious, and most tentative of all was everything about you.

So he'd held back from you. On purpose. Often distinctly, even when you'd give these confused, disheartened looks. He tried not to look at you in those moments; his focus was Felix, Felix seemed harder won.

But when he'd tried to apologise on the bridge - at first he wasn't going to bring it up, but it was dark and he was reasonably drunk and the only person who's ever smiled like Felix had been smiling at him in that moment had been you - Felix had, at first, laughed him off. No, he can feel it now, weighing on him; he needs to balance the scales. He wants Felix so bad it aches in his bones, but Oliver knows his want goes beyond just the beautiful boy by his side. Every part of you, how you interact with the world, interact with him, the way you exist and exude confidence and love, drew Oliver in like a moth to a flame. If Felix is the hook, you were the line. The bait, and the trap. The sun, and it's warmth. He wants to always be the focus of your loving, attentive gaze. Always wants you to want him too.

Oliver is the helpless fly in the web you and Felix have woven, to be so lovingly obsessed with you both as you are, and yet still drawn further in, to love the love you share. He feels trapped and utterly helpless against his feelings for you both.

So he has to make it right. Has to make it... even? Was that how to make it right?

But Felix is different on the bridge. Different to the jealous creature he tried so clearly to hide in the weeks before. Something had changed.

"You never need to apologise for making them happy," he says easily, affectionately. Oliver tries to be insistent, that he never meant to get between the two of you. He's rambling and tipsy, but not enough to miss the faint choked noise of what Oliver could have sworn was intrigue that Felix makes at that, but he knows better than to dwell or comment on it. Instead, Felix claps him on the back; "you wanna make it up to me we can say you owe me one," he says far too easily.

"Owe you one what?" Oliver frowns, playing oblivious for a moment as he takes a sip of the champagne before Felix gives him a cheeky wink and a grin.

"Shag, of course."

Oliver does a spit take with surprise, not having thought Felix would be so casual and genuine about it, almost falling off of the bridge in the moment. Felix catches him, arm around him as he laughs through an apology.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry mate," he wheezes, carefully clapping Ollie on the shoulder, "also I apologise for assuming, poor form, sometimes I forget people can be weird about these things- not saying you'd be weird, we've just never spoken about this kind of thing."

It speaks to how much he must genuinely trust Oliver, considering how light the conversation remains. Or perhaps it's the bubbly. Still, Oliver has a little bit of an inkling about what this kind of thing may be. But part of him needs Felix to say it, to confirm his suspicions, to keep stringing him along with further crumbs of hope.

"Assuming what?"

There's a single moment, the way in which Felix looks at Oliver out of the corner of his eyes, smile briefly frozen on his face as he must be considering the weight of what he's about to say. Its in the moment that follows, when Felix laughs almost self consciously and withdraws his hand that Oliver wonders how out Felix is. Oliver had always just kind of assumed - hoped - on the basis of his relationship with Y/N, but it occurs to him that the general perception of Felix, the talk and rumours and gossip that surrounded him, never really entertained the idea that he was actually queer. Felix's affection towards everyone in his life was simply a by-product of who he was, and you're his best friend - and his cousin, according to Farleigh - so of course you don't count, and otherwise Felix Catton was a known lady's man, right?

Not quite, it seemed.

"That you'd even be into guys like that," it sounds so easy when Felix says it, like Oliver can't see the tension in his shoulders as he reaches over, taking the bottle of champagne back. Its almost empty. Oliver doesn't mind if he finishes it.

Felix looks at the sky, at the stars.

Oliver thinks about the VHS tape of Maurice that he stole from a rental store after looking at the back cover. He'd kept it stashed in his sock drawer and watched every week under the cover of absolute darkness until it literally became unplayable. Yes, Oliver liked guys, and spent his teen years having just as many lewd fantasies about boys with posh accents, and charmingly youthful features, and floppy, brown hair, as he did about girls with big, dark eyes, and high, perfect cheek bones, in bright red wedding dresses. His sisters hated Beetlejuice, thought it was gross, but he and his mother would watch it together on occasion, sharing a blanket his gran had crocheted, and a bowl of popcorn. She'd get all giggly over Alec Baldwin, while Oliver couldn't help but fall for Winona Ryder for the duration of the film, every time.

For a moment, he thinks of the sunlit kitchen he grew up in, and his mother cooking Sunday lunch with a record playing. The last Sunday before he left for Oxford. In the yard, he can hear his father mowing the lawn, and he's sure Emily is in her room packing for her own journey back to her third year of studying. But Oliver comes out of his room just as Jump in Line (Shake Senora) begins to play. Serendipity. Already excited by the song, his mother looks up from the dishes, and practically lights up at the sight of her son. She's going to ask him to dance. He's going to say yes. They're both going to love this moment; she says it's their song, and Oliver dances along to their song. When it's over, Oliver won't admit that he's disappointed it had to end, but he tells his mother he'll miss her too when she hugs him especially tightly. For that one moment he hadn't ached to leave the way he'd been for months, for years.

Looking now at the rock in the rubbish that represented his father, there's a momentary pang of guilt for lying so dramatically about him he hadn't been expecting. So he pushes it out of his mind.

Felix finishes the bottle, and Oliver watches him wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. Effortlessly beauty.

Oliver wants to focus on his future, not his past.

"Haven't got too much experience with 'em, but that doesn't stop me from liking them well enough," feeling especially bold, he levels a sly smile at Felix, "so if it's all good with you, maybe we do say I owe you one."

Felix blushes the most beautiful scarlet as he barks a loud, pleased laugh. But most importantly, he relaxes.

"It's not that hard," he offers so nonchalantly, amending with a sheepish grin, "well it is, that's part of the point -" but Oliver can't help himself.

"I said I didn't have a lot of experience, didn't say I was completely inexperienced."

"No, I know," Felix's voice turns all smug and teasing, and Oliver can feel his face beginning to heat up as he realised the implications of Felix's tone, "I've heard rave reviews." Oliver had taken the time to have his fun, to have a few hook ups here and there in the past year, usually with girls or guys from town or other campuses who had no idea who he was otherwise. There's only one person who'd be giving him rave reviews, as Felix had called them.

Huh. It's quite the compliment; he had gone out of his way to give you the kind of attention he suspected few people ever bestowed upon you, but rave reviews? What had you actually told Felix?

Instead, considering that this still feels like potentially rocky territory, he tries to bring it back.

"It's one of the few ways I ever really learned how to make people feel appreciated," his gaze drops with his tone, and hopes that Felix takes the bait. The threads that tie back to the story of his unfortunate upbringing, but also perhaps the threads that subconsciously tie his attitude and behaviour to you in Felix's mind. Even if you don't say it, he knows it's part of how you operate, and he's willing to bet that Felix had picked up on that too.

It works. Felix wraps an arm around him, assuring him that he has so much to offer the world. God, he sounds so sincere when he says it; if Oliver hadn't knowingly baited him into the compliment, he would have believed him entirely. At the very least he basks in how good it is to hear Felix say.

They talk through the night, Oliver tentatively feeling his way towards his goal, the opportunity to spend Summer with Felix too, to make sure this connection doesn't wither in the interim. Of course he plays at being humble, at refusing the offer despite how clearly uninhabitable the sob story home he'd made up for himself was, but just as he'd predicted, Felix, ever the saviour, refuses to take no for an answer. Apparently his mother has people stay for months at a time anyhow. Oliver wonders idly if that's where Felix got it from.

"Y/N will be so pleased, I can tell you that," Felix mentioned with fondness. Of course Oliver had anticipated that you would probably be spending at least some of your Summer with them, but he's surprised that when he enquires further, Felix admits, "yeah they live with me at Saltburn when we're not at school, have for ages now."

"What, all the time? They really are a ward of the Saltburn Estate?"

Felix wears a strange little smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes; there's an unfamiliar kind of melancholy that doesn't look quite right on him, Oliver thinks, as Felix shrugs again.

"Some people's parents just aren't meant to be parents."

For a split second Oliver feels a rush of guilt as he comes to realise he may have fabricated a life for himself that you had actually lived. In the moment, however, he dips his head, a sign that he understands, that he agrees.

"Then we're lucky to have you."

Felix throws an arm around his shoulders, pulls him in tightly and presses a kiss to the side of his head, assuring him it's no trouble at all.

"What are friends for?"

Yes, this moment would be burned into his brain; Felix so warm beside him, Felix smiling against his temple, Felix champagne drunk and willing to share his life, if only for six weeks. Every fibre of Oliver's being is willing it to work out, willing it to be more than just these six weeks -

Felix, Felix, Felix.

Except the minute he knocks on the doors of the house that looms so large he feels like he's about to be swallowed whole by it, he feels like he's failed a test. The look in the terrifying doorman's eyes, his tone of voice, the unflinching scrutiny when faced with Oliver's continual awkwardness and questions, makes him feel like he's failed several more in rapid succession.

Oliver's actually pretty sure he's never been quite so glad to see Felix as the exact moment he calls out to Oliver with absolute joy. Which is saying something. It's never felt like Felix is judging him, at least not in a way he can't pass. Thank fuck. Felix, in this moment, is the only one who matters, he tells himself.

That being said, Oliver had been expecting you to be by Felix's side when he'd come bounding in to save him from Duncan's scrutiny. That's generally where he's come to expect you. Not that he wasn't grateful for Felix giving the tour, it was just... unexpected.

Honestly, when you appear from a door on the other side of the long gallery, opposite Felix's bedroom, Oliver's surprised by how relieved he is to see you. The room you've exited seems to be themed in pale purple from the brief glimpse Oliver sees, and you've got a leather bound folder in your arms, but neither of those is nearly so interesting as the look in your eyes. Looking back, Oliver sees Felix lounging in his doorframe, looking between you both with patient amusement.

"Ollie!"

Oliver's pretty sure no-one in his life has ever sounded this excited to see him. The only person who comes closes would be Felix, five minutes ago.

"Ollie, oh Ollie - Fi, hold this," you pass off your folder to Felix, who of course takes it without argument, before Oliver's swept up in a tight hug, "you're early, you smell nice," you hug him so enthusiastically the two of you spin for a moment, before pulling back, holding him at arm's length like you're assessing the state of him. Instead, you beam, holding his hands as you turned to Felix, "Fi, Ollie's here! We love Ollie!"

This time when you meet Oliver's gaze, he's surprised to see not just love, but want. You'd worn that look in the weeks before the two of you had fucked, like all you could think about was how you'd once begged him to want you, and how he of course admitted he did. When had he started missing this look in your eyes? All he can think about is that night in the warmth of your bed, the way you'd sounded so fucking certain and needy - of course I want you - and how he can see it in your eyes again now. For a moment his mind and resolve is fuzzy; why had he ever stopped reaching out for you?

"We do love Ollie," Felix agreed with further amusement, and that's when he remembers. Except... this isn't the jealous version of Felix that had shown up in the aftermath. This was the Felix who'd brushed off Oliver's apologies about the whole ordeal on the bridge and proceeded to overtly, if jokingly, flirt with him. Already he feels just a touch more relaxed in this new dynamic that was being set up for the Summer.

Actually, Oliver, for just a second, thinks he may have died and gone to heaven.

"Fuck, Ollie, look at your nails," he hears next, however, and it immediately shatters the illusion as he pulls his hands away from you and your judgemental eyes.

"Don't be mean," Felix chides, and you look up with surprised, as if you hadn't realised your own less than complimentary tone. Looking between Oliver and Felix, there's apology in your eyes.

"Sorry Ollie," you're quick to offer, and he awkwardly tries to act like he's not embarrassed, "I'll give you a manicure, I can paint your nails; we can match!" You smiled brightly, hands pressed flat and warm to his chest all of a sudden, "I match Fi's shirt today; Farleigh painted my nails -" your eyes go wide as if you'd just remembered; "Farleigh; shit."

You run for the door to the blue room. Oliver, deeply confused, watches you go. Then, he hears Felix sigh with fond exasperation, holding out the leather folder. A moment later you burst through the door again.

"Documents. Shit. Thanks, Fi!"

And you're off again.

"Is this... how they normally are just at Saltburn?" Oliver finally asks with faint concern, looking from the door to Felix in the darkened doorframe.

"My lovely cousin is an atrocious influence on our dear Y/N," Felix said with incredible diplomacy. But Oliver's mind momentarily catches on the wording.

Our Y/N.

Just like before, a strange thrill, a rush; he remembers the look in your eyes when he'd first said 'Our Felix' to you. An exclusive kind of possessive, one you'd willingly share with Oliver. He liked this dynamic, he wondered how hard he'd have to push it to get beyond the simple semantics.

We love Ollie!

We do love Ollie.

Perhaps it wouldn't be too difficult at all.

"What do you mean?" He asks instead, and Felix turns to him with that same amused smile.

"They're fine, don't worry mate, they're just high is all," clearly Felix's feelings are mixed on the subject; Oliver knows he has no problems with getting high himself, so he suspects Felix cares more about Oliver's first impressions of his home and his family than he was wanting to let on. You were his right hand after all. There's something endearing about how much he seems to want Oliver to want to be here. Which he does, for the record.

"So this is your room?" Oliver enquires, shooting for brightness, despite the momentary awkwardness. He watches the tension leave Felix's shoulders. It's enough for Oliver, and his gaze drifts, roams around and tries to catalogue every single piece of Felix he can glean from the clutter. Even with an army of servants there's something unkempt about how he decorates the otherwise old and ornate space. CDs he'll spend time poring over, stacks of books, and trinkets, and tchotchkes. Felix even has a balcony; stone railings and enough decorative chairs, and even a lounge and small table, for company.

Here and there in the room itself, however, a few things seem out of place; shoes that didn't look like Felix's sitting neatly by the door, two dressing gowns, one maroon and tossed over the bed, the other in navy and draped more deliberately over the end of the bed. Two glasses of water, one on either side of the bed. Tell-tale signs that clue Oliver in before Felix even confirms it -

"Mine and Y/N's, yeah," he says it so easily, so nonchalantly, no bothering with pretence here at Saltburn, "you'll be staying just next door," Felix continues on with a wide, easy smile over his shoulder as he continued to flit through the rooms, catching light, voice echoing amongst the decorative walls.

"Bathroom," he offers, before turning, adding, "we're going to be sharing a bathroom, by the way, I hope you don't mind," and Oliver finds himself drawn to the sight of the ornate bath, as if on purposeful display in the middle of the room, "otherwise you'd be miles away on the other end of the house," Felix explains, continuing on without even considering his words as he says them. No, of course Oliver didn't mind.

All Oliver can think of is everything that simple sentence implied. Closeness. Implicit want. A sudden flash in Oliver's mind as Felix continues through to the dressing room, of sweat beading along skin and hands clutching desperately at the cool, porcelain edge of the tub, of water sloshing and spilling and overflowing, and the sound of breathless moaning -

He tries to focus, tries to simply watch Felix's hands as he taps idly on the red walls of the dressing room as he lead into what Oliver can only assume to be his room. He stays out of his head, leans into the moment, and lets himself relax as Felix gestures broadly, brightly, grinning from ear to ear.

"Your room!"

It's bright, all wide, open windows looking over the beautiful grounds of Saltburn, honey coloured wood and lamps that glow in such a way that he was reminded of Oxford. Already someone's brought his suitcase up, set it out at the end of the bed; he'd get to unpacking that later tonight, for now he took his time relaxing into the space. Felix had already sat himself down, seemingly at home in the old, wooden rocking chair, watching Oliver, almost like he was trying to hide his nervous anticipation.

"I'm really glad you're here, mate," for just a moment, Felix sounds more honest than he'd been since Oliver had arrived. There's something in his eyes that Oliver hadn't been anticipating, in the brief moment in which their gazes meet. There's a kind of arrogance, Oliver thinks, to calling even a sliver of it something like love, but it's adoration and appreciation nonetheless. It's gone in a flash, too brief to be anything serious, he thinks once more as Felix stands, "right, I will, er... I'll leave you to it."

And Oliver is quiet. It's a kind of reverence, or perhaps it reads like shock and awe at the whole place, but he listens quietly as Felix tells him about his mother's aversion to stubble and ugliness and piercings and -

"Anything else I should know about?" Finally he asks, sensing Felix was close to rambling on a nervous tangent. Thankfully, Felix actually seems relieved by the interruption, assuring him that there was nothing else to worry about.

Felix tells Oliver that he just needs to be himself, that his family will love him. That it's relaxed. Oliver loves Felix dearly, but doubts he, a man who rarely seems to be anything but relaxed, would be the best judge of that. Especially in a place like this. Still, Oliver smiles like he believes him, and watches the way Felix hangs himself back from the door on his heels, almost like a little kid, telling Oliver that his family will be in the library when he's ready.

Library?

His mental image of Saltburn grows with each moment. Soon it will overwhelm him, he's sure.

So he tries, just for the moment, to get acquainted with the room he's been given. His own, honey-coloured piece of Saltburn, if only for the Summer. Hopefully beyond, that dreamy little voice of want whispers in the back of his mind. Another flash of desire runs through him, the image of a quiet evening on Felix's balcony, a purple sky and a glass of scotch, book in one hand and Felix's head in his lap. He'd be too big for the little sofa, legs hanging off the edge, but he's comfortably fallen asleep with Oliver's fingers carding through his hair; when you drape yourself over Oliver's shoulders, there's loving affection in the way you call them 'your boys' -

God he'd been entertaining these fantasies for months, sure, almost since he'd met you and Felix, but never this vivid, never so detailed or hard to push away, to pretend like he'd never had them when he next tries to look you both in the eyes.

Yeah, me and Y/N's room. You're right next door. We'll be sharing a bathroom.

This is either going to be a dream, or the hardest Summer of his life. Pun entirely intended.

The room itself is rather charming, once Oliver finally breaks free of his own fantasies. Charming in a different way to the rest of the house, but in a way that was hard to put his finger on at first. Saltburn was like if a place could put on a performance of itself, none of it felt lived in, or at least, not for a very long time. Except Felix's room, it had his youth and carelessness that gave it a feeling of home, as, for some reason, did Oliver's.

Except then he sees them. Then he understands. There's space stickers on the top drawer of what he can only assume is the otherwise expensive bedside table. Some are peeled off, some even leaving the ugly, half-peeled, paper residue of planets and stars and little cartoon astronauts. The second of the two drawers is in much the same state, but depicting a faded sea creature theme. It's so unexpectedly, joyfully childish. There's two books in the top drawer, a collection of Edgar Allen Poe's short stories, and a copy of Emma. Oliver swallows hard, trying not to wonder what you must mean by that. Otherwise the drawers are empty, almost hotel-like in it's severe starkness.

There's other little things, however. Fairy lights curled up and around the headboard that glow a comforting, warm white once he finds their switch. A digital clock at odds with the rest of the room's aesthetics, red numbers glowing in the afternoon light. The painting on the wall above the bookshelf that looks far more modern than anything else he'd seen so far on the walls, a rich, blue night sky glittering with stars, and a dreamy silhouette of a figure with a cigarette almost glowing orange against the darkness. Despite the vagueness of the figure, there's a comfort, a kind of love with which they'd been captured that Oliver can somehow feel in his chest when he looks at it.

The little bookshelf itself in the corner is filled with titles he can imagine you specifically enjoying, but a few anomalies here and there - books on botany and Edwardian flower code stick out in particular. It's completed with a small stack of CDs and a CD player gathering dust on top. When he crouches down, however, he's surprised to see an old, portable cassette deck taking up space on the bottom row of the bookshelf, mostly hidden behind several stacks of what appeared to be blank cassette tapes, crammed into the very corner, almost out of sight.

How strange. How... human.

There is an echo of someone else in this room, but to his relief, it feels like you. For the barest moment, he almost feels like he's already home.

It's a short-lived feeling, however, as Felix's words come back to him once more. His reflection in the bathroom mirror as he carefully rids himself of even the barest traces of stubble, doesn't meet the standards he's sure the mother of Felix Catton must hold.

Oliver's never considered himself particularly beautiful, nor did pretty much anyone else, it had always seemed. His mother was of course biased, Felix was filled with too much affection to be considered anywhere near reliable about that sort of things, and you - something inside Oliver squirms almost with embarrassment for even thinking so poorly of himself in the past few moments. Maybe a face like his would make Felix's mum happy, if the look in your eyes meant anything, every time you saw him.

Oliver chooses to leave the way he was brought in, taking a long few moments in Felix's room, leaving it untouched, undisturbed, but treating it like a museum to his best friend, clues about his life he couldn't glean from conversation alone. Felix's bookshelves were bigger than yours, stacked with comics amid countless fantasy and adventure books, but a surprising number of cowboy and western titles, though it's not as if there appears to be any kind of sorting system. There's a ceramic bowl that looks hand made, full of faded wristbands for events all over the world for the past five years. There's a shoebox that apparently used to hold a pair of lady's runners, now sitting at the end of one row that now has 'A Stupid Box For Feefs Stupid Rocks <3' sharpied on top in handwriting he doesn't recognise. A thick textbook about space on the bottom shelf with a cracked, worn spine and sticky tabs seeming to note various pages, various guitar tab books for different, popular bands that Felix would definitely be interested in. Four decks of cards stacked on top of each other, boxes looking so worn and used they were practically falling apart.

For a very long time, Oliver finds himself caught, looking at the little cork board full of photos leaning on top of the bookshelf. Countless photos of Felix, Farleigh, Venetia, and Y/N throughout the years. He hadn't realised just how long you and Felix had even known each other. How long you'd practically been a fixture at Saltburn in the Summer. There's a photo of the four of you all in your bathers, laying asleep on the grass beside the lake, all next to each other on brightly coloured towels, none of you could have been older than twelve; you fit right in along with the rest of them.

There's a photo strip, the kind taken in a booth at a mall or a museum, that Oliver thinks he recognises, but it takes him a long moment of staring at it to figure out why. It's you and Felix, and the strip itself says it's from an aquarium. Smiling. Laughing. You blurry, covering your laughter as Felix looks particularly goofy and pleased with himself, as if he'd just told a stupid joke. The last one has been ripped off.

Oh. Right. He'd seen it while snooping through Felix's wallet a few months ago; the photo had been the reason he'd put the wallet back at all. The way the two of you were kissing in the final photo, so wrapped up in each other, and love, and joy, had made Oliver feel almost physically sick with both want and jealousy.

God, he has to leave, has to stop snooping again and actually find this library and the rest of the Cattons.

Walking through Saltburn's many rooms alone makes Oliver feel like he's constantly out of bounds at a museum. There's hints of life throughout the building, but they're few and far between compared to the ornamental, carefully curated decorations of each room. Even the hints of the Cattons themselves seemed... too purposeful. The little, animated 'Catton Family Players' puppet show is the kind of thing only rich, whimsical weirdos could ever think was charming, and not just bizarre, vain, and haunting in the same way that porcelain dolls were.

But then he hears laughter, and warm chatter from down a hall, and the tinny, purposeful shouting from what could only be a movie or TV show. It sounds so much like his own family's living room on a cheerful evening that it's almost relaxing. Almost.

Because as he's approaching, he realises they're talking about him. They're picking apart the life he'd fed Felix as if it were mere gossip, speaking so airily, their sentiment so clearly out of touch that he'd probably find it amusing if he didn't have to pretend to be living it. Briefly, he wonders if they spoke like this about your life, or if the novelty of you had worn off in the years before. Perhaps you were just glad they could focus their pity and unapologetic classicism on someone else for a change; he couldn't hear you in there, which surprised him. Maybe part of him had expected you to defend him the way you had back at Oxford. Maybe you don't feel like you can at Saltburn. At least Felix sounds embarrassed, irritated as he admonishes Farleigh for having told the rest of the family.

Before he enters the library where the rest of the family has gathered, Oliver pauses by the door, both to get a better idea of what they're already thinking about him, but also because he'd spotted someone watching him from one of the adjacent rooms.

Bleach blonde hair, stars clinging to the tights on her legs, she's reading a book that Oliver can't quite see the cover of. Venetia was written on the collar of the little, blonde puppet in the Catton Family Players; Oliver suspects this is her. Oliver thinks she could be considered very beautiful, if she didn't seem quite so sharp. The way she huffs a laugh and wears a dangerously amused smile after she'd taken her own time in analysing him seems to prove as much. That being said, Oliver's not sure if she's laughing at something about him, or about the fact that they can both clearly hear her family's disparaging remarks about his apparent upbringing.

"Farleigh seems to think he's ghastly," Oliver hears a woman say as his hand comes to rest on the door handle, "why are you and our dear pet even friends with him, darling?"

"Dirt poor, not attractive, and his parents are drug addicts," a second woman's voice seems to surmise as Oliver lets himself into the room, "I can't actually -" but Felix makes a noise as he sees the door opening, and the woman goes quiet as Oliver peers in.

"And here he is now," Farleigh sounds as thrilled as he ever was to see Oliver, "we were just talking about you," like he's trying his best to make Oliver feel as unwelcome as possible. It's... kind of working. Bastard. However looking over at him does solve one mystery; you and Farleigh are sharing a sofa at the back of the room that's only just big enough for the both of you as long as you're tucked up against him, his arm slung over the back of the chair behind you.

And you're fast asleep against him.

The blonde woman on the sofa who shares Felix's elegant, effortless beauty admonishes Farleigh, even though Oliver can tell from her voice she was one of the ones very much talking about him only moments before. Oliver has the grace to pretend like he hadn't heard, though is still glad for the vaguely embarrassed, apologetic look Felix is already giving him.

This has to be Felix's mother, the blonde with the airy voice who immediately gets up to greet him, to assess him.

"Oh, what beautiful eyes," oh thank god, "oh, how wonderful!" There's genuine surprise and adoration in the way Felix's mother regards him, and Oliver can't help but feel relieved, like he's finally passed the first of what he's sure will be many tests during his life at the Saltburn estate.

"Yeah, we told you he wasn't a minger," Felix pointed out when his mother turns to him.

"Oh, but darling, you and pet are kind about everyone; neither of you can be trusted about those you're fond of." Pet? Does she mean Y/N? Suddenly Farleigh's comments over the months make a strange amount of sense. At the very least Oliver's heart begins to sing at the idea of you and Felix speaking so kindly of him to the others that they know you're both especially fond of him... And you both seem to think he's beautiful enough that you mention it when he's not around. Huh.

But yes, the moment the woman explains her aborrance of ugliness Oliver knows he's talking to Felix's mother. At least she seems to like him well enough, going so far as to ask if he'd seen Venetia yet, that even she'd been dying to see him, but had chosen to drape herself around the house as if laying in wait for him. Indeed that's how it had seemed when he'd spotted her earlier, but none of them have let Oliver get a word in edgewise.

Felix's father is the next to introduce himself, all long limbs and warm handshake to match his smile, just like his son. When he asks Oliver about his trip to the estate, Oliver finally breathes, can finally respond.

"Oh, God, don't with the 'sirs'," Felix's mother waves him over to sit down, insisting, "no, no, no, we can't stand anything like that here," though her outburst seems to have been enough to rouse you. As Oliver sits, he hears, syrupy and warm with sleep from behind him -

"Ollie!" As you had each time since he's arrived, you sound so genuinely delightful. Farleigh makes a noise in the back of his throat. Oliver turns in time to see you elbow Farleigh in the ribs.

"I liked you better when you were asleep."

"Fars," your voice drops low, like a warning, and Oliver's surprised by how sharply Farleigh looks away, jaw clenching tightly, "be good." Oliver almost thinks Farleigh might be angry, but then he sees the gentle way Farleigh's holding your shoulder, thumb rubbing circles against your upper arm; from what Oliver can see, he realises Farleigh's expression is almost embarrassed -

"Children, stop bickering," Felix's mother orders brightly, and your expression returns to unbothered and chipper as you refocus on Oliver.

"Hi Ollie," again, then as more of an offer to the rest of the room, "isn't he just lovely?" Oliver flushes, but gives you a fond smile, even as you settle back against Farleigh. Even though Farleigh persists with glaring at him, when he turns back, he rests his cheek against your head, oozing malevolence as he seemingly tucks himself against you too. But he does indeed remain quiet.

After the altercation passes, Oliver gets a brief introduction to one of the other house guests at Saltburn, Pamela, brief being the operative word as she's quickly sent away to ask about tea from one of the staff members at Felix's mother's insistence. Pamela herself doesn't exactly seem confident in the task, but that's once again when you speak up. Much to Oliver's surprise, you give a detailed physical description of the woman - Annie - and succinct directions to the kitchen itself, following it up with a yawn and -

"The Irish one, a bit mousy, might have trouble meeting your gaze but she's nice enough."

Pamela looks far more confident thanks to your directions. Oliver's genuinely shocked at your level of detail and knowledge, but everyone else seems to be so casually used to it.

"She is a bit like that, isn't she?" Felix's mother muses with an idle air, and when Oliver glances back at you, you still have your eyes closed, as if close to falling back asleep, while Farleigh has his faint, fond laughter pressed against your temple.

Before Oliver can even reckon with the moment that had just come to pass, Felix's mother is regaling him with all of Pamela's dirty laundry, before she dives right into pitying Oliver himself, and the sob story of his life and most recent 'tragedy' she's heard.

She looks at him just the same way Felix had. He think of the moment he'd decided to commit to this Dickensian kayfabe, that day in the pub when Felix's eyes were fixed on him, all pity and desire and a desperate need to fix, to save, to be a light in Oliver's life. The way this woman speaks, the way she looks at him in this moment, makes Felix Catton make total and complete sense. Something inside Oliver relaxes; she would not be hard won.

As they circle back around to the tragedy of poor Pamela, however, something about what Farleigh says, pointing out that the tragedy of her was the only interesting thing about her, sticks in the back of Oliver's mind.

Being beautiful and tragic would only ever get him so far, would only ever make him a novelty. It takes another glance back at you for him to realise a little more of why you behaved the way you did; tragic and beautiful and useful. That's the thought that turns over in his mind, even as Felix's mother starts her line of questioning about the sordid details of his upbringing, and Venetia joins them only to stare at him like a bug, and Farleigh only seems to be holding himself back from outright contempt at your behest. You are once again asleep. At least Felix makes a token effort to reprimand his mother, not that it appears to make much of a difference.

Oliver offers what little he can get away with, and feels only relief when Felix insists they start getting ready for dinner. Oliver practically bolts, he doesn't even wait for Felix like he probably should have, just desperately hoping he's got the right door to his own room. Clearly he has, swearing when he's finally in his little piece of sanctuary, but after a beat he realises that even that has been breached.

His suitcase is no longer at the foot of his bed.

In another moment, the door that connects his room to the bathroom squeaks open and there's two more people in his room without bothering to even knock. At least Felix is apologising for his mother. Part of Oliver thinks he should have expected the Cattons to be exactly as out of touch as this house implied, that he should have braced himself better, that it's not Felix's fault, but the apology is still nice.

Also he's rather distracted by the fact that all of his clothes have been organised neatly in the old, wooden cupboard.

"Did someone unpack my suitcase?" Oliver hears himself ask distractedly. Looking back when Felix makes a noise of guilt, he sees Felix sitting on the edge of his bed with an apologetic smile, and you next to him, laying back on the bed and looking at the ceiling.

"Uh, shit, yes, I should have told you," Felix admits, "they do that kind of thing here." Rich, whimsical weirdos, the lot of them, "the maids all report back to mum, by the way," Felix informs him, while you're just quietly swinging your legs off the edge of the bed. Felix's tone turns teasing, however, "so I hope you didn't pack anything scandalous." Oliver leans on the wooden foot of the bed, into Felix's space with an amused smile at the thought - pushing his luck, pushing into Felix's space to play off of the idea of scandal, so close to Felix and his mischievous smile. Felix leans back, the tease, giving Oliver space to quietly say -

"Just my old boxers."

You snicker. Felix grins.

"No, they're used to that, don't worry," but then Felix is up again, almost too close, looking at Oliver like he knows this is all some kind of joke, like he know - like he wants Oliver to keep looking at him, at his teasing smile, at his lips like that, "Duncan will be thrilled." Like this is all a game. Oliver snorts a laugh.

But the moment doesn't last, and Felix is moving again, getting up, telling Oliver a new rule - ahead of time this time. Dinner at Saltburn is an event you dress for, with the kind of dress code that requires a dinner jacket and cuff links and - Oliver would be properly embarrassed if it didn't mean he got to wear Felix's spare jacket. Felix seems almost embarrassed by it all, his casual nature clearly butting heads with the formality of his heritage. In this moment he almost seems childish, it's rather sweet. Judging by your smile, you're endeared by his behaviour without even having to see it; you hadn't even thought to sit up; your eyes have fallen closed, as if basking in this moment.

Oliver watches you, the way you radiate contentment. You were not born into Saltburn, but you'd made it your home. You'd won the love of Felix Catton, and a place in his life, that no-one else had managed to achieve. Hope was a beautiful thing, and you were both in this moment.

"I'm really happy you're here, Ol," Felix finally murmured, and finally Oliver believes him, "I'm sorry everything's so... old fashioned."

"No," Oliver's voice is soft, "it's wonderful."

The pleased smile Felix wears as he heads through to his own room makes everything about this strange, ritualistic, obsessive, critical world worth it. Over his shoulder, he asks if you'll be coming through too, and you tell him you'll catch up in a second. Felix closes the door over quietly, and after a moment, Oliver joins you, laying back on the bed.

"I like your room," Oliver breaks the silence after a moment. After a moment, a hum that's more like a contented laugh escapes you. You mumble a thanks; it's been a few hours since he'd seen you initially, your chatter had died down considerably, it seemed like you'd sobered up a good deal in the afternoon that had just passed.

There's a million things Oliver wants to say in this moment, things he wants to do, questions he has about you, about Felix, about Saltburn.

"It's not-" he finally starts, voice so soft as he finally turns to you, "it wasn't your fault, by the way."

When you turn to meet his gaze, there's surprise and confusion in your eyes, clearly not sure what he was referring to. Its been a long time now since he'd deliberately reached out for you, since you'd slept together, since Felix had first started giving him resentful looks. Things are better now. Much better.

"What?"

All it takes is a deliberate, gentle touch, his hand taking yours, apology in his eyes. Its enough to acknowledge that he'd spent time pulled away from you, that you weren't crazy to think that, and that you weren't at fault.

Oliver's always liked watching you process things, at least when you allow the world to see it happen on your face, not making an effort to hide it. You look down at his hand on yours, grip loose like more of a reassurance; raising your joined hands like you can't quite believe the sight, he takes the opportunity to link your fingers. It wasn't your fault.

Looking deliberately back at the ceiling, he gives you the time and space to process this development without feeling so watched.

"Oh," you mumble quietly, finally, "it's..." you give his hand a squeeze, "thanks?" Oliver smiles, and knows you see it, can see in his peripheries the way you're watching him now, but when he goes to withdraw his hand, you hold him tighter for just a beat, as if on instinct, before you let him go.

"Can I be bold for a moment?" He breaks the moment, breaks the tension, voice light and inquisitive.

"I like your boldness, Ollie, you know that," you respond automatically, matching his energy easily. Sitting up, Oliver turns to fix you with a scrutinising look for a long moment, and you wait, you watch him with eyebrows raised and an amused smile painted across your lips.

"You're sleeping with Farleigh," it's not a question. Your smile grows wider and far more smug.

"Ollie - Oliver - look at me," you prop yourself up on one elbow, gesturing down at your body, "look at where we are," you gesture around at the bedroom itself, "how many Summers do you think unrelated teenagers in close proximity, growing steadily more attractive with each passing year, can get through without ending up deciding to fuck to pass the time?"

Oliver, charmed by your blunt confidence, can't help but laugh, while also being able to connect enough dots to the implication that he should expect you to be just as close to Felix's sister too. You join him in his laughter, finally sitting yourself up. Oliver knocks his knee with yours, deliberate, and watches with a kind of fondness as you immediately focus on the moment of brief contact. You'd missed him, just as he'd anticipated.

But the laughter dies down, and you finally stand, sighing that you should probably get yourself ready for dinner too. Before stepping away, you lean back down with a wide, goofy smile that reminds Oliver a bit of Felix, and gently grasp his chin, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. Oliver, a little startled by the gesture but welcoming it nonetheless, feels want burn through his veins momentarily as he watches you head to the door.

"Oh, Ollie, there's some stuff under the sink for you," you yawned and stretched and Oliver tried desperately not to stare at the way your shirt rode up, "shampoo, toothpaste, contacts; junk like that, you know, just in case." Wait, what was that last one?

"Contacts?"

"Yeah," like it was perfectly fucking reasonable, your hand on the door, "in case you didn't bring any or you ran out - there's actually a spare pair of glasses as well, if you'd prefer. Same frames as yours, I wasn't sure-"

"You know my prescription?"

"Yeah?"

"How...?"

You go quiet. You shrug. Its not a real answer.

Right; a magician never reveals their secrets. Its not particularly reassuring for a man lying about a large portion of his life.

For now Oliver just tries to remind himself of the way you look at him, the way you want him, the way he loves you, for who you are, for all you can do.

"Thank you," he says quietly, gives you a smile and hopes you believe it, "you're good to me." He's not sure what about that surprises you, but he catalogues this in the back of his mind. There's something beautiful and, he suspects, rare, about catching you off guard. But your next words are enough to return the favour, have his heartbeat in his ears, hopeful and quick as a humming bird right before you leave.

"Of course I am, Ollie, I love you."

And he's not sure why, but he believes you.

[thetempleofthemasaigoddess]

Let me breathe for you (part 2)

Merman!Shanks x reader. This is part two of two, part one is here!

*****

And you don’t forget the disappointment, at least in the next four months, a length of time during which you go on with your life, trying to feel satisfied and happy with what you have (succeeding, for the most part) and to forget your meeting with the merman (failing miserably). 

Part of you feels the urge to return to the beach every day, and spend all day there, even sleeping in the grotto, in the absurd, shameful hope he might return, to leave a new message or to apologise for not waiting for you. You order yourself to resist, since you don’t want to waste the rest of your years waiting for something that has an infinitesimal probability to happen, but on the other hand you don’t want the memory of the merman to keep you from one of your favourite places; in the end, you decide to keep frequenting the beach as often as you did beforehand, no more nor less, and when you do you can’t help hoping to see him, even if just an azure tail fin peeking among the waves, or the shadow of a bright red head disappearing under the surface, or to find a new message written on the ground in the grotto.

You never do. 

In time, resentment gives way to resignation; you know in your heart you will never see the merman again, since it would be extremely dangerous for him to return and wait for you at the beach, and you have no idea what his life in the depth of the sea is like, but you feel confident, for some reason, he will never forget you, what you shared and what you have done for him, just like you will forever carry the memories of that day in your heart. It is not enough, not by a long shot; but it does make you feel content, at least a little. 

Your sister, on her part, must have noticed how quiet and melancholic you became for a few weeks; having suspected you had a new paramour, who you had gone meeting on that morning, she probably thinks the two of you have parted ways, but never asks questions, something for which you are more than grateful. There is not much of your life you haven’t shared with her, but you have promised the merman you wouldn’t tell anyone about your meeting, and you are determined to keep your word. You could tell your sister you had met a castaway, and grown fond of him as you took care of his wound and helped him hide from the, er, pirates who were chasing him, fond enough you couldn’t help feeling dejected when he left without saying goodbye; she would understand, and it wouldn’t be a lie, all things considered. But you don’t, reluctant to share that precious memory even with the person you love most in the world, and in time things go back the way they were before, which reassures your sister you have gotten over whatever pain you have suffered and all is well again.

Which is; even though something has changed in you, a new feeling that has entered your life and that for a while you can’t even give a name to. It is not exactly sadness, or discontent; you like your life, with the family you love and your work, a source of great satisfaction and joy, but for the first time, during your walks on the beach or even just as you look out of the window of your bedroom, you look at the sea and feel… what? Boredom? Restlessness? The curiosity to know the peoples and the lands beyond it, not just by hearsay or reading the paper, but with your own eyes, living what until now you have only known indirectly?

You can’t, obviously; you know of more young men and women whose thirst for adventure led them to set sail towards exotic lands than you can count, but you are not that sort of person, you are an adult, with a job and responsibilities, and you are sadly aware that many of those thrill-seekers travellers never return home, even when someone needs and is waiting for them. So many times you have blamed him in your heart for what he did; how could you do the same mistake, especially now that your sister needs your help caring for her family? A life on the sea is not for you, no matter how exciting it would be.

A life on the sea… and under the sea, that is where your merman lives, and what you would also like to explore, the depths that none of your people have ever seen and lived to tell about it, that are said to hide fabulous treasures and be inhabited by creatures beyond your wildest imagination, like the one who had bitten his arm of. How lovely it would be to see it, to have your friend guide you in exploring the most mysterious parts of the ocean, perhaps after some merfolk magic had transformed your legs into a long, sea-blue tail…   

Oh, stop it, (name). It can never happen; it won’t happen, and ignoring this will only make you miserable. Just be happy with what you have.

And so, months pass; word of mouth earns you a few important clients from a nearby town, and their commissions, including a wedding dress you spend a whole month working on, allow you to put aside a discrete amount of money that could be enough for a deposit if you ever decided to go live on your own… or to buy a ticket towards a far away land. No matter how satisfied and content you are with your life, for the first time you do feel the desire, if not exactly the need, to leave, and explore the world beyond the small island you call home; it would be more than a little hypocritical of you to leave for an adventure around the world, given all the years you have spent blaming him for having done the same, and all the resentment you have felt ever since you saw his ship departing, never to return, but after all this is your life, something you are answerable to no one about, and doesn’t one have the right to change their mind after so many years? After all you shouldn’t necessarily risk your life sailing to uncharted waters or visiting lawless islands, you could simply treat yourself to a long holiday and then return, safe and sound, to the safety of your own home, your horizons expanded and your thirst for knowledge sated…

You don’t share your… doubts -it’s still too early to call them projects- with your sister, but she knows you too well not to perceive you are thinking deeply about something, and one evening, as you are both sitting at the kitchen table, you busy mending a tiny shirt your older nephew has torn playing and she writing a letter, your sister tries to gently push you in what she thinks is the right direction.

“I met a client of yours today; he mentioned that a friend of his, the captain of a merchant vessel, is looking for a nursemaid for his son.” she casually, too casually, mentions without lifting her eyes from the paper “He’d be away for at least six months, and the pay would be more than generous.”

Silence.

“You should propose yourself, (name); I am sure mr…”

“I am a seamstress, not a nursemaid.” you point out, still focused on your stitches; you know roughhousing is normal for children your nephew’s age, but did he really have to choose the day his mother had him wear his best shirt to challenge his friends to a fight to the death? “Even a dry one.”

“I don’t think the child is that young; and you have been a mother to my boys as much as I have, you are more than experienced enough. (name)...”

“No.”

“It would do you a world of good. See new places, meet new people…”

“I am perfectly content with the places and people I know already.” you retort, more brusquely than you are used to when you talk to her; you immediately regret it, but it’s too late to stop the words from pouring out “Not to mention I already have a job, and a long list of commissions. I can’t very well leave everything to go gallivanting around the sea.”

Your sister softly points out that if you accepted the nursemaid job now you’d still have time to finish the jobs you have already accepted before having to depart with your new master, and she doubts you’d have lost many clients if -I mean, when- you ever decided to return. 

“Are you trying to get rid of me?” 

“Don’t be daft, (name); you know we have no words to thank you for all the help you give us with the house and the children. But… but there is more to life than this.” she says as she takes your hands in hers; she forces you to look at her, and her eyes, as earnest and kind as you remember his being, are enough to make you feel about to cry “I know my life is here, with my husband and my children, and I am satisfied with it; I have never wanted differently. But you… I know you have been restless for a while -no, don’t try to deny it, I’m your sister, I know your heart- and I also think… if you remain, it is less because you are actually satisfied with your life here, and more because…”

“Don’t say it.”

“... because of dad. I know you are still angry with him for leaving us, and I’m not saying you are wrong, but you don’t have children, and we would be all right…”

“You can’t know it!” 

You have shouted, loud enough to wake the children, who are still young enough to valiantly resist any attempt to put them to bed before they decide it is time, but you don’t care, because you are angry, yes, you are furious, still with your father and right now a little bit with her as well. “What if something happens to them while the two of you are at work, and I’m not there to protect them? What if your husband loses his job while I’m away, and you can’t support the family on your own? Father left us when we needed him the most; we were still so young, he was everything we had, and he preferred his travels to us!”

“But we are not children anymore.” your sister quietly points out; the loss of your father was perhaps even harder on her than it was on you, considering she was the older and she felt responsible for you, but she never felt any resentment towards him, which is why, perhaps, you have felt enough for both “We are adults, old enough to make our own choices. (name)... you know how much we appreciate and rely on you, but we’re not going to end up in the streets just because you leave; no meteorite is going to fall on the house, killing us all, as soon as you look the other way.”  

You frown. “Now you’re making fun of me.”

“I am not and you know it. I just don’t want you to waste your life…”

“I am not wasting my life. I don’t want to leave; I’m happy here. Adventures and danger, that is not my thing; it wasn’t father’s thing either, since it ended up killing him.” you conclude sadly; you are justifying yourself, and that makes you even angrier, because you have done nothing wrong, dammit! What is so wrong with wanting a safe, predictable life? “I am not refraining from leaving because I hated our father for doing that; I am just learning from his mistakes, like the mature person I like to think I am. I know you are trying to help me…”

“I am; (name), if only you gave yourself a chance…”

“... and I am grateful, but I’d really like it if we could stop talking about it, and never do it again. Please?”

Your sister nods, clearly saddened to have upset you; you kiss her on the cheek, to reassure her you’re no longer angry, and return to your chair, and your mending, while your sister finishes writing and letter and then leaves you alone. 

The last, lingering warmth of summer gives way to the arrival of a rigid autumn, the quickly worsening weather and shorter days making you feel vaguely melancholic, no matter how pretty the trees in their fall colours are, and how pleasant the evenings spent around the fire at home drinking your sister’s famous mulled cider. You’ll be happier when winter comes; abundant snowfalls that are quite common on your island, and you’re never too old to play snowballs with your nephews and go skating on the frozen lake.

Today you wake up early as usual, lingering in the warmth of your bed only for a moment before rising to begin your day. Sent the children to school, you prepare to visit a client’s house to drop off two skirts you had tightened at the waist for her, and to take measurements for another dress; the lady in question is among your hardest to please clients, but she always pays generously, and you are determined to do a good job. You retrieve your gloves and heavy coat from the wardrobe, and as you reach the front door you notice a white envelope on the mat, clearly fallen from the mailbox: it contains a very elegant invitation, printed on good quality paper and addressed to you, for a party scheduled for next week… a party given by mr. Dracule Mihawk, one of the notables of the town. 

Well, this is surprising, you reflect as you place the invitation in your bag, careful not to damage it; both the fact that mr. Mihawk is hosting a party, given his famously reserved, almost antisocial personality, and his decision to invite you. He is one of your most faithful clients, considering all the times he has had you buy precious fabrics to make elegant suits and coats, and he does often compliment your abilities as a seamstress and embroiderer, but the two of you never had a relationship beyond what is strictly required by his patronage. 

Still, a party invitation is not something to disdain, especially when you haven’t attended one in months; you’ll ask your sister to accompany you, if her husband can take care of the children for the evening, and while a week is too short a time to make a new dress from scratch, you’ll have plenty of time to make sure you are both suitably attired. There was some velvet you had, left over from a commission, you could use to embellish your best dress, and she owns a shawl that would be perfect if only you decorated it with beads or a fringe… 

Feeling in high spirits, you finally leave for your client’s house, shivering in the cold under the quickly darkening sky; an hour later, having taken care of your first errand, you are walking towards the market to buy a few things before your next appointment when something enters your field of sight only for a moment… and you stop. 

The building you are walking next to is an art shop, with paintings and other art objects on sale, pretty but devoid of any real value for the most part; you have never paid much attention to it, but suddenly you feel unable to move, and to look away from a painting in the window… a marine landscape, with a merman in the foreground.

“Do you like it, (name)?” the shop owner, a former schoolmate of your sister’s, asks from the door; an easy enough question to answer, but still you struggle to talk, still focused on the painting.

“I… yes, it’s very pretty. Is it yours?” 

“Not that one; another shop was closing and I bought some of their stuff in bulk. I have no idea who painted it, but it has been on that window for weeks and no one even glanced at it; perhaps a marine scene is a boring subject, given the fact we live on an island.”

“Hmm…”

The painting is clearly not a masterpiece worthy to be displayed in a museum, even someone who has never cared for art like you can tell, but it does have an unassuming, simple beauty to it. The roaring sea is painted in all of its dangerous magnificence, all shades of blue used to represent the high combers rising from the surface, sprays of foam covering the iron-grey sky. And in front of that chaotic backdrop, relaxed and almost detached as he contemplates the turmoil behind him, there is a merman, his gaze lifted as if in challenge, lying on the beach. He has two perfectly normal arms, one propped behind him and one abandoned in his lap in a vaguely sensual pose, and his hair is blonde instead of red; but his long tail, stretched in front of him, is exactly the same blue-green of that of your friend, brighter than the vast expanse in front of him, and while you can’t see his face, you are sure the merman in the painting is smiling, the sort of open, brave and amused smile you still carry in your heart to this day, five months after your first and only meeting, and that you know you’ll never forget, no matter how sad and disappointed you felt when he left without saying good-bye. The merman is not afraid of the storm, and why should he be? The sea is his home; no matter how violent the current, or high the waves, he’ll always find his way back, even if he swam at the other side of the ocean.

How you wish it would be the same for you. And maybe it would, but you’re too scared to find out.

You awake from that daydream, both wishful thinking and fond memory, only when a shiver passes through your body; the day is chilly, and you still have many errands to run before returning home, to warm yourself in front of the fire.

Still, you don’t let the cold distract you. “How much?”

“Sorry?”

“This painting, with the… stormy sea. How much does it cost?”

The shop owner, who had lost any hope to sell the painting, asks for a more than reasonable but still significant price, that you nonetheless readily pay, before leaving the shop with your purchase under your arm. That night you gently decline your brother-in-law’s help, and hang the painting on the wall of your room, placed so that it is the first thing you see after opening your eyes in the morning, and the last before falling asleep; looking at it, and remembering the unexpected meeting with the same creature immortalised on canvas, does make you feel vaguely melancholic, but you also remember how happy and excited you felt that day, and that is what matters the most. 

A week passes, and finally it is the evening of the party at Mihawk’s residence, just a few minutes walk from your home; your brother-in-law is not working tonight, which allows you and your sister to go out and have fun. You have renovated  both your best dress and hers, and you must admit you both look very good, enough to attend what will undoubtedly be a very exclusive gathering.

“I still can’t understand why Mihawk invited me.” you mention as the two of you walk arm in arm down the walkway of the stately villa, festively decorated for the occasion; lit torches illuminate the garden, and judging from the sweet music wafting from the inside of the building the orchestra has already been put to work “I mean, I’ve known him for years and I know he appreciates my creations, but I doubt he also invited his gardner, or the man who painted his walls.”

“Well, perhaps it’s because he cares more about his clothes than about plants or the state of his walls.” your sister suggests; she stops to wave to a couple of acquaintances walking in the opposite direction, and then smiles “Or perhaps he cares… about you.”

The mere idea makes you laugh; you have met Mihawk often enough not to be intimidated by his severe attitude -not too much, at least- but you never had reason to suspect he is interested in you. “That’s absolutely preposterous.”

“No, it’s not. He’s unmarried, you’re unmarried, and a party would be the perfect occasion to move from a strictly professional relationship to a more intimate one. After we thank him for the invitation I’ll make sure to leave you alone with him.”

“Don’t you dare…”

The sound of peaceful chatters fills the air; waiters in uniform move among the guests, offering flutes and refreshments. Some women’s dresses are much more elegant than your and your sister’s, but you feel no embarrassment, determined to simply enjoy the evening without feeling out of place or outshined. 

Mihawk is standing by the villa’s open double doors, welcoming the guests as they arrive; he seems vaguely bored, which makes you wonder why he hosted the party in the first place, but his yellow eyes, so similar to those of a bird of prey, immediately fix on you, as if he had waited for your arrival, as if he considered it important for some reason. What is happening?, you wonder; Mihawk is not in love with you, you are sure of it, you doubt he actually cares about you beyond your abilities with needle and thread, and you cannot begin to comprehend why he wanted you at his party.

“Good evening, mr. Dracule; thank you for inviting us.”

“Miss (name); miss (sister’s name). Welcome, thank you for coming.” he answers, polite but dispassionate as usual, with a small bow of his head; he is wearing an elegant black suit with red and yellow roses embroidered on the sleeves and the sides, a suit you are responsible for creating; the fact that he decided to wear for an important occasion makes you quite proud. You are about to excuse yourself and mingle with the other guests, but Mihawk is quicker and “Miss (name), may I have a moment of your time?” he asks. 

You can feel, rather than see, your sister smiling broadly next to you, as if she expects Mihawk to take advantage of that moment of privacy to ask for your hand.

“Of course.” you answer, perfectly aware you have no polite way to refuse, and let the host’s hand at the small of your back guide you along an empty corridor; whatever reason Mihawk had to want you at his party you’re going to find out in a minute, and the prospect doesn’t exactly scare you, but for some reason you can’t help feeling tense…

Mihawk remains silent until you reach a room, a small library empty except for one person, and as soon as that person turns to look at you, a strangled cry escapes your lips. 

“You!”

“Hello, (name).” the merman answers, his smile as open and happy as you remember it to be, albeit with a touch of uncertainty it didn’t have during your first meeting “I wasn’t sure you… remembered me…”

Of course, because you have met so many creatures half-man and half-fish in your life you could get confused. Before you can utter a reply, Mihawk attracts your attention with a discreet cough. “I’ll take my leave.” he announces, and the merman nods, understanding evident between the two of them. 

“Thank you, my friend.”

You remain still, and silent, until the master of the house has left, closing the door behind him; as soon as you are alone, you march towards the merman, already sure it is him, no matter how inexplicable his presence on dry land is, but eager to take a closer look. He lets you observe him, patiently waiting without speaking, smiling softly as you can’t stop staring at his legs.

His legs. Long and strong, perfectly proportioned, clad in a pair of dark brown trousers, normal black shoes on his feet. It is clearly him, you would be ready to bet everything you own, your very soul, on it; how could you ever forget that smile, and that bright red hair? Still, the creature in front of you is clearly human, and you are completely stunned, afraid to discover this is only a dream you will soon wake from feeling more lonely and dejected than ever, but despite the turmoil in your heart, the most intense, overwhelming emotion in your heart is joy, pure and simple elation, because you missed him so much, and seeing him again, even though perhaps simply in a dream, is enough to make you happy…

“It is me, (name).” he gently murmurs in the end, taking your hand in his; you let him, but at the same time you glare menacingly, determined not to let him go unpunished.

“I know it’s you. I also know you had… if not exactly promised, made me believe I would still find you there at the grotto the morning after we met; I arrived at dawn with the food and the bandages for you, and stood there gawping! I was worried for you, you know? I feared those fishermen had found you and taken you away!”

The merman -the man, now, you assume- listens to your complaints without arguing, looking at least properly chastised. 

“I’m sorry I hurt you; especially after everything you had done to help and protect me.” he murmurs in the end; you can feel his thumb rubbing circles on the back of your hand, a perhaps not fully conscious gesture that fills your heart with a tenderness you order yourself not to give in - yet; as your sister can attest, you don’t forgive easily “I did want to wait for you, but… my friends found me shortly before you were due to arrive, and convinced me it was safer for both if I left and returned home.”

“Hmm…”

“This is why - well, this is one of the reasons why I asked Mihawk to invite you; I wanted to talk to you, and tell you how sorry I am.”  

You sigh, aware of his sincerity, and of the fact you are so happy to see him again you have already forgotten your resentment. “I guess you had good intentions, at least. Are… are you alright? Your wound, I mean.”

Another smile. Darn it, how could you stay crossed with him?! “I am perfectly healthy, thank you. My doctor said your stitches were very well made, especially for a person who had received no medical training.”

“That is good to hear. I…” you sigh, feeling a sudden, unexplained shiness enveloping you “I don’t even know your name.”

“You’re right; how rude of me. I am Shanks.” he says with an elegant bow; when he brings your hand to his mouth, you can feel his breath on your fingers “Captain Shanks of the Red Force, at your service.”

The name suits him. You quickly learn that Shanks’ ship is a merchant vessel, and that they plan to remain in town until spring; Mihawk is an old friend of his, and decided to host the party to introduce him and his crewmates to the town.

“He must be very fond of you, then.” you mention, thinking how usually reserved and solitary your client and host is.

“He is, even though he’s also very good at hiding it.”

Shanks smiles. “You must have even more questions than on our first meeting.” he mentions gently, and you nod, admitting the need to know is so intense you feel ready to burst. 

“Maybe… maybe we could walk in the garden as we talk.” Shanks suggests, and for a moment he seems the shy one, as if afraid his proposal could be misinterpreted - or worse, refused “I’ll tell you all I can, I promise, but this is not the sort of talk you can have among so many people.”

You could remain in the library, since you doubt any of the invitees would feel the need for a book as they converse pleasantly and sip champagne; but a walk in the garden is a much more pleasant option.

“I’d really like that.”

You leave the room together; your sister, standing by the buffet table with a few people she’s acquainted with, meets your gaze just in time to see Shanks offering you his arm, and you accepting it gladly. 

“Here you are, (name); I saw Mihawk on his own, but I see you already found company.” she mentions with the sort of meaningful look only two sisters can share, as she looks at Shanks with interest “Who is your friend?”

“This is Shanks; Shanks, this is my sister.” you quickly introduce them, happy to see two people you are so fond of meeting each other. 

“Such a pleasure.” he politely greets her with another of those lovely, disarming smiles of his “I am sorry I stole (name) from you.”

“It’s not a problem, (name) is old enough to go where she pleases. Have you… just met or…?”

“Actually we first became acquainted a few months back.” Shanks explains “(name) was walking on a beach out of town when he found me; a group of bandits had assaulted me and left me for dead. Hadn’t it been for her help, I may not be here today. We had agreed to meet on the next morning, so that I could thank her in full and she could make sure I was well looked after, but I let my friends convince me we better depart immediately. I just arrived in town, so I wanted to apologise to her.”

“I see.” your sister murmurs; she has listened intently to Shanks’ explanation, and when her gaze shifts on you, you know she’s thinking back to that night, when seeing you singing happily to yourself made her wonder whether you had a new gentleman friend, and to how heartbroken you had looked returning home on the next morning, after the person you had gone to meet hadn’t come. She now knows that person is Shanks, and she must also have a thousand questions to ask you, but wisely decides to wait for a more appropriate moment. Is everything alright?, she asks you without the need to utter a word, as it has always been between the two of you, and you smile in return, which is enough to satisfy her. 

You and Shanks spend a few minutes with your sister, who then lets the two of you go, winking at you behind her shoulder.

“She must love you very much.” Shanks mentions as the two of you reach the gardens, away from the small, noisy crowd that fills the villa; a few people you walk past turn to look at you, openly staring at the stump of his arm visible under his black cape, but Shanks doesn’t seem to notice “I think she was ready to pounce on me, if she only had the impression I was bothering you.”

Imagining the scene makes you giggle. Despite the chill of the evening, you expected more of the attendees would have chosen to walk in the gardens, but that solitude is perfect for you and your companion, since it leaves you free to talk without fear of being heard. Shanks waits for you to sit on a bench under a large tree before taking a seat beside you. 

“What are you?” you ask half a moment later; you perceive the question could be considered rude, but you can’t help yourself. You have waited for this moment for five months!

Shanks laughs softly, amused rather than offended. “You don’t beat about the bush, do you?” he asks “Well, I am a merman; but I am also a human. I can shift between the two forms as I want, my legs transforming into a tail and vice-versa.”

“I see.” you answer numbly, struggling to come to terms with yet another revelation due to the amazing, astonishing man next to you. Ever since you met him you have felt your world expanding, as well your desire to know it beyond the reassuring walls of your tiny and predictable existence, and it scares you… and it makes you happy, just like he does “I had never heard about anything like this - like you. I mean, there are legends and stories about mermaids and mermen, but I never heard of a creature capable of transforming like you do.”

“It’s a fact we tend to keep secret, as well as that of our very existence.”

“There are others like you?”

It is the sort of question Shanks had gently refused to answer on your first meeting, given the fact every information about his kind he shared could put him in danger, but his hesitation seems to have disappeared.

“A few; not many, unfortunately, as far as I know, even though as you can imagine there is no complete census.”

“Is… everyone in your family like you?”

“I guess. My… nature must be hereditary, but I am a foundling, and have never met my parents or other relatives, so I can’t be fully sure.”

He smiles at you, as if to reassure you that loneliness is not a heavy weight to carry. “You never told anyone you had met me, have you?”

“Of course not.”

“As I expected. I… I have thought about you often, you know?” Shanks murmurs, taking your hand once more; his is bigger, calloused as was to be expected from a sailor, but his touch is gentle, almost reverent… as if he was holding something precious, something he didn’t hope he would experience again “I felt terrible for having left you there. I hoped…”

“Yes?”

“... nothing. That time, when we met, I was here in town to visit Mihawk; we have been friends for a long time, even though I doubt he would call us such. When I returned a few days ago, planning to stay a while, I asked him if he knew someone with your name, and when he told me he’s a client of yours I asked him to invite you to the party.”

“All of it just to apologise?” you ask with a smile that Shanks returns, vaguely embarrassed.

“To be honest, I really wanted to see you again.”

“Then I’m glad you came back, because I wanted to see you too.”

Neither feels the need to speak as you enjoy the quiet and privacy of the gardens, your hand in his; stand-mounted torches diffuse a warm, soft light, intense enough to reflect the bright red of Shanks’ hair. You’re not enjoying the party much, not the music nor the buffet, but you don’t care, and you couldn’t wish for a better company.

“I envy you, you know?” you murmur softly after a while, your gaze low on your feet “You are a sea captain; I imagine you have travelled extensively.”

“I have. I still do; I don’t think I have ever had a proper house on land since I was six years old. My ship is a merchant vessel, sturdy enough to face the most violent storms; I travel all over the world, and I am paid to do it. Who is more fortunate than I am?”

The pride and happiness evident in Shanks’ voice makes you smile - a bit wistfully. 

“You are fortunate. As a merman you can explore the oceans, as a human you can walk on land. You are the master of both worlds, in a sense. You can do whatever you want.”

“Well, I don’t have wings, which means I can’t fly, but otherwise yes, I do have wider horizons than most creatures.” Shanks admits; he looks at you, his hand still gently caressing yours - a touch that is not inherently sensual, but could easily become so “Don’t you like your life? Mihawk says you are an excellent seamstress, with clients even in the nearby towns.”

“It’s true; and I have much to be grateful for, just…”

You sigh, at first unable to put into words something you have never had the courage to address even in the privacy of your heart. “My father was an explorer; he didn’t have a house in a town or on an island, but he travelled far and wide, to map uncharted lands, act as an informal ambassador on behalf of this or that lord, or write a report on some untraveled region’s flora or fauna. He saw a different dawn almost every day; I don’t think he ever slept in the same bed for more than a week. And then he came here, on the way to some other place and only planning to stay until the town’s shipwrights repaired his ship, he met my mother, who worked in the port’s best tavern, and five days later he put my sister in her.”

“So he stayed.”

“He stayed, and he married her; he missed his life, the adventure, the excitement, but he loved my mother, and while he probably felt duty-bound to do the right thing for her and the baby, I think he was happy, at least for a while. Three years later I came along; he was a good father, he loved us and he worked hard for us, even though I know he was frustrated with a boring office job, and regretted having had to abandon his dreams and aspirations for this little town, and a little life. I don’t remember he ever held it against us, but after all it was only eight years; perhaps in time he would have come to hate us all.”

An outburst of laughter reaches your ears from inside the villa; apparently someone, probably not the host, has just recounted a very amusing story. You sigh, feeling suddenly melancholic and, even worse, foolish. “I’m sorry, this is not the sort of thing one should discuss at a party…”

Shanks’ hand squeezes yours gently. “Go on.” he invites you, and for a moment you love him for it.

“One day, completely out of the blue, my mother fell sick, fainting in the kitchen as she prepared dinner; she never properly woke up again. My father called for the best doctors of the region, he stood by her side day and night begging her not to abandon him, but all of it was in vain; a violent fever took her away in a matter of days. We all mourned her; my father cried for days, and my sister and I slept in the same bed for months. He tried his best to take care of us, but he couldn’t; not because he didn’t know how to cook or couldn’t prepare us for school. The truth is… the truth is he had not chosen, but accepted, that sort of life for her, and now that she had gone, he couldn’t see a reason to stay. Not even us.”

It is painful to say it out loud; it is terribly humiliating, but the worst thing is another: the fact that even now, so many years later, you can’t fully hate him for it. 

“So he left. Our grandparents were too old to take care of us, so he paid another couple to move in the house and act as our tutors, and made sure we would also be looked after financially; he promised he would come back, and he did, twice, first after eight months, and then after a year. And then he left again, to sail towards some distant land where a fabulous treasure was supposed to be held, and he never returned. He died at sea, and we were left alone. I mean, we were not thrown in the streets, my sister and I; our tutors were good people, and he had left us the house and a little capital. But what we wanted, what we needed desperately, was a father; he knew, he had to know, and he ran away to the other end of the world.”

Shanks sighs; he has listened intently to your story, and has perceived you don’t need to be consoled, just… understood. Heard. “Sometimes people cannot deny their own nature; it is sad, and difficult to accept, but that is the truth.” he murmurs; he turns towards you, his brown eyes finding yours as your knees meet “I am sure your father loved you very much; but if his destiny, his nature, was to travel the world, staying would have made him miserable. Look at me: I am both a merman and a human; whatever shape I assume at a given moment, I’m still both, and I’m fully conscious of the other part still present inside me. I’m not saying your father did the right thing, or that he shouldn’t have decided otherwise because you and your sister needed him; but perhaps the choice wasn’t fully his to begin with.” 

It is a sensible explanation, that you contemplate for a while, offering your face to the light of the torches, their warmth caressing your skin; in the end, you realise with a sigh, it doesn’t really matter whether you are able to make peace with your father or keep resenting him until your last breath, since he’s gone and you’re old enough to take care of yourself. Still, there are times you wish you could find some forgiveness for him, and for yourself as well, in your heart; in other moments, you feel as if letting go of that resentment you have felt since you were barely old enough to understand your emotions, would mean letting yourself be abandoned for the second time…

“Sometimes I also wish I could leave.” you confess; you sound hypocritical to your own ears, but you feel Shanks won’t blame you for it… that he’ll understand how conflicted you feel, and ashamed of yourself for it “I have a good life here, a job I enjoy and a family I love, but I wish I could explore the world beyond what I have known since I was born, because I know there is more to life than taking care of my nephews or embroidering a wedding dress, no matter how satisfying those things are.”

Shanks smiles. “You could do it. You have no children of your own, and you could pay your ticket on a cruise ship.”

“I know; and I know my sister and her husband could manage without me, but… I can’t find the courage to leave; the truth is… I don’t want to follow in my father’s footsteps, and I know it’s stupid, because I can’t let the actions of a dead man dictate how I live my life, but…”

“But perhaps this is your nature; to feel yourself torn between two realities, the desire for home and the thirst for knowledge, without fully belonging to either.” Shanks mentions, and smiles “We are similar in that regard, you and I.”

“We are.”

Another moment of pleasant, intimate silence follows; you are wondering whether the man next to you will decide to leave your hand to put his arm around your shoulders -and, in case he’s deliberately refraining from doing that, what you can do to subtly communicate you would not find it inappropriate, quite the opposite in fact- when suddenly Shanks turns to you and “Would you like to dance?” he asks.

“You mean here?”

“Why not? We can hear the music, and at least we won’t have to worry we might bump into the other couples. I am quite steady on my feet, even though I spend half my time with a tail… and I only have one arm to hold you with.”

You find yourself giggling. “I’d really like that.”

And so you dance, alone as the soft notes coming from the villa’s ballroom envelop you, your eyes in his, Shanks’ arm circling your waist while you rest your arms on his shoulders. His body is solid against yours, and pleasantly warm in the chill of the night; the desire to kiss him, for him to kiss you, is intense enough to make you tremble. You feel happy with Shanks, happier than you have ever felt in a long time, and you don’t want him to leave again, after such a short time, not unless he promises he will return…

“You know, if you ever wanted to leave, at least for a while… I could help you.” Shanks murmurs after a while; you can feel his heart beating, slightly faster than normal, against yours “I do have a ship, after all.”

“Really?” you ask, suddenly tense; suddenly hopeful, as you gently sway together “I mean, you would really… take me with you? I thought yours was a merchant vessel.”

“It is, and we don’t usually take passengers, but… yours would be a special case. To be honest, I had tried to… test the waters, a while ago; didn’t Mihawk tell you of someone who was looking for a nursemaid for a child?”

“That was you?!” you exclaim, dumbfounded “My sister mentioned something… she didn’t tell me it was Mihawk who had told her, but on the other hand, I didn’t know he was your friend until tonight…”

“Of course not; I just wanted to know if you’d be… well, willing to do it. Travel for a while, take care of a child you are not related to.”

“But you are?”

“Related to him, you mean? No; as far as I know, I have no children. Luffy is… well, it’s a long story; he has no family worthy of the name and you could say I have adopted him, even though I couldn’t get rid of him would probably be a more accurate description.”

Shanks smiles, the affection clear in his voice; suddenly he’s holding you a bit tighter than before.  

“He’s the child you sacrificed your arm for, isn’t he?”

“He is; it’s not a pretty story, but if you want I’ll tell you about it. He needs discipline, but he’s a good kid, barely older than your nephews; maybe you’ll like living on a ship for a while, and you could return home whenever you want.”

He suddenly spins you around, forcing you to grab his shoulders in order not to fall; for a moment your body is pressed to his, and you just know he did it deliberately. 

“Are you offering me a job, captain Shanks?” you inquire, and now you’re smiling as well.

“I am, miss (last name). Would you be interested?”

You are. Very interested.

“I am. Just… let me think about it for a while.”

“I’m staying in town until spring, or until Mihawk chases me off. You have all the time.”

“Good.”

You sigh happily as you rest your cheek against Shanks’ shoulder, feeling yourself fluctuating between excitement and peace, the precious moment you’re living now and the promise for the future. Once more, poised between two worlds; and perhaps, richer for this.

“May I ask you a question? When you… shift; is it painful?” you inquire, and he needs a moment to consider it. 

“Painful, no; a bit weird, perhaps, like an itch on my legs or tail, but by now I am used to it. And I guess it would look… weird, to someone who has never experienced it.”

“I’d be curious to see it.” you reflect; a moment later a completely inappropriate image fills your mind, and you thank God the torches’ light is faint enough Shanks can’t see you blush “I mean… it’s something so… unusual…”

“That’s a good way to put it, yes.” 

The music stops, and you as well. “Are you cold?” Shanks murmurs gently, and you shake your head, since while you are a little chilly, you are not ready to return inside, where everyone else is, ending the magical moment the two of you are living together.

“There is another thing I’d like to do.” you admit, earning a curious look from the red-haired man in front of you, still holding you tight.

“That is?”

“You’ll think I’m crazy. Or, even worse, completely shameless.”

Shanks gently points out that as a ship captain, he has probably seen more impropriety in a year than you in your whole life. He’s probably not wrong, but even if he weren’t you wouldn’t mind; there is something in Shanks that makes you feel at ease, whatever you may say or do, perhaps because he is not the judging sort, or maybe because there is something special between the two of you and you see no point in denying it. And so, you whisper your indecent proposal in his ear, and a minute later you’re walking away from the villa, hand in hand, towards the little beach that saw you meet for the first time. It is quite a long walk, that you enjoy under the moon, away from the town; you had already noticed Shanks keeps a short sword hidden under his cape, a sign that even the life of the captain of a merchant vessel is not devoid of risk, but you would feel safe all the same, as if just for that night, destiny had decided no evil would befall you. You cut through the fields, Shanks’s sturdy boots and your delicate dancing shoes leaving a line of footsteps behind them; the air is still around you, the promise of a well-kept secret. Neither speaks, but you can feel Shanks’ eyes on you, his ardent dark eyes making you feel more conscious of your body than you have ever been. 

And finally the beach opens in front of you, the moon reflecting on the calm waters enclosed by sand and rocks. The quiet murmuring of the backwash barely stirs the silence surrounding you; it feels as if you and Shanks were the only two people for miles all around, maybe even the only man and woman left in the world; an overwhelming thought, that nonetheless doesn’t upset you, because it’s impossible to feel lonely when you’re in good company.

“So… shall we?” you ask Shanks, and he nods, but for the first time there is a trace of tension in his smile, and he has just taken off his boots, and left his cloak and sword on a nearby rock, when he stops, his arm wrapped around his torso as if to protect himself against an impending danger.

“Are you alright?” you as softly “You don’t have to do this, if it… upsets you.”

“I do want to do it.” he reassures you; his fingers brush against your cheek, the beauty of Shanks’ smile visible even in the almost complete darkness of the night “Sweet (name)... how lucky I am that day you were the one who found me. It’s just… you are the first person I have ever shared my secret with; if someone else were to find out - no, it’s alright, I know you’d never tell. But all my life, I’ve been warned about letting people know… of the dangers of being hunted and killed and exploited. It’s an… instinct of self-preservation, in a sense.”

“I understand.” you reassure him, feeling a little guilty; how could you not think Shanks’ situation was different from yours, and he had much more to fear than being assaulted or robbed at knifepoint? “If you want we can simply…”

“This is fine; just… give me a second…”

He smiles at you and, all too aware of your eyes on him, he starts undressing; soon, his clothes lie abandoned in a pile on the sand, the shadows of the night painting Shanks’ tan skin of all the shades of black and grey. Your gazes meet, and he winks, not exactly grandstanding but making no effort to hide his nudity either, and serenely walks to the shore, and he dives; his long legs disappear under the surface and when he re-emerges, the merman’s long tail raises a spray of water behind it, the soft light of the moon playing on the blue-green scales. 

The beauty of that scene -the beauty of him, human or merman or whatever he is- is enough to move you to tears.   

“I thought you said you wanted to go for a swim!” Shanks calls to you, happily waving his hand “Have you changed your mind? The water is not that cold!”

If there is a thing you are not… completely unhappy you have inherited from your late father, it's the fact that you never back down from a challenge, no matter how friendly. So, without answering, you begin getting rid of your own clothes, the dress you spent so long admiring yourself in falling to the ground as you slip out of it, and then it’s the turn of your stockings and in the end your mid-thigh-high underdress is the the sole thing you’re still wearing as you walk to the shoreline. You shiver as you feel the cold water lapping at your ankles and then your calves, but Shanks is only a few feet away, waiting for you, effortlessly keeping himself afloat; you swim to him, and a moment later he is holding you by the waist once more, your legs instinctively wrapping around his body as your arms find purchase on his shoulders; the water’s cold but protective embrace surrounds you, and when Shanks’ lips finally press against yours, his kiss reverent and hungry and full of promise, you feel as if you were making love to the sea itself.

“I won’t leave again; not without telling you.” Shanks murmurs, your kisses chasing each other; he can’t caress you, since his only arm is still wrapped around you, but judging by the sounds he makes as he sucks on the side of his neck, he likes the way you are touching him “You have… hmmm… my word.”

“I’ll remind you of it.” you answer, and grin “And even if you did, I promise I’ll run after you.”

You laugh together, and “My sweet (name)” Shanks murmurs “Let me breathe for you.”

His mouth has claimed yours in a new kiss when both of your heads disappear under the surface.

TAGGING @luuffyswife and @alucardsdaddyissues. Hope you like this!

[garoujo]

MY FINAL MESSAGE TO MY TUMBLR HARASSER :

hi ! as you guys have probably seen on dash, in tags, in your inbox there is an anon + a blog @/ffflowers going out of their way to not only spread lies but also to completely try everything in their power to harass and ‘expose’ me.

if you’ve had them in your asks or seen their posts you would’ve seen a link to a callout post from 2021 regarding a conversation that took place on an old blog of mine. their agenda with this callout post is to ‘prove’ that i apparently ignored this completely and got ‘run off’ tumblr without taking any sort of accountability for what was said or making any sort of apology.

this is not true, back in 2021 i took and still take full accountability for what i said and have never denied it, i made 3/4 separate apologies at that time, one of which was my pinned post for around a week and have continued to grow and do better as a writer and as a person since.

this particular discourse was resolved at that time, i never avoided confrontation and admitted i was in the wrong because i was, i was caught off guard and panicked with a topic that i felt intimidated by — i apologise and take accountability for my own ignorance.

while on the subject of this discourse post, i’d just like to prove my statement in this post where i said this particular situation was not what drove me to leave tumblr temporarily— this can be proven by these screenshots. as you can see, the callout post was dated on the 8th of June 2021.

like i said again in my previous post about this, this did not drive me off of tumblr — i owned up to everything i said, even went back to tag every post regarding the discourse so people could read through and make their own opinion — i did not run from this. i continued to write on this blog for months after this discourse which can be proven by the literal date in which it says my blog deactivated at the top — 20th of October 2021. almost 5 months after the callout post. either i’m a slow runner or my statement is correct. again, this was 2 years ago and this person has harassed me ever since.

but while i’m on the topic, the reason i actually left that blog was due to the anon who is continuing to harass me now. i received consistent and constant death threats by the same anon for months, following the same pattern — when i stopped posting their asks, they then decided to try a different approach. they began to force themselves into other peoples safe spaces to tell them they “couldn’t write certain characters because i selfshipped with them and they belonged to me” before going on to send those creators hate and death threats under the guise that i sent them — also not true.

i left tumblr for my own safety, this anon has my private and personal details, my social media and my face reveals but i refuse to let them ruin my safe space for me again. they’ve began to add more to their stories with sudden plagiarism and ‘black fishing’ being suddenly mentioned into their posts which is again absolutely not true, my guess is their current posts weren’t getting as much attention as they expected and they had to make it a little more eye catching.

they’ve also been consistently sending me anon asks hoping to bring relevance to the situation by urging me to post about it, they will send me hate before deciding to try and pretend to be another, nicer anon urging me to ‘hear my side of the story’ or showering me in compliments about how they ‘need an explanation because they know i’m too nice for that’ again, it’s obvious it’s them since they go back to being horrible when they’re ignored, and quite frankly it’s terrifying the lengths they’ll go to harass and manipulate me.

this morning while i was at work i had received an anon urging me to do that exact thing, to talk about the discourse, they sent me consistent asks until i made my post talking about how i will no longer be mentioning it on dash, they then sent me another nastier ask immediately after before then going to post on their blog @/ffflowers almost immediately after that.

also this is part two of them harassing me here and the reason i left my last nsfw blog + them doing the exact same thing they’re doing now, they have a pattern — they will wait a few months before bringing themselves back into my inbox, when their hate asks to me are left unanswered then they play their way into other peoples inboxes hoping they will post + bring attention to the ‘discourse’ they are trying to spread. also another post i’ve made about this situation lastnight here.

they’ve become increasingly more angry and violent the longer they’ve been with me, i’ve been doxxed, threatened, consistently told to die and kms + had my character ripped to shreds on a site where i simply post writing for fun. i apologise to anyone who’s been dragged into this or harassed by this person, they are nasty and this probably won’t be the end of them either — but i refuse to let them drive me off of this app again.

i’ll be taking a small break for a few days to calm down, anon will remain off so they can’t contact me because at this moment i don’t feel safe and will be laying low on my personal acc for a while until i feel better. i apologise again for everything, the posts and my actions included, but i have no secrets.

emmie <3

RETURN TO NAVIGATION

[altschmerzes]

Gav I am SO sorry for the length of this ….. also I am going to send a general “how are you doing ask” because this is all Jamie stuff (very therapeutic to talk about him after the week I’ve had) so I hope that’s okay!!!

Okay. So.

Jamie in this episode? A delight. I mean, he’s always a delight but WOW, I didn’t think I could love him more. And I LOVE that he was so happy and silly and having fun and I don’t want my take to take away from that (because I have been in the state I think he was in many times before).

I don’t know if this was intentional from Phil, but I think Jamie was manic in this episode — specifically trauma induced mania. I think that Amsterdam, understandably, was a HUGE trigger for him.

In that heartbreaking scene where Jamie shares something very difficult with Roy, he says “even though my dad weren’t there, it was like he was still with us, y’know?”

Cut to:

Jamie mimicking his dad’s mannerisms from his very first scene (the play punches, the frenetic energy)

Jamie reverting to being a prick for all of two seconds (the tie your laces comment was probably something he heard from his father) to see how far he could push Roy before Roy snapped at him

Running Roy ragged across the streets of Amsterdam the entire episode lol

This sent me spiralling a little because there is SO much evidence to show that Jamie was in trauma / manic in this episode, and how those mannerisms relate to that.

Cut to:

Nonstop movement, running, round offs, bouncing up and down on the spot

Lack of attention span and impulsivity — deciding they need bikes and running off to find them using his street smarts (again, likely mimicking what he has seen his father do) and also deciding that they HAVE to find a windmill. Like absolutely determined, nothing was stopping that boy lmao

Peaking in energy and then suddenly calming down once he’s taught Roy how to ride a bike

Info-dumping and non stop talking

Being confused why Roy wouldn’t want to join in on his imagined adventure “these bikes have just made tonight AMAZING!”

Now listen. Being a person with mania, you can be manic and still be …. you. I think so many of these Jamie moments are hilarious and adorable and not all down to that, but he was DEFINITELY in trauma … getting to that now:

He’s in this crazy good mood the whole night, and then he decides to share ….. the thing ….. with Roy. I think that might be his subconscious bringing up this trauma and sort of explaining the mood he’s been in, which is extremely chaotic for the entire episode until he voices it. Even if he doesn’t KNOW it’s traumatising (“she loved it”), there is something going on here. And the fact that he SUBCONSCIOUSLY, maybe even consciously I don’t know, recognised that being in Amsterdam was a trigger for him and then apologised for the way it made him behave ??????? I’m actually tearing up thinking about it I’m so fucking proud that is UNBELIEVABLE

Also. “I don’t really remember.”

I don’t think I need to explain to you how fucking heart wrenching that is but. Fuck.

This is a super jumbled and badly put mess of an ask because I am very sleep deprived but. This episode just meant so much to me because I relate to Jamie SO MUCH in this. I have genuinely had a night very similar and I am almost certainly projecting but. Yeah. To people with abuse trauma, at least for me, this was genuinely the most nuanced depiction of it that I’ve ever, EVER seen, and I don’t even know if they did it on purpose.

IM SO SORRY FOR THIS ITS NOT VERY GOOD READING IT OVER. I am definitely projecting. And also want to be clear that it isn’t JUST trauma stuff like this is also a very wholesome development in Roy and Jamie’s relationship with some very touching and hilarious moments that I’m terrified to undermine and I’m scared it’s an awful take but. Just needed to share it with you

ALLL MY LOVE AS ALWAYS <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

never apologize for long messages!!!! i love long messages i love hearing from and chatting with my pals including my pen pals.... and like yeah. yeah i have been so much thinking about all of this. like he was happy! he was really happy at a lot of points in that episode but it had a bit of a weird exaggerated energy that didn't click until that point later when he told that. frankly brutal story that like ah, okay, that all makes sense now. he was upbeat and happy and it was clear he was having a good time and like you said, it was a lovely and touching and hilarious sequence in their subplot but 'manic' is the word that kept coming to mind. like, when you've got a mix of horrifying feelings and happy feelings about something and you decide no, i'm HAPPY i'm focusing on the good part i am FINE it's FINE it's all FINE, see how happy i am? see how normal and not ruined i am??

and yeah same i feel the same way about like- regardless of whether it was done intentionally that combination of that almost manic energy and 'i don't remember' and the way he brings it up as like- you get the feeling, really, that he knows on some level that what happened to him there was deeply, profoundly not okay, but doesn't quite know how to talk about it? gave me the same feeling that some of his comments earlier to higgins and ted did like. 'i want someone to tell me this wasn't okay, but i don't know how to say it.' and yeah like. the i don't remember comment... man that hit hard. his behaviour in that whole scene hit hard.

and that line about like. even though he wasn't there he was there with us..... winded me. that line winded me. if you grow up with an angry man in your house there will always be an angry man in your house, if you are born in a burning house you think the whole world is on fire, etc etc. it's a really complex and extremely familiar portrait of abuse trauma and i really, really appreciated seeing it. even if it's reading too much into it, even if it's projecting, i really appreciated it.

and man the whole thing especially with him bringing it up and then apologizing to roy like- i'm really proud of him for that too. he's trying really, extremely hard this season and doing such a good job of Being An Adult, being responsible, being accountable, being Good. even in situations where it has to feel unbelievably scary and threatening - going to the coaches about zava and presenting his concerns to the whole room full of authority figures he admires and respects, telling roy that story and then taking the initiative to apologize, even before this season, 'if you know how to make me better, i want to hear it' - it's just like. he's giving everything he has to do better, be better. he's- gutting himself, in pursuit of Being Good, in a couple of different ways and MAN it's like. it's hard to watch but it's incredible to watch at the same time. man. there's a reason this character absolutely kills me.

[wetcatspellcaster]

hi! i just wanted to say that I absolutely love Pieces and I greatly admire your work and also how you write dialogue? Writing witty and interesting dialogue can be a bit of a struggle for me but you write the banter between Rosalie and Astarion so well, it's truly incredibly delightful.

I had a question about something in chapter 20 of Pieces. Specifically, when Rosalie asks Astarion if he likes her fancy glow in the dark bed. This may be a misinterpretation of her character but I never got the impression, based on your other works with Rosalie, that she was the type to really gravitate towards expensive or lavish things but as Rosalie herself has stated her house is atrociously fancy now.

I was wondering if this was a "i'm an extremely powerful archmage and have the money so, might as well" type thing. OR if she made those choices for herself with the, maybe subconcious, thought of "these are things astarion would have liked/appreciated/wanted." Maybe as a way to unintentionally bridge the gap between the life with astarion that she actually wants and the life that she had no choice but to have.

The way she asks Astarion if he likes it, and her reaction to his response, to me made it feel like these choices for her living space weren't just for her own enjoyment but also because she wanted to create a house Astarion would want to live in and his opinion on it matters to her not just because he's now living there but because Rosalie always wanted him to.

I just reread the chapter with the fancy garden and the maze and thought that Rosalie, subconciously creating a fancy house with the idea of Astarion one day living in it, AND the Ascendant, conciously creating this whole fancy ostentatious garden with the idea of one day seducing Rosalie in it, both as ways to make up for the one thing both of them want but don't, and can't, have would be an interesting parallel.

If i'm completely off-base and Rosalie just bought herself a fuck off fancy wizard tower complete with heated floors and glow in the dark canopy beds just becasue she could and wanted to than that's cool too. She deserves it honestly.

Also this ask is so long I am so sorry. Your work has given me brain worms like nothing else and I am forever and always an english major at heart, if I had the time and drive I'd write you a whole mulit-paged essay in which I analyzed each house in Pieces, their significance in the narrative, and what they tell us about each character. I am sosososooo normal about you, I promise.

hi lovely. never apologise for writing something at length, I'm very touched that you thought this much about the story and that you took the time to send me this message! :) i love a little bit of literary analysis!

As an English major, you know that any and all interpretations and reader responses to a text are valid, so if this is how you want to read these moments, please go ahead and read it this way!!! There are some things that you say that touch upon future storybeats I've already drafted, so when we get to those chapters hopefully you'll feel rewarded

But in response to your question, yes, the house *is* out of character :) there's a reason why, in my two timeskips, one Rosalie ends up with a cute little flat and a vault worth of diamonds she bought for Astarion, and the other in a massive fuck-off wizard's tower that is, as we'll find out in future chapters, fancy as fuck. But the logic behind it at my end was slightly different than yours, although yours isn't exactly wrong and as I say, I think you'll find stuff in future chapters that makes you happy!

For me, I see Rosalie's wealth in this timeline as an extreme symptom of how lonely and unhappy she is. As the fic has established, Rosalie felt the need to isolate herself, and also buried herself in overwork to both fund her research into Astarion's cure and distract herself from the realities of her life. So the more and more unhappy/workaholic/lonely Rosalie gets, the richer she becomes - for in this timeline, she has nothing other than work, and no one else she wants to spend all that money on. And so she has this massive house bc she needs to spend that money she's accumulated on something, and if that makes her look happy or comfortable from the outside then that's good because then she's not burdening anyone - exactly the same way that the Ascendent's mansion looks decadent and debauched from the outside, to compensate for his true feelings as well.

One really interesting thing about drafting Act 3 currently, is how much Rosalie's issues are now coming to the fore because Astarion, unlike all her friends, hasn't seen a gradual decline in her character/mental health and happiness. For him, it is sudden and abrupt: he has the bubbly hero from the game timeline, and then this strange reclusive hermit ten years later who, to him, is clearly unhappy. And the tower and the way she lives is one way that becomes clear to him.

I hope that makes sense! :)

[januaryembrs]

Hiya, ok so the last time you posted a chapter for your Spencer x Bugsy series I sent a response/ask (I don’t even know how to call it) and you said that you love hearing what are people’s favourite bits from your work so you bet that for the newest part I had to make a list of all my favourite moments (I was quite literally jumping between tumblr and my notes app to make bullet points of all my favourite moments and I still had to cut out a few things because it was getting wayyy too long). So this might be a little long (if it’s too long or annoying just ignore it or tell me to stop for next time) but here are all my favourite moments from the newest part:

* I love how very soon after the explosion we get Hotch’s point of view to see a little bit inside his mind and what he’s thinking. A found-family trope or the father figure storyline is always a favourite of mine so Rossi’s and Bugsy’s relationship in the last part or Aaron’s and Bugs in this part was just ahhhh ✨chefs kiss✨. “but Aaron wasn’t finished, not until he saw her.” “He thinks he said her name, but it might be just a sob.” I really liked that we got to see a little more vulnerable side him. And when he called her sweetheart, I think I just melted. “Stroking gently down her face with the same care he would put Jack to bed with.” “and he saw nothing but his son with a scraped knee in her eyes” the little references to his own son and how he possibly sees Bugs in a similar way (because lets be honest it’s like Morgan once called Hotch and Rossi, mom and dad, and the BAU team are just their children). Honestly, that whole scene between the two of them just melted my heart.

* Bugs panicking about her favourite bra? Honestly, would do the same thing.

* When Spence tells the team at the wedding to not mention anything about her arm or forehead and then he’s cut off by Penelope. I couldn’t stop laughing. I was just imagining all the members just going silent and looking at that interaction and Spence just thinking “well, never mind then…”

* Love Henry calling her Buggy.

* The dance scene between Hotch and Bugsy was amazing.

* After Bugs comes back from London and Spence goes “What are you doing here?” with a confrontational tone. Even I felt offended. Honestly even if Spence and Maeve ended up together I would have been happy for them but after meeting her Spence just behaved like a straight up A-hole to Bugs. I’m sorry but he needs to get his act together.

* And then Spence calling Maeve the most beautiful girl in the world and Bugs just thinking she would never be good enough for him. I cried. I cried a lot at that scene (but then again it was around 5am when I first read it and I was like half delirious but I still cried).

* They both need to realise they’re in love with each other and get together soon.

Ok, so again I apologise for this being so long but I love love love your writing and get so excited every time you post. Also, thank you for the good luck wishes for my exams, tomorrow is my first one so hopefully everything goes well but seeing a new part after waking up definitely made my day a lot lot better so thank you. 💖💖

THIS. THIS RIGHT HERE IS WHAT I LOVE ABOUT YOU GUYS SENDING ME THINGS. I have read this all three times kicking my feet giggling because this is so so so validating and encouraging to read as a writer. The fact bugsy is not just mine anymore to enjoy but everyone else’s literally makes me feel like I’ve sent my child off to school and they’ve come home with gold stars.

Thankyou so so so much for taking even a minute out of your day to message me all of this, it honestly fills me with so much joy that people like my store so much they’d go to such lengths to note down exactly what made them feel something 💗💗💗

It is not annoying at all, completely the opposite actually, feel free to message me whenever you like because I love reading stuff like this 🫶

[setsunatekiblast]

sorry this is like fully just insane babble and a look into truly how fucking weird i am in the head im really considering making a blog JUST for venting but im too lazy to do that rn

so like general rundown for context

i did some really downright shitty things as a teenager as a result of unresolved trauma in basically every corner of my life at the time (obviously this doesnt absolve me from what happened). when i was told about the extent of it i apologised and distanced myself & never talked to anyone involved ever again.

months later when i expressed that a former friend who had (in my opinion, rightfully) stepped in to stop the situation from worsening had caused me harm prior to all this and that it was still impacting me on my private account, it was leaked to her. i was threatened with a callout post and she was acting like i wasnt truly sorry for the things i'd done/trying to change even though i had done my level best to be accountable for my behaviour and do what was asked of me.

because of everything that'd already happened + this i was living in this constant state of severe anxiety. as in, i could hardly eat due to feeling nauseous every moment i was conscious, would randomly start shaking and crying & my physical health was deteriorating at many points. i was like this from about july all the way through to november-early december, i think?

like all of this happened five years ago but ive absolutely refused to let myself move on because i thought i would be dodging accountability for my behaviour but i've kind of just had a mental shift recently (maybe from my kansai trip i think it did something to me). looking back while talking to my friend i internalised everything about that series of incidents so hard that i considered myself a horrible and irredeemable person, so ive been keeping myself at arms length from others because i didnt want it to happen all over again and didnt trust myself to actually change. i thought that if i was pursuing relationships with others, i wasnt being accountable enough and dodging my past behaviour.

idk im just tired of living like this. im tired of all the self-sabotage and the fear and anxiety i have over the most minor of things. i'm tired of jumping up and running at the first signs of closer friendships forming. i had a panic attack over someone calling me a friend for gods sake, that's not normal. its not! the fact i even struggle to call people friends because of all this fear about relationships with others after all that isn't good and i need to change from that lol

even just thinking that i deserve better makes me feel like im swallowing needles and glass though, and it sucks so fucking much LMFAOOOOOOO. i dont even know what to do because i feel so shitty about even trying to pursue support from those closest to me. i feel like i'm asking so, so much of people when i cant give much of anything in return. not to mention that right now even the idea of being misunderstood makes me feel absolutely terrible and like i need to be on the defensive. in general i feel like i offer so little that trying to lean on people is selfish and that i'm just going to end up hurting them like i did that friend who simply just wanted to help me. i don't want to feel this way anymore but it's a cycle and i don't know how to stop feeling so horrid about everything and actually. well. allow myself to feel supported AND be normal in the head about it

like i need to move on not just for my sake but because. really. it's been such a long time and i don't even recognise the person i was in those messages. but i can hear just how much pain my past self was in and that just sucks, man. my friend didn't want me to suffer, but he was rightfully hurt and angered by the way i behaved. the best way to show my remorse has always been to do better by those who come into my life, but i never wholly succeeded in that because 90% of the time i would sabotage my own relationships with others and not get too close out of fear that i was going to ruin it all and just be as shitty as i was before. i thought closing myself off would be doing right by him, and to a degree it was. but it wasn't productive for me because i wasn't doing anything but closing myself off

anyway i handled something pretty good tonight that i know my past self wouldve probably flipped out about so that's probably a good sign i guess. its actually kind of surprising to see that even though my spoons are maybe a 1 at best rn i can still handle things with some grace and tact and Not be terrible. idk. maybe things are gonna be okay, especially since i have so many people in my corner nowadays who want nothing more than to see me overcome everything

[idle-soliloquy]

Heyy! I was blessed and stumbled upon your cheating fics and it was so beautifully raw and messy and painfully human. I honestly adore your writing it’s so engaging and it just makes me as a reader ✨ feel ✨ so much.

Reg’s train of thoughts is so realistic, like so many people do cheat despite having the “perfect” partner because they’re just addicted to the high of living on the edge and sometimes of the power that they have, the power of knowing that they’re hurting this completely oblivious person and can easily destroy their partners life. Yet the way you write it, it is so humanly that I can’t hate him, I sympathise with him in a way even though at the same time I wish karma would just get him.

The Christmas cheating fic was also very interesting, because I feel like most of the time on the jegulus dynamic, James seems to always been the one hurt instead of hurting. It was really interesting the way you portray Reg’s reaction to James infidelity which is more desperate in an angry, gnawing and broken way, contrary to James’s usual ones which is more desperate in a sad, begging way (?) idk if I’m making sense sorryy.

Anyways english is not my first language so I don’t know if everything I said made sense but I just want you to know I love your writings. If I may ask do you have an idea of when LoY, the Christmas cheating fic or Soul would be updated

Also so sorry if this is too long :)

Hello!

Thank you so much for the lovely lovely message, and don't apologise for length, it was a treat to read! ❣️

Regulus in Soul... Damn. I must say, you're a bigger person that I am, 'cause I'd struggle to feel any kind of sympathy for him. I am actually so flattered that you feel he's realistically portrayed, considering he's meant to be verging on psychopathy, not to mention his complete lack of remorse. You're totally right, he is getting off on the cheating and the lies, and on the power he has over James and his ability to control him to the point of forgiveness.

I do love writing him! It makes me feel like I'm truly stepping into a brain of someone who's so drastically different (cause I'm pretty chill, lol, definitely not a psycho).

The Christmas fic! I've done a bunch of cheating fics, but never one where it's James cheating on Reg. The fic is a collaboration with @mlupin97, so we're taking out time drafting it. Life's been kicking my butt lately, and I've not had as much time to write, but I promise, next instalment is coming!

When it comes to Soul, I hope to have it updated soon! But I will let you in on a secret - next chapter is Barty's POV (hehe).

Lost on You will be updated in the next couple of months, hopefully. This upcoming chapter will be heavy, so I'm taking my time.

Again, thank you for the lovely comment! Have a great day.

[animeomegas]

I glitched the moment I got home and took a three hour nap(I think). i thought i was dead for a bit😂 but the promise of your impeccable writing revived me! I already like this book because if I'm going to get isekai'd and have to spend the rest of my days in a pocket dimension, I'd want it to be in a world with internet😂 sure I love me a gorgeous witch with a praise kink the size of Jupiter but a gorgeous CEO omega with so much audacity? Sign me up asap!

I love how alpha got to thinking about Itachi and how they'd have to make a decision, and they're like "nope that's a problem for future me. Present me is going to go have some fun, " and I felt that deeply😂😂 and yes! I also would like a rich aunt who sends me stuff. I'm once again here to say that I love James. James has a fan in me, and I'm opening up a fan club. But wow, Kakashi is a complete 180 from Itachi. My brain couldn't keep up. Suddenly, I think Kakashi might be my new favorite (might. Probability is like 10% because Neji would be disappointed in me if I gave away his spot in my heart)

I had so much fun reading this truly. I could go on and on because I lack self control apparently but this was a fantastic read. Thank you for this lovely chapter, and I'm looking forward to the next one! (This is so long I'm sorry 😭)

Haha, same, I'm too attached to the internet to let it go XD

James has a lot of fans! I really enjoy writing for them haha, there's something great about having her do the commentary on what the MC is doing.

Yes, Kakashi is very different from Itachi, by design. I wanted each book to feel very different so that there was a distinct choice.

Neji would give you The Look™️ if he found out you kicked him off the top spot for Kakashi 😂 I'm really happy that you liked this chapter though!!! This message means so much to me, thank you so much for sharing your thoughts. Never apologise for the comment length hehe

💖💖💖

[landograndprix]

Hey! Just wanted to throw my opinion in about the OC discussion. I wanted to preface this by saying that this opinion has been formed over a number of different fandoms, sites and years and that will be my reference. I’ve never minded having an OC, and honestly prefer that over Y/N. I think it has a lot to do with the fic platform and era that people started reading fics. I’m 25 so I feel that’s a little older than most others in the F1 fandom, but young for fandoms such as HP or the like. My 1st fandoms were HP and Twilight and that was predominantly hosted on fanfiction.net and AO3; way back in of dark ages of ‘07 or ‘08 before the the porn purges so needless to say I was reading well above the maturity level I should have been (got to love that unsupervised internet access). Neither of these have ever been heavy in the reader-inserts-there was even a push on both platforms early on to delete/report stories that were posted using this format. I’ve even had discussions w/ mutuals that I ended giving Y/N a name that I felt fit their personality instead of using my own. And was surprised that there were many in agreement with me. I don’t think reader inserts really b/c main stream. Personally, it feels like people become frustrated when something is tag or portrayed as a reader insert and then falls through; i.e. when they talk about hair length/skin tone or they give the character TOO much personality. Reader inserts really had a uptick when Wattpad became Mainstream in 2011-almost 7 years after it went live; which I feel fits the majority age of the general audience/writers in the F1 community. The most popular way that I’ve seen authors get away with having a reader insert without making them an OC is by giving them a a nickname that’s not related to an actual name; i.e Pip or Snoopy.

That was all to say; I would completely support an OC work. I think you’re a wonderfully talented author; and your work will do well no matter what format you take. And look forward to seeing what you come up with.

-🩰

First off all I want to apologise to the people that follow me and have to see me complain about dumb things, these posts are posted during the evening and evening me is so much more dramatic than normal me. Like normal me is always so embarrassed to read back my stuff and see people react to it 😭 that being said, thank you for this message! We're in the same age range so I agree with all of the things you've said! It was just me being conflicted over things that shouldn't bother one so much, there's so many people on this site that actually use OC reader 😅

[minaturefics]

hey! so i found out that you feel unmotivated or kinda down and i’m sorry about that, really :((

i wanna start this by saying that i recently followed you and i’m pretty new in your blog but i read your works (in particular legolas x reader) and they all are amazing. your writing is really peculiar, i never read anything so well written in this fandom.

so you are seen, and you are appreciated and i want to tell you that no matter what, people will reach to you and they will wait your works even if it takes weeks. i may be new in your blog but i’m not new in the fandoms/fics world and if i really like someones writing i would always wait when the author feels good/safe to post, because that is what readers should do.

so take your time, take all the time you need to finish the work and take time for yourself bc you deserve it, and your feelings are valid! and i know how hard it is when life gets in the way but remember always that you write because it makes you feel good.

you shouldn’t feel bad about it. you are really good at it. stay safe and keep writing even if it’s just for yourself.

(i hope you understood everything! english is not my first language)). sorry about the long post! 🫶🏻

Hello lovely, thank you for all your kind words ❤️ I've been re-reading them over the past couple of weeks while thinking about my blog and what to do with it. I honestly considered stopping for a time, but I think I'd like to continue, but maybe at a slower pace lol

I've been, and will be, so busy this coming year so it means a lot to hear that people are willing to wait for my pieces, even if it takes awhile. I think all the various messages I've got up to this point is testament to that and I'm learning not to stress too much about it ☺️

And don't apologise for the long message, I love to hear from you guys no matter the length! 😊

[afterglowkatie]

You are so so sweet, lucky I got a sweet tooth 🤭 (nws angel, take your time absolutely no pressure. No sorrys remember 🤨)

Mhm I think that’s a lie too 🙄 (*gasps* what is that supposed to mean my darling 💔)

(Well this was a fight you’d never have won anyway baby 😘 youre so cute I can’t even 🥹)

You’re trying and that’s the main thing sweetness, I’m proud of you always. I see you 🤎❤️ Ooo update me I’m invested now 🤭 look at my girl being the big boss, love that for you bubs <3 but not the feeling exhausted part :(

Things have calmed down now since the trimesters ended, still got some stuff to do for it and overtime is long but talking to my friends and my favourite girl (guess who) makes it soo much better 😘

always lucky to have you in my life 🤭🥰 yes yes no sorrys even if it is hard to not apologise. though for real i want you to know that you mean so much to me, you always will. regardless of length between messages etc you’ll always be the most important to me and i hope you’ll never forget it. always on my mind 🥰🤍

nope it is not! i am honest and truthful always! 😌 (can’t say the same for youuuu hehe you know exactly what i mean by it baby 😘❤️‍🩹)

(asdfhjkl i know i knowwww 🙄 can’t change your mind about it but not like i want toooo just know i’m always like 🙈 when you call me cute)

thank you my love 🥺 it means a lot, especially when words like that come from you 🥺🤍🫶🏻 it ended up being quite anticlimactic. basically the regional manager and a hr rep came in to talk to the guy who had essentially been stealing money but he was lucky and only ended up being fired. but like idk how stupid can someone be stealing like $700 every day that he was working as if we wouldn’t notice and investigate it 😭 i am taking most of this week off and then i go back for a week to then have the entire week after that off. i’m going to sydney (again but this time for football)

i’m glad it’s all calmed down for now! you get a longish break from uni bc of summer? oh sweetness (i wonderrrr who it could be 🤭🙋🏼‍♀️) but i’m glad i can make it better for you 🥰🤍🫶🏻😘

[spoilmesweetieforficssake]

(i knew something was off! i was deliberating whether or not to reach out and ask because i saw you answer a few asks, and i'm glad i decided to see to it. i did my best to recreate all i've said in that lost ask because i wanted you to know how excited i was. i apologize for the length of this, i can't sum it all up in just a few words but i'll try to be concise next time. and since that eaten ask was almost a week ago, and your don't go breaking my heart fic is posted far longer, i sure hope that you're relieved of the sinus headache.)

i did not expect your reply to come with a new fic! it's a pleasant surprise. i'm absolutely floored and touched please accept my heart in exchange

the fic is a whole lot of perfection! it's really interesting to read about how larissa uses her powers on a day to day basis. and i'm claiming it as canon now!!! because her position at nevermore really makes it hard to have a day just for herself without anyone recognizing her.

that scene with bringing enid back to the table so larissa can decide on her own how to deal with the situation is the sweetest and is very considerate. i think it's also the best way to handle the situation. i wonder what would have happened though if wednesday didn't appear. also wondering now if larissa, when shapeshifted, sometimes does things she won't do in her own form. that'd be interesting.

i'm absolutely feral about the behaviors and mannerisms staying the same even if she's assuming an appearance not entirely her own. that everything she does is still her except the appearance. i'm obsessed with it! it's everything!! the best!! it's one of my favorite parts of this fic.

and the reassurance about the whole thing? i'm eating it all up! it's so soft. i'm holding it close to my heart.

that one rule? yes, yes, and yes! as it should be!

have i already mentioned how much i love the fic? how perfect it is? how in love i am with it? that it's a gem? because it's true! it's all that and more. thank you! i had a blast reading it.

this is my third try sending this. if it still doesn't push through, i'm going to cry.

- 🫣

Message received loud and clear! And how dare Tumblr eat your first attempt! I'm so glad you did reach out otherwise I wouldn't have seen this magnificent message!

My sinus headache has indeed retreated - thank you for asking - and you have my full attention.

First off - never apologise for the length of any comment in reply to my fics. Conciseness can be overrated.

I'd feel bad taking your heart in return for one little fic (your words are more than enough!) I'm touched. I'm astounded. I'm absolutely flattered beyond belief.

I don't quite know where the idea came from but I wanted a fic that was her using her powers as a way to hide in plain sight but in a different way, and in a way that felt natural for her having always had these powers.

Wednesday didn't originally appear, but without her things just stalled at Enid being furious. Wednesday just helped move things along with her usual distinct style.

And I just felt that in being unobserved and hopefully comfortable with her partner Larissa would be her authentic self and that reader would recognise that, no matter what she look she was sporting that day.

Saying thank you to you doesn't feel enough for all the lovey words you've said and the effort you've gone to. I'm just so glad you enjoyed it as much as you did. It never fails to give me the warm and fuzzies (and make me do a little happy dance) to hear that something I've written has found it's way to someone who loves it.

It still doesn't feel like enough - but thank you!!!!!

[colour-outside-the-liness]

https://at.tumblr.com/colour-outside-the-liness/702374638845591552/ksh2jsk9aa9u

the book is being translated into English and Spanish now that the webseries has expanded its audience. I can post the link as soon as it is available.

i think wlw stories are still under represented...and most people look for ideal relationships in fanfics. I love fanfics but most of them offer a limited arc of themes...because we love stories about love and sex and there's nothing bad about that.

it's just that sometimes...stories can be richer without leaving that aside. Its what i love the moSt about jamie arch in MOU, that shes complex...she is conflicted...sometimes chaotic..and she loves in a non perfect whay,independent from Dani as a character at same time she need her to live that with her. I love that Dani and Jamie fit because It happens to be and not because a projection of what romantic love is.

I always thinked that bly was not about romantic love, as much was about love means more, with Loss. But, jamie MOU bring another perspective to me. It makes think a LOT about my losses and what they turn me into.but also, what loving those people turn me into before being gone.

From being a closeted bisexual half of my life, to someone that can love freely.no Just because It can be another woman, but because i can have little bits of those people on my being, after they are gone...Just because i really loved them.

(Sorry for that big annoing text...i was not planning that)

I would love to have a link to this as soon as it's available thank you so much for saying you'll send me one!! I absolutely agree with everything you have said in this message, I think love stories of any kind do focus too much on the love, sex, and happy times, and while we all love that and all hope for a life filled with good things and nice things (whatever these things may mean ./ be to you) there is also another side to love and life. I honestly believe that the beauty of life is that it's finite. You've to go for everything fully while ever you can and if you can. I have started to live my life this way and have tried so many new things in doing this and honestly, I regret none of it And I try to put things like this into my writing as much as possible, be it through the relationships I write about or anything else.

In MoU Dani and Jamie met, and happened to fall in love with each other and they love any version of the other they get, Jamie has never once thought about leaving Dani even when things get hard because she knows she had to love this woman in her entirety and without conditions for as long as she can, and Dani feels the absolute same. No need to apologise for the length of this, I loved reading it!! Thank you for sending me this