cupidologys

[cupidologys]

psa: i will be changing my username later so none of my links will be working! once i have my new theme set and all masterpost links/posts revamped, the links will go back to normal <3

[cupidologys]

⸻ THE ART OF DYING WELL.

pairing: aizen x reader

word count: 2k

synopsis:  "lovers? we are much, much worse."

notes: good luck!

+ + + + + + + + + + + +

It’s not like you planned on killing the man you loved. You had wished for it, certainly. You had dreamed of it too—often enough that the steady, sickening crunch of your blade through his chest was well-memorized. In such dreams, the same scene played out, over and over and over, until you gasped awake, sweating and shivering from the chilling dread burrowing into your skin. 

His eyes would stare into yours, hollow and still. His lips, slightly parted, only whispered one thing: weak.

He called it out into the static space. The only sound breaking the eerie silence was his voice, heavy and mocking, as that one word repeated in vicious tandem. 

Weak for not letting go. 

Weak for what you felt. 

Weak for what you could not do—what you could not bring yourself to do—and deep down, you knew that weakness would ruin you. 

Just like Aizen did when he unraveled the Seireitei to a state of near collapse. 

They were ill-prepared for what he had set in motion and only desperately held on to the hope Ichigo and yourself brought. The Substitute Shinigami was an unknown and powerful variable, while you, as the Arrancar’s prisoner, had access to their inner workings. 

Aizen didn’t like it when you referred to yourself as a “prisoner” or his actions as what they blatantly were: kidnapping, so you continued to do so at every chance possible. It irked him—that small ounce of defiance. It made a man like him, weighed by hubris, sink a little deeper. 

The slight twitch of his lips every time—a signal of his discomfort— made you smile. You could still get under his skin. You revelled at that fact. Any chance to fight back was an opportunity you seized; Even though fighting him physically was out of the question, you at least had that slight over him. 

You didn’t ask him to take you with him. You didn’t ask him to spare you. And you certainly didn’t ask him to hold you captive, sequestered away while war rages on in the land above. 

You didn’t ask for any of it. So, you would make him pay for it in any way you could. 

Despite that, there had been a question nagging at the corner of your mind since the day he swept you away. As fitting of its subject, it asked something treacherous. 

The fact of the matter was: Aizen had spared you. He had taken you from your home and turned his back on everything you knew, yes, but he had also kept you safe—and not only safe, but well-fed, pampered, and shielded away from the violence. 

Violence he perpetuated, you reminded yourself. 

It did not matter how fancy your room was. It was still sealed by four impenetrable walls—a cushy cell made impossible to escape. It was a prison forged to hold its inhabitants captive.  

Aizen may not have shackled you with chains, but freedom was as lost to you as the man you once knew. 

Despite that, you had technically not planned to kill Aizen. Not today, at least, which is why the sight of his blood dripping down the dagger in your hand makes you scream. 

The shock of the sight jolts you awake. You find yourself springing up in bed, sweat beading on your skin as the nerves slowly dispel. The sheets are crumpled up in your fists and you try to let go, but the tension hasn’t yet dissipated. 

It was another dream?

Even in dreams, he haunts you. 

This time, however, it felt too real. It was strange. The vividness was startling—bordering on traumatizing—and you can’t shake off the foreboding feeling clinging onto you. He was right in front of you. Pale, cold, and lifeless. 

The door clicks open and Aizen strides in with a palpable air of urgency. There’s a crease in his brow, indicating worry. 

“A nightmare?”

You don’t even reprimand his intrusion. You are far too exhausted by what you just experienced. 

“Yes.” You run your hands over your face, trying to rub away the stress.  “Or maybe a very lovely dream.”

“Care to share it?” He inquires. 

“With you?” 

Aizen nods, moving closer. His steps are light and smooth, almost like he is floating. Maybe he is. 

“I want you to leave,” you whisper. The words are soft and unhurried, but they carry an unbearable weight. 

“Will you be alright?”

You scoff. “I am in a prison of your making. It doesn’t get any more secure than this, right?”

“I heard you scream,” he replies coolly. 

“Yes, well…” You lean back onto the headboard and stare up at the towering, empty ceiling. “If we’re both lucky, one day you will hear far worse.”

Aizen doesn’t leave. Instead, he makes his way even closer, until he hovers at the end of your bed. 

“What did you dream of?” 

Why are his words spoken with such gentleness?

“Your death. Your murder.”

A pause. “And it scared you?”

“It delighted me,” you lie. 

If he’s bothered by your words, he doesn’t show it. He just nods and makes to leave. Out of habit, you reach out a hand to stop him, only to freeze as you realize what you’re doing. Your grasp falls short and you watch as he ignores the gesture—for your sake or his, you aren’t sure—and turns his back to you. 

No more words are spoken as Aizen vanishes, leaving you to cold silence and muddled thoughts. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“You keep me confined here. Why?” 

The question has been in your mind since the beginning, and your curiosity has finally reached its boiling point—alongside your irritation.

Aizen looks up from the book he had been reading and tilts his head in consideration. 

“Are you concerned for your safety? I promise no harm will come to you.”

“Your promises mean nothing,” you say bluntly. “Answer the question.”

He closes the book in his hands, but not before smoothly folding a corner crease to keep the page. He sits at the opposite end of the large coffee table, facing you directly. You had been reading something of your own when Aizen decided—much to your protests—to join you. It has been an hour of silent reading and uncomfortable tension—at least on your part. Aizen could not look more relaxed if he tried. 

“Let me ask you something then-”

You interrupt him. “I asked first.”

Aizen only smiles. 

“Indulge me?”

Again, you ignore him. “Why not just kill me?”

His smile fades. “I don’t want you dead.”

“Why?”

“So many questions…”

“And you still haven’t given me an actual answer!” You snap. 

He’s still infuriatingly calm, as always. You resent the fact you can’t leave—that every sense of your space is dictated by him. You want to be away from him, more than anything. Staying here with this man, stuck in this beautiful, suffocating room, is a tremendous effort. 

His continued silence drains you. You slump, anger whisked away and replaced by exhaustion. 

“Do you want me to hate you?” You whisper. 

“Quite the opposite. I would never hurt you.”

“So you say,” you reply dryly. 

“It’s the truth.”

“Is that what you told Hinamori before you stabbed her and left her for dead? Hm? Is that what you said to Central 46 before slaughtering them all?”

He sighs. “You can believe what you want.”

“Oh, but I can’t, can I? Thanks to you, I can’t even trust my own thoughts, much less my beliefs.”

“Your beliefs are your own to have. I would never take that away from you.”

“Ah, right. Just my freedom then.”

“What is freedom in a meaningless world?”

“Enough with the philosophy, Aizen. I’m sick of running around in these circles, chasing my own tail in search of answers.” You lean forward and hold his piercing gaze. Eyes so full of wisdom and judgement—how easily you could get lost in them again, just like before. “Tell me why.”

Something flickers across his expression, but whatever it is, remains unnamed. 

“This is how I guarantee your safety and secure my weakness.”

Your confusion must be evident because Aizen continues. 

“I can predict many things. I can plan and organize down to the very last detail—until the future unfolds along the seams of my script. I can prepare in every way imaginable. All of that… and I still cannot control everything. Not yet.” He drums his fingers on the armrest, frustration lacing those last words. “Your safety couldn’t be guaranteed unless I secured you myself. With that, I eliminate my weakness as well. With you here, contained in this fortress, I have no need to worry about you on the battlefield.”

You stare, unable to make anything of his confession. 

“Are you saying I’m your weakness?”

“As far as I understand.”

A short pause. You nod. 

“Good.”

He quirks a brow. “Good?”

“Yes. It is good I make you weak. It will make it easier to kill you.”

Again, he only smiles. 

“I look forward to dying.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“You always act like you know everything—that everything is all a part of your plan.” You look up at Aizen through tear-filled eyes. “Tell me, was this a part of your plan?”

The blood is real this time. It is warm and sticky and runs viscous lines down your forearms before pooling at your feet. You press your palms against the gushing wound in an attempt to staunch the bleeding, but it’s no use. Doing so is as useful as putting a single bandage on a severed limb and hoping it’ll grow back. 

Aizen is leaned against a wall with his head slumped against your shoulder. His skin is a startling shade of white and sweat beads on his forehead. The sight makes you panic, and the panic makes you hyperventilate.  

This isn’t  supposed to happen this way. How is this even possible? This is Aizen, of all people—the closest thing to a God the world has seen. How could Aizen be this shivering, weak mess bleeding out in your arms? 

The blood won’t stop. His clothing is soaked a deep red, forming a dark ring in the area around his chest where a hole has split it open. The sight makes you nauseous, but your desperation to save him overtakes that feeling. 

“I need to call for help. Comms are cut but maybe if I-”

“No.” His voice is so quiet that, for a split second, you think you’re hearing things. 

“What?”

“It is inevitable.”

“What are you talking about? You are not dying like this. You’re too smart for-”

He cuts you off again. “Which is…” he groans as he shifts back, head lifting to look at you through lidded eyes. The pain is tense in his face. “Which is how I know it is inevitable.”

Somehow, he softens. “You do too.”

Tears roll down your cheeks as you face him—and reality. 

“I know,” you whisper. 

His head falls back and he lets out a pained breath. Your hands are still on his chest, stained red with his blood. 

“I regret I could not be what you wanted.” Each word is quiet and strained. Your heart clenches in response. 

“For a while, you were,” you reply. You can barely speak the next words without choking on them. “I did love you. The ‘you’ that was presented to the world, at least.”

“Good.” He nods. 

“Aizen?” Your voice trembles. The acceptance is numbing. It is turning you to stone. 

“Yes.”

Do me a favour and die well. Die… happy. It will lessen the pain.”

“Yours or mine?”

“Can’t it be both?”

“Of course.”

“Good. Keep that promise for me, won’t you?” 

…

“Aizen?”

You wait, but an answer doesn’t come. 

It never comes. 

It takes his death for you to realize that your relationship with Aizen was a frantic undoing of legacy and trust. It was doomed from the very beginning—just as anything he touched would be.

Perhaps death came for Aizen because of that—because it was the only thing that had the power to free him from the confines of a world too small for him. 

Perhaps death was exactly what he needed.

You did not think you could envy death until now. 

[cupidologys]

Heyyyy I wanted to ask, which parings to you ship in bleach?

hii to be completely honest i don’t actually ship many bleach ships (mostly just canon ones lol):

1. me x grimmjow

2. ichigo x orihime

3. rukia and renji (my favourites ever)

4. RANGIKU AND GIN😭😭😭 #doomedpairingsftw

there’s also ship dynamics i love like shunsui x ukitate, or aizen x shinji, but i don’t actively ship (? Does that even make sense)

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hi hi!!! I hate to ask and push but will you be posting more of atging soon? I love it so much!

hello!! im still working on the next chapter (slowly..😣) and will be continuing the fic! just sadly rn im having a bit of writers block and am focusing on other works

dw though i have no plans on dropping it anytime soon! sorry for the wait guys🙏🏻

[cupidologys]

Maybe a fluffy x reader where the reader asks zoro to brush their hair............... it would be very awsum and silly methinks and i dont think ive seen anyone do it

i will add the idea to my req list! definitely should write something nice after torturing everyone with back to back angst..

[cupidologys]

debating on whether or not to revamp my entire blog theme… thinking blue + yellow

[cupidologys]

i have something brewing for all my aizen fans out there

[cupidologys]

hii im hoping theres a part 3 to tpatp? if there is can i be added to the tl?

hi !! unfortunately there will not be :( i don’t have any plans on continuing that fic, sorryyyy

[cupidologys]

⸻ THE PRINCE(SS) & THE PROTECTOR [PT. 2]

pairing: zoro x reader

word count: 2.4k

synopsis:  refer to the first chapter: HERE

note: this is the SECOND part of this fic: TPATP

^^please read the first part before this chapter, as it will be confusing otherwise :)

and yes this is the final part !

+ + + + + + + + + + + +

ZORO

Three months had passed along the winter winds. Spring was just behind the proverbial corner, peeking its blooming head around, awaiting the final frost’s imminent leave. For Zoro, this shift was taking far too long.

Why?

Because when the seasons changed, he would finally be able to see you again.

The message arrived last week. A letter, embossed with molten gold and folded into perfect fours, found its way onto the deck by way of carrier falcon in the early morning. It had been addressed to Luffy. For some reason, disappointment struck Zoro when the sender was revealed to be you.

He shook the strange feeling away and snatched the thick paper from Luffy’s hand to read over its contents. There was only a single sentence written on the sheet, penned in careful, familiar cursive.

Luffy jumped around, craning his neck—which was quite easy for him—to catch a glimpse of the message. “What is it? I want to see.”

Zoro ignored his captain, instead he folded the paper and carefully pocketed it.

“Well?”

A huge grin spread across Zoro’s face. “It’s time to get our crew back together.”

The Spring Solstice is approaching.

I hope to see you all there.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . 　

The Merry docked in the sparkling harbours of a bustling metropolis. It was early morning—too early—and Zoro could feel the grogginess of a sleepless night weigh his limbs down. Despite the ungodly hour, the marina was buzzing with activity. People milled around, conversations floating seamlessly through the air. Some were setting up shop for the day—rows of all kinds of stores lined the inner docks and stretched far into the heart of the city. Others roamed about in various fashion; some were tourists and merchants, and others native citizens. No matter the purpose or the cause, everyone had the same buzzy manner to them. As if something electric was in the air, charging the atmosphere.

Zoro felt it too. That energy. That excitement. His blood thrummed with it.

The sun had just peeked over the horizon, casting the glossy buildings and shores in rosy hues. Your native kingdom was a modernist's dream. A glowing hub of glass, electricity, and the constant momentum of new, inspired invention. The technology here was all encompassing. Neon lights lined the sides of glittering buildings—some of which occupied their own space in the sky, suspended above the first foundational skyline. The vehicles zipping around, at least what Zoro thought were vehicles, were strange, sleek models equipped with an array of digital enhancements. They could fly too.

It seemed everything here belonged more to the sky than the earth.

Twenty minutes swiftly passed, and the crew slowly filtered away, each member marching off with their own designation in mind. Luffy wandered, led by his nose, down the streets filled with food stalls. The others offhandedly mentioned their own plans and each went their separate way. They made a promise to meet up in time for dinner, which was when they’d planned on surprising you at the palace.

The invitation itself was vague, but the shiny embossment at the bottom of the paper was the royal seal, a symbol which would, at minimum, grant them an audience with the king—and subsequently you.

A familiar groan made Zoro look up as he readied his own supplies to head out.

Sanji was off in a corner conversing with one of the store owners. They were engaged in what looked to be a heated transaction of sorts where the prize seemed to be a mint-coloured fish the size of a pencil and just as slim. The cook waved his hands in exasperation as the short, stocky salesman stared up at him in defiance.

Zoro shook his head, unable to muster any enthusiasm as he left the two bickering men to their devices. Instead, he ambled away and toyed with the hilt of his swords as he did so, rolling the smooth leather against the calloused skin of his fingers in an effort to expel the frayed nerves that rolled through his veins, causing his anxiety.

The city, alive as it was, had a strange air about it. As Zoro gradually made his way through the harbour and down the smoothly paved walkways that led to the heart of the metropolitan core, it became clearer to him that something had occurred—something important.

Shops had [CLOSED] signs put up despite it being late morning, flowers of all kinds were strewn around and fashioned into careful decorations, and many wore outfits of muted colours—a sea of grey and black trickled through the nation’s paths.

It was as if the city itself was in mourning.

Zoro shut those thoughts away. Perhaps those were the trends of the time. Perhaps the flowers were a cultural custom. Perhaps he was imagining it all and the foreboding thoughts invading his mind were nothing but unwarranted paranoia.

Everything was fine.

Until it wasn’t.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . 　

Miraculously, the crew congregated at the palace entrance relatively on time. Getting through the gates was surprisingly easy, and gaining an audience with the king—your father—was even easier.

The tall, imposing man greeted the crew with a wobbly smile. His hands, weathered and wrinkled with age, gripped his staff tightly until his knuckles turned white.

Something was wrong. Zoro was sure of it. Where were you?

“I did hope to meet you all under better circumstances,” he began. His brows furrowed as he worked his next words out. “[Y/N] always spoke so highly of you all.”

Zoro’s entire body tensed. Something was very very wrong.

Robin spoke up. “I apologize, Your Majesty, but what do you mean by that? Where is [Y/N]?”

The king’s expression falls. “I’m sorry… I thought you knew.”

“Knew what?” Zoro demanded, the thought of propriety forgoed. Anxiety bubbled up his throat like acid.

“The invitation was sent so long ago… I assumed that you received my letter regarding the news…”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“The letter of…” His lips trembled. “Of passing. I am sorry. [Y/N] is gone.”

The room fell silent.

“What? What are—what do you mean?”

Luffy stared straight at the floor, still as a rock. The rest of the crew looked shell shocked.

Zoro whirled around on the older man, eyes flashing.

“Tell me!”

Despite the obvious tension rolling off of Zoro, the man’s expression only softened in pity.

“I’m sorry.”

“What… what happened?” Sanji rasped from behind. Zoro turned at the sound of his voice and blanked at the sight.

Why were they looking at him like that? Like their hearts were breaking?

“Zoro.” Robin rested a hand on his shoulder in comfort, which was strange considering the tears in her eyes. It seemed she should be the one comforted. But why?

Why were they all…

Realization dawned on him. Heavy. Precise. A shot to the heart.

The tributes.

The singular letter.

A city in mourning.

Zoro dropped to his knees. His ears rang as blood rushed through his head. The reality of it was hitting him all too fast.

No.

He had never known grief like this before. It didn’t come slow. It didn’t creep up on him. It was there. Raw. Searing. Instant.

Sobs broke out from behind, but he barely took notice.

There was no room to breathe, much less think or speak. He tried anyway.

“…dy.”

Robin furrowed her brows, confused. “What was that?”

“The body.”

When no one answered and the tense silence persevered, Zoro lost it.

“I said show me the damn body!”

The swordsman was yelling now, fueled only by pain.

Hate. Regret. Despair.

Such foreign feelings with such an intimate touch. They rolled through him in waves, never fully dulled, ebbing and flowing with the motions of thought and time.

His chest was hollow. Everything was hollow. Empty. Zoro didn’t think he’d ever feel whole again.

How could this have happened?

This couldn’t have. They were mistaken. They had to be.

He had to see the body. It couldn’t be you. It couldn’t.

The screams continued. Curses. He cursed the gods… the heavens… anyone and everyone. He must have looked insane.

He must have gone insane.

The king only shook his head, sadness clouding his expression.

“The fire… nothing was left. Only…” he trailed off, eyes wide and glistening. “Only bones.”

“Oh…God!” Nami gasped and covered her mouth. Her hands trembled as she struggled to keep her cries at bay.

The rest of the crew weren’t faring much better. Each crew member was equally just as shocked and devastated at the news of your death. Most hadn’t stopped crying.

Zoro didn’t cry. He didn’t say another word until they made it back to the ship hours later. The moment he reached the hallways leading to his room, he collapsed. Robin and Luffy, who had been with him, rushed to their friend's aid.

Zoro felt nothing. Numbness had spread throughout his body, paralyzing what little control he had over himself.

The two others tried to help—to console him—to no avail.

They were at Zoro’s door, hands on his shoulders in comfort and solidarity, when he finally spoke up. His voice was rough and cracked; his palm was splayed flat against the wooden panel in an attempt to keep himself upright.

“Leave me,” he gritted out. A final plea. An incontestable order.

And so they did. They left him to that room—to the privacy of the oak door that did little to obscure his pain or muffle the echoes of silent suffering.

For weeks after, the ship was haunted by the ghost of you—of the memories and people left behind, forever tainted. Life, as static as it felt, still moved forward. The motions of the everyday cycled through spring until summer made its way across the horizon. The crew worked tirelessly, taking on odd jobs here and there as they sailed to their next destination, far from the land you once called home.

An accident, the king had said.

Unpreventable.

Inescapable.

You were merely at the wrong place at the wrong time and dealt a tragic hand by fate. Zoro had never quite believed in fate, but now he held a newfound hatred for it.

“[Y/N] was supposed to come back.”

“Zoro…” Nami hesitated. This was the most Zoro had spoken in days.

“Some time would pass. Maybe longer than I wanted, but not more than half a year.” His voice faltered on the last part.

“Everyone would make up. Chopper would cry. Sanji and Usopp too, probably. The awkwardness would linger, but only for a little while. I had it all planned out; what I’d say when we were reunited. I’d apologize. Grovel. Beg on my goddamn knees if that’s what it took. It didn’t matter. I would have crawled through the dirt if asked.”

Zoro’s eyes were unfocused, gazing blankly into the far horizon. The crew stood across from him near the ship’s helm, uneasy and somber, blocking most of the view. Zoro continued to stare forward, unmoving. He wasn’t looking at them. Rather, he stared past them. Through them. Like they weren’t even there. He just…watched. Waiting in silence for something that would never appear.

Time moved forward still, stubborn in its momentum against those so desperate to stay tethered in its past.

It was early morning and not many of the crew were awake yet. Robin and Sanji were the only ones awake aside from Zoro, though they were more preoccupied with the swordsman than their own responsibilities.

Zoro was training on the upper deck. He repeatedly slashed his swords in a sharp movement against a steel mannequin. The poor thing was in tatters from the relentless onslaught of strikes and hits.

Robin, who was watching from a short distance away, asked: “Has he slept?”

Another slash. The training dummy rattled from the force as another gaping hole appeared in its extremity. It wouldn’t last much longer.

“No. But he doesn’t do much of anything. He drinks, sleeps, and trains to the point of exhaustion every day,” Sanji sighed, hand ruffling through his hair in frustration. “He barely even eats. I tried making his favourite meal last night but he couldn’t keep it down for longer than five minutes. I’m… concerned.”

“He’s lost some weight,” Robin noted with a frown.

“Yeah, well… he’s lost a lot of things recently.”

A pause.

“So have we.”

Sanji swallowed. The loss was still fresh in their hearts. Still raw and painful and devastating. Sometimes he’d forget for a little bit. He’d prepare a meal, share a laugh, or lose himself in a job, and for a second he’d forget all about the pain. But seconds were seconds and life moved fast—too fast for them to grasp those moments of peace and hold onto them like lifelines, which they so deeply resembled.

Zoro didn’t have the privilege of those moments.

Sanji turned to face Robin to address her, but kept his eyes on Zoro. “I’ve never seen him so…”

“Out of it?”

“I was going to say ‘crazed’. His screams… god, it sounded like he was the one dying. Right there. Right in front of us.”

“Sometimes, I think he might have been,” Robin answered, a sad finality in her words.

“How do we help him come back from this?”

“I don’t know if he will.”

Zoro could hear them, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Not anymore.

At least, not until a certain day, near the end of summer, when the sun hung low and the breeze turned kind. Luffy had convinced his first mate to accompany him to a small town for a supply run when Zoro had inadvertently found himself lost in the midst of the countryside.

After an hour-long trek, he had all but given up. In a bid to return to the ship, he had tapped the back of a stranger, prepared to ask for directions he inevitably would’ve confused as well, but as the hooded figure turned around, all thoughts emptied from his mind.

All Zoro could do was stare as you turned to him, familiar eyes locking onto his own glassy ones.

“[Y/N].”

You gazed at the man before you, a warm but confused expression graced your face.

Zoro didn’t look like he was breathing. He didn’t feel like he was either. He was too focused on you.

You who stood in front of him.

You who was alive.

You who was real. Not the imagined version that haunted his dreams on the nights he managed an hour or two of sleep.

You who looked at him like he was a stranger.

“I’m sorry, who are you?”

—

˚ · . tags: @synchronised-beat @96jnie @guridoodles @metonimia-de-bellota @stranger-chan @sp1ng @diarythroughmylens @mitsureigen @kateswone @idx-xv @leafyturtle @lupidetenebris @captainsolare

[cupidologys]

I adore a fantasy/royal au and ATGING has me on the edge of my seat. I just binged it and I need more! I gotta know how this plays out and what secrets reader and dazai are both keeping! Sincerely loving the story and hoping you’ll continue it soon!

im so so glad you’re enjoying it!! that fic is my brain baby and i won’t be dropping it anytime soon :)

[cupidologys]

⸻ CH. SEVEN; BELLADONNA MORNINGS

pairing: dazai x reader (fantasy au)

warnings: mentions/themes of drugs

chapter list: this is CHAPTER SEVEN of a multi-chapter fic series. PLEASE read the previous chapters before this one!

link to previous chapters: ATGING

word count: 1.8k

+ + + + + + + + + + + +

The poison will not kill you. 

It will not kill me. 

It will not kill me. 

It will not kill me. 

A steady mantra. One that you repeat in your head over and over again. It’s not quite successful at dismantling your fear. 

The clear poison sits in a small glass pot, sealed shut by a wooden cork. There is no more than two ounces in the container, but you have a sinking feeling that such an insignificant amount could drown you if you let it. 

You grasp the top with your hand, apply even steady pressure, and pull. The cork pops off without much resistance.

Your speeding heart accelerates until it twists into a feeling not unlike a heart attack. Sweat rolls down your forehead in beads as you brace yourself. With hands far from stable, you turn the vial to its side, letting only a singular droplet fall from its rim and onto the wooden spoon below. Such a small amount could so easily be mistaken for a drop of rainwater. Unassuming and deadly. 

Your hands are still trembling even as you bring it to your lips. Your heart thunders in your ears and your face flushes as you try not to hurl. Time stretches to what feels to be an eternity, but is likely only a few seconds. It is a miracle that you are able to even lift the spoon to your lips with how badly you are shaking. 

3… 2… 1…

The crystal liquid touches your tongue.

Fire runs through you. Burning, searing, excruciating. You collapse onto the stone floor, mouth agape as you draw in heaving breaths. It is torture. Your innards are ablaze. Melting from the inside out. 

Holy shit. 

Holy shit. 

Holyshitholyshitholyshitholyshit—!

The pain is so unbearable that words and sound refuse to come out of your mouth. All you can do is writhe in silent agony, your mind screaming for the torture to stop. 

It eventually does. The relief is so welcome…so sweet that you feel your entire body, weighed down by exhaustion and drenched in sweat, physically relax. You lay on your side for a little while more, taking deep, full breaths, before your mind fully clears. You are still fatigued, but it seems you have recovered from the worst of the physical trauma.

You shudder. The strange mixture of poison is potent, yes, but you never anticipated such visceral pain. You dread the following weeks, your body already tensing in fear at the thought of having to experience it again.

But it must be done. Every agonizing drop is one step closer to an almost unattainable goal. A goal that you must achieve, no matter the sacrifice. And a hefty one it shall be. 

You glance at yourself in the mirror and balk at the person staring back at you. God, your skin…pale couldn’t even begin to describe it. It looks like every ounce of blood was drained from your body. Undertones of blue and purple mar the translucent surface. You run a hand along your wrist, up your lower arm. The veins are so prominent. It’s a wonder you’re still awake. The harsh bags under your eyes definitely don’t help your case. The weeks of restless nights are quickly catching up to you. 

“I really couldn’t have found a less painful poison, could I?” 

When no one but the empty silence answers, you sigh and stash the bottles away. 

Thankfully, Dazai is gone for the next few days on an expedition. Without any distractions, you can properly recuperate. Your body is still experiencing some of the aftershocks of the poison. Other than the fact that you feel like absolute shit, your hands also haven’t stopped trembling. Your mouth is strangely dry as well, and you’re positive you feel a migraine coming on. 

With a shaky inhale, you slowly trudge your way to your soft, incredibly inviting bed and practically collapse onto the cushions. Within seconds, you’re out, drifting off into a dreamless sleep. 

You are jolted awake by loud banging sounds. Someone’s at the door, and it seems they are desperately trying to break it down with how hard they’re hitting it. 

“Y/N! Open this door!” 

Dazai?

He shouts your name again and the door shakes in protest at his strikes. The noise. It’s all too much. Your head is ringing and ringing and ringing and ringing—

“I will kick down this damned door!”

“Just wait!” You call out, coughing at the scratchy pain in your throat. Your voice comes out weirdly hoarse as you try to stop his yelling. Your vision is swimming. 

“Now!”

Fuck. 

You drag yourself out of bed and groan at the sudden motion. The whole world is swimming, actually. 

Another loud bang. 

You are genuinely going to kill him. 

Thankfully, the curtains are closed, staving off the brightness of either the moon or sun—you aren’t sure which. You had a strong feeling the light would have made the pain in your head even more unbearable. 

“I’m coming, I’m coming. Just give me—!” You barely have the handle turned all the way before the door is violently flung open. You stumble, the momentum lurching you forward as the door swings out. 

Dazai stands before you, surrounded in a cold fury that is freezing the air.. It quickly wakes you up. 

“What in the hell are you doing?” 

He stares at you, eyes roving across your face as he inspects you. Whatever he is looking for, he does not find. With a sharp breath, he sweeps past you and into the room. A wave of his hand brings forth three Kingsguard; tall imposing gentlemen clad in shining battleplate and deep red ornament. Two of them come to stand by your side, hands resting on their encrusted scabbards, forming a flank. 

“Find it,” Dazai commands. 

The third guard walks forward… and rips open your cabinet doors. Papers fly into the air before falling haphazardly to the floor, making a mess of your desk. 

You’re struck with a bolt of sheer panic. 

“What? You can’t do that. Hey! You can’t do that!”

“Guards.”

The two men beside you shift to block your advancement. They each have a hand on your shoulder, solid but gentle. 

“You piece of shit. How dare you?” You hiss, venom dripping from your words. 

“Search the room. Everything. Bring me what you find.” Dazai’s voice is cold. Strange. He looks genuinely angry. 

He can’t do this. 

“No! Let me go!” You shriek, struggling against the bulky arms clamped around you. The men prevent you from moving even an inch forward. 

Dazai doesn’t look at you. His attention is too focused on what he is searching for. 

The poison. The vials. 

No no no no no no no….

If he’s looking for poison… if he finds it—

A guard hurries up to Dazai, holding something in his palm. The vial. The white belladonna.  

No. 

Dazai nods. The knight hands the bottle over and he inspects it, twisting it between his fingers. Dazai stills, watching the liquid splash against the glass case. 

A tense second passes. 

“Continue searching.”

The guard nods and scurries away, placing the vial on a random shelf before continuing the hunt. 

Your knees almost buckle from relief, but you catch yourself and manage to steady your breathing. 

Dazai steps up to you, face inches from yours. “Where is it?”

“Where is what?” You answer, exasperated. Your breathing is heavy and in bursts, unlike Dazai’s controlled coldness. You want to break that composure down, piece by piece. 

He doesn’t answer you. Instead, his eyes flit across your face, probing for any hint of deception. You are all too confused. He finds none. Dazai steps aside, head dropping backward as he stares at the ceiling for a moment to gather his thoughts. He lets out a long exhale before waving a hand, dismissing the guards. 

The instant they let you go, you storm up to Dazai, fury rolling off of you in heated waves. It takes all of your control not to snap his neck with your bare hands. Your breathing is short and laboured. If anger was visually palpable, there would be steam curling from your skin. 

There is not a hint of remorse in his expression. 

Oh, propriety be damned. 

With one swift movement, you whip out a small dagger—the one hidden in your boot—and fling it towards Dazai in blind anger. The blade flies past his face, barely missing his eye, and sticks into the wooden panel behind him. 

You curse your wobbly aim. The sick effects have not yet fully subsided. 

Dazai blinks. You merely stare back at him, anger not subsided in the slightest. Wordlessly, he turns, plucks the dagger from the wall, and inspects it with interest. 

“How violent.” He twirls the dainty thing between his fingers before turning to smirk at you. “I like it.”

Your hands are shaking. Out of anger? Adrenaline? Anxiety? A mix of them all, most likely. 

“What a pity you moved at that last second. So scared of losing an eye?” 

He quirks an eyebrow. “Would one measly eye truly satisfy you?”

“No. I deal with equivalent exchange. An eye for an eye…” You tilt your head, gaze blank as you mentally push away unpleasant memories. “And a head for a head.”

Dazai shifts. A flash of sadness cuts across his face before he looks away. 

You straighten, jaw clenched. Unprepared and unwilling to face his emotions. Whatever he feels, whether it be guilt or confusion or delight in manipulating you, is none of your concern. 

“Are you going to apologize for what just occurred?” You ask, effectively changing the topic. 

“The door was locked.”

You don’t even remember locking it. You must’ve done it before ingesting the poison. 

You raise your arms and sweep them wide, gesturing at the space around you.“And? It is my room.”

Dazai’s eyes widen in disbelief. “Do you not…?”

When you merely stare at him in blank confusion, he throws his hands up and begins to pace the floor in agitation. 

“You have been asleep for an entire week! You have been locked up in here, unchecked upon—I swear I will deal with those traitors shortly—and unresponsive to over an hour of my calls!”

Your right eye twitches. “And that gives you the right to invade my privacy?”

“I was concerned,” he answers plainly. 

“I have no need for your concern. It is misplaced.”

“No it is not,” he responds sharply. 

You rub the back of your neck and sigh. There’s no point in attempting to argue with him—not when his stubbornness could bore a hole through steel with its sheer will. 

“What were you looking for then? You owe me that answer, at least.”

Dazai hesitates. “It…” he frowns and his brows crinkle, as if he was trying to formulate his thoughts. 

You stand there, arms crossed, waiting. “Well?”

“A certain…substance.”

You blink. “Drugs?”

He hesitates again. “…Yes. I was searching for a drug.”

—

˚ · . tags: @bababahannah @zjarrmiii @aiizenn @emyyy007 @letsliveagaintoday @lacunanonymoused @bejeweledgirl @nat-the-gayass-down-bad-mf

[cupidologys]

⸻ EVERYTHING IS BLUE

pairing: dabi x reader

word count: 2.2k

synopsis:  when life gave you a second chance to meet your supposedly dead childhood friend, you never expected it to be in the form of a villainous encounter. your once beloved toya is now dabi—a cruel, twisted silhouette of the gentle boy he used to be. 

note: includes mentions of grief and insomnia

+ + + + + + + + + + + +

There is a very famous saying: Love conquers all. 

Supposedly love transcends time. 

Space. 

Death. 

It buries sin and cures suffering, lightening the world and its burdens. It is presented with such a peculiar resemblance to what some herald as Heaven’s gift from above—a sublime feeling only justifiable by the overpowering divine or mystical. You see it in the stars; unreachable. In the sunsets and dawn; dazzling.

But you also see it in the darkness; for the act of love has made fools of many, robbing them blind of reason and humanity. It has made liars and killers—corrupted and instilled madness. And it seldom lets its victims go. 

Love creates weakness. 

You vowed to never let it make you weak again. 

After all, the last time almost killed you. But who could blame you? Toya was dear to you. Toya was special. The closest thing to a soulmate you could ever fathom. The boy was your childhood best friend and the earliest memory of happiness you can recall. Now, that is all he is—a distant, fleeting memory that whispers of fractured promises and bygone dreams. He is never more than a nostalgic breeze tickling your skin, or a particularly bright star on an early winter night. 

He exists between the lines of your past. Simply there. But never next to you. Never in arms reach. 

As time passed agonizingly, you had slowly begun to forget the most basic things, such as the bright tenor of his laugh and the soft sound of his steps—sensations you used to know by heart. 

Sometimes, you can only remember the features of his face by looking at an old photograph you had kept. It is one of black and white film, stained on the back and crinkled at the edges from the wear of time. In it, Toya is smiling, a small hand raised up in a wave at whoever was behind the camera. You can’t remember. 

Was it your mother? His? You hope it was the former. She always adored Toya.   

His left arm was slung over your shoulder and the both of you had cake and icing smudged on your faces, courtesy of one another. 

That day—your birthday—is one of the last times you saw him alive. 

So why on earth do you see that little boy in the eyes of a villain?

The face of a young man covered in gnarled purple scars is plastered across the city. Video footage from a high speed chase is being shown in an emergency broadcast on every single screen covering the downtown core. 

His name is Dabi. Prominent member of the League of Villains. It is an organization the Pro Heroes—your colleagues—are adamantly trying to dismantle. 

The man’s picture is blown up on the big screens alongside three other criminals, each involved in the chase currently carving through the city blocks.

Something about him is so familiar, but you can’t grasp exactly what. 

Grief and nostalgia must be playing tricks again. To see a dead child’s face in a villain’s visage is ridiculous.

Laughable. 

But it wouldn’t be the first time you had… hallucinated Toya’s image. 

With a sigh, you peel your dry eyes away from the ward’s television and shut the channel off. The room is eerily silent in the late night, void of the tv’s noise. You like it. Silence helps calm the mind. Settles the chaos. 

You stand and make your way out of the ward, down the empty hallway, and into your personal office. The room is clean and tidy, the only thing out of place is a stack of research papers strewn across your mahogany desk. You round the corner and settle into the soft velvet seat of your armchair before running your right hand along the underside of the table. A familiar click sounds as you locate the button and a small cabinet pops open from the left shelf. 

Three bottles sit inside. Unassuming white ones with generic labels. You pop the smallest bottle open and dump a pill out. The red medication tastes like chalk as it grazes your tongue. 

After a second of consideration, you take another, hoping these sleeping pills will be strong enough to stave off the nightmares and vivid hallucinations. 

Hope. It’s such a small word, but also such a large one. Hope was all you had at one point. It was the only thing grounding you to a reality without him. You had hoped it was all a mistake—a joke, even. Toya would pop his head from the corner and yell: “Gotcha!”

He would be fine. Alive. 

Anything but a husk of a human, burnt beyond recognition, suffocating in the flames of his own blood.

Now, hope is nothing but a pretty word to throw around when meaning is lost. 

You close your eyes and lose yourself to a dreamless sleep. 

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . 　  

You are experiencing a startling sense of deja vu. The television glitches, interrupting regularly scheduled programming. A familiar figure appears. 

I, Toya Todorioki, was born as the eldest son of Endeavour. 

The world—your world freezes. The only thing you can comprehend is the man on your screen.

You stand up, shaking. Then, you run. Heroes and medical staff alike shout after you, but it all fades into a blur. There is only one destination in your mind—and it is a dangerous, painful place. 

It doesn’t take long for you to locate him. The city is in turmoil, buildings have been razed to the ground and rubble covers the once bustling space. You spot Shoto and his father up ahead, mere steps away. And in front of him stands Dabi—no—Toya. Your Toya. 

His hair is white now, the natural color no longer concealed once he revealed his identity. The scars have spread from the last time you saw him online. No matter. You knew it. You knew it was him. How could you forget?

Enji rasps out something in disbelief. 

Toya only smiles wide and responds with a sardonic confirmation. You could see it in their eyes—a living nightmare had come true for the Todoroki family.

But you? All you cared about was reaching Toya. None of them have seen you yet, so you take advantage of that by quietly making your way closer. The muffled voices turn clearer as the distance shrinks. Toya is speaking to his father and brother, words spilling out in frantic turmoil. The rawness of his voice rings through. Such intense anger and hatred cannot be faked. The two others are stricken by Toya’s address. You don’t blame them; the brutality of his language guts even you. 

Shoto notices you first. His eyes widen, almost imperceptibly, but Toya notices anyway. Your old friend whips around in your direction. You freeze as his eyes land on you. Recognition immediately flashes across his face.

His face. You feel as though you have been hurtled through space and time, brought back to simpler days. A scraped knee on the playground. Food fights in the cafeteria. A million pinky promises made.

A kid you called your best friend, reduced to ash and bones. 

These memories, both awful and radiant, wash over you with so much force you almost collapse. You silently praise yourself for keeping upright against the emotional onslaught. 

“Y/N, get out of here!” Shoto yells out, urging you away in a panic. 

You ignore him. Nothing else exists right now. Not Shoto. Not his father. Only him. 

“Y/N.” The way Toya says your name is almost questioning. As if he can’t believe you’re even here. 

You’ve somehow ended up right before him. Inches separate you, if barely. 

“Hi Toya,” you breathe, voice barely above a whisper. It would crack otherwise. 

He’s stunned, looking like the air was knocked from his lungs. Seconds fade into forever as his familiar gaze locks onto yours, searching—but for what, you can’t tell. It takes a moment for him to seemingly gather himself. The cynical persona quickly slides back into place.

“This is a nice surprise, but I’m afraid you have me all wrong. Toya is dead, Y/N. Dabi is all that is left—all that I am.”

You swallow. The air tastes of blood. “Somehow I don’t believe that.”

Don’t? Or won’t?

He shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “Well, it doesn’t matter what you believe. C’mon, Y/N! Don’t tell me you still have faith in who I used to be. That kid you knew is dead. Gone forever.”

You shake your head, refusing to take in his words.

“And yet, you’re standing right in front of me… how…?” Without thinking, you raise a hand up to touch his cheek. You’re operating on instinct, not logic. It's the instinct to comfort him—just like he did for you when you were children. 

But you stop yourself right before making contact with him, unsure. Toya’s gaze flits to your hand for a split second before returning to your face. There’s a question in his eyes—one you aren’t sure either of you can answer. 

“Why pretend you care? It’s cruel,” he murmurs, a subtle accusation coating his tone.

“What are you talking about? Of course I care.” You answer, bewildered. 

Pretend? How could he even begin to think that? When you’ve spent your entire life missing him?

“Then why did you move across the world the second you hit adulthood? You couldn’t even stay.”

“I thought you were dead. I mourned you. I grieved until what felt like my last breath. I left because every single second I stayed felt like reliving your death all over again.”

“And when you finally came back you were, what, healed? Moved on?” He laughs bitterly, arms spread in mockery. 

“Moved on?” You shake your head, the pain in your throat almost suffocating. “I saw you everywhere. Not just in dreams and nightmares. Hallucinating a dead person… I thought I was losing my mind! Even right now I’m praying this isn’t some sick, twisted nightmare.”

He drops his arms as well as the smile on his face. “Well, you’re in luck, Y/N. This is very much real. See, I thought things could change. That the consequences meant something to them. They lived my death and nothing happened! They saw what it did to me—the power, the ego, the fucking obsession that ruined this family—and did nothing!

“He’s a disease, don’t you get it? They all are. I’m simply here to rid the world of that sickness. I’m the cure, Y/N. I’ll burn the rot right out of the earth.”

Endeavour scrambles. “Son, don’t do this! Don’t—!”

“Son? Son?” Toya sneers. “You lost that right a long time ago, oh mighty Number One Hero.”

“Toya, please.”

He turns back to you. “No. Sorry to disappoint, Y/N, but you don’t get to participate in this dance.”

“What? No, Toya wait–”

An arm circles your waist before you can get another word out, and all of a sudden, you’re being carried away at breakneck speeds. 

Your screams are lost to the wind. 

An explosion in the distance. Red taints the sky and fills your vision. 

You have never felt so helpless.  

The next time you see Toya—the little that is left of him—is at the end of it all. He is confined. Half-alive. Burnt beyond recognition. It is like he is dying all over again. 

“I should hate you.”

You sit at his bedside, speaking your turn after his family just left. 

Toya is… tired. You can see it in his eyes—at the lack of fire. The passionate, ambitious boy you once knew is truly and utterly gone. 

But some of his kindness has returned. Or perhaps he has just accepted his fate, which is all the more heartbreaking. 

“You’ve done… terrible things. Hurt so many people,” you pause, considering your next words. Three tiny things lodged in your throat, struggling to be set free into the world. “You hurt me.”

He doesn’t look at you. You’re not sure if that’s any worse than his silence. 

“I didn’t think you would ever hurt me,” you whisper. 

Silence drags on for what feels like the longest minute of your life. He still has not turned his head. Still has not acknowledged you. Your heart sinks. Maybe this really is it. Maybe there’s no affection left—all of it burned up with the last of his lingering sentiments. 

You stand up, turning your back to him, ready to leave. For good. 

“I didn’t think I would either,” Toya murmurs. 

His soft voice breaks the silence—and it is overwhelming. 

You haven't turned around to face him yet. 

“In another life, would you have stayed?” 

“I…” he swallows, voice rasping. “I don’t want to leave this life. Don’t want to leave you behind… not again.”

Tears are streaming down your face. You don’t care; you sit back down right next to him, where you rightly belong. The ache in your chest is so heavy you think it might pull you to the ground and bury you below its surface to try and muffle your misery. You almost wish it did. 

Despite the pain, you muster out your next question. 

“You think we could be happy?” You take Toya’s wounded hand in yours and gently squeeze, careful not to hurt him. 

To your relief, he doesn’t let go. In fact, he squeezes back. It’s faint but the action is felt. “Yeah. Yeah, I think we could.”

And if another life exists, you are. 

Undoubtedly so. 

[cupidologys]

We sail the stars is so gut wrenching omg… you have a lovely way with words…to portray yearning in which a tangible way oh gosh my heart is aching

this is so🥹🥹 thank u sm im glad u enjoy reading the angst as much as i enjoy writing it <3

[cupidologys]

⸻ THE PRINCE(SS) & THE PROTECTOR

pairing: zoro x reader

word count: 3.5k

synopsis:  being in love with zoro is not for the weak, especially when such a love is unrequited. so it is all the more confusing when a certain pirate refuses to let you go when you decide to give your heart a break and leave the crew for good.

note: i really need to stop writing zoro fics with an arranged marriage and bodyguard/protector type premise. with that being said… enjoy xoxo

(also yes this is part ONE. here is the link to PART TWO)

+ + + + + + + + + + + +

Thunderstorms are the perfect weather conditions for silent rumination. You isolate yourself in a corner of the ship, eyes closed as rainwater glides down your face in cool streams. With a smile, you breathe in the scent of salt and earth that mingles with the southern winds. 

The crew is below deck, sheltered from the downpour and crackling lightning that splits the skies every so often. They’re all asleep and have been for a while now. You are the outlier. The strange one that decided to sit between a storm and the sea during the devil’s hours. Funnels of black clouds swirl angrily above you as it continues to pour. Your clothes, hair, everything is drenched. Soaked down to the very bones—some particularly weary ones. 

You relish the feeling of the water against your skin for another moment, reviving yourself from the bleak reflections plaguing your mind. By the time you make it inside, a decision was made. 

The next morning, faint sunlight filtered by sparse clouds light up the horizon in hues of soft orange and calm yellow. The water is still. Steady. Almost as if it had forgotten its role as a tempest’s plaything mere hours ago. It’s early. Much too early for most of the crew to be awake, but you can hear a faint tinkering from Usopp’s room and the steady footsteps of another member coming up the stairs to the upper deck.

A familiar silhouette appears in your vision. 

“Morning, Robin,” you say. 

The archaeologist comes to stand next to you and nods. “Good morning. You’re up early.”

“Had a lot on my mind. Doesn’t leave much room for sleep,” you point out. 

“Did you get any?”

“Some.”

She raises a brow, unconvinced. 

“About an hour's worth,” you shrug. 

An arm sprouts up from the railing you’re leaning on. It holds out a mug of steaming coffee. You take the cup gratefully. The smooth liquid warms you up in the crisp autumn air. Robin takes a sip of her own drink before responding. 

“What’s the verdict?” She asks. 

“I’ve decided to go.”

She sighs. “That’s it then. I understand there’s no point in trying to change your mind?”

You shake your head sadly. The past few weeks of turmoil and trepidation cemented that certainty. You can’t stay. Not when the fate of a nation falls on your shoulders… and certainly not with feelings as forbidden as the ones you harbour. 

“Is it because of him?”

“No. No,” you emphasize at Robin's doubtful expression. 

“Don’t lie,” she chides. 

You grimace. “Well, not entirely because of him.”

Robin scans the calm horizon with watchful eyes, a storm of thoughts whirling into action behind that piercing gaze of hers. The archaeologist has always been the most logical out of the crew, favouring rationality over emotion. It is the trait you admire most about Robin and the reason why you sought her counsel specifically, choosing to confide in her—and only her—about the decision you faced. 

“He deserves to know,” she says softly. 

You stiffen, the mere thought making your throat tighten up with anxiety. You shake your head, effectively ending the conversation. At the perfect time too, as one by one the rest of the crew pad up the stairs, ready to start the day. 

Luffy first, bounding up the steps with a large grin. Nami follows, then everyone trickles through the doors. Zoro is last. 

The swordsman yawns and stretches his arms behind his head, taut muscles glistening under the morning sun. He opens one eye, peeking at you from under sleepy lids. Your heart clenches at the lazy smile he greets you with. 

This is going to be difficult. 

“Mornin’,” Zoro mumbles, stifling another yawn behind his fist. 

The rest of the crew bustles about, running around the deck in preparation for the day ahead. You hear Luffy’s excited laugh somewhere in the background followed by familiar shouts of concern and beratement from Nami, Sanji and Usopp, each taking turns to scold the captain’s latest—and no doubt foolish—idea. Whatever it may be. 

The noise and chaos fades away the moment Zoro walks up to you, his warmth surrounding you despite the cold morning temperature. It makes it near impossible for you to focus on much else. Anything else. 

“Hey,” you say. 

He frowns, eyes scanning your face. You resist the urge to touch it, anxious. Was there something on your face? A pimple? An eyelash? 

“What? What is it?” You ask, nerves alight. 

“Did you stay up late?”

You blink, caught off guard. Did you really look that tired?

“Yes,” you answer plainly. There’s no point in trying to hide it from him. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Zoro arches a brow. “Why not?” Concern laces the question. You almost crumble, seconds away from confessing the truth you’ve been hiding for weeks, when someone barrels into Zoro, knocking him over and effectively ending your conversation. 

Luffy, unfazed, pops up onto his feet and dusts himself off, his signature toothy smile never having left his face. Despite his right-hand man groaning on the ground next to him, Luffy seems as chipper as ever. 

“Sorry, Zoro!” He apologizes, not sounding very sorry at all. 

“I… hate… you…” Zoro grunts, still recovering from having the wind knocked out of him. 

Luffy only laughs it off and runs back to the rest of the crew, chattering about some new adventure that is bound to be more effort than it is worth. 

“You okay?” You press your lips together in an attempt to stifle a laugh. 

Zoro takes the hand you offer, warm palm wrapping around your own. You can feel rough calluses against your skin—a testament to his training. You pull him up and watch him steady himself. He doesn’t let go of your hand. Nervous, you break contact first. 

He shoots you a puzzled look, but decides against commenting on it. 

“I will be once I knock him upside the head.”

“Let’s not give the poor boy brain damage.”

Zoro snorts. “You mean more than he already has?”

You laugh, the sound almost entirely concealed by a burst of raucous shouts coming from the other side of the deck. Curious, you begin walking over to the crew. Zoro follows suit with his hands in his pockets. As the two of you make your way across the ship’s expanse, the sight of Nami and Luffy arguing comes into view. The others stand off to the side, exasperation and amusement colouring their expressions. 

“It’s too risky!”

“It’ll be fine, why are you being so boring?”

“I am trying to keep us from getting killed,” Nami seethes. Her face is set in a tight scowl that twists her features into something alarmingly frightening. You haven’t seen her this angry in quite some time. 

“Not if we’re careful,” Luffy defends. The captain looks bored and irritated at the same time. 

Nami’s right eye twitches.  

Oh dear. 

“And since when are you careful?” 

“I’m not. But [name] is.” Your captain jerks a thumb in your direction. 

All heads swivel to look at you. 

You raise your palms up, placating. “I… just got here.”

Nami runs up to you, eyes pleading. The ginger-haired woman grabs your shoulders and gently shakes you. 

“Please knock some sense into him!”

You tilt your head and lean to the left in order to peek at Luffy from behind Nami’s frame. The boy scratches the back of his head with a toothy grin. 

“Would you care to explain, Captain?” You ask bemusedly. 

Luffy’s eyes dance with mischief. “We’ve got a mission!”

It’s Zoro that steps in this time. “Just the two of you?”

“Well, yeah,” Luffy answers plainly. 

You gently pry Nami’s hands off. “Why?” 

“You’re the only one who knows the layout of the place,” he explains. 

You frown. “What place?”

“Aracorn Palace,” Robin interjects. There’s a small smile on her face as she watches the situation unfold. Always assessing. Always dissecting. 

Aracorn… such a familiar name. It takes a second before a sliver of memory tickles the edges of your mind. An image forms; one of a mighty castle built from silver and stone erected in the heart of a powerful city. 

You used to travel there for important delegations and social banquets. Luffy is right. You do know the area well. 

“We’re going there? What for?”

“And why only the two of you?” Zoro questions. 

“To be stealthy,” Luffy grins. 

“Right. Stealthy. You.” Zoro stares, unconvinced. 

Luffy ignores his second-in-command. “We’re going to go rescue someone. He’s being kept in the dungeons.”

So many questions. 

“Who is it?”

Robin, again, speaks up. “His name is not important. He may not even own such a thing. His role as an ex-member of an underground information guild named Kleios is what makes him useful to us. An execution date has been set for tomorrow evening, so if we are to save the man, we must do it soon.”

“Well? What do you say?” Luffy's enthusiasm is palpable. 

The rest of the crew watches you, assuming that you would wave it off. The danger is obvious, and you are—among most instances—level headed enough to pull the plug when needed. 

One last adventure. 

You surprise them. 

“I’m in.”

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . 　  

You should have known it wouldn’t be easy. In fact, you should have known that the entire plan would fall apart because of course it did. Nothing ever seems to go right for the crew. Right now you curse such rotten luck. Although… it isn’t even luck, not really. It’s the captain… Zoro… Nami… Sanji… the whole lot of them! No matter how organized—how meticulous—a plan was, it never actually fucking went to plan. You suppose you’ll miss it. That unmanned chaos. You suppose you’ll miss all of it. As for who you’ll miss most…

“Zoro!” You stare up at the swordsman in both relief and horror. He dangles from a rope ladder, cascaded off the side of a strange looking vehicle—one with wings and whirring motors that suspend its large metal body in the open air. Usopp sits in the pilot seat manning the impressive contraption. Sweat beads on his forehead from concentration. The others are likely protecting the ship from the nation’s naval cavalry. 

 You increase your pace despite the burning sensation in your lungs. Hot on your heels is a stretch of armed guards mixed with strange looking creatures that look to be a gruesome mismatch of different animals—both natural and mythological. 

Chimeras. 

Luffy, for once, listened and fled alongside you when shit hit the fan—albeit with extreme reluctance. The captain was able to deal with the first rush of soldiers and their Chimera, but the monster was vicious and even Luffy struggled. That was a mere one. The royal guard owned five. And all of them, snapping their fanged teeth and snarling in hunger, are quickly closing the distance between themselves and you—their prey. 

The prisoner was long dead. The whole thing was a trap designed to ensnare the Straw Hats, and Luffy and you had walked straight into it. By the time you both realized you had been played, the cavalry had already surrounded you. Thankfully, Luffy was the master of creative escapes. He was not, however, a master of subtle ones. What was originally one guard unit and its accompanying Chimera quickly turned into all of them chasing after you in a vicious frenzy. 

“Don’t engage! We’ll come to you!” You shout towards Zoro, urging him to stay aboard. You can see a sort of panic in his eyes, mottled by excitement. He’s itching to fight. But doing so would be his biggest mistake yet and likely his last as well if he does not heed your words. 

The murderous soldiers are practically breathing down your necks, and even with Luffy trying to fend off as many as possible, you will quickly be overwhelmed by the strength of the Chimeras. The monsters growl and roar as their heavy steps thunder behind you, bloodlust practically soaking them through. If Zoro abandoned the ladder and tried to fight them off… it would be sheer suicide. You won’t let that happen.

Luffy manages to stretch out and grab hold of Zoro in the near distance. With a yell, he swings himself up and grabs you along the way. You yelp, the sudden movement catching you off guard. You shut your eyes as the wind whips you in the face. With a soft thud you land against a warm mass.

Zoro catches you, arms encircling your waist. 

“Are you okay?” He murmurs into your ear. 

You sag into him from relief. “Yes. Is Luffy…?”

“He’s completely fine,” Zoro smirks. 

Luffy, who is sprawled across the floor, gives you two thumbs up in reassurance. You can’t help but laugh. 

“Usopp! Take us away.”

The pilot gives you a smile and a salute before he presses a button and pulls the wheel up. Slowly, you feel the contraption tilt upwards. Smooth and steady. 

CRASH!

Out of nowhere, you and the rest of the crew are violently thrown to the left as something punctures the metal wall of the vehicle and jerks the entire thing back. Before you go slamming into the wall, Zoro twists himself around and cushions the blow. 

“What the hell?” Zoro’s grip on you tightens protectively.

A strange red pincer curls into the crumpled sheet that—just a moment ago—was the side hull. It looks to be the same sort of armour that is found upon the back of a crab, except it bears a darker color. Not unlike a deep pool of blood. Its shape is almost identical to that of a scorpion's tail but riddled with sharp ridges that cover its surface. The thing is the size of your head—a grotesque limb extended from one of the Chimeras, no doubt. 

Zoro and Luffy both immediately jump into action, the former slicing at the pincer while Luffy tries brute force. Neither works. Solid and unbending, the pincer trembles then stills. The next second you are staring into the howling winds and open space. The army roars beneath you, fifty feet below. The ugly beast with the scorpion tail isn’t finished. It narrows its beady eyes and with astonishing speed, it whips its tail upwards, spearing the floor. 

Usopp does his best to recenter, managing to keep everyone upright and away from the gaping hole left by the ripped wall.

“Shit,” Zoro hisses. “The damn thing is too tough. I can’t cut through.”

“I can’t rip it out!” Luffy frowns, throwing punch after fruitless punch at the immovable pincer. 

Panic threatens to overwhelm you.

Shit, shit, shit. Shit!

Something glints in the corner of your vision. A solution strikes you and you scramble towards a device on the floor. 

“The laser cutter! I can–” but your voice is lost to the bellowing winds as the monster yanks its tail once more, causing the entire machine to shake. You fumble with the device and clumsily clasp it in your trembling hands. Vertigo strikes you as you look down for a split second. 

The ground is nearing at an alarming rate.

It’s too close. Too—

Zoro jumps. 

“NO!” You reach out in an attempt to pull him back but you're too late. The fabric of his shirt slips out of your grasp and Zoro goes tumbling down—straight into the unhinged maw of the monster below. 

You aren’t sure if the screams piercing the air are your own or if they belong to the dying men below. With fluid ease, Zoro manages to sidestep the beast. He dives into the mass, slashing through their ranks. It is beyond impressive. 

But it is not enough. 

The Chimeras have zoned in, their attention drawn to Zoro. Snarling and snapping, they circle their prey. 

Its suicide. 

“No…”

Luffy steps forward, ready to leap into the chaos, when familiar shouts sound from below. 

The rest of the crew are here. 

You collapse in relief, adrenaline draining from your body. 

He’s okay.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . 　  

“This is such a stupid fight,” you sigh. 

“This isn’t a fight,” Zoro frowns, unnerved by the very idea of arguing with you. 

Sanji pipes up. “It sounds like a fight.”

Nami pinches him by the ear and drags the chef out of the kitchen, scolding him as he protests and apologizes. 

“But Nami! They’re in my workspace!”

You and Zoro both ignore him, too preoccupied with the argument at hand. 

“I saved your life. His too. If anything, you should be thanking me.”

You scoff in disbelief. “I’m not going to thank you for your recklessness.”

“And I won’t apologize for it,” Zoro says firmly. 

“You’re going to get yourself killed one day! I refuse to stick around and watch it happen.”

He freezes as he catches onto the underlying meaning behind your words. “What do you mean by that?”

“I…” you hesitate, unprepared for this conversation. You didn’t mean to let news of your departure slip out. This isn’t how it was supposed to go. You’re both too agitated. Too riled up. 

“What do you mean by that?” He echoes. His voice is low and careful, tip toeing on the edge between urgency and trepidation. 

You want to turn around. Walk away. Lie. 

But this is Zoro. A man you entrust with your life and, occasionally, your heart as well. Secrets don’t belong in your relationship—as muddled as it is—and they will only consume what trust you have forged through the years. 

It is time to bear the truth in front of the most terrifying witness. 

With a rough swallow, you tell him everything. Your plan to leave the crew, to retain your birthright, and to finally settle your country’s score, once and for all, by bringing peace through union. A marriage between royal heirs. You and a foreign prince. 

You can’t look at him as the secret you’ve been harbouring finally spills over your lips like oil. If you look at him, you’ll cry. 

“…I leave in two weeks,” you finish. You’re still staring at the ground, heart racing a mile a minute. 

There’s no answer. Silence stretches on for a while, so quiet a person’s breath could be mistaken for thunder. So cloying, it stains your lungs. Finally, you can’t take it anymore. You snap your head up, ready to demand a reply from the swordsman, but the look on Zoro’s face wipes anything you have to say from memory. 

Shock, anger, disappointment, sadness. Those are all too shallow of description for the depth of what he is feeling. The best he settles on is desperation. An intensely unpleasant anxiety that borders on panic. That is what currently thrums in his veins. 

You’re leaving…?

“You won’t change my mind Zoro.”

He doesn’t answer. 

“Nothing will,” you add softly. 

Especially not him. 

This is your goal—your dream. He can’t take that away from you no matter how much he resents it. He simply can’t. But he can be angry, can’t he? He deserves that anger. Needs it to keep him sane. But before he can articulate it, you speak up again, turning the subject back to the argument before. 

“The point is you’re too rash.”

He’s barely listening. “It’s my job.”

“No,” you reply firmly. “No it’s not. You put that title on yourself—placed that burden on your own shoulders, never asking for a hand. Not even when so many would offer.”

“I don’t need help. I protect my friends. That’s what I do,” he grits out. 

“Even at your own expense?”

“Yes.”

You scoff in disbelief. “It's idiotic.”

“It’s my duty.”

“So you say!” You throw your hands up, exasperated and frustrated. “But that’s not all it is, is it? You fear losing that part of yourself—the protector, the bodyguard, the shield—because you would lose yourself in the process. Your entire life—your purpose—does not revolve around meaningless self-sacrifice and protecting us from a world we choose to exist in!”

He scoffs in sheer disbelief. “And you? What exactly is your role? Don’t you dare stand there and attempt to psychoanalyze me when you’re just a damn coward!”

You suck in a sharp breath, his words striking deep. “I am not a coward.”

“Then why the hell are you running away?!”

“Running? Running?!”

He nods, jaw clenched. He avoids looking straight at you—at the hurt in your eyes. “Yes. The only thing you know how to do.”

Anger replaces hurt. “You fucking hypocrite,” you spat out.

He shakes his head. “I’m just calling it like I see it.” 

“You are nothing without your so-called duty,” you hiss. “So you do not get to judge mine.”

“Is that why you abandoned it in the first place? I wonder where this valiant change of heart came from.”

“You could never understand.”

He drops his gaze to the floor and takes a heavy step back. Zoro can barely look at you. “You’re right. I could never understand turning my back on people who needed me.”

Those are the last words he says to you. The next morning, you are gone. All of your things and belongings cleared from your room—like you had never existed on the ship in the first place. 

[cupidologys]

Hi

How are you? Are you ok?

hi! yes i am doing fine :) just super busy !! definitely am still writing + working on fics tho<3

[cupidologys]

burnout has me working on a new zoro fic so stay tuned <3

gonna be a little angsty and a little dramatic and a little sweet (my bread and butter)