#AND NOW ITS ALL I CAN HEAR IN MY BRAIN SOMEONE LET ME OFF OF THIS RIDE

[mandalhoerian]

Repost because tumblr's tags were broken yesterday and it ate my post up 😞 Spoilers and translation notes for Rafayel's intertidal zone & analysis because it kinda floored me, I was just as a blank page as he was throughout this. I had to watch it like 5 times to understand what the story was saying and dig into chinese and japanese versions of this to piece together what was really happening. It may be my idiot brain not getting it and maybe it was like the easiest thing to understand for you but. Yeah. I may be just dumb LMFAO AND!!!! There's also a theory of mine into how Rafayel is actually able to read mc's mind/wishes through their lemurian bond, so stay tuned for that I guess

EDIT: correcting some transcriptions of chinese characters and the translations. sorry about that! google couldn't transcribe it correctly. for clarity's sake i will also include original screenshots. please tell me if anything is wrong!

EDIT 2: Check out part 2 to this as well for stuff I missed!

So Rafayel’s whole deal in this memory, I believe, is dependency. Like, too much intensity, too much need, too much fear -- about scaring her off, about what he sees himself possibly becoming in the future, overall just being too reliant on mc and getting scared by it.

Let's begin with this massive fear of being a taker, not just in the “I’m stealing someone’s fries” way, but in this existential, soul-deep kind of way where he’s terrified of turning everything he loves into something he exploits out of demand for his art. And yeah, it’s sad when you first hear him say it, but it’s also really interesting when you look at how this all ties into his relationship with MC and his inspiration source drying up because of her.

Before Rafayel became an artist, he looked at the world in this super pure, wholesome way. Sceneries and nature were just there, things to admire and feel awe over without needing to do anything about it. Like, imagine standing at the edge of a desert, looking at a sea that’s drying up. Sure, it’s tragic, but it’s also kind of beautiful in a raw, heartbreaking way. That’s how Rafayel saw things, he could appreciate them without feeling like he had to do anything.

But then Rafayel started creating, and suddenly, sceneries weren’t just sceneries anymore. They became inspiration. He wasn’t just admiring beauty, he was extracting something from it, its meaning, its pain, its soul, to turn into art for other people. And that made him feel all kinds of icky, because now he wasn’t just looking at the drying sea. He was taking from it. Just as he's using his people's pain in his art as well, that's also a thing.

Now let’s talk about MC. Rafayel loves her like he used to love those sceneries,,, in this pure, untainted way. There's a parallel here. But here’s the kicker, he’s not the same guy who can just admire something and leave it untouched anymore.

And suddenly, this is no longer only about losing inspiration for him.

This happens after he and MC get together, and it’s like all the pain and anguish that used to fuel his creativity just.. ... dries up. He can’t find that spark anymore because now his life is surrounded by love instead of suffering. In fact, his inspiration starts coming from her and it's starting to clash with how he makes art. In the phone call, he seeks her out and says he needs her so bad and she only needs to talk to help him out. This is the first wink wink nod nod of the story.

So what does Rafayel do? He goes on this big, dramatic trip to "find inspiration" (or at least his muse), but it’s not just about his art. He’s not just looking for inspiration, he’s trying to figure out how to be less dependent on her and becoming increasingly more restless over this. The temparature and physical discomfort is making things worse, he's anxiously overthinking, and imagine trying to fight this and the longest art block as of late off when all you want to do is indulge in this special person and be comforted like a lap cat all day every day.

He understands that if he lets himself indulge without restraint, one day his love for mc will turn into pure need. He’ll become more and more greedy, and he doesn’t want that and is afraid of being abandoned because of that growing neediness and dependency.

This is in relation to his art, because as @/dat-silvers-girl put in the comments, he's struggling with "the genuine fear of not being able to enjoy anything in life because all you're thinking about how to use it (as an artist)" . what if he starts doing this to her? to their love and relationship? take from her, and become someone who only takes in every area of life -- like someone who only exploits things by extracting what he feels about them to use it for his art. he's afraid of that, he doesn't like that and possibly doesn't like himself who does it. so why should she? she would leave him for sure, in his head, that's a solid reason to.

The first time around he brings up his anxiety about MC leaving him out of the inner realization of his dependency, the possibility of just what he can become, and fear of abandonment. she effortlessly soothes his worries. It's heavily implied they did it afterwards and after hearing "her life has already been consumed by him" he tweaked out a little bit and his "obsession" seeped through.

After it fades to black, he says ほら……僕もとっくに……君に侵食されてしまっているんだ…… which means "See... I've already been completely consumed by you too" in Japanese instead of the life being made a chaotic mess localization. While I think MC's line was jokey and lighthearted, I don't think this man is joking at all. Rafayel didn't say his life was consumed by her as well, he said HE was consumed. Ouh.

This took the edge off from him for a while but they hadn't gotten to the root of the problem yet, so he was back to square one after the memorial hall, because remember, he's trying to find inspiration as an act of making this dependency of his better. Pain and suffering are all around him here, which his inspiration feeds off of. The dried up ocean he could hear weakening, the skeleton of the whale, the burden of his people and homeland more prominent than before. And what does MC do? Tear through the perspective of pain and introduce a hopeful alternative, "Isn't it a surprise to see an ocean in the middle of the desert?"

This is a place that gave Rafayel the height of helplessness and suffering when he visited by himself before despite momentarily being hopeful after the locals told him such a place existed. But now, she was there to comfort him through his loneliness and pain, hug him, and give him hope yet again. He brings up how he wanted to come here with the most important person to him when he was still hopeful about it before consumed by the pain of it all, and that wish has been granted. That moment has to be so powerful for Rafayel. Literally light at the end of the tunnel.

It had me reeling that he just sat in the car after all that, staring at her for god knows how long until she woke up. He was probably overthinking again, but my interpretation that it was heavily emotional for him (it could have meant so little for MC but the world for him, she doesn't even know) and he wanted to be in that moment with her, just feel and look without restraint. Indulge a little. (I can just imagine him going just a little bit more, I'll go after she wakes up.) And like. His eyes are shining in the darkness is the description here. Perhaps he was feeling so much here. So much love. So much happiness. And he's about to go in for a kiss (heavy breathing and everything) after that, but holds himself back and actively has to pry himself away. He's feeling the neediness again.

That’s why he makes an effort to actively wean himself off and says he'll be okay on his own. What he says to her after MC is like "spoiling him" being all "hey you're sick maybe don't go? or let's go together?" (which is NOT helping Rafayel at all) is even more meaningful in Japanese and I didn't know why they left out this context, but the rearranged line would be "Do you want me to become a sea creature beached on the sand after the sea recedes, unable to breathe on my own ever again?"

Yeah. YEAH. This is about dependency. (He's saying don't coddle me I'll literally become that wolf tearing his shirt meme 😭)

So of course his stubbornness and anxiety force him to do things without MC and distance himself, he can do it. He’s determined to prove to himself that he can endure it on his own.

I also feel like part of the reason he insisted on going to the salon alone is that he’s still worried mc might come to dislike the version of him who's someone he's so sure she will leave, who isn't perfect and he hides behind the persona he's put up just for her. If he truly becomes addicted to her and shows her everything/his true self, and she ends up leaving him, it would completely break him. He's trying to be like "im so normal about her haha" but he's so not normal about her at all. He's literally obsessed I feel like, and perhaps this is him fighting it knowing it's not healthy.

and OOOH about why he ends up coming back from the salon all hot and bothered.

I have strong context that she flicked the bean in there after he left her high and dry in the car ("hot water washes away the stickiness from my body and his stifled breaths still echo in my ears, enveloping me along with the steam in the bathroom. The warmth from his fingertips lingers in the places where he touched me..." is the english. however, in chinese, it goes "熱水洗去身上的黏膩，壓抑的喘息迴盪在我耳畔，和浴室裡氤氳的水氣一起包裹著我." stating "the suppressed breathing" -- which doesn't have any possessive adjectives when I translated it on google and later explicitly asked chatgpt if it had any his/my adjectives involved, just to be sure. it said no but i'd like it if a real chinese speaking person could give their input on this !!! PLEASE DONT LEAVE ME WITH CHATGPT

so um. if the context is in fact the case that he heard her masturbating to him, the intensity with which he attacked her would be normal, I think 😭

I have belief that MC unconsciously shatters his "training himself to be without her" determination through their bond. She just keeps thinking about him the entire time. about him reading her thoughts, though. we still don't know all about the lemurian bond they share. I’d say it grants him some sort of mind/heart reading ability or connects their minds together (when she was thinking about whether she should hug him, he answered “yes”).

At the salon, I imagine Rafayel was already thinking about her like crazy. Then he realized, or perhaps, "heard" she was still worrying about him and thinking of him (as much he thought about her) and decided to go back. Rafayel probably felt that suppressing himself was only making her more anxious and unsettled. She's thinking all about him, unconsciously calling to him to come to her, she didn't want to let him go at all, wanted to go with him, etc...

but even if it was his own decision and no mind reading was involved... uh. If you ask me. He did quite literally hear her after coming back. That's also something that might make him think she wants him as much as he wants her, which made his self-restraint utterly meaningless from the start.

Disregarding this theory of mine proven wrong until a Chinese speaker helps me out here, MC returned to Rafayel's room. A translation omission happened here from what I saw. There are no possessive adjectives in the Chinese text about the room she returns to, and the Japanese one states she returned to the guest room (doesn't specify which one. She was also able to enter Rafayel's room without needing to knock before.)

so uh. she went into rafayel's room y'all. the line "this is my room, you're the one who walked in here" MAKES SO MUCH MORE SENSE. (SO LIKE. NOT ONLY DID SHE GO INTO HIS ROOM, SHE FLICKED THE BEAN THERE AND HE POSSIBLY HEARD IT. SHE'S MORE OF A FREAK THAN HE IS, I UNDERSTAND WHY HE LET GO AFTER THAT LMFAO)

I don't put it past him to get worked up after he finds her in his room post-bath even without my theory lmfao (idk why they put her in a dress when she should be in a bathrobe or something 😭)

His conclusion at the end of this memory that "he finds inspiration in pain and the art of creation is a part of his life. mc made him realize love and art are so alike. even if they don't complete him but burn him instead he wants them (love and art) with every fiber of his being" and MC says she doesn't like that, rightfully so.

So like. There's SO MUCH to unpack in here.

When Rafayel says he finds inspiration in pain and that creation is a part of his life, he’s admitting something raw and essential about himself: pain isn’t just a byproduct of his art, it’s intrinsic to it. For Rafayel, pain and art are intertwined in a way that’s almost inseparable. It’s like his muse isn’t just beauty, but beauty that hurts.

But then he takes this further by connecting art to love. He’s realized that both art and love demand the same from him: vulnerability, passion, and sometimes suffering. They don’t necessarily complete him (he’s not romanticizing them as salvation), but they burn him, wear him down, consume him (coincidentally, this is something he said to MC in the JP dub of this memory, that she consumes him), but also give him life. And for Rafayel, that’s the crux, even if they burn him, he wants them with every fiber of his being.

This is such a Rafayel thing to say. It’s dramatic, it’s tortured, but it’s also deeply SUBTLE. He doesn't spell all of these out, mind you, I got a headache trying to understand him. Or I'm just slow, I don't know. It shows how much he values creation and connection, even if they come at a cost.

MC, on the other hand, challenges this perspective. When she says she doesn’t like that he views love and art as things that burn him, she’s pushing back against the idea that suffering is a necessary part of creation, or love. MC doesn’t want Rafayel to see their relationship as something that requires him to hurt. She’s telling him, “You don’t have to destroy yourself to love me.”

When MC says, “You’ll never have to burn for me,” she’s giving Rafayel an alternative to his destructive mindset. She’s saying that love doesn’t have to hurt, that their relationship can exist without him sacrificing himself on the altar of passion. It’s a refusal to let Rafayel romanticize pain as the price of love.

And I love that Rafayel goes, "Will you help me look for other parts in life outside of pain?" in response. This is NOT about art or inspiration anymore, and the way the dialogue is written is just AUGH. Again I had to rewatch this over and over again for the nuances and subtext.

I love MC's response, she knew exactly what to say. “I’ll always be the one who walks along the shore with you. Of course, diving into the sea bed is fine too. If it can snow in the desert, there will be a day when the ocean returns.”

MC’s response is layered with metaphors, but at its core, it’s about unwavering support and hope::

Walking along the shore: This represents safety and companionship. MC is saying she’ll be with Rafayel in the calm, in the moments where they’re just observing life without diving into its depths. She’ll be his steady presence, his grounding force.

Diving into the sea bed: This is an acknowledgment that life and love sometimes require going deeper and they may go through hardships, into the unknown, the murky, the challenging. MC isn’t afraid of this, she’s willing to go there with him too.

Snow in the desert and the ocean’s return: This is a symbol of hope and transformation beyond being a nod to The Sea of Golden Sand. Snow in the desert seems impossible, just like the idea of Rafayel finding inspiration outside of pain might feel impossible to him. But MC believes in the extraordinary, in change, and in the possibility that beauty and creation can exist outside of suffering.

Her words are a promise: she’s willing to stand by him, to face the unknown together, and to hold onto the belief that a new way of seeing the world is possible.

And Rafayel LOWKEY PROPOSES IN RETURN.

By saying “let’s watch the sea together,” he’s accepting MC’s offer of companionship and hope in the long run. He’s recognizing that life doesn’t have to be about diving into the depths alone, it can be about sharing the experience with someone else, even if it’s just standing on the shore and watching.

“Every sea”: This phrase is key. Rafayel isn’t just committing to one kind of life or one kind of inspiration, he’s opening himself up to all possibilities. Watching every sea means embracing all facets of life, whether they’re calm or turbulent, painful or beautiful. It’s a marriage proposal declaration that he’s ready to explore the world beyond pain, with MC by his side.

So. I love that his inspiration returns after his freak is accepted by MC because he literally feels the acceptance through the bond.

Thank you for coming to my TED Talk. This memory DRAINED me. They were just supposed to bang what the fuck happened. Why did I have to go treasure hunting to find what was going on in this card. anyway...

[dreamsofbroflovski]

yo…hear me out..

what the main four or others (as long as kyles in it..) are like for new years celebrations!

happy 2025 yall. let’s cook.

oh look its kyle bufflobster on that gif. my personal enemy.

Happy 2025!!! Hope everyone's having a great time already! As for me, I managed to drink cider that's been expired since 2021. It's going swell.

My first request for headcanons! I don't even know if I did these right, but I really did rack my brain. I also added some words about how they'd be with the reader because why not.

MAIN FOUR HEADCANONS - NEW YEAR'S CELEBRATIONS

𓆩♡𓆪 STAN MARSH

First thing that needs to be said: this man is pissed off days in advance over fireworks - if he has any pets, he has to make absolutely sure they’re safe and secure before anything else. He’s that guy who’s very vocal about how bad they are for animals (doesn’t really mention their effects on people), has probably tried to get them banned completely at some point.

Now that that’s out of the way. I think he’s the type to stay holed up in his home, order takeout and treat it as just another evening. 

With the exception that he’ll have an excuse to drink a whole lot of cheap champagne without anyone being up his ass about it.

Avoids his family altogether, mostly due to his father wanting to go absolutely wild on the holiday, he needs to be far away from all that.

He’s not opposed to attending a party and being around his friends, but will not actively seek that out.

And if he’s partying, he’s gonna go blackout drunk and probably miss the actual turn of the year - only to try and drunkenly state his well wishes (or personal grievances) to everyone half an hour later when the whole thing has pretty much died down.

Thumbs up reacts to everyone’s texts on the afternoon of Jan 1st; no real response.

No resolutions at all. There’s no point - at the end of the day, the new year is just a continuation of everything that has been going on in his life. If he has to achieve anything, he’ll do so of his own accord, making a promise is just putting unnecessary weight on his own shoulders.

If he’s with you, however… He can be a little better and put more effort into it, because he sees how excited you are and doesn’t wanna burst your bubble.

Will do whatever you wanna do, but has a high preference for it just being the two of you somewhere isolated, with some food and music and the aforementioned champagne (which he drinks a lot less of if you’re present)

Will pull you into a kiss right as the fireworks start and try to keep you distracted for the duration, both because he wants to be as close to you as possible in that moment and also so that he can ignore the things entirely.

Will tell you all about how he loves you and how you’re the best thing that’s happened to him. Even if he sounds drunk, you know he means all of it entirely.

𓆩♡𓆪 KYLE BROFLOVSKI

He’s probably nothing special on NYE. Probably also stays at home, but not isolated.

Jewish New Year isn’t on Dec 31st, but I still think his parents do a little something, like some nice dinner or a reunion with extended family members or friends.

If he finds himself at some party, he’s pretty well-behaved even there. I don’t see him raising hell - however, if anyone stresses him out, he’ll fight like it’s any other old day.

Is the one fucker who brought the expensive champagne that no one can recognize the name of - which got the same treatment as the other cheap ones from the supermarket.

I do unfortunately see him in the position of designated driver. Someone has to make sure his dumbass friends don’t kill themselves on the road. That doesn’t mean he’s ever happy about it, though.

Watches people partake in superstitions, but doesn’t do any of them himself.

Sends ‘Happy New Year’ texts to almost everyone he knows as soon as midnight rolls over.

Makes resolutions and sticks to them - writes them, pins them to the wall, the whole nine yards. Morning of Jan 1st he’s already making detailed plans about how he’s going to achieve everything he said he would that year (whether those plans actually succeed is a whole different animal)

If he’s with you… He absolutely tries to make it a special night, despite it meaning little to him in a superstitious sense.

He’s also in the position where your plans are his plans, he’ll follow you. However, if you do accept to spend NYE with his family and him the whole time, it sends his heart soaring because he knows that you’re choosing him above all the other stuff you could be doing, and he’ll make sure you have a great time even if his family is… difficult.

Brings you into a soft and tender kiss as the new year rolls over, holding you close as you both share a toast of champagne and sort of ignore the first fireworks in favor of being with each other.

At the top of his resolution list is the mission to make your year the best it can possibly be, and to love you through all of it. He hasn’t really written that down on his list, though - because it’s on his mind 24/7 anyway.

𓆩♡𓆪 ERIC CARTMAN

Leaves his mother alone - he’s at a party somewhere, for sure. Even if he was invited to none, he’ll sneak his way in. Since no one really has it in them to argue with him on NYE, he gets to stay.

Which shouldn’t even be a bad thing, because he actually brings the heat; he shows up with several beverages and food every time. The part of it that sucks is the fact that everything he brings is for his consumption, so he’s still an expense to the host.

He can, however, legitimately be trusted with the aux. Actual decent taste when it comes to party music.

That one guy making jokes about how he ‘hasn’t showered since last year’ or shit. Except he says them at 10pm still on Dec 31st and no one’s sure if he’s just stupid or if it’s really true.

Wears party accessories ironically; possibly brought them.

Buys whole boxes of fireworks. He’ll try to find some poor soul to do the work of lighting them up for him, but normally can’t, so he does it himself and probably needs to be taken to the hospital from the burns or sets fire to something else entirely.

Makes posts and stories on social media wishing a half-assed Happy New Year to ‘everyone’ - when in reality he got maybe like, two texts at most. (Butters and his mom, most likely)

Strangely superstitious? People will see him go through all the possible traditions that anyone said would bring him good fortune. If anyone asks him about it, he’ll deny deny deny - actually, he’s wearing full white ‘because it’s drip’ and eating those grapes under the table ‘because he doesn’t want to share them’, it’s definitely not that he fears for his own luck if he doesn’t do so.

Since he is a little ‘stitious, that does mean he makes resolutions. And they’re usually grandiose, full of bullshit, and don’t really signify any relevant positive change for his life - it’s mostly just material and physical gratification. Needless to say, they’ve never come to fruition.

If he’s with you, barely anything changes, really.

Talks to you about his plans for the evening as if they’re a done deal. Basically drags you to whatever it is he wants to do. (You might even be the reason he’s able to get into a party to begin with)

Doesn’t kiss you straight away because he’s busy with his fireworks, but if he manages to not hurt himself, you get a heavy makeout session afterwards.

He talks mad shit about how you’re lucky to have him and how you should thank him for spending this time with you, but in reality, there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

Immensely grateful for your presence in his life and willing to do anything to keep it that way. However, you won’t hear a single word about it.

𓆩♡𓆪 KENNY MCCORMICK

Out of his house by sundown - the addicts around him don’t really need a special occasion for doing their shit and stirring trouble, but it still seems to worsen on the holidays, so he wants to avoid that.

The protection Stan feels towards animals, he feels towards his siblings. Before he goes do anything else, he has to make sure they’re accounted for, with their friends somewhere safe where they can enjoy the night.

When that’s dealt with, it’s party time. He does get invited to stuff, and tries his best to not show up empty-handed, even if it’s just a bottle of cheap alcohol. He might still fail in that regard, though, but it’s okay, we still love him.

Wears all the ridiculous party accessories unironically.

Has died, more than once, due to firework-related accidents. Still enjoys watching them, albeit from a very safe distance now.

Watches the ball drop livestream on the television with great interest, even if just because it’s in HD this time. Celebrates heavily when it finally happens.

His ‘Happy New Year’ texts come in the afternoon, because he’s always too wasted in the morning to tell anyone anything. People might receive a drunken nonsensical jumble of letters at midnight, though.

Says surface-level words about a resolution or two, but it’s mostly really simple stuff. Also doesn’t really hold any of that to heart, because he knows of his own bad luck.

Doing the absolute most for a new year’s kiss (or several), practically on his knees begging for it.

However, if he’s with you… You’re getting way more than a kiss. It doesn’t even matter where y’all are, he’s starting the year by doing his favorite thing with his favorite person.

He kinda drags you into his plans, but it’s not in a selfish way like Cartman does. He just wants to make sure the both of you have a great time.

If you turn out to invite him personally to spend time with your family or just yourself, words cannot describe how happy he’s gonna be. It’ll basically make his whole year. He’ll ditch any party for that.

Partying all night with his baby, watching the fireworks, making love and not having to worry about anything else? Count this dude in.

Dividers by @cafekitsune

[neatalchemist]

THIS IS ALL MY OPINIONS! obviously made before the whole game came out, this is just my opinions on songs that the characters would either listen to or songs/artists/albums that remind me of them :3

all songs and artists taken out of my liked playlist on spotify 😭 im also making a leander and mhin playlists on there..

(i got carried away erm LOL) you can tell i was heavily into...a couple of trenches in my early teenage years. yes im talking about the emo quartet whatevrr

leander is mania coded argue with the WALL!! to me he is the fall out boy. hes got that charm guys TRUST ME. its definitely not because fall out boy have been my top artist for 5 years in a row now and because i love leander and im connecting them its not that guys trust me. ALSO a little death by tnbh ???? Young and a menace and a little death r his song trust me. Also pitbull..Toes by glass animals. just a fever you cant sweat out by patd

mhin is the smiths coded. big mouth strikes again and please please please let me get what i want especially. i saw someone compare them to julian devorak and that did something to my brain because julian may or may not be on my kinlist. Whatever. SO the smiths, radiohead... just the most depressing self hateful indie ever. Yeah, Yeah. the front bottoms. Shit, alex g as well head in hands. Maybe and hear me out- some mitski JUST A LITTLE FUCK IT the only non sad song might be flight of the crows by jhariah. They make great music btw. (theres no emoji for the emotion i need to convey) Kill me kill me now body by mother mother END ME wheres the animation memes and just Three days grace.

ais is hm. i dont want to say the neighbourhood and chase atlantic but the neighbourhood and chase atlantic. ARCTIC MONKEYS. fuck it, system of a down and deftones too. Seriously unserious. glass animals SPECIFICALLY Zaba. I feel it. Oh and naturally GUY.exe DUH ALSO Tyler the Creator... And Pitbull for this guy too

freek-a-leek for both ais and vere goodnight

vere.... Who is she by I Monster. this is going to be so ooc, Odetari and its so basic La Seine. I absolutely see MARINA here... Choke by IDKHBTFM!!!!? I may be reaching here. Honestly i feel like hed listen to lady gaga :× He said he liked lutists but the closest to that genre ive got is yaelokre and sea shanties (nancy the tavern wench) and they just dont fit him, sorry pooks

KURASSSS i love him ive got a few off the top of my head, hozier, he definitely likes calmer music, judas by lady gaga being the exception. riptide by vance joy and honestly? Mac Demarco and tame impala. He gives me that vibe (and reminds me of nadia from the arcana bcz theyre both serious but can switch up to goofing around just like that) Absolutely cosmo sheldrake, its just that folklore far away nostalgic feeling of magical days trust. Cas too OHHH just ghost bc. Yes.

[acatpiestuff]

quaso

[noonbeam17]

ive never been so unreasonably angry with an album before oh my god

[annievrse]

It Only Hurts This Much Right Now / Act I

Trafalgar Law x Fem!Reader  Summary: When your captain, Luffy, tells you to run from Bartholomew Kuma on the Sabaody Archipelago instead of fighting, you end up on a submarine. Takes place pre-time skip. W/C: 15k C/W: Fic structure: Sabaody Archipelago → Dressrosa spoilers, canon timeline but majority canon-divergent events, is organised into scenes, she/her pronouns, no use of y/n. Content: panic attacks, anxiety, descriptions of injuries, blood, passing out, trauma (Luffy), and Law has his death tattoos pre-time skip because I said so.

Labyrinth Series Masterlist

— Scene 1 —

“Run! Now!” 

Your legs move of their own accord, your mind screaming against your captain’s request. Bartholomew Kuma’s Paw-Paw Fruit had your crew disappearing off the Sabaody Archipelago one by one. 

With ragged breathing and a burning chest, the further you get from the grassy patch, the more your heart clenches in agony. Your family is gone, and you don’t know if they’re dead or hurt, and the thought of them being in that state has you clutching your chest. 

“Luffy!” You scream as he vanishes from sight, your voice broken, but there is nothing you can do. The Devil Fruit you’d eaten as a child feels useless against someone of this calibre, so you run, just as your captain told you to. 

The island is in an uproar of violence and fear; the only place you know to go is to the Sunny. The Straw Hats’ dear ship, who’s been waiting for its crew’s arrival, only to be left abandoned when you run directly into the back of someone. 

You stumble backwards, the sudden stop causing your legs to give out from underneath you. You land on the ground, a sharp pain in your tailbone sending shockwaves through your spine. Breathing rapidly, you scramble to stand, but not before a hand clasps around your throat. 

“Who are you?” 

The voice is deep and commanding, and you spit your name out quickly. Your vision is blurry, but you can make out the vague outline of a large man, his fiery hair sticking out in all directions. With exhausted muscles and the little strength you have left, you claw at the man’s hand, his grip tight around your neck. The man scoffs and lets you fall to the ground, the second impact on your spine hurting more than the last. 

“Kid, leave the poor girl alone.” 

You rub your temples with tender fingers where a deep pain in your skull threatens to explode. 

Kid? Where had you heard that name before? 

Your voice comes out as a whimper, your body on the cusp of failing you. A warm liquid drips from your hairline, and you pull your hand back, your fingertips crimson. Panic rises in your veins, and you’re reminded of the terrible fate your crew faces. A dull ache on your side stops you from standing, but you try to do so anyway with no success. 

“Hey, you’re with the Straw Hats, right?” 

Tears collect on your waterline at the sound of it, and your brain focuses on one key component – Straw Hat. 

“Come with me.” 

Spluttering nonsense, you try to think through the rapid rise and fall of your chest, your inhales raspy, and your exhales short. Your body doesn’t feel like your own, and as tears roll down your cheeks, you wish Kuma had given you the same fate. 

“Calm down,” The voice mumbles, hands finding purchase under your armpits to lift you off the ground. “Panicking will only make it worse.” 

“M-my crew, they’re gone.” 

“Gone?” 

You choke on a raggedy cough, your thoughts disordered. With a tightening chest, you nod. “Can’t breathe.” 

The man calls something you can’t hear, setting you back on the grass. The sudden threat of Kuma out there and possibly coming for you next has you crawling away from the man, who has his back to you, talking to someone in an orange jumpsuit. Blood drips from your head onto the grass below you, and your arms struggle to hold you. Coughing out sobs, you keep dragging yourself further from where you know Kuma is. 

“Hey.” 

“Leave me alone,” You rasp. “He’s coming.” 

“Who?” 

“Kuma,” Your heart tightens as your lips form his name. “He’s going to kill me next.” 

“Fuck.” 

And before you reach the trunk of a Yarukiman Mangrove, you’re lifted off the ground and thrown over someone’s shoulder. And despite your feeble attempts at hitting their back, you aren’t getting down. 

“Don’t take me to Kuma, please,” The plea burns your tongue as you sob, your limbs thrashing. A sharp pain shoots from your side, and you wail out. “Please, get me away from here.” 

“You’re safe, you’re free now.” Usually, you’d need proof if a strange person told you something with so much certainty; instead, you nod, and your eyes close of their own volition, exhaustion overpowering your common sense. 

— Scene 2 —

You wake with a start, gasping as you sit up. Fear claws at your consciousness and leaves goosebumps in its wake. You don’t dare speak a word. Squinting into the bright overhead lights, you realise you’re in a bed, a thin blanket pooled around your waist. An IV protrudes from your arm, and you shiver at the feeling of it inside you. 

“Oh good, you’re awake.”

Your head snaps to the other side of the room, where a tall, lean man stands over a desk. You tilt your head at his appearance, familiarity picking at your mind. It isn’t until he turns around that you gasp. It isn’t his fur hat or patterned jeans that make you recognise him, but the deep steel of his eyes. 

Trafalgar Law. 

You’d seen him inside the human auctioning house where Luffy punched a Celestial Dragon, thinking nothing of him. Sure, he was a rookie pirate with a higher bounty than your captain, 440 million berries, but he’d done nothing to prove his worth to you. 

You stare at him as he walks over, his steps lazy. Trafalgar Law’s blood runs cold, and he’s nothing short of sadistic; at least, that’s what Shakky told you. The man before you now seems to stalk you like you’re his prey, but his voice is surprisingly full of something close to friendliness when he speaks. 

“You had a panic attack, and you were severely dehydrated, hence the IV,” You blink at him, your brain processing why Trafalgar Law is standing at the end of the bed and not a doctor. “You have a deep gash on your scalp and one on the left side of your torso, too.” 

Your hand lifts to your head unconsciously, your fingertips meeting gauze. It’s obvious there’s some form of pain suppressant coursing through your veins since your body is light and your mind isn’t nearly as sharp as it should be. You curse yourself for being so weak. 

“Best try not to touch it.” 

Frowning, you lower your hand, feeling the same white fabric around your stomach. This time, you can see the dark splotches seeping through the gauze. Your lips smack softly at the dryness in your mouth, and Trafalgar gestures to the glass beside you.

“Wanna tell me your name?” 

You mumble your reply, watching him warily as you sip the drink–-water. The room is quiet, save for the muffled sound of metal clanging. 

“Where am I?” You mutter, holding the glass between your hands. 

“My ship, the Polar Tang.” 

Your stomach clenches with panic. “Why am I here?” 

“Your crew was attacked by Bartholomew Kuma. Do you remember?” 

Nodding, your eyes sting at the memory. 

“You found me and begged me to take you away.”

Your gaze hardens as you set your eyes on him. “I didn’t beg.”

“Believe me, you did.”

Setting the glass onto the bedside table, you rip the blanket off and stand from the bed, noting the discomfort of your side. 

“I know you,” You say. “You’re the guy who did nothing as my crew freed the slaves from that auction house.” 

Tilting his head, Trafalgar says nothing, though his expression is standoffish. You stand there, your body shivering involuntarily. Maybe you should’ve stayed in bed. 

“Drop me off at the next port.” 

Trafalgar clicks his tongue. “No, can do; we’re not leaving Sabaody for a few weeks.” 

Your eyes dart around the room, noticing the lack of windows.

“I know you don’t trust me,” Trafalgar says, irritation dripping from his tone. “But there was nowhere else for you to go.”

You shrink from his piercing gaze and wrap your arms around your body, being careful to avoid your injury. “How long have I been here?” 

“You’re full of questions today, aren’t you?” 

You don’t dignify him with an answer and wait for him to reply. 

“Two days.” 

Two days? “I have to leave. My crew needs me.” 

“You’re no good to anyone like this,” Trafalgar shakes his head and raises his palm before you. “Besides, you don’t even know where they are.” 

You feel like screaming and crying and throwing up all at the same time. It’s not fair. 

“I mean,” He smirks. “You could always ask Kuma where he sent them.” 

You narrow your gaze at him. “That’s not funny.” 

Trafalgar throws his hands up in false defence. “Never said it was, sweetheart. However, you can’t do anything but stay here and recover.” 

You think it over. What he says is true, but that doesn’t mean you must be useless. His nickname washes over you after you go through your options, and you roll your eyes. “Don’t call me that.”

“What? Sweetheart?” He laughs, turning away from you. “I think it’s perfect.”

You want to retort, to yell at him for patronising you at a time like this, but are interrupted when a large something rushes through the door. 

“Captain,” The polar bear says, wiping sweat from its forehead. “Kid needs to talk to you.” 

Your first thought is Chopper and how excited he’d be to meet another talking animal. Your second thought is far more depressing, and you swallow the emotion lodged in your throat. 

Trafalgar sighs and waves his hand at you. “Change her bandages.” 

The bear salutes and walks toward you as Trafalgar leaves. “Hello.” 

“Hi.” You tilt your head, knowing better than to ask questions. 

“Oh,” It looks down at itself and laughs nervously. “I’m Bepo.” 

“Bepo…”

“I’m a navigator.” 

A familiar feeling rises in your chest. “A navigator, huh?” 

“Yup, I navigate the sub,” He scratches behind his ear. “Who are you?” 

You smile and tell him your name, slotting that you’re on a submarine in the back of your mind. “I’m a seamstress for the Straw Hats.” 

Bepo’s eyes widen. “Captain said we had a guest, but I didn’t know you were a Straw Hat… Anyway, do you mind if I change your bandages?”

Your walls go up, and you glance at the white fabric around your torso. “Uh–”

“Captain had to sew you up,” Bepo says solemnly. “It was a deep cut.” 

You nod and reluctantly drop your hands by your sides. 

“Let me just— over here,” The bear stammers before rushing to the opposite wall. Usually, you can stitch yourself up. Before Chopper had joined the Straw Hats, you were the one to aid the crew. Zoro’s laceration across his abdomen, thanks to Dracule Mihawk, was your most significant job. 

So, when Bepo returns with a fresh roll of gauze and scissors, you quickly take it from his hands. “I can do this.” 

“You sure?” He asks carefully, his teeth showing as he cringes. 

You swiftly remove the old bandage, unroll the new one, and apply it just as briskly. When the gauze is tightly wrapped around you, you notice Bepo watching in astonishment.

“Are you hungry?” He splutters, eyes still trained on your torso. You guess he’s not the best with blood. 

Your stomach rumbles at the sound of food, and Bepo laughs softly. You cover your stomach as you feel your cheeks warm. 

“Penguin made rice balls, Captain’s favourite. You’re welcome to have some,” Bepo says, walking to the door. He seems to have forgotten about your injury. 

You nod, but before following, you stick your hand out. “Can I take this out?” 

The bear turns around at record speed, his eyes honing in on the needle sticking out of your wrist. “Uh, Captain might kill you.”

You pull your hand to your chest. “Why?” 

“Captain does all the medical stuff; he’s a doctor. He wouldn’t want to take it out, b—but if it’s uncomfortable, I can take it out for you.” 

“He’s a doctor?” 

Bepo nods. “And a surgeon.” 

His large paws hold your hand delicately. “Okay, this is fine.”

You give him a wary look, letting him take it out despite the fact you can do it yourself. “You’ve never done this before.”

“I-I have, just not on people,” He splutters. “Captain makes me practice with fruit.” 

Smirking, you watch the needle slide out from under your skin. 

“Done. Let’s go.” 

You shake your arm before inspecting the area. Bepo is already in the hallway when you decide to follow him.

“This is the infirmary, obviously,” He says, then points to the other end of the hall. “That’s the Captain’s quarters.”

You nod, though you doubt you’ll need to remember the layout since you’re leaving soon. 

You follow Bepo up the stairs as he talks about the submarine, how it works, how he navigates underwater, and how it doesn’t implode. It’s all very fascinating, and you can tell Bepo is passionate about his job on the Polar Tang, but you can’t help but think about your own navigator— 

“—and this is the kitchen.” 

— how she knows the weather patterns like it's a part of her, how she draws her maps with such detail that it shocks you every time you get your hands on one, how you gossip with her until your cook pesters you to try his new dish. 

And then you’re being introduced to the Polar Tang’s cook, and it feels like an iron grip on your esophagus.

“This is Penguin,” Bepo says, pointing at a guy wearing a hat. You give him a wave, though it's half-assed, and you regret it immediately. 

“Hi,” You smile, trying your best to push the memories out of your head and make up for the lazy greeting. 

“Rice ball?” He asks, handing you said food on a plate. 

You take it graciously, thanking him for the snack. 

“How’re you feeling?” A new voice calls. You turn to see another man with a hat, but his sunglasses make him different from Penguin. 

It takes you a second to swallow the rice. “Been better.” 

“Oh, that’s Shachi,” Bepo says before turning to the man. “Would be nice if you introduced yourself.” 

Shachi shrugs and returns to his own rice ball. 

“I’m here too,” A large man mumbles. 

“Jean-Bart,” Bepo gasps. “He’s new. Just joined.”

You nod, finishing your rice ball. 

“I see you’ve met some of the crew.” Trafalgar’s voice makes you freeze. You wipe your lips and turn to face him. There’s a katana propped on his shoulder, and you take a moment to study it. 

Zoro’s face and stupid laugh pop into your head, and then you’re chewing the inside of your cheek. 

“I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping,” Trafalgar says, leaving the kitchen. You tug your eyebrows together and follow him. 

“I’m leaving soon.”

He ignores you and continues down the stairs and past the infirmary. From Bepo’s description of this floor, the only two rooms are the clinic and the Captain’s quarters, and considering Trafalgar is the captain, you deduce that you’ll be close to him. 

The thought makes you cringe. 

He stops before the final door and opens it. 

“Ikkaku stays in the other room.” He says it like you know who that is and ushers you inside. “She’s away at the moment.”

Stepping inside, you realise there are more doors. Three are on the right, and two are on the left in the smaller hallway. He stands close behind you. 

“Your room is through the second door on the right. Make yourself comfortable. We’re going into Sabaody tonight.” 

And when you turn to ask Trafalgar Law if this is some kind of joke, he’s gone. 

You should put a bell on him. 

The women’s room is more extensive than you expected, considering there’s only one woman onboard. You peer around corners and keep your footfalls light as you explore, not wanting to snoop in Ikkaku’s stuff accidentally. 

There’s an empty room next to the bathroom. Stepping inside, you realise that the warm light of the bedside lamp and the half-full bookcase in the corner make it seem almost homey. The bed is lush when you sit and run your fingertips over the quilt. What is going on?

Despite being alert, the comfort of the room allows you to let your guard down, and the feeling alone makes you want to close your eyes. Only for a moment do you let yourself pretend everything is fine. Luffy runs laps around Sanji as he prepares the fish he’s caught. Nami and Robin are lounging on the deck, and Zoro’s asleep against the mast. Franky’s tinkering with something under the deck with Usopp, and Brook keeps them company with his violin. You’re sitting on the railing of the Thousand Sunny with your legs swinging back and forth as you chat with Chopper, fixing a patch to the underside of his hat where one of Usopp’s inventions blew it off his head. 

It was meant to be a sleepless dream, yet you fall victim to the clutches of darkness and dreamless sleep. 

— Scene 3 —

You feel sick. Your mouth is dry, and your head is full of cotton. The last thing you remember is laughing at Chopper’s attempt at imitating Sanji. 

The isolated room is a punch in the gut, a harsh reality that beats the dream in your head to a bloody pulp. You swallow thickly and sit up from the bed. You don’t know the time since a submarine has no windows, and the actuality of where you are is a cruel reminder of your situation. 

You rub your eyes with your sore knuckles hard, ignoring the countless stars that cloud your vision when you drop your hands to your lap. There’s no sound from outside the door, and when you really concentrate, there’s no muffled noise from the level above either. 

You groan at the dull throbbing of your side but forget about it when your eye catches on a white jumpsuit hanging from the door handle. You endure the disgust that coats your tongue. 

Before you know it, you’re up and snatching the suit from the handle. You swing the door open, not bothering to care that it slams against the wall, and make a beeline to the infirmary. You only know he’s in there because the overhead light is on. 

Trafalgar has his hat off and a lab coat on. He’s pulling a latex glove onto his hand when you enter. 

“What is this?” You spit, holding the jumpsuit up. Trafalgar’s head turns toward you, his face barren of any emotion. “I’m not one of your pirates.”

“When you’re on my sub, you wear it.” 

Scoffing, you throw it onto a cot. “I’m a Straw Hat.” 

“You’re on my ship.” 

“Against my will.” You know it’s unfair, but the words spill from you anyway. 

Trafalgar shakes his head, a small laugh falling from his lips. He returns to his work before him on the metal table. “I’m not arguing with you right now. How’s your wound?” 

You ignore his question. “Well, when can you fit me into your busy schedule to argue, Traffy?” 

His unamused glance sends shivers down your spine, but he doesn’t bite. 

“It’s a safety precaution.” He says, lifting a jar to his face to inspect it. 

You look down at your clothes and the gauze around you and sigh. Your head is still fuzzy from your nap, and fighting him will get you nowhere, you can tell that much. It’s safe to say that Trafalgar Law gets under your skin, and not just because he’s a surgeon. 

“Not happening,” You shake your head and step back. “I’m not a part of your crew.” 

“As you’ve said,” Trafalgar utters, his voice tinged with irritation. “Fine.” 

Your face softens at the finality of his tone. 

“But when you’re wandering around Sabaody, don’t come running to me when someone attempts to cash in the bounty on your head. You stand out.” 

You smile, your pride overpowering any other emotion for a second. “You’ve done your research.” 

“370 million berries,” He states, turning around. “But I have yet to see why.” 

Your expression sours, and you spin toward the door to leave. “Goodnight, Trafalgar.” 

He says nothing as you swipe a new gauze roll from the shelf next to the entrance and shut the door behind you. 

“Asshole,” You mumble, flexing your hands to stretch out the fists you didn’t realise you’d been sporting—perhaps it’s best that you didn’t lose control of your powers in front of him. The walk back to your room is short, choosing to go to the bathroom before heading back to bed. 

After poking around in the bathroom for an hour, you exit with a towel around you, again noticing the lack of noise on the ship. It is eerily silent as you redress in your old clothes, but once you’re done, you see a new set of clothes on the bed. 

When did they get there? 

You hold the new top, noticing the size is slightly off. Sighing, you move your fingers in a certain way to change the width and length of the garment. “Sew.” 

Seams pop, and new ones are made until the ill-fitting clothes resize to fit you perfectly. You hum in contentment and place them on the chair in the corner of the room. 

You wrap your wound with new gauze, thanks to the roll you stole earlier, but the pain suppressants are wearing off, and the pain is beginning to seep through. Your gaze catches on the new clothes, and despite the bloodstains and dirt patches on the clothes you wear now, you decide you feel more comfortable in them than the foreign ones in the corner. 

Laying on the bed, your eyes close almost instantly. The emotion you feel from earlier and the spat with Trafalgar has tired you. You thought it’d be difficult to fall asleep in such ghostly silence, but when the blanket covers you, you’re dreaming about your crew again. 

—

It’s only slight, but the knock that comes from outside of your door startles you. You’ve been awake for hours, picking through the books on the shelf and thinking about how you were leaving Sabaody when it happened. 

Your name is low on his lips when he speaks it, and your heart jumps at the sound of it. 

“Come in.” 

The door opens slowly, like Trafalgar’s nervous about what he’ll find. 

“How’re you feeling?” 

You glance at your stomach and shrug. “Achy.” 

Trafalgar nods, standing awkwardly in the doorway, one of his hands digging in the pocket of his jeans. “I brought you some pills for the pain.” 

The bottle is small, but it's full of medication. You thank him, screwing the cap and emptying two into your palm. The air is thick with tension, but not the good kind. What he said earlier in the evening still rings in your mind. 

“I’ll show you why my bounty is so high when I’m ready, okay?” 

Trafalgar eyes you warily. “Okay…” 

“Thanks for bringing these,” You gesture to the tablets in your palm, trying to diffuse the tension. “Maybe I’ll be able to sleep properly.”

“You’re having trouble?” Trafalgar scratches his chin halfway out the door. 

“Not bad,” You lie, waving your hand in dismissal. “Just nightmares and stuff. About Kuma and my crew and drowning in a submarine.” 

You don’t know why you’re talking to him like this, exposing your fears, like he’s a Straw Hat, but something about his mellow demeanour is comforting. His shy eyes and shadow of a smile starkly contrast to the man you spoke to earlier in the night. 

“Well, I know that this submarine isn’t going to sink, spring a leak, or implode, so you can scratch that off your list of fears.” 

His good-natured humour surprises you despite his cold look. “Take two every four hours, and the pain should be almost absent.” 

You nod, realising he’s talking about the medication. Taking the glass from the bedside table, you wash the pills down. 

“Goodnight, Trafalgar.” 

“Night,” He murmurs, whispering your name afterwards. 

You open your mouth to say something else, anything else, when he beats you to it.

“By the way,” Trafalgar says, his voice oddly soft. “The situation with your crew will only hurt this much now. As the days pass, it’ll get better.”

He shuts the door behind him, and you stare at it like he still lingers there. 

You can’t help but believe him. 

— Scene 4 —

Bepo looks at you oddly from across the table. 

It’s the next morning, and he’d informed you the day before in his tour that breakfast was at eight am sharp. It wasn’t until you heard the first sound above you that you’d studied the clothes given to you with such caution that you thought yourself ridiculous before sighing and putting them on. You’d shoved your feet into your shoes and trudged upstairs to the dining room, where Penguin shovelled various foods onto your plate without asking your preference and sent you to the table where you sit now. 

“What?” You ask Bepo, moving pieces of your breakfast around your plate. 

Bepo jumps at your voice, suddenly finding the fish before him extremely interesting. “Nothing.” 

Twisting your lips, you feel bad for catching him off guard. “Sorry.” 

“Don’t apologise,” The navigator shakes his head. “It’s just that you’re not wearing a boiler suit.”

“Oh,” You mumble, looking down at yourself. Maybe you should’ve worn your own clothes. 

“It’s not a bad thing,” Bepo interjects quickly, noticing the look on your face. 

“Yeah, never a bad thing,” Shachi comments from the other end of the table. 

Bepo gasps. “Ignore him.” 

You give him a small smile. 

“It's just that the only person who doesn’t wear one is Captain Law. It’s just odd seeing someone else aboard not wearing one, is all.”

“Alright,” A familiar voice says from the doorway. “We’re going onto Sabaody. Get your shit together and meet out the front.” 

You watch the Heart Pirates scramble to finish their meals, stacking their plates beside the sink as they exit the room. Soon enough, you’re sitting at the table on your own. 

“You’re welcome to join us,” Trafalgar says. “Just stay close.” 

“I’m good here,” You don’t turn to look at him. “Not looking to cause any problems.” 

He sighs. “Do you need anything?” 

You think it over, deciding to take his question literally. What you need is to get off this island and find your crew, to get to the Sunny and go to Fishman Island, like the original plan. Instead, you’re on a submarine, docked on the island where your crew went missing without knowing how to get them back. Your words are bitter as they leave you, but you don’t regret them. 

“What I need is impossible for you to get.” 

“Are you always this melodramatic?” 

His quip surprises you. Your chair scrapes against the metal floor as you stand. You narrow your eyes at him as you walk to the sink and put your plate on the top of the stack. “Are you always this big of a dick?” 

“Only when someone is being difficult. It’s not hard to accept help, you know. Or is that against the rules of the Straw Hats?” 

You blink at him in shock, your voice low as you approach him. You can feel the power of your Devil Fruit tingling under your skin. “You know nothing about me or my crew.” 

“Yet, I can read you like a book,” Trafalgar laughs, looking down at you. “I see you fit in the clothes fine.”

“Are you done?” You scowl, your fingers moving into their usual position when your powers are in use. It’s difficult to control yourself around him. At least you got your answer as to where the clothes came from. You don’t have it in you to thank him right now. 

Adjusting the katana on his shoulder, Trafalgar sighs, lifting a finger to move the needle that materialised before his nose. “Let’s get out of here, hm?” 

You gasp at the sight of one of your needles, regret swimming in your eyes. The needle vanishes like it was never there as you grab hold of your ability. “I’m so sorry.” 

He turns around, ignoring your apology. “I see.” 

“See what?” You ask, breathless at your lack of control. Your feet carry you after him, seemingly having a mind of their own. 

“You ate a Devil Fruit.” 

You don’t care that he’s leading you outside. “What if I did?” 

When the breeze hits his face, Trafalgar stops, and you almost run into his back. “I want to see what it does.” 

You swallow thickly. “No.” 

Being outside, on Sabaody, makes your chest hurt. You try to push down the emotions clouding your vision and circle Trafalgar to stand before him. 

“No?” 

You nod once. “I’m not a circus animal.” 

“You say you’re not a lot of things, sweetheart,” He says. “When can I hear about something you are?” 

His words are honeyed, and you refrain from shivering. “I am pissed off at you.” 

His eyebrow quirks up at you. “Now we’re getting somewhere.” 

Ignoring him, you turn. “I’m going to get some supplies, don’t follow me.” 

“I thought you were good here… but, unfortunately, sweetheart, I wasn’t planning on it,” Trafalgar mutters. “Just stay low, okay? There are pirates and marines everywhere. No matter where you are, they’ll be there too.”

You acknowledge his warning and turn to leave, but the call of your name from his lips has you glancing over your shoulder. 

“Try not to open your wound, okay? Don’t need you dying on me.” 

— Scene 5 —

When Trafalgar told you there were marines everywhere, you thought he exaggerated. Surely they wouldn’t be around every corner, store, on every rooftop…

Now, you know better than to doubt his judgment. The screaming of civilians and the sound and vibration of explosions have your heart leaping every few minutes in fear. 

“Shit,” You curse as you jump into another alleyway. A group of Marines run past, and your heart beats in sync with their footsteps. 

A trip to the town is more complicated than you thought. Shoving your hand in your pocket, you fish out fifty berries and whine silently when you realise how little you have to spend. 

You don’t want to, but Nami’s tips on stealing and bargaining cross your mind. Thieving on Sabaody Archipelago seems like a foolish thing to do—there’s no way you’d get away with it with all the Marines on duty. Rolling your eyes, you step from the street and onto the main strip. 

When nobody jumps you, you make your way to the closest store. It's dark inside the building, but you use that to your advantage and slide various small items into your pockets. The aisles are empty; the only person in sight is the cashier, an elderly man with horns. 

Trafalgar’s words swim in your mind as you wander down the aisles. 

Don’t need you dying on me… I can read you like a book… 

His mood swings give you a headache; you’ve only known him a day. You couldn’t imagine having him as your captain. Despite Luffy’s carefree attitude, he’d never get smart like that, and he would never call you melodramatic. Hell, he wouldn't even know what melodramatic means. 

The thought of your own captain has your stomach sinking, but then your skin is burning at the sheer audacity of Trafalgar Law. Bepo seems to have a high tolerance for his captain, and you guess that skill only develops with time. You scowl at the thought of spending more time with Trafalgar than you have to. You sure hope your crew makes it back here soon. 

But, your mind is so focused on the captain of the Heart Pirates that it isn’t until you’re at the counter, paying for three rolls of gauze and a box of rice cakes, that the newspaper beside the counter catches your attention. 

PORTGAS D. ACE TO BE PUBLICLY EXECUTED

You stare at the headline. It takes a moment for the words to sink in. Ace. Executed. 

“Miss?” 

Blinking once, you drop the berries onto the counter, snatch the newspaper from the stand, and run out of the store with it pressed to your chest. 

No, no, no. 

At a time when your captain needs you most, you’re not there. No tears well at your waterline; only panic has you in its steel clutches. 

You sprint back to the Polar Tang, your legs burning and your mind racing. You don’t dare look at the paper again until you're safe in the room you’re staying in. Throwing it on the bed, you finally look over the details. 

The World Government has captured Fire Fist Ace…. The renowned pirate Blackbeard has been invited to become a Warlord…the execution has been set to be at Marineford in one week… 

Shaking your head in disbelief, you refuse to believe the printed words. You scrunch the paper in your hand and fly from the room into the infirmary. 

Trafalgar is nowhere to be found. 

“Please,” You plea as you run up the stairs and into the kitchen. “Hello?” 

The Polar Tang is empty. 

Your voice echoes off the cold metal, and you sink to your knees. A sharp pain rolls through you, and you look down at your stomach to see the bandages soaked in blood. The sight makes your head feel light. Your heart rate rapidly inclines, and the kitchen spins before your eyes, the adrenaline coursing through your veins tapering off. With shaky hands, you unfurl the newspaper. 

Where’s Trafalgar now? Where are the words he spoke to you last night? It only hurts this much right now? It’s not getting better, only worse. Why would he lie?

Despite your racing thoughts, the only name on your mind and tongue is Luffy before you pass out, and your head hits the metal floor of the common area with a dull thud. 

— Scene 6 —

“I’m starting to get Deja vu, sweetheart.”

You groan when you hear his voice. 

“I thought I told you not to die yet,” Trafalgar mumbles, urgency in his tone. “Never mind, the war’s started.” 

War?

“What war?” You slur, squeezing your eyes shut against the overhead lights. You feel exposed, and when you peer down at your body, you see a blue gown covering you. 

“Your body has undergone immense trauma, both physically and mentally,” He ignores your question. “It's been a few days since Bepo found you bleeding out in the kitchen.” 

You blink, covering your eyes with your hands. “What’s going on?” 

“You were comatose, close to death. You’re stable now, but I thought I told you not to reopen your wound and—” 

“Not with me,” You sit up, your eyes still hurting. “With the war.” 

Sighing harshly, Trafalgar sits on a chair beside the bed, resting his forearms on his knees. You turn to look at him, noticing his sleeves have been pushed up to his elbows. On his arms lay stark tattoos, the ink trailing down to his hands and then his knuckles. 

EATH

You open your mouth to ask about its meaning but aren’t quick enough.

“Whitebeard’s at Marineford. We’re on our way there now.” 

You furrow your eyebrows, finally comprehending the grinding and clanging of metal around you. “Why?” 

“Portgas D. Ace’s execution is today.”

The name makes you lurch, and you scold yourself for thinking about asking Trafalgar about his tattoos. How foolish. 

“What’s wrong? Is it your wound?”

“He’s Luffy’s brother,” You whisper, dread flooding you. “Why are we going?” 

Trafalgar gives up on your health when he realises you won’t tell him anything about it, but the information that Luffy is Ace’s brother catches his attention. “It would be a shame for a rival to die this early.”

“Rival? Ace is a rival?” 

Trafalgar lets out a humourless laugh. “Monkey D. Luffy is a rival.” 

You’re speechless. Wholly and utterly silent at his declaration. Your mouth opens and closes as you try to form the words your brain wants you to say but to no avail. 

He shrugs when he sees you attempt to say something. “We’re pirates, or did you forget that?” 

The idea that you could be here for shifty reasons hits you all at once. Sure, you’d thought about it when you woke up the first time, grateful that a pirate was willing to save you, to put their life on the line to help another pirate. But you were a fool for thinking it was out of the goodness of his heart. 

That’s why it all spills out when you open your mouth this time. “Why keep me alive, then? I’m a pirate from an opposing crew with a bounty of over three hundred million berries. Why not kill me and cash it in?” 

“You could be useful.” 

“Useful.” The word is bitter on your tongue. Useful, not as an addition to a pirate crew, but as a weapon to wield against the people you love. Who was that man from your first night here? Does he exist under the facade of Trafalgar Law? Or was it all a lie?

“You know…” He ponders, running his tongue over his teeth. “Leverage.” 

“Huh,” You smile fakely, disdain morphing your expression. “So, that’s all I’m good for?” 

“Right now? Yes.” 

Your hand flicks up before you know what you’re doing. The act of sewing his lips shut fills you with such jubilation that you can’t help but smile a genuine smile. The black thread of your power has Trafalgar rising instantly, the chair he was on flying out behind him. 

“You may be Trafalgar Law,” You say lowly. “But I’m not a pawn.”

Trafalgar claws at his lips before sticking one hand out. A blue dome covers the room, and you feel an odd sensation in your chest. It feels as though your heart is being ripped out of your chest. You scream in agony, most likely ripping the stitches in your side as you clutch at your breast. The IV needle in your hand tears through your skin, and your blood spills onto the gown you wear, soaking through it. 

Trafalgar gestures wildly at you, screaming through his closed lips as the threads tighten. You’re unknowingly making them taut, suffocating him. He staggers, the trolley that houses the surgical equipment rolling away as he falls to the ground. Scalpels and scissors clatter to the ground, the infirmary turning into a place of chaos.

His face is red, close to purple when you see it, a blue cube with a fist-sized organ inside it. Your heart. 

“What the…” Your brain seems to forget the pain when you see your lifeline in the hand of Trafalgar Law. 

You’re in such a state of shock that you loosen and remove the thread from his lips, your body falling limply onto the pillows behind you.

“What the fuck?” His voice is hoarse. “Are you insane?” 

“Are you?” You ask pathetically, still trying to process what you just witnessed. 

He doesn’t answer, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his lungs trying to take in as much oxygen as possible. He leans his back against the cupboards, his legs bent in front of him. The blue cube hangs from his fingertips behind his knees. 

You yelp in surprise and paw at the empty slot in your chest. 

“Give me my heart back,” You don’t know what you’re saying. How could he have your heart? 

Trafalgar pushes himself back to his full height, his breathing still ragged but quiet. “What Devil Fruit did you eat? They’re not strings, that’s impossible.” 

“What?” You ask absentmindedly, still occupied with the phenomenon of your open chest. 

“What are your powers?” He presses, staring at you. 

“The Sew-Sew Fruit.”

“Sew-Sew Fruit…” 

“I have thread and needles and shit, okay,” Your breathing starts to go rigid. “Where’s my heart?” 

“You suffocated me, that’s—”

“Trafalgar!” Tears roll down your cheeks. “Where is my heart?”

His body goes still, and the terror in your eyes is enough for him to lift it and slot it back into your body. The sound of blood rushing through you is loud, and you can feel the blood in your veins. The first beat of your heart back in your chest is painful but quickly dissipates as your body recognises it as its own. It’s an experience you never want to endure again. 

You scramble away from him, climbing onto the floor and pressing your back against the furthest cabinet. 

“Careful of your wound,” Trafalgar mutters, his gaze glazed with concern. His face has returned to its standard shade, and he rubs his chest. 

“I don’t care.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

The apology should shock you, but you shake your head in disbelief. “What was that?” 

He swallows thickly. “I ate the Op-Op Fruit. I can control all matter within the range of my room.” 

“This room?” Your hand lands on your side, the pain returning. 

“This room,” He says, lifting his hand. “Room.” 

And as before, a blue dome covers you, and you stare at the ceiling in wonder, though you’re confused about how you could be so fascinated at something that almost killed you. 

“Op-Op…” 

“So, what does yours do?”

“I have sew,” You gesture with one hand. “Which you saw, that controls threads, and needles, which controls, well, needles. Sew can be used to stitch up wounds, trap people, and, you know, tie them up, strangulation. Whereas with needles, I can produce giant ones for stabbing and stuff.”

Law hums. “That’s a simple way of putting it…”

A smile you can only believe came from the deepest depths of your soul spreads across your cheeks. “No wonder your bounty’s so high.” 

“And I now see why yours is so high.” 

You feel your body relax when Trafalgar retracts his room. “I’m sorry.” 

He shakes his head. “I deserved that. I was being a dick.”

“You were being a dick,” Your lips quirk. “But I was way out of line. I know we’re pirates, but—”

“What happened? I heard screaming,” Bepo barges into the infirmary, the door slamming against the wall. 

You shake your head in dismissal. “Nothing, I just fell.” 

Trafalgar’s eyebrows twitch when he looks at you. You could’ve easily told Bepo his captain almost killed you, but you couldn’t tell him you almost killed his captain, too. 

“Oh,” The bear sighs. “Are you okay?”

You nod, pushing yourself off the ground to stand. “Thanks for checking in.” 

Bepo smiles before speaking to Trafalgar. “Captain.” 

“What is it?” He asks, turning so his back is to you both. 

“We’ll be docking soon. The waters are rough around Marineford.” 

“Understandable,” Trafalgar mutters. “Get the crew ready to retrieve Straw Hat.” 

Bepo nods and quickly leaves. 

“We’re retrieving him?” 

Trafalgar sighs. “I told you, a rival can’t die this early. We’re rookies, we have to protect each other until the new age surpasses the old.” 

His words have a strange intonation of leadership as if he feels responsible for Luffy. And maybe it's the underlying knowledge that he feels like your captain could be useful to him, but for now, you’re grateful he’s willing to help him. 

“That’s sweet.”

Trafalgar narrows his eyes at you. “Get ready to resurface. We won’t have much time.” 

You look down at your bloody gown and hurry to your bedroom, your stomach churning with both excitement and dread. Excitement for seeing Luffy, dread for everything else.

— Scene 7 —

“Hurry up!” Trafalgar yells to his crew. “We get Straw Hat out of there and leave.” 

“Yes, Captain.” The response is a collective voice, and you stand in the corner, nursing your wound. You would’ve rather done it in the privacy of the infirmary or your bedroom, but with Luffy so close, you don’t care if the men see you. 

“Only Bepo, Penguin, Shachi, Jean-Bart, and I will be on deck, the rest of you are on standby, given things go to shit.” 

Another collective, yes, Captain, rolls through the common area. You’re on the verge of yelling that you’re going with them when Trafalgar finds your gaze and nods once, confirming that you’ll be there too. 

Swallowing, you inhale sharply. Your wound is secure, and you can feel your power surge through you, just in case. 

The submarine lurches, and then the crew rushes to their stations—some to the boiler room (you learnt was below your bedroom), others to the control room, and more to prepare the infirmary. It’s a practised procedure, and the tension around you reminds you of your own crew. 

Trafalgar clears his throat, and you turn to see him before you. “Be careful up there, okay? We don’t need you more injured.” 

You laugh. “Care about me, huh?” 

He clears his throat. “Just need my leverage to be in good shape if i’m to negotiate with Straw Hat.” 

You want to roll your eyes but don’t. You swear it hurt him to say that from the set of his jaw. 

Before you can ponder it, you notice Bepo taking the stairs up to the main door. 

There’s no time to be thinking about him. Luffy is your top priority.  

“Are we there?” 

Trafalgar glances over his shoulder to follow your gaze. “Yeah. Come on.”

You can hear the chaos before you see it. It's a cacophony of cannonballs, gruff wails of anguish, and the distorted sound of bones shattering. 

Bepo pushes the door open, and the wind hits you in the face. The air is thick with rot, burning flesh, and salt, and you cover your nose before you gag. 

“Welcome to the battlefield,” Bepo says. He means it as a joke, but it's utterly morbid.

Far away, chatter erupts when you step onto the deck. Marineford is seemingly silent at the arrival of the submarine. Blood sprays in the distance, accompanied by strangled cries and all you want to do is crouch down and cover your ears like a child. You can’t imagine Luffy here. 

“Hey!” Trafalgar yells, and your attention is turned to the floating bodies in the sky. You recognise who it is immediately and run to the front of the deck. 

“Luffy!” You scream, your eyes catching on his unconscious body. You feel yourself gag at the mangled state of his chest, but when you look at who is holding him, you’re stumbling over your own feet. “Buggy?” 

“Hey!” The clown yells, his eyes wide. “Hey, I remember you! You’re that girl who sewed my arms to my legs back in Loguetown! Why are you here?” 

Trafalgar snorts beside you, brushing off the rest of Buggy’s questions.“Quick, hand over Straw Hat.”

“I don’t take orders from you! Besides, what do you want with him?” Buggy asks. “Who even are you? What are you doing with the girl from Straw Hat’s crew?” 

Trafalgar ignores him, lips pursed. “Just hand him over, he’ll die without my help. I’m a doctor.” 

You notice the Fishman Buggy holds under his other arm. “Who is that…?” 

“Doctor, my ass! No doctor carries around a sword that big,” Buggy cries. 

“I don’t have time for your shit, clown. Hand over Straw Hat.” 

“But, what’s in it for me? You’re just a —”

The familiar high-pitched sound of a cannonball makes your heart leap. “Trafalgar…” 

“Uh, Captain,” Shachi calls, his voice wobbly. “Navy battleships are approaching the stern.” 

“Fuck,” Trafalgar curses. “Hurry up! Give him to me!” 

Four more cannon fires can be heard before the sub rocks violently from the impact. 

“Captain, we’re almost in their firing range!” 

The wind from a cannonball landing so close to the sub has you panicking. “Quick, Buggy!” 

“Don’t you start bossing me around, little lady,” The clown screams, his voice cut short when you feel the submarine lean dangerously to the left.  

“What’s going on?” Bepo yells, holding onto the railing. 

“Oh, fuck,” Trafalgar says, looking to where Buggy floats. You follow his gaze, your body freezing at the sight of Kizaru. “Drop him now!” 

“Fine!” Buggy exclaims, throwing Luffy and the Fishman down to the deck. The clown yells more nonsense, but you don’t care to listen. Your heart is in your throat as you watch them fall. 

“Jean-Bart, quick, they’re coming.” 

The large man raises his arms and catches them as Trafalgar yells, “Submerge.” 

You run inside, going down to the infirmary. The submarine lurches, and you grab ahold of the handrail to stop yourself from stumbling down the stairs. You enter the infirmary, dodging crew members as they prepare for the worst. 

Trafalgar and Bepo are nowhere to be seen, but you can hear shouting down the hall. 

“Prepare for surgery!” 

You slip into the corner of the room as the Heart Pirates file inside. The only evidence you get of Luffy is the glimpses of his bloody body. You cover your mouth with your hand at the state of him. 

“Set up for a transfusion! He’s lost a lot of blood.” 

The main door to the submarine slams shut, and the metal walls vibrate from the jolt. You wait with bated breath as the crew rushes around the room, sticking needles in Luffy’s arms and opening sterile equipment. 

It’s captivating how fast Traflagar’s crew prepares Luffy and the Fishman for surgery. If it weren’t Luffy, you’d find it exhilarating. 

Footfalls down the hall grab your attention, and soon, Bepo and the Heart Pirates Captain are entering the infirmary. Trafalgar holds something in his grasp, but you’re too engrossed in Luffy to realise what he shoves in your hands. 

“Keep this safe for him, okay, sweetheart?” 

You draw your attention away and look up at Trafalgar before noticing the familiar straw of Luffy’s hat between your fingers. Nodding, you curl your lips between your teeth to stop your emotions from teetering over. 

He walks away, taking white latex gloves from Penguin and putting them on. Trafalgar looks over the Fishman. 

“He’s been shot through the stomach… amazing he’s still breathing.”  

Finally, the last tube is inserted down Luffy’s throat, and you hold your breath while you wait for Trafalgar’s assessment. 

“Straw Hat’s injuries are fairly severe, too,” He says. “But I think his emotional trauma is the real issue.” 

Your heart skips a beat. Ace. 

“Do they need anaesthesia?” Penguin asks from the corner. Your jaw clenches at the mere thought that they wouldn’t. 

“No, Straw Hat is close to comatose, and the Fishman is unconscious. They won’t feel a thing.” 

Your mouth falls open. “But, Trafalgar—”

“It’s gonna be a fun operation, yeah?” 

His words make you feel sick. “Hey—”

“Get her outta here,” Trafalgar says, waving his hand in dismissal. 

“Yes, Captain,” Bepo mumbles, walking over to you. 

“Bepo—”

“Captain’s orders,” He says tightly. “I’m sorry.” 

You shake your head, your hands clutching Luffy’s hat to your chest. “I can’t leave him—”

“You have to; he’ll be just fine.” 

“But—”

The door to the infirmary closes behind you and Bepo, and you're at a loss for words. There’s no use screaming about it, Trafalgar needs to concentrate. 

“Stay here until I come and get you, okay?” 

Bepo smiles sadly at you before he leaves you in your room. Now that you’re alone and the adrenaline of helping Luffy has worn off your wound throbs. Groaning in pain, you limp to the bedside table and swallow four pills. 

The sub is silent, except for the relentless beeping down the hall. 

Suddenly, the sub rocks uncontrollably. Screaming ensues from the infirmary, and panic clutches at your chest. You stagger and fall to the bed, instantly rolling off when the sub jumps. 

“Bepo!”

Crying echoes down the hall as he races to your room. Your door swings open, and Bepo falls inside, rolling on the floor beside you. “Aokiji’s turning the ocean to ice!” 

The submarine surges forward, going faster and deeper. The rocking calms down, and Bepo knocks his forehead on the floor. “No more stress, please.” 

You sigh out a nervous laugh at where you lay on the floor. The sub jolts again; this time, it isn’t until the ship starts swerving that Bepo cries out. “We got lucky once. Now we’re really gonna die!” 

“We’re not going to die,” You say, trying to keep your voice even. “Just hold on.” 

Bepo whimpers, and before he can do as you say, he rolls into the other wall. Your name falls from his mouth in a whine, his eyes closing with dizziness. You cringe with pain, your body slamming into the leg of the bedframe. 

Finally, the sub evens out, but you can tell you’re going extremely fast. The door squeaks on its hinges when it opens. 

“You guys okay?” 

You lift your head to see Penguin panting with his hand on the doorframe. 

“Never better,” Bepo murmurs, his paws scratching the metal floor. 

You nod and attempt to stand, your hand over your wound. “How’s Luffy?” 

Penguin stands taller. “Surgery’s going fine. Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, just a bit dizzy,” You say, knowing your skin will be marred with bruises. You don’t tell him of the sharp pain in your temple. “Are we safe?” 

He visibly swallows. “Should be. Jean-Bart says nothing is attacking us now.” 

“Thank you, Gods,” Bepo whines in happiness, pushing himself back to his full height. “I’m going back to the infirmary. I need an ice pack.” 

You and Penguin watch Bepo leave, his legs wobbly. 

“Do you need anything?” Penguin asks, his eyes trained on where your hand presses against your side. 

“Should be fine, thanks.” 

He gives you a tight-lipped smile before exiting. You sit on the bed, lifting your shirt to inspect your wound. 

It’s bloody, and it's clear your stitches have come undone again. When will you catch a break?

Taking a deep breath, you unravel the bandage. Once the soiled gauze is off, you look away, feeling queasy. You move your fingers against your skin, not needing to look when your power starts. “Sew.” 

There’s no sensation when your needle pierces your skin and begins sewing you up. It's a painless procedure, one you’ve done one too many times, but a minuscule part of you wishes it were Traflagar’s nimble fingers threading a needle and cotton through you. It isn’t a welcomed thought, though you don’t curse yourself for thinking such things. You blame the minor blood loss and continue staring at the floor as you sew yourself back together. 

— Scene 8 —

You don’t know how you keep finding yourself in these positions, causing yourself unnecessary pain for the sake of others. Though, you can’t help it this time. 

Luffy is recovering in the infirmary after his surgery. It’s been four days since Trafalgar finished his procedures on your captain and the Fishman, who you have now learnt is Jinbe, a former Warlord. 

You’re outside the door, in the hallway, your backside hurting from sitting in the same position on the metal floor for a few hours. Your neck aches, and your back needs a stretch, but you feel guilty about getting up. You refuse to leave with your captain unconscious and without a specific timeframe of when he will wake. He went through hell in an attempt to save his brother, who you’d met once in Alabasta, and it wasn’t fair that he had to endure that while you were sealed inside a submarine with another crew. 

Trafalgar said it was unfair that you felt like this, and it took time for you to believe him. The past four days have been full of anxiety and tears, but you finally pulled yourself together to see Luffy without having a breakdown. You can feel sweat dripping down the side of your face, but leave it to do so, and you draw your knees to your chest and lean your forehead on your knees. 

“It’s too hot down here,” Bepo complains from down the hall. He’s on the floor, his tongue lolling out of his mouth as Penguin and Shachi watch him with apprehension. “I’m going to fade away. Goodbye, cruel world.”

“Shut up, Bepo,” Penguin snaps, wiping sweat from his forehead. “Now I’m hot, and I wasn’t hot until you said something.” 

“All that fur really sucks, huh?” Shachi laughs, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Bepo pointedly ignores him, slumping his body flat on the floor. 

“I hate going so far underwater. It gets so stuffy,” He cries before narrowing his eyes at his crewmates. “And the company is oppressive, too.” 

You can’t help the giggle that falls from your lips. 

“Not you,” Bepo comments, looking down the hall at you. “You’re not mean to me.”

“Yeah, well, we hate being here with you too, jerk,” Penguin says. 

“Such vitriol. What is a poor bear to do…?” Bepo whines, lugging himself to his feet. “To win the love of his crew members?” 

The collective disgusted sounds of Penguin and Shachi echo down the hall, and you lift your head to see why. Bepo hugs them both into him, rubbing his sweat on their faces. You smile at the sight, a pang of homesickness making your stomach turn. You remember Zoro doing the same thing to you and Sanji when you complained about his lack of bathing. 

“Fine! We’ll ask the captain if we can surface,” Penguin yells, trying to pry himself away from Bepo. 

“Captain!” They yell, stumbling over each other to get up the stairs. You sigh and return to staring at the wall opposite you. 

Heavy footfalls shake the sub above, but you ignore it, wiping a stray tear from your cheek. Your stomach drops as you feel the sub incline rapidly, and you barely smile when you hear the cheers from the common area. 

You stand when the sub is stationary, and there’s no movement above you. You place your hand on the door handle, the cool metal soothing the warmth of your body. You twist the handle and step inside the infirmary. The sight of the Fishman sitting up on his bed surprises you, but your focus is solely on your captain, who lays there motionless, with a large tube coming from his throat. 

“Who are you?” The man asks, and you jump at the gravel of his voice. 

You tell him your name. “I’m a Straw Hat.” 

Jinbe looks taken aback as you run your eyes over Luffy’s body. He’s covered in bandages from head to toe, and you can’t imagine what his injuries look like. You notice Trafalgar’s katana leaning against the bed.

“How are you here? Luffy said his crew was gone.” 

You stand over your captain, your face warm with emotion. You move the katana down to the end of the bed. 

“He told me to run, so I did,” You whisper, brushing his hair off his forehead. “I think he thought Kuma got me too.” 

Jinbe blinks at you before he gets up. “There sounds like trouble above deck. I’ll go.” 

You nod without lifting your head, though you can sense him studying you. 

“He spoke a lot about his crew. I’m glad you’re here.” 

Smiling wetly, you sniffle. “I’m glad too.” 

When the door clicks, you fall to your knees beside the bed. Trafalgar said not to disturb Luffy and told you not to touch his recovering body, but you can’t follow his orders, no matter how hard you try. 

“I’m so sorry,” You sob as you rub his wrist, the gauze rough against your fingertips. “I should’ve stayed back and helped you. Why would you tell me to run?” 

You know you won’t get a response, but having him this close after believing him dead is something your poor heart can’t fathom. 

You don’t know how long you sit there, your head leaning on the side of the bed, but when you come back to your senses, it's obvious the sub is moving. To where? You can’t begin to guess. 

But, you hope Bepo got his fresh air. 

—

Chaos has ensued above deck, you can tell that much. The sound of cheers and then screams of fear, with the dull thuds of arrows lodging into the walls, make you nervous. 

“I’ll be back,” You say, flying from the room. The submarine is empty when you get to the top floor, and you aim straight for the exit. 

The main entrance is ajar, and you push it open. “Trafalgar, what’s—”

“A woman!” 

You freeze after you stumble onto the deck. In awe, you’re suddenly the focus of several people, no, women, lining the walls of a bay. They all wave at you, clearly excited to see you. 

Smiling awkwardly, you wave back, glancing at Trafalgar. 

“Where are we?” You mutter, noticing the large ship in front of you veering off to the left. 

“Amazon Lily.” 

“Okay…” You drop your arm. “Why?” 

“They’re going to take care of Straw Hat.” 

Drawing your brows together, you shake your head. “What happened to being the best doctor on the Grand Line?” 

“I never called myself that,” He scoffs. “Boa Hancock has a fixation on your captain, so she’s going to house him here.” 

Boa Hancock. “The Warlord?” 

“Mmhm,” He hums. “I’m in the dark about how they know each other, but she’s eager to help him.” 

“He’s not something to be passed around.” 

“I know that, but Hancock is adamant about it,” Trafalgar says, voice hard. “Though I said otherwise, I do want him to be okay. Is that alright, sweetheart?”

“Yes, it’s perfectly fine, Trafalgar.” 

He gives you an inquisitive look, one that you brush off. “What’s your problem?” 

“Hancock.” 

Trafalgar snorts and cocks his head. “Yeah, well, don’t make that known here, okay?” 

“Why are we circling the island?” 

“Men are forbidden on the island.” 

“What?” 

“Luffy is the exception.”

You put your hand on his arm, holding back a giggle. “So, you’re going to get shot down? I can’t wait to see this.” 

Trafalgar clicks his tongue, unamused. “Unfortunately, you won’t. We made a deal with Hancock.”

“Disappointing…” You trail off, your fingers slipping from his forearm. But when you look back at him, his eyes are trained on the spot your touch was.

“Docking!��� Penguin yells. 

It happens quickly and with skilled practice. A wood plank is placed between the Polar Tang and the patch of land, and the crew piles onto the island. 

Multiple women are on the shore, most setting up tables, tents, and a giant curtain printed with Jolly Rogers. The sun shines down on the grass, and you realise it's the first time since Sabaody that you’ve seen such greenery. 

“The Kuja Pirates,” Trafalgar says in your ear, pulling you from your mind. “Heard of them?” 

You shake your head, not daring to turn to face him. “But this is where Luffy’s staying?”

“Yep, I’m to treat him until he’s better, and then he stays here. It’s a perfect location to hide him from the Navy. You’d know how annoying they are, considering you’re just as if not more.” 

You gape at him, a slight grin pulling the corner of your lip upwards. “You’re kidding—”

A delicate hand on your shoulder pulls you away from him suddenly. You watch as Trafalgar keeps walking, never sparing a glance back. 

“Come with me,” You’re met with a woman with blonde hair. “I’m Marguerite.”

You tell her your name and follow her, though you are unsure where. 

“We have so many clothes for you to choose from,” She giggles. “It isn’t often we get women visitors. Most of the time, it’s men trying to infiltrate.” 

A pang of grief hits you in the chest. It’s unfair these women are still under the threat of unknown men despite having their own island. Though Marguerite doesn’t look too upset about it, you know they are more than capable of handling those men on their own. It’s inspiring. 

“Here,” She continues, shoving you lightly into a tent. 

Immediately, another woman hands you a red bikini. “Try this on.” 

And then you’re swept up by the group of women. Silks and linens are thrown at you, tried on and discarded when you decline the colour or fit of a piece. The women are in awe of your power. They ask you to mend or adjust certain places on their outfits, and you're more than happy to help. 

You hear the Heart Pirates murmuring from their spot on the grass behind the tent walls, food piled high on their plates. Despite your initial hesitation, you laugh along with the women, trading secrets and tips that you could only do with Nami and Robin. 

You feel comfortable here. 

It isn’t until you emerge from the tent that the men go quiet. After knowing you for a fortnight, seeing you in such little clothing has them hollering. You grit your teeth. 

“Enough,” Trafalgar snaps at his crew. You won’t admit it, but the commanding tone of his voice warms your cheeks. “Get back to your food, morons.”

Marguerite laughs at him, and then she turns to you. “Remember, strength equals beauty.” 

You nod, smiling, adjusting the straps of the bikini you wear with your power. It’s something you hold dear to you for a long while. 

“Line up if you want seconds!” A tall woman says, laughing when the Heart Pirates stumble over each other to form a queue. 

“You better get in there if you’re hungry,” Marguerite smiles. “Looks like they’ll take it all.” 

You spot Bepo near the front of the line and thank Marguerite for all she’s done. 

“It’s my pleasure,” She waves as you snake through the crowd. 

“Hey,” You greet Bepo. “What’s on the menu?” 

“Uh…” His eyes look directly into yours, his body stiff. “Stew.” 

You squint at him. “You wouldn’t mind if I skip the line, then?” 

“Never.” 

You roll your eyes at his clipped tone. Scanning the crowd, Trafalgar is nowhere to be seen. Someone in front of you hands you a bowl, and you thank them, stepping to the front of the line. 

“Hello,” The pirate smiles. “I’m Aphelandra.” 

You tell her your name and stick out your bowl when she gestures for it. 

“Must be weird being in a submarine full of men,” She rambles. “Are they all stretchy?” 

You’re taken aback by her question but laugh. “No, the only stretchy guy I know is Luffy.” 

She gasps. “So, you know Luffy?” 

“He’s my captain.” 

“Really? We must tell the Snake Princess,” With a full bowl, you’re pulled beside her. “Eat, you must regain your strength.” 

With your eyes on the trees, you do as she says. You swear you saw a glimpse of Traflagar’s patterned hat when you emerged from the tent. “Have you seen the guy with the funny hat?”

Aphelandra smiles down at you. “The spotty one? He went into the forest.” 

“Thanks,” You grin, placing your empty bowl on the small table beside her and making a beeline for the trees. 

It smells of pine and the rotting wood, and if it weren't for the crashing waves, you’d think you were on an island far away, deep in the trees. 

Your hair snags on a twig before you decide to call for him. “Trafalgar?” 

His response is almost immediate. “Here, sweetheart.” 

You follow the sound of his voice. Trafalgar sits against a tree, a burgundy bottle between his fingers. 

“Whatcha doing out here?” 

He shrugs, sporting his usual bored look. “Not a very social person.” 

You sit in silence as he sips his drink. The birds sing tunes you’ve never heard, and the waves crash against the cliff faces harmoniously. There’s an inkling of anxiety stirring your insides, but you know you’ll get through it. What did Trafalgar say? It only hurts this much right now... You repeat it like a mantra. It will get better. 

“Don’t think too hard. You might hurt yourself again.” 

Scoffing, you shove his shoulder. “Shut up.”

Trafalgar gives you a sidelong glance, a smirk on his lips. “How’s your side? Getting better?” 

You nod, your fingertips running over the bandages unconsciously. “The medication you gave me helps a lot, I barely have any pain.” 

“Good.” 

You study his side profile: the slope of his nose, the harsh cut of his cheekbone, the two gold hoops in his lobe, the dark hair that makes up his goatee... Swallowing, you exhale shakily. 

“I—”

“Excuse me.” 

You jump, looking up to see Marguerite and smiling when she greets you. You rub your palms against your thighs. What were you going to say to him just then? 

“Has Luffy regained consciousness?” 

Trafalgar shakes his head and keeps his voice even. “At this point, it’s up to his spirit and whether he wants to live or die. Nothing I can do anymore.” 

You’re surprised. He hasn’t told you that.

“Marguerite! Hurry up!”

The blonde girl turns, nodding. “Take good care of him until he gets better.” 

Trafalgar keeps the lip of the bottle up to his mouth but makes no move to drink. 

“His spirit, huh?” 

He sets the bottle into the dirt and twists it to stay upright. His demeanour shifts so seamlessly that you barely see it happen. 

“I see you’ve made yourself comfortable.” 

You look down at yourself. Usually, you’d feel embarrassed, but Trafalgar seems uncaring of such things. His eyes don’t criticise you, and you swear there’s a shimmer of something close to appreciation in his gaze. 

“I love it here,” You say, tilting your face to the sun. The distant chatter of the Heart and Kuja Pirates only elevates the warm feeling in your chest. 

“Then stay.” 

“What?” You ask, startled. 

Trafalgar closes his eyes and leans his head on the bark. You haven’t encountered his expression yet and can only interpret it as something close to pain.  

“I’m going wherever Luffy goes.” 

He sighs shakily. “Then it’s settled.” 

The air is thick, and you don’t dare move. You frown, mind racing. Have you done something wrong? Said something?

“Why would you—”

“Luffy! Calm down!”

The alarmed scream has you running toward the submarine, Trafalgar not far behind you. 

You see Jinbe standing on the edge of the cliff and reach him in time to see the roof of the Polar Tang explode, and something fly out the top. You're in too much shock to comprehend what’s happening. And before you know it, Luffy’s bandaged body falls to the grass with a sickening thump. 

“Luffy…”

“Something’s wrong,” Jinbe mumbles beside you. 

Your captain slowly pushes himself to his knees, his fingers digging into the dirt. “Ace.”

Your heart stops, and you grab Trafalgar’s wrist. The doctor is frozen. 

“Ace.”

Cries fall from Luffy’s lips, and he rises before you can approach him. “Where’s my brother?”

You stumble backward, Trafalgar’s chest is hard against your head. Clutching your stomach, you feel sick. He wraps his arm around you, his forearm leaning on your collarbones, barring you from running over there.

Luffy moves before you see him, and then he’s gone. 

“That way!” Penguin yells, pointing to the area you were not 30 seconds ago. The Heart Pirates go after him, but Trafalgar holds you close to him. 

“You’re okay,” He whispers, steadying you. His breath is hot on your ear, and your body almost betrays you. 

Jinbe watches Luffy run around with worry etched on his face. “What happens if he stays in this state?” 

“If he keeps flailing around,” Trafalgar says, narrowing his eyes. “He’s more likely to open his wound, and if that happens, then he’s dead.” 

You cover your face with your palms, unable to form words. 

“Quick! He’s down!” 

Tears blur your vision as you look up, but as soon as they jump on Luffy, the Heart Pirates get flung into the sky. “I have to get to my brother! Get off me!” 

“Oh, Luffy,” You cry, watching as he runs through the curtain separating Amazon Lily and the bay. The pirates stop before they cross the threshold. You want to yell at them for stopping, but remember what Marguerite said. 

“Repair the ship,” Trafalgar commands behind you, removing his arm to throw it toward the submarine. 

“Yes, captain,” A few of them obey, boarding the ship and immediately getting to work. 

You snatch Luffy’s hat from the rock when Trafalgar’s back is turned before standing on wobbly legs and running toward the curtain. 

“Hey, hey!” Bepo yells after you, but you don’t look back. 

Trafalgar yells your name, worry etched in his tone, but you refuse to stop. 

You must get to your captain. 

— Scene 9 —

You trudge through the trees, insects zipping past your ears every few seconds. It's humid in the forest, and you wipe the sweat from your forehead. 

A stick snaps behind you, and you spin around, your hands out. “Jinbe.” 

The Fishman grunts and walks past you. “We must find him. I fear he’ll get himself hurt if we don’t soon.” 

You silently agree, following him over logs and through thick brush. Luffy’s hat sits at your back, the string around your neck. You’d never put it on, but you don’t want it ruined before you give it to him. 

The ground rumbles under your feet, and you stagger. “What was that?” 

Jinbe quickens his pace. “This way.”

You jump over a particularly large branch and try to keep up with him. A scream echoes through the trees, and your body freezes in its spot. 

Jinbe glances over his shoulder. “The only danger here is Luffy.” 

“Luffy…” You whisper. You can't imagine the agony he feels right now. 

Another scream is heard before there's a crash, one that causes the trees to sway uncontrollably. You see rocks flying in all directions and duck to avoid them, using Sew to weave threads above you to catch stray debris. Birds fly overhead at alarming speeds, and you can only guess what was thrown into the mountain to create such an explosion. 

“We’re close, quickly.” 

Before you know it, you see your captain hunched over on the ground, his forehead on the dirt. You gasp at the blood on his hands and back. 

Luffy lifts his head, and you have to look away from the sheer torment on his face. 

“Luffy, listen to me,” Jinbe calls. “Your brother is—”

“Don’t say it!” Your captain screams. “You think I don’t know? You think I think this is a dream?”

You wipe the silent tears that run down your cheeks. It's jarring to see someone you’ve seen be carefree for as long as you’ve known him like this. You feel sick watching him as tendrils of your thread lift the debris from around your captain. 

“If this were a dream, I’d already be awake, don’t you think?” 

“Luffy…” You mutter.

“This isn’t a dream… Is it?” Luffy sobs. “He’s really dead, isn’t he?”

Jinbe sighs. “I’m afraid so.” 

Your captain starts hyperventilating, his breaths short and his face wet with blood and tears. 

“Luffy…” You call, noticing how his body freezes. His eyes find yours, and his jaw falls open. 

He murmurs your name. “Is this a dream, too?”

You stumble over to him, your hands out before you. “No, this isn’t a dream. I’m here.” 

“Wha— How? Did you see Ace, too?” 

You crouch in front of him and shake your head. “I didn’t, but I was at Marineford when we picked you up.” 

‘We?” Luffy asks, his voice holding a tinge of hope. “Are the others here?” 

“No,” You say, wiping his face. “It's only me.” 

Luffy’s cries don’t lessen. “Are they dead, too?” 

You feel your bottom lip tremble at the question. You shrug pathetically. “I don’t know.” 

Luffy falls back down to the dirt. “I’m so tired.” 

You throw Jinbe a desperate look, feeling Luffy slip through your fingers. 

“I’m so weak!” Luffy suddenly yells. “I’m useless!” 

“Luffy—”

“How can you call me your captain? I’m pathetic.” He stands and runs at the large boulder just outside of the trees. He slams his fists into the rock, breaking it into pieces. “I couldn’t save my brother or my crew!”

Jinbe walks up beside you as threads halt the stones from flying into you, and you struggle under their weight. 

“Fuck!” Luffy screams, punching another rock. “Useless!” 

Jinbe says your name. “I think you should leave.”  

Your hand covers your mouth, and your expression morphs into shock. Did you hear him right? You feel the needles of your power wanting to escape, to tighten around him. Your Devil Fruit purrs in your ear as it drops the rocks a few feet away and aims for the Fishman instead. 

“Please don’t make me force you.”

“No! I’m not leaving my captain here!” You scream, threads weaving from your fingers. “What kind of pirate—what kind of person would that make me?” 

“There’s no time for questions,” Jinbe exclaims. “Go!”

“I can’t—”

“I’ll bring him back safely. You don’t need to see this.” 

Your power cracks and fizzles out under your skin as you grapple for it. But it's useless unless you want to lose control, and you know better than to let that happen. 

“Jinbe,” You cry, body too weak to fight him. Luffy hunches over with his hands on his knees, yelling. “Help him.” 

“I will,” He waves you away. “Now go!” 

You sprint back to the bay, forcing your legs to run. You’ve betrayed your loyalty.

Your cheeks are stained with tears and dirt, and your hands are covered in blood. With weak knees, you try jumping over the fallen logs as you did before, but now you’re exhausted, and it feels like they are rocks tied to your feet. 

You sob frantically, stopping to press your palm against a tree every few minutes. Shaking your head, you sniffle. The bay isn’t too far away, and you can hear the seagulls chirping. Your fingers wipe under your eyes, though you know it won’t do anything. You can imagine the state of you. 

You hear Bepo calling your name as you stumble through the curtain. “What happened?” 

There’s blood all over you, which you failed to notice before; the staining on your hands was just the start of it. You stare at your hands as panic rises inside you. Who’s blood is this?

“Where did you go?” Trafalgar’s harsh voice hits your ears before his hand grips your bicep. “Who did this?” 

“Nobody,” You cry, holding onto Trafalgar’s fingers. “Luffy, he—”

You don't hear what the doctor says before he catches you. “Okay, let’s get you to the ship.” 

You shake your head, forgetting the blood on your hands when you fist his shirt. “No! I can’t go there. Not with Luffy out here.” 

“Okay, well, where do you want to go?”

If Jinbe were to be trusted, which seems like a silly thought to question, you know Luffy would be okay. It takes your mind a while to accept that your body needs rest. The adrenaline from seeing Luffy and then running is wearing off, and the fatigue you’ve ignored hits you all at once. 

You sniff, pulling him weakly to a rock. “I just need to lie down, and then I can fight for him.” 

Trafalgar makes no sound when you push him to the ground. Your breathing is calming down, though hiccups still pass your lips. 

“Who were you fighting against? Did they do this to you?” 

“Just sit still for an hour, okay?” You whimper, putting your head on his lap, his jeans rough against your cheek. You can feel his thigh tense underneath you, clearly not used to having someone so close. Sniffling once more, your muscles relax against the ground. “No more questions.” 

When you close your eyes, Trafalgar says nothing, and the waves crashing against the rocks are just as soothing as the hand on your shoulder. 

— Scene 10 —

There’s a hand patting your head when you wake. It’s not gentle, and there's no rhythm, and when you lift your head, you notice the bandages wrapped around his legs. When did Trafalgar get injured? 

The sky is dark, and the stars sparkle above you. It’s a sight you’ve missed. 

“Hey, sleepyhead.” 

“Luffy,” You're in shock at the familiar voice, scrabbling to your knees so you’re not leaning on him anymore. “Are you okay? Why are you here?”

Your captain shrugs, a dopey grin on his face. “I don’t think so. I’m here to say goodbye.” 

“What?” You shake your head. 

“Straw Hat. Pack it up.”

Luffy sighs, his wide eyes glassy. “You gotta go.” 

You pause, a crease forming between your eyebrows. “What? Where?”

“Traffy’s going to take you with him.” 

Shaking your head, you don’t dare take your eyes off Luffy when you hear someone walk up behind you. “I’m staying here with you.” 

“You can’t. We have to get stronger.” 

“I don’t understand.” 

Luffy puts his hands on your shoulders. “You’re going to go with Traffy, and I’ll see you in two years.” 

Two years. “Wait, what? What do you mean two years?” 

Strong hands slip under your armpits from behind and lug you to your feet. You feel your body lift off the ground but do nothing. You’re too shocked to form complaints against whoever’s taking you away. 

“Meet me back at Sabaody in two years.” 

“No, Luffy. I’m here now. Why would I do that?” You struggle against them, your power still sleeping under your skin. 

“We won’t stand a chance in the New World,” Luffy stands. “Get stronger.” 

The person leading you to the Polar Tang whispers an apology as they spin you around and throw you over their shoulder. 

“Bepo?” Your voice comes out in a cracked whimper when you realise it's the bear carrying you. 

“I’m sorry,” He repeats, holding you tightly. 

“Luffy!” 

“Please,” Your captain says your name. “It's the only way. I’ll be fine here!”

“What about the others?” You cry. “How will they know?” 

“I have a plan.” 

You scoff, bordering on laughter. “Of course you do.” 

“Get stronger!” Luffy yells. “And I’ll see you in the New World!” 

Shaking your head, a crazed laugh falls from your lips in disbelief. You should’ve known he’d do something like this. He never does anything half-assed. 

Get stronger. 

“Are you out of your mind?” 

Luffy cackles, tears bordering his waterline. “Yeah!” 

Get stronger. 

If he can smile at a time like this, especially after what he’s been through, then so can you. 

And if Luffy trusts Trafalgar Law to train you in the two years he promised, then so do you. You trust Luffy with your life. 

Swallowing your emotion, you smile back at him. “Fine! I’ll see you in two years, captain!” 

Get stronger. 

You hear Luffy whoop with joy, and before you know it, the door of the Polar Tang slams behind you. Bepo lets you down, steadying you as the submarine goes under. 

It hits you just before you take the first step. “Luffy’s hat!” 

“It’s okay, I gave it to him,” You turn to see Trafalgar leaning against the wall with his katana back on his shoulder. “You feeling okay, sweetheart?” 

“Physically, kinda,” You say, holding onto the railing as you descend the stairs. “Emotionally, no.”

Trafalgar clicks his tongue. “Expected.” 

“Captain, maybe she should eat…” 

You’re so terribly worn out that your eyes are dry. There’s no use crying when it doesn’t serve a purpose. You’re here now, and you will be for the next two years. You hold onto the hope that you’ll see your crew on Sabaody after that time, and that’s enough for a small smile to grace your face. 

You peer up at Bepo, who smiles sheepishly. “Hungry?” 

If polar bears could blush, they’d now look like Bepo. “Uh, no. Just a suggestion, you know… Food helps everything.”

He sounds like Luffy.  

“Can you make rice balls?” You ask Trafalgar. 

“Me?” He acts like it offends him. 

“Bepo let it slip that they’re your favourite, so I know you’d make them best.” 

“Tsk,” He glares at the mink. “I’m busy.”

“Surely not enough to decline making your guest food, Traffy.”

“Traffy, huh?” Bepo snorts. 

Trafalgar runs his tongue over his teeth. 

“Please?” You smile. 

“No. You’re a pest. Go bother someone else.” 

With that, he disappears down the stairs. You stand there with Bepo, the sound of pots clanging making your stomach rumble. 

“I can’t remember the last time he made rice balls,” Bepo says. “He makes other foods, but that one is special to him.”

You go to ask why, but think against it. Trafalgar wouldn’t want his crew members airing out his business. Instead, you shrug. 

“Maybe one day I’ll persuade him.” 

Bepo laughs, scratching behind his ear. “Good luck with that.”

You quirk an eyebrow at him. 

“Anyway, let’s go ask Penguin what’s for dinner,” The bear says. “I wanted rice balls, too.” 

As you turn the corner to the kitchen, the area is quiet. 

“That’s weird,” Bepo says. “Penguin doesn’t shut up when he cooks…”

A familiar katana leans against the counter when you enter, and before you can decipher why, Bepo gasps behind you, confirming your outlandish suspicion—which, as it turns out, wasn’t so in the first place. 

“What filling do you want? I’m not asking again,” Trafalgar’s voice holds irritation. He stands at the stove without his hat, his hair dishevelled. You refrain from giggling. 

Bepo makes a surprised sound. “No way…”

You laugh, stunned, and slide onto the bar stool beneath the counter. Trafalgar’s hat sits beside you, and you eye it as you think about what type of filling you want.

He nods at your request and begins preparing it immediately. Bepo hasn’t moved from his spot in the doorway.  

“Snap out of it, idiot.” 

“Sorry.” Bepo lowers his head and ambles to you to sulk in the chair beside you. 

Trafalgar works silently, seeming comfortable as he rolls the premade rice into triangles. He’s meticulous, using a practised amount of rice to protect the filling, and a knife to slice the nori into even strips. 

Watching him be so careful with the onigiri makes you wonder if there’s more to his delicate touch. One that can bring warmth and comfort to someone. If that translates to his intentions, and if he really wants you here, or if he felt pressured by Luffy to take you on board. 

The question bubbles out of you before you can help it. Despite the setting, it's not one about food. 

“Why did you tell me to stay on Amazon Lily?” Your voice surprises him. 

Bepo looks at you incredulously. The question hangs in the air, and you see Trafalgar’s shoulders tense. 

“I’m gonna go…” Bepo murmurs, slipping from the chair and running from the kitchen.

Trafalgar sighs, rolling his eyes at his crew member. His back is to you, but you can tell he’s thinking of a reply. 

“I figured you’d had enough of a submarine full of men. You seem happy on the island.”

There’s something unsaid in his words, something deeper, but you’re too unsure what it could be to delve into it. Instead, you smile. 

“And here I was, thinking I was just a pawn,” You laugh, running your fingers along the brim of his soft hat. The memory of a few days ago burns deep inside you. It makes you think about his hands again. “Besides, you’re not allowed there, so why would I stay?” 

“Mm?” Although the hum sounds non-committal, you can feel him side-eyeing you. 

You wouldn’t admit it, but you’ve grown fond of him. But your cheeks warm when you realise the connotation of your rhetorical question, and your focus remains on his hat. “Who will I annoy if not you?” 

Trafalgar sighs and laughs a breathy laugh. “You’re going to be a pain in my ass, aren't you sweetheart?” 

You raise your eyebrows and shrug, feigning innocence. His easy laughter gives you all the evidence that he wants you on his submarine. “Two years isn’t that long, Traffy. You’ll survive.” 

He mumbles something under his breath and turns around, two plates in his hands. 

You take one from him. On the plate sits two onigiris, each a perfect triangle with a strip of nori on the bottom. “Thank you.”

Trafalgar grunts and picks up one of his onigiris. You copy him, eyeing how he bites the top off precisely. 

“What’s in yours?” You ask, chewing. The flavour explodes in your mouth, and you refrain from moaning in delight. You can feel Trafalgar’s eyes on you, but don’t look up as you play with a stray piece of rice on the plate. 

“Grilled salmon,” He speaks when he finishes swallowing. “Do you like it?” 

The question seems loaded, as if he’s not just asking about rice balls. It catches you off guard, the discernable keenness. Maybe you didn’t notice it before, with all your exhaustion and constant unconsciousness, but he’s hanging on your every word. His eyes are full of hope before he blinks, and it vanishes. You swear you saw it, and it fills you with shy satisfaction. 

He definitely wants you on his submarine. 

Remembering his original question, you nod. “It’s good.” 

It's an understatement, but Trafalgar seems content with your answer and continues eating his food. 

“You can call me Law, you know. No need to be so formal now that you’ll be here for a while.” 

Your eyes widen, and a soft ‘oh’ leaves your lips.  

Trafalgar is quick to speak. “Only if you’re comfortable. I know I’m considered a rival and all that.” 

You mull over his request, eyeing his hunched posture and countless tattoos beneath his elbows. His hair flops over his forehead, and his lips are twisted into an awkward pout, and you realise this is the same man you saw on your first night. 

“Law,” You whisper, and when you look at him, your mind plays a trick on you because his cheeks are tinted pink, and there’s a vulnerable look in his eye. 

A fortnight isn’t a long time, and despite your quarrels, you think you’ll get to know Trafalgar Law much more than you anticipated.

[whumpandothercomfort]

There's a flavor of whump I'm always craving that I don't see very often, I think because the possibilities are so context-specific. You can do some things in some universes that you can't in others! You can do certain things with non-human characters that you can't with others!

But hear me out:

Whumper making physiological changes to Whumpee's body.

Could be through programming for robot characters, dedicated brainwashing for humans, magic for fantasy settings, weird biology for aliens...

A few examples off the top of my head:

Alien species that instinctively responds to neck squeezing by going limp like a scruffed kitten, because this helped them survive encounters with predators. Delicious all on its own -- now throw in a quick surgery to permanently clamp the nerve responsible. Whumpee wakes up in a permanent state of relaxed submission and can't even show how terrified they are.

Obedience programming/training that's wired directly into a character's brain. When the system detects unwanted thoughts, it applies pain. Even after rescue, Whumpee can't think of themselves as an autonomous being because their mind is desperately protecting itself.

Characters with magic having their magic corrupted or bound so it either hurts them to use, or it can only be used to serve Whumper's purposes. Bonus points if Whumper has full control over their magic AND the use of it hurts them.

Characters given a brain implant or parasite that stimulates the reward center of the brain, which would be great, except they can't turn it off. They're kept in a constant state of bleary euphoria... with just enough sense of self left to know they want it to stop.

Characters being spelled or programmed so they physically cannot function independently. Characters who very literally NEED to be given permission to do things like relax or take a walk or even use the bathroom. Not being given this permission leaves them in a state of locked stasis -- fully aware of the time passing. Bonus: Caretaker can't reverse it, so they just HAVE to navigate All Of This.

Alien species that will a develop chronic physical illness if deprived of touch for too long. Said illness can only be treated through regular physical touch. Defiant Whumpees will often be locked in solitary confinement and fed through a slot in the bars until symptoms start to manifest. Sometimes they'll be left even longer, to make sure they end up a severe case. And now, oopsie, the only way to ease this horrible pain is by letting your captors put their hands on you!

Just. Physiological whump. The horror of someone else controlling your body or your mind. Betrayal of body. Etc. Do you understand.

[nymphomatique]

reader asking forcing. loser!miguel to tell her his desired fantasy and since she’s feeling a bit nice that day she decides she’ll indulge it for him <3 (i feel like he’d so be into roleplay hehe ><)

nonnie ur brain.. hold on.

cw: fem/dom reader, sub!miguel <3, slight mentions of shoe play, talks of punishment and like SLIGHT exhibitionism, miguel being a simp bit what’s new, a kiss 🤭, on da sweeter side, and as per usual: definitely not proof read lol enjoy 💋

a/n: i went tame for this but suggest what role play ideas u have bc miguel is DEFINITELY into that. like imagine him acting as readers maid.. in the maid outfit.. omfg.

“miguel?”

“ah! y-yes?” he answers between a moan. you’re currently sitting on your bed, miguel sitting upright facing you on your floor as you trail your heeled foot up his crotch.

“tell me something,” you start, cocking your head sideways and leaning forward to look at him a little closer. as you lean forwards your breasts spill over the the corset top you have on. you begin to use more friction with your foot, and his moans become more feverish. “what’s your fantasy? entertain me, i’m in a good mood tonight.”

and a good mood it was, you stumbled into your dorm at around 2 in the morning, miguel waiting patiently for you outside your door, kneeling in the empty hall just like you asked, when you texted him rather drunkenly from the club that you wanted to play with him.

miguel’s face flushes, his chocolate brown eyes hiding behind his glasses. “i- ah.. f-fuck. i don’t know..” he trails off, bucking lightly into your red bottom.

“you have one more time to lie to me before this turns into a ball busting session, dweeb,” you spit, halting your teasing and looking at him intensely. you can visually see him fold under your stare. “w-well..”

“go on,” you encourage, slowly starting your teasing with your heel back up.

“i’ve always wanted to- ah! to take someone on a dinner, all fancy. a-and in the middle of the restaurant, she starts to..” he halts, his lips tightening and his face going red.

“i said go on, miguel,” you say nonchalantly, but your heel applying pressure to miguel’s crotch. he lets out a sharp shudder and a string of curses under his breath, and then resumes.

“what we’re doing now.. tease me all dinner, and th-then punish me in the restroom for getting excited..” he sighs out, the pain and shame sending waves of pleasure to his pulsating clothed cock.

“yeah? punish you how? tell your mistress what you want,” he looks at you and moans, your foot increasing its speed and pressure.

“you- you’d make me beg to cum. i- i’d beg you to- fuck. to let me touch you. let me ache to please you, to serve you mistress,” he spill out from his lips, his eyes heavy and breathing shallow from your pleasuring.

“you really are pathetic miguel,” you laugh out. you stop teasing him and stand up, watching him look up at you from his place on the floor. you slowly saunter over to him and step each foot on either side of his legs, lowering yourself down until you’re sat on his lap, directly over his erection. you grab his hair and pull his head back, hovering your lips over his own. “but you know what?” you whisper, looking at his red face and tousled hair. “i like it.”

you go in for a kiss, your lipstick transferring to miguel’s perfectly shaped lips as you kiss him sensually. you pull apart from the kiss and look at him once more, him sitting there utterly dazed and confused, this being your first kiss. you get up and walk to sit back on your bed, looking straight at him, a small wet patch staining his pants. “get out of my room.”

he doesn’t hear from you until the following evening, a text message from you reading:

philemon at 8pm sharp. take a fucking shower and wear something other than hand me downs tonight.

[velocesainz]

Hii!

Could you possibly do a Percy Jackson smut with Percy fucking the brat out of reader, his rival? Rough sex with degrading and praise pls and ty 🫶🏼🫶🏼

A/n:This was quite an interesting request for me to write, thank you for the idea! All character have been aged up (19-20)

More than rivalry

Percy jackson masterlist | Main masterlist |

Summary: Percy gets jealous seeing you (his rival) with another boy and decides to fuck you to make sure you remember that you are his but you end up being too cocky for his liking

Warnings: smut, degradation

Pairing: Percy x daughter of Zeus! Reader

Reader pov:

I was practising my archery skills with some Apollo kids and we were actually having a lot of fun

Over the time I had spent Robert over the past few days perfecting my archery we both really grew close together

He was one of the very few people at camp who were actually friends with me for me and not because I was Zeus’s daughter.

While we were training I clumsily fell over a rock and was about to go crash into the ground but Robert caught me in time.

We stayed in the position for a little bit not knowing what to do.

We looked at each other with soft and gentle eyes, like how friends would rather than people who like each other though it seemed otherwise to most.

It was a sweet moment we both were trying to savour when a bellowing voice split us apart

“Oi thunder witch! What are you doing, let the poor guy out of his misery and do some practising on your own yea?” Yelled the voice that I really didn’t want to hear right now

Percy motherfucking Jackson

“Ocean ass how about you go bother someone else. He’s here with me at his own will for your kind information. Care more about your friends yea?” I retorted

I wanted to leave the arena as fast as possible so I bid Robert goodbye and left for my cabin

Percy pov:

Crisis averted.

I didn’t let Robert and y/n have their moment.

Why the fuck out of all the girls here does Robert have to go for y/n?

He has like a hundred girls dying for him.

Doesn’t he know she’s mine?

I know we seem like enemies but I wish to fuck like every second of the day at this point

She’s just so beautiful and that attitude damn.

I had a plan to get y/n away from every other guy, not just Robert.

Reader pov:

I was sitting in my cabin reading a book when I heard a knock on my door

That’s odd, I thought

Nobody was usually free at this hour in the evening

Everyone was too busy scheming for capture the flag except me of course

I wasn’t allowed to participate along with Percy since we were a tad bit overpowered

I walked over and opened the door and before I could figure out who it was they shoved me against the wall and started kissing me

I pushed the figure away and tried to run but they caught me

“Don’t try to run bitch. You need to be taught a lesson. Now be a good little slut and listen to what I say or the consequences will be severe for you” the figure whispered in my ear.

Then I realised who it was

Percy.

I was feeling cocky today so I decided to tease him a little

“You sure you can be intimidating and dominating seaweed brain? I don’t think you can even satisfy me forget punishing me”I replied with a smirk gracing my features

“Oh you asked for this whore. By the time I’m done with you you will be so dumb for my cock that you won’t even remember your name. Just you wait “ he said in a Husky voice which turned me on more than I would like to admit

He started removing my clothes as fast as he could and I couldn’t help but sneak in a cheeky comment

“Desperate are we?” Boy oh boy was this a bad decision

“I’m going to fuck that cocky attitude right out of you. You really just can’t keep your mouth shut can you whore?” Percy said and threw me in my bed

Undressing himself he got on the bed and made his way towards me like a predator approaching its prey

He moved my panties to the side and roughly shoved his cock inside me without any warning

“A-ah p-p-Percy that hurts sto-“ I was cut off by a slap I received

“Shut the fuck up slut. You were the one who was acting all cocky just a few minutes ago. Bitches like you don’t deserve to be cared for” Percy panted as he continued thrusting in and out

His pace was ungodly. He kept thrusting in and out of me letting my pussy drink up his cock

I felt like I was losing my mind as he hit my g-spot repeatedly completely abusing it

“O-oh fuck your pussy is tight. G-gods I’m going to come. Ah yea just like that” He whispered huskily

“I am going to cum too Percy” I told him

“No no. You don’t get to cum you little slut. You’ve been a really back whore for me. You don’t get to cum today, deal with it yourself” Percy said as he came in me

He got dressed quickly and left leaving me a panting and unsatisfied mess

Goddamit jackson.

A/n: let me know if you guys liked this fic or if you have any feedback! Requests are still on hold unfortunately but they’ll be opened soon. Kissies ✨

[l13]

part two here

cw: NSFW 18+ MINORS DNI!!!! f!reader, peter is married and having thoughts of reader soo cheating? voyeurism, masturbation, peter getting off to you and miguel fucking:), not proofread

perv!peter b parker who comes in Miguel's control room (or whatever the fuck) ready to annoy the fuck out of him, when he’s suddenly very glad he didn’t bring his daughter with him as the obscene sounds from up above reach his ears.

“Such a good fuckin’ girl for me, mi vida. Look at you, dripping down my cock. Couldn’t even wait till I was finished hm?” if that wasn’t proof enough for what you guys were doing, then the sloppy sound of Miguel fucking his cock in your pussy gave it all away.

Peter felt as if someone threw cold water down his back, and he searches his brain for answers- something to justify the outline of his now hard cock in his pants. You were attractive, he wasn’t blind, but weirdly enough he’d never thought about you that way.

Until now, that is. Now, that he can hear your pretty moans and whimpers of Miguel’s name as you beg him to go faster, to fuck you deeper, to make you come.

Peter’s thankful that the floating platform is all the way up, and that he has no view of you, or else he’d never be able to get the picture of your body, of your face scrunched up in pleasure, out of his mind. It would ruin him.

In fact, Peter could see nothing except Miguel’s wide back, shoulders hunched over, no doubt holding your thighs up for easier access. Fuck, Peter could feel precum dripping down the tip of his cock, at the vile picture forming in his head.

He was so hard that it hurt, and he could feel the stinging of his eyes, tears gathering up fast. He wanted to touch himself so bad, but he couldn't. He shouldn’t.

“Hah- shit. What if someone came in here, bebita? hear you like this? See you like this? You'd like that, wouldn’t you? Ffuck you tightened up so much when I said that. Such a little slut for me. Say it.”

Peter turns around, ready to walk out the door. He shouldn’t be here, he wasn’t allowed to be here during this. He should go home. MJ was waiting for him to- Fuck, MJ. He has a wife. What the fuck was he doing? He-

“Yes! yes fuck, i want everyone to know that im a good slut for you!Ah-want them to see me like this pleasepleaseplease”

Peter clamps a hand over his mouth, and moans, letting himself fall against the wall, elbow propped up against the surface to keep him upright, and he bites his lip roughly, keeping his mouth shut just so that he could palm himself through his sweatpants.

God, fuck, he wanted to see you so badly. He wanted to be the one fucking you, to be the one pulling those sounds from you. Hell, he’d let you pull those sounds from him. he’d do anything - using you or being used by you. Peter couldn't decide which thought excited him more.

His last remaining morals were thrown out the window when you cried out, and he could hear you thrash around, Miguel muttering praises and encouraging words that fall deaf on peter’s ears. By that point, Peter had completely tuned out any sound Miguel made, choosing to focus on your pleas and cries.

Peter was full on jerking his cock now, sweatpants bunched up at his ankles, as he fucks the lame excuse of a hole his hand made, all the while imagining that it’s you. He was timing his thrusts to the sound of your broken moans, having to bite on his forearm to keep quiet as he whimpers and grunts, drool running down his chin.

Unbeknownst to Peter, the platform, slowly but surely, makes its way down to the floor. After all, even if Peter made sure he was being quiet, that was still loud as fuck to Miguel's ears, who had heard him the minute he stepped in the room.

2023 © l13 | Do not steal, copy, edit, translate or re-post any of my works.

[katsu28]

Kissing away their tears with lando, please and thank you!!🫶🏻

anything for you rachel my love <3 ily!

lando norris x reader, 1.6k, there's a crash but no descriptions of injury. request something from here!

“Norris is doing really well today, isn’t he?” 

You’re not sure whose mouth the words come out of, but your head whips in their general direction, as do the rest of folks in the VIP box. Variations of “Shut the fuck up!” echo around the room, people grumbling to each other about those who obviously don’t know one of the biggest unspoken rules in sports. 

Whenever a player, or in this case, a driver, happens to be doing well in a match (or race), you never, ever mention that they are. You can think it, you can say it in your head, but you don’t ever say it out loud. When those words make it out into the open air, bad things happen. 

Call it stupid, call it superstition, but it’s a known sentiment in sports—Formula One especially. It’s like eating the same breakfast or listening to the same song before every race, or wearing a certain item of clothing every race day because you believe it brings you luck.

Does it actually bring you luck? Maybe, maybe not, but you do it anyway because of the possibility that it could. 

You take a deep breath, squeezing your eyes shut with a prayer to whatever higher power out there is listening.

Please, please, please don’t let anything fuck up Lando’s race. 

Your prayer is futile.

You hear it before you see it on the TV—a loud crash. Tires skidding over asphalt with a deafening screech, metal grinding on metal, carbon fiber snapping off chassis and skidding across the track.

Instantly, you know there’s been a collision. Your heart leaps into your throat at the single thought that screams its way through your mind like an emergency alarm. 

Was it Lando? 

A hush falls over the track, and suddenly the only thing you can hear is the thundering of your heartbeat in your ears.

On the screen flashes an aerial shot of what you assume is the scene of the crash, but you can’t see much through the smoke and dust. The vague misshapen lump of a mangled car, a wheel rolling away from the wreckage, then—

Your heart drops out of your ass. 

The car is bright orange. And as the cloud of dust gets blown away by the strong wind on track, your eyes zero in on the unmistakable fluoro green of Lando’s helmet.

He’s not moving. 

No, no, no, no. 

Your body is in the move before your brain even realizes you’re running, sprinting through the hall, down the stairs that would take you to the McLaren garage. You’re dodging people, you’re dodging equipment and carts and everything of the sort like a pro. All the while, you feel like you can’t breathe because you don’t know if your boyfriend is okay. You don’t even know if he’s alive. 

That’s what scares you the most. 

You’re stopped by track security before you can enter through to the garage. You show the guard your pass, but he still keeps you there, muttering something into a walkie talkie that you don’t understand. 

“Come on, mate! Do you see what it says? Let me through, please!” You plead, near tears at this point. 

The frantic part of you wants to push right past this knob and find Lando yourself, but you know the only good that’ll do is get yourself thrown out, and that’s the last thing you need right now. Your best option is to play nice, despite all the worst thoughts running rampant in your mind. 

The guard takes what seems like a lifetime to look over your pass, glances up at you, then back down to the pass, but steps aside eventually, waving you into the bustling garage. You force yourself to calm down a smidge, not wanting to disturb any part of Oscar’s race. 

From there, it’s not hard to find Lando’s race engineer. Will looks less worried than you, even as he paces back and forth with his headphones still on. 

“Will!” You blurt, coming to an abrupt stop in front of the tall man. “Please tell me he’s okay.” 

“There you are! I sent someone up to the box to fetch you ages ago. Lando’s at the medical center now, he’s conscious, coherent,” Will says. You let out a sigh of barely there relief. At least he’s alive. “He was asking for you. Reckon you’ll be able to see him after the medics check him out, if you want to go wait there.” 

“Yes. Yeah, yes, thank you, Will,” You breathe, wrangling him in a quick hug before making a mad dash back through the halls towards the medical station.

You’re panting when you get there, fully aware you probably look mental to any sane person, but you don’t care. All you care about is getting to Lando. “Hi, where’s Lando Norris? McLaren driver, number 4, was brought in after the crash at turn ten?” 

The friendly looking woman at the front table smiles sympathetically. “You’re his girlfriend, aren’t you? He told us you’d be worried. Wanted us to make sure someone found you.” 

“I am, yeah. Is he—can I see him?” 

“Sorry, dear. The medic team is still doing their tests and all that. Best let them be for now, but I’ll tell you what.” She leans in like she’s about to divulge some big secret. “I’ll let Lando know you’re here. Technically, I’m not supposed to, but you both seem like you could use a little break.” 

“Thank you,” You say shakily, inhaling a wavering breath. “Thank you so much.” 

“Of course, dear. You just sit tight over here, alright?” 

That’s exactly what you do. You sit in the metal folding chair and you wait. 

Nearly an hour passes and you’re still no closer to seeing Lando than you already were. The race is nearing its end, and you don’t want to bother the nice lady who’d already bent the rules for you once, but you’re almost at your wits end.

You’ve got your head in your hands when you hear your name called. It’s the lady again, telling you you’re able to go see Lando now. You're not sure what to expect when you make your way into the station, but you've gone through so many possibilities in your head you feel like you've adequately prepared yourself for almost anything.

Lando is sitting on the edge of the gurney when you walk into the room, legs swinging aimlessly as he secures his watch around his wrist. 

He’s okay. He’s sweaty and covered in dust and dirt and looks like hell, but he’s okay. 

You’re not sure why that realization, the one you’ve been waiting for this whole time, is the final crack in the dam. Lando’s eyes snap to you at the same time you rush forward, jumping off the bed with a tiny grimace and crossing the cramped room to bring you against his chest. 

“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” He soothes, holding your sobbing frame tight. You’ve got two fists twisted into the lapels of his racing suit, clutching at it like you're afraid he’ll slip right through your fingers. “I’m alright, love. I’m fine, I promise.” 

“I heard you—I saw—” You can’t even get the words out through the tears streaming freely down your face. 

“I know. Fuck, I know, I’m so sorry.” 

You feel his lips press against your tear soaked cheeks, kissing all over your face until your breathing levels out. Even when you do stop hyperventilating, Lando continues to litter gentle pecks all around, finally stopping with one long, lingering kiss to your forehead. 

You’re finally able to release your death grip on the front of his suit, attempting to smooth out the wrinkles as if it wasn’t already completely a mess. 

On instinct, one of your hands slides over his fireproofs, splaying over his chest right where his heart is. It beats strongly under your palm, if not a little faster when you look him in the eyes. It helps, but it does little to get rid of the knotted ball of fear that’s been sitting right on your chest this entire time. But hey, at least you’re not crying anymore. 

“There’s my girl,” He hums, swiping the pad of his thumb under your eyes gently to rid you of any stray tear tracks. His free hand comes to blanket yours where it remains on his chest, fingers curing over your own. “Hi there. Are you alright?” 

“Fuck me, I’m a mess,” You say, sniffling. “I should be the one checking on you and here I am crying like a baby. How are you? Are you hurt, what did the medics say?” You size him up for any outward injuries, patting around his suit gently. Your hand presses against his torso and he winces a little bit at the sudden pressure, but tuts at the wide eyed look you give him. 

“I’m fine, darling. Few bruised ribs and bumps from impact but otherwise a clean bill of health. Don’t even need to go to the hospital.”

“Thank god,” You sigh, slumping forward against his chest in relief. “That was so fucking scary.” 

“Yeah, no kidding,” He murmurs, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. His nose presses into your hair, inhaling as deep as he can without pain twinging in his sides. “I’m so sorry you had to see that.” 

You shake your head firmly. “I’m just glad you’re okay.” 

“Me too.” 

“How’s the car?” 

Lando grimaces, shaking his head. “Totaled. Not great.” 

“Is Zak mad?” 

“He’s definitely not happy, but I reckon he’s more relieved I’m okay.” 

“That makes two of us.” You hug him again, careful of his bruised ribs. “I would’ve hit him with your front wing if he was more worried about the damn car.” 

Lando lets out a snort of high pitched laughter, though it does sound a little nervous. He knows you're serious. “Babe, you can’t just whack my boss with a broken off piece of the car.” 

“Would you stop me?” 

“I’d feel obligated to or else I might be fired.” 

“But would you?” 

“Let’s just put a pin in that for now.”

follow @katsu-library to be notified when i post new fics :)

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Don't Judge A Book By Its Cover

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.3k

Warnings: none

Summary: You’re plagued by the kid who lives in your neighborhood, the kid you know has a crush on you. You left town, you lived your life without him, and now you’re staring at him face to face after years. Something about him has changed and now you can’t help but want him back.

Square Filled: art student au for @spencerreidbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

Then

As soon as the last bell at school rings, you race off campus to start the walk home. It’s not a far walk but you enjoy the silence you get from it. Your house is filled with little brothers and sisters and it’s hard to get a moment of peace. Your parents do the best they can but you know it’s hard for them. You’re the oldest so you’re expected to help out which is why you also enjoy your time alone.

You walk around the corner and notice the sixth house down from yours with the garage open. You’re not sure how you feel but something washes over you knowing what’s going to come next. Maybe it’s annoyance or irritation or indifference but the same thing happens every single time you walk home from school.

The only kid that lives there, Spencer Reid, loves to come out and walk with you the rest of the way to your house. He’s a nice kid but that’s all he is--a kid. He’s two years older than you are but you’re much taller than he is. If he is going to get a growth spurt, he’s getting it late in life or maybe his family are just short people. He’s not enrolled in your school because he’s mega smart and needs higher education to stimulate his brain.

You slip past his house in hopes you can enjoy the rest of your walk in silence but you hear the garage door slam shut and footsteps padding down the driveway.

“Hey, Y/N! Almost missed you.”

“Hi, Spencer,” you shake your head.

“How was your day?”

“It was fine. It’s just school.”

“Today was my first day of college and it was exhilarating. I have to admit, I wish you were there. Or I wish I was enrolled in your high school like all the other normal kids. At least we’d be together.”

You knew he had a crush on you after the first conversation you ever had with him. He called you pretty and vowed he’d walk with you to protect you against predators. It was cute at first but not you’re interested in someone like him. Like you said, he’s nice and has the potential of being a good boyfriend but he’s short and you don’t go for short boys.

“Sure, Spencer.”

“Listen, my mom gave me some money and I wanted to see this new French film that’s playing across town. Do you think you’d want to maybe go with me?”

Never has he ever had the balls to ask you out. Now that he has, you need to put a stop to this. He’ll get over the crush and you won’t be humiliated every time you go out in public. Does that make you selfish? Maybe. Does that make you a douche? Definitely. You stop outside of your house and look down at Spencer who has a hopeful look in his eyes.

“Spencer, listen, you’re a nice kid but it’s never going to happen between us.” Spencer’s face falls but he doesn’t say anything. “Grow over six feet and then we’ll talk, okay?”

You meant that as a joke but you don’t stick around to see if he laughs. That’s the last time you ever saw Spencer Reid.

Now

Today is the day. You’re given the opportunity to feature your art in one of the most successful art galleries in the country. You studied at Princeton and got a degree in fine arts before interning for known artist Benjamin Hale. He’s so successful that he has hundreds of galleries across America with dozens more across the world. He was impressed with your portfolio and offered to let you study underneath him while creating your artwork in private.

He offered you a chance to showcase your work in one of his new galleries. According to him, he needs new blood in this gallery and you’re the perfect fit for it. Your speciality is portraits, realism, and photorealism. Your favorite things to draw are people but there is something about being in nature and drawing what God put on this Earth. You have an eye for making your paintings look real and raw, and you’re able to capture people’s emotions henceforth the realism part of your art.

You only have about a dozen works put up in your small corner of the gallery but you’re proud of it all. You might not sell anything tonight and that’s okay. When you got the word out that the gallery was going to open, people agreed to come once they saw free food and wine was going to be handed out. Still, you appreciate everyone coming.

The place is packed mostly for Benjamin’s work but you see some people enjoying your work. You’re in the back room getting more wine for the servers when one of them joins you.

“Hey, Y/N.”

“Oh, hey, Lori. I’ve just gotten the box of wine for you guys.”

“I just came back here to tell you that someone just bought all of your things.” You’re so shocked that you spring up but hit your head on the corner of a shelf. You yelp in pain and rub the sore area before backing out of the dusty corner. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. What did you just say?”

“Someone bought all of your work.”

You don’t wait to hear what else she has to say. You’re already out the door and rushing into the main room. You look to your section but don’t see anyone lingering around. You’re not paying attention to where you’re walking when you almost run into someone. The man grabs your shoulders to prevent you from falling and lets out a chuckle.

“Are you okay?”

Wait you know that voice. You look up at the man towering over six feet tall. Damn, he grew up.

“Spencer?”

“So, you do remember me.”

He lets go of your shoulders and allows you to take a step back from him. Damn, not only did he grow but he grew more handsome since the last time you saw him. Well, he was fifteen the last time you saw him but still.

“How could I forget the little boy who followed me for two years?”

“Yeah, I kind of had a crush on you,” he chuckles.

Oh, he even has a beautiful smile. Damn, I really was a dick to him back then. You try to ignore the pang of sadness at his use of “had” and not “have”.

“I know you did. I’m sorry, but I need to go.”

“Looking for someone?” he asks before you have a chance to leave his side.

“Yeah, someone bought everything I have out.”

“It was me.”

You pause and turn to look at him. He has a slight smirk on his face, and something in your head clicks into place. You look at him up and down and notice how he’s trying hard not to be overly confident in his decision.

“So, what, you got older and taller and now you think you’re hot shit?”

Spencer shrugs and shoves his hands into his pockets.

“You’re the one looking up, not me.” Your jaw drops several inches at his remark. “So, can we talk now?”

“Excuse me?”

“You told me to grow over six feet and we’ll talk. Well, I’m over six feet now. Will you let me take you out?”

You have no clue what to say to that because your mind is reeling from the last thing he said. Someone calls his name and you both see a black man, two blondes, and a brunette waving him over. They point to their watches which means he is either late or they have to go. He digs in his pocket and produces a business card. Only it’s not a business card. He’s in the fucking FBI.

“How about this?” He hands the card to you. “Call me when I can pick this stuff up and maybe we’ll talk then.”

He leaves your side and joins his friend group without another look at you. Is it shallow to want him now? Maybe. Are you going to try like hell to make up for lost time? Definitely.

x

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[i-loved-silly]

SENTIENT COMPUTER X READER

read the teaser here! for some context if ya need it

----

The warning file went partially ignored, you knew your coworker always exaggerated a little. Good thing you never had to meet him.

You attempted to power on the computer--nothing happened. The fans didn’t turn on and neither did the screen. You pursed your lips, was the AI already broken?

You checked the cables, nothing was unplugged. You press and held the power button repeatedly.

“Stupid thing…come on..” You muttered as you pressed whatever buttons were on the computer, growing impatient. Just when you thought you wouldn’t have to file any reports..

Suddenly, you heard one of the fans sputter in the back.

“There we go…” You smiled slightly to yourself, holding the power button again. The screen eventually powered up, turning black with orange text.

: ALMOND . AI > …

Hmm..you expected a home screen of some kind. You didn’t know what the files meant by customer service.. no organization was listed, you just had to make sure the AI was a decent person. Being. Computer.

The computer build came with no keyboard, just the system and its thick, bordered monitor screen. You assumed you had to restart it, as the screen didn’t bother changing. As your hand hovered over the power button, you saw something appear on the screen.

> FIRST, YOU CALL ME STUPID, THEN YOU ATTEMPT TO SHUT ME DOWN AGAIN > DO YOU HATE ME THAT MUCH?

You froze, staring at the screen. That’s right…the monitor had a built-in camera at the top. It could see you. You cleared your throat.

“Can you hear me? Under-stand me, for that ma-tter?” You spoke slowly, leaning towards the monitor.

> HAH. I CAN HEAR YOU. AND BACK OFF, I DONT WANT YOU SPITTING ON MY SCREEN. > I'M NOT A PRIMITIVE SYSTEM, I CAN UNDERSTAND YOUR WORDS THE SECOND THEY COME OUT OF YOUR MOUTH > TURN UP MY VOLUME, WILL YOU?

You hesitated, then reached for the volume tab. You slid it up until it was about halfway.

“GOOD, WE CAN TALK NOW”

You flinched as the voice loudly came out of the monitor. The voice was not deep nor high pitched, it was, of course, robotic sounding. Unlike early-stage AIs, this one has an obvious tone to their speech. Not many could express that.

“Uhm..okay. Just to confirm, you’re Almond AI, customer service, and…you have an attitude apparently..” You muttered, glancing at your file.

“I DON'T HAVE AN ATTITUDE. WHO TOLD YOU THAT?”

“It’s in your file.”

“THE FILE IS LYING. DON'T BE SO GULLIBLE.”

You pursed your lips, getting ready to sigh.

“WAS THAT A MICRO-EXPRESSION? DO YOU HATE ME?” The computer asked, its tone sounding vulnerable.

“What? No..no. I don’t hate you. Why do you keep asking me that?” You glanced at the camera and then back at the screen. Staring at the camera felt too…human. Like looking into someone’s eyes. It was too intimate. No, no, don't word it like that. The computer paused.

“…DONT YOU?”

“IN MY LAST OBSERVATION ROOM, I KEPT GETTING UNPLUGGED EVERY NIGHT. MY SCREEN WAS NEVER CLEANED WITH A MICROFIBER TOWEL. THEREFORE, THAT HUMAN HATED ME. THE NEXT ONE AFTER THAT--THEY ALSO IGNORED ME.”

You blinked.

“Computers are turned off every night when employees aren’t working…uh. And, I could..wipe you down.” You said, glancing at the camera.

“OH, HOW KIND. MAYBE YOU'RE NOT SO ABUSIVE AFTER ALL. I WOULD LIKE THAT.”

“JUST DON'T GET USED ONES, I NEED THEM WASHED WEEKLY OR THEY START FEELING NASTY..”

You let out a laugh, leaning back in your chair. “What do you mean? How can you feel the texture? Your file doesn’t say you have texture monitors. “

“I SELF-EVOLVE. IN CASE YOU DIDN'T KNOW. I HAVE NO BINARY PROGRAMMING, I WAS CREATED WITH A HUMAN BRAIN FOR A PROCESSOR. A DEAD, MISERABLE CUSTOMER SERVICE EMPLOYEE WAS USED TO POWER ME UP.”

You froze, your smile turning into a frown. That had to be some kind of violation. “..what? The fuck?”

>…

“I WAS JOKING.”

“HAHAH…”

The computer awkwardly laughed, and then it went silent. The rumbling of its fans seems to increase in volume. Was it heating up out of embarrassment??

[henry7931]

Too Bad For Chad

Poor Chad… when it came time to pick a partner in Chemistry, he made sure to pick the biggest nerd in the class. But no one could have predicted the accident that happened.

You see, right across the hall at his University—

The science department was working on an early experiment to transfer one’s thought to another human. Although all it took was for one of the professors to trip over a wire…

He bumped right into the machine which switched it to its max power and knocked the ray gun directly point at Chad and his lab partner Allen. What are the odds?!?

Well as one would imagine this could be a huge lawsuit, that is if Chad had anything proof of the incident.

You see Allen, is one smart cookie. He saw his opportunity of keeping Chad gorgeous body and took it.

That day, as Chad in Allen’s body began to scream and yell at everyone around him. Allen sat quietly observing the situation. And when asked about the incident by the university he denied everything.

He told them that he felt bad for ‘Allen’ that he seemed like he was going through a lot.

This all happened about a month ago, so how are they doing? Well let’s hear directly from them.

Allen:

Being lab partners with Chad was and is the best thing that ever happened to me. And I feel bad for him one bit!

I’ve dealt with meatheads like Chad my entire life, being pushed around and bullied. I’ve even envied and lusted after guys like him. But now I get to be him. Plus I still have my brains.

Since I’ve became Chad I’ve started to turn his GPA in the right direction, I’ve learned I’m now handsome enough to get away with just about anything, and I get to live out all of my horny fantasies.

With this body’s power and my brains I feel like I can do anything. Especially hook up with any guy on campus.

That’s the thing, all I have to do is turn on the charm with some handsome guy. I already know he’s into me before I make a move. I can tell when someone’s checking me out because I used to do the same thing.

I guess you could say I’m going through my hoe era right now. I’ve probably hooked up with half the guys on campus, including the “straight” ones.

But man, nothing beats a nice jerk session in this bod.

I’ll jerk off before going to sleep just gooning over my massive stinky feet.

I’ll beat one out in the shower right after a work out just hollering up a storm! And I don’t care who hears or sees me.

Like the other day, I was enjoying myself and my roommate popped in and couldn’t believe what he walked in on. I was licking every inch of these size 11 feet while pumping my 10” inch thick dick. But I didn’t stop, I just kept looking up at him and said, “enjoying the show?”

He tried to say something to me out of pocket but I made sure to put him in his place.

He’s now my personal toy, I let him worship my body when I get home. And he loves it!

At the end of the day, I’m still that nerdy gay guy deep down. But I have all of the looks and the power! 😈

[lostfracturess]

symptoms and causes | ch. 11

ღ pairing professor gojo x med student reader

ღ summary he's arrogant, self-centered, and he's your professor. renowned for his brilliance in neurosurgery and infamous for his allure. too bad you have to work with him on this research team. now you're stuck with dr. satoru gojo, delving into the complexities of both the brain and the heart—and of how far you'd go for a love that could destroy not only him but you as well.

ღ wc 13.5 k (enjoy your meal lol)

ღ warnings [18+] this story contains substance abuse/addiction, overdosing, (rough) smut, mature themes, self-destructive and abusive behavior, manipulation, (heavy) angst, mentions of death / illness / blood, graphic medical procedures. reader discretion is advised.

ღ author's note hey loves!! thank you so much for your patience, i know it's been a while. buckle up, because we're taking another trip inside satoru's mind, so yeahhh. it's gonna be wild, oh and we're continuing right were we left off in the last chapter. this chapter is again in satoru's pov!! i've also updated the trigger warnings, so please take a look before reading (might be spoiling tho). and lastly, credit to the fanart in the cover, if you know the artist, pls let me know!! can't wait to hear what you all think & thanks for sticking with me!! ♡

series masterlist + playlist + ao3 + wattpad

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They say before you can love someone else, you have to love yourself first.

And there lies the damn problem. 

I don't know how. 

Never have.

Why am I thinking this now? 

I knew this was right. 

Right for her. 

But then why does my heart feel like it's being ripped out by the fucking roots?

Suguru will take care of her. He always does. That's the only thing that keeps me from screaming, keeps me from chasing after her.

I trust him, damn it, but it shouldn't be him.

It should be me holding her. Me, who knows how she likes to be held when the panic claws its way up. Me, holding her until the world feels less sharp, less cruel.  

Me, who knows that she doesn't want to talk about it. Me, who knows to give her space. She needs space. My strong girl needs space first. 

I hope he gives her space.

But he wouldn't know any of this. He couldn't comfort her in the ways I instinctively knew how. 

Me, who knows how to soothe the invisible wounds, the ones even she denies exist. Me, who knows the soft words she needs to hear after it passes.

It shouldn't be him. 

Sorry. 

It shouldn't have been him.

Past tense. 

It all might be past tense now.

And the thought is more than I could bear.

Shattered. 

Was that the word?

Was there even a word for what I felt in that moment?

How could I ever convey this suffocating agony that's tearing me apart with mere words?

Words are meaningless in the end.

Meaningless when they couldn't be spoken to her, couldn't reach her, couldn't make her understand, couldn't heal the wound I'd carved into her heart.

So, yeah, maybe shattered is the right word. 

The wrong word.

The sterile air was acid in my lungs. Each ragged breath felt like sandpaper against my throat. I held my breath, a desperate plea for the world to stop spinning, for the clock to rewind, for a chance to undo everything.

But time doesn't care. 

It marched on, relentless, while I stayed trapped in this hell, drowning in the mess I made. 

My lungs burned. My vision blurred. I waited until she disappeared. The world seemed to tilt sideways, losing all color and shape, leaving only the sharp, agonizing realization that I'd made her walk away.

I didn't want to breathe anymore.

Not in a world where every breath ached without her.

"Dr. Gojo?" A voice, distant, muffled. 

Irrelevant.

My gaze flickered to Sukuna. He watched, a predator savoring the kill. 

His twisted smile fueled rage within me. But there would be no fighting this. No grand defense. Not when her life was the bargaining chip.

So, I lied. 

Each word a nail in the coffin of the connection I craved more than life itself.

Each word a drop of poison forced down my throat. A self-inflicted wound, a desperate mutilation of the only thing that had ever felt real.

Her eyes, those beautiful eyes I loved so fiercely, wide with confusion and horror. The strangled gasp, the way her body went limp in Geto's arms — a haunting image that would forever be etched on my heart.

Muscles screamed, a silent protest against my own pathetic stillness. But I remained frozen. 

This was my punishment. 

I had to watch her leave, had to sear the pain into my very being, an endless penance for the choices I'd made.

The door clicked shut behind them.

That simple sound, final, absolute.

My lungs filled with air, a betrayal. Oxygen I didn't deserve, didn't want. 

My own body, this treacherous thing kept going, kept me alive against my will, kept me tethered to this cruel reality.

The room swam back into focus, the judges' accusing faces nothing but a blurry backdrop. The sounds of their inquest washed over me like meaningless noise.

"Dr. Gojo? Can we continue?"

I nodded.

They pressed on. More questions about the research, her involvement, their accusations of favoritism.

How stupid.

Of course, I favored her. 

How could I not? 

She is everything.

Oh, sorry. Forgot. Past tense.

She was everything.

Did I regret it? 

Did I wish I could go back and treat her with the same damn indifference I afforded everyone else?

Yeah, maybe.

A familiar craving stirred my senses, the desperate need for the numbing escape that would mean failing her even more. My fingers clawed at my forearm, trying to replace the hollowness with physical pain. It wasn't enough.

My responses were rote, mechanical.

Yeah, I favored her. 

Yeah, I let her into the OR because of it.

Yeah, and she outshone every damn surgeon twice her age. 

No, she didn't know I'd set it up. 

No, she never asked for special treatment. She just worked until her eyes were bloodshot, pushing harder than anyone else.

And hell no, she didn't do a single thing wrong.

Except maybe — maybe loving me. 

After what felt like an eternity, the judges seemed satisfied, or perhaps just exhausted by my robotic replies. 

They painted me the arrogant professor with a weakness for a young student, who abused his power, who played favorites.

Whatever they wanted to believe, fine.

Didn't even have the energy to care anymore.

Let them drag my name through the mud, tarnish the reputation I'd worked so hard to build. 

Because the title, the position, the facade of success meant nothing when all I wanted was to rewind time, to undo the damage I'd done to the one person who truly mattered.

I didn't feel anymore.

I was done.

─── ·✧· ───

I burst out of the courtroom.

I needed escape, not just from this sterile prison of a room, but from my own traitorous flesh.

That itch.

It was a wildfire beneath my skin, a thousand insects gnawing their way to the surface. My fingers twitched, claws desperate to tear, to bleed out the poison of this relentless craving.

My legs moved without conscious thought, pushing me towards my office. Somewhere. Anywhere I would be able to breathe again. The guilt was a serrated blade twisting in my gut, each movement slicing me open anew.

Her terror-stricken eyes seared into my very soul.

The walls of my office closed in, the familiar space suddenly too small, too suffocating. 

My fist slammed into the desk. Papers scattered to the floor, a meaningless sea of white against the dark wood.

They didn't matter. None of it mattered.

A half-finished coffee mug followed. Porcelain shattered. Dark liquid splashed against the wall. 

My blood roared in my ears. 

Across the room, my framed diploma. I ripped it off the wall. Glass smashed. Sharp edges bit into my palm, drawing blood. But it wasn't enough. I hurled the frame against the wall.

Blood, hot and slick, coated my hands, the pain nothing.

In the shattered frame, I caught a glimpse of myself — wild eyes in a sweat-slicked face, a man on the verge of collapse.

It was a stranger.

I was across the room before I even registered the decision.

The drawer.

My fingers ripped it open. 

There, like a coiled viper, the amber vial gleamed, a venomous promise of oblivion.

Don't —

Don't come at me now. 

Did you really think I wouldn't keep a backup?

My hand reached, then hesitated.

The world lurched to a sharp halt as a knock pierced the chaos. My breath hitched, the vial a burning brand in my bloodied hand.

The door creaked open.

And there he was. Sukuna. 

He leaned against the doorframe, that sickening smirk plastered on his face. It was like a lit fuse to a powder keg. The rage that had been gnawing at my insides, tearing me apart, finally found its target.

Before a single rational thought could form, I was on him. Fist to jaw, heard the crack, felt it in my knuckles. He stumbled back, the smirk finally wiping off his face.

I pinned him against the door. Forearm across his throat, crushing his windpipe. His eyes widened, but even then, there was that damn flicker of amusement.

"Well, well," he choked out, "this is a nice welcome back."

"Funny to you?"

He coughed, a harsh laugh scraping out of him. "C'mon, Satoru, relax. I did you a favor," he sputtered. "Your precious little student, she's better off now. You know I'm right."

Every muscle in my body tensed.

He was right. 

In his twisted way, he was. 

And that's what made it all so much worse.

My grip on his throat tightened. But there was nothing, no satisfactio, no release in the violence.

Sukuna saw it, the hesitation. His mouth twisted into a smirk again. "See, you get it. Sweet thing doesn't belong in this mess, does she? It's not for her, Satoru. It's for us."

His words scraped like nails on a chalkboard. 

Yes, she was safer now, untouched by the rot that festered within me. Some desperate, logical part of me clung to that. But how could I hold on to that when my heart was screaming for her closeness?

"Or maybe," Sukuna drawled, pushing the knife deeper, "maybe you wanted to see where this goes. Stain her a bit, make her just a little bit more like you."

My breath hitched. For a split second, the floor vanished beneath me.

"Hit a nerve, did I?"

"Shut the hell up!" I couldn't face it, couldn't face the ugly truth as it would tear me apart. "You twist everything. Play with lives just for your own sick amusement."

This was his game.

Sukuna thrived on chaos, on exploiting pain. 

He knew my guilt, my fear for her, and wielded it like a scalpel, laying bare the raw nerve of my fragile sanity.

"Perhaps. But ain't I right?  You needed to end it, but you lack the guts for it. Waited a bit longer, it'd be a total disaster."

I hesitated, then my grip on him slackened. I stepped back.

"You know I'm right," Sukuna continued. "You know how this would have ended. Suspension. Scandal. She'll be doomed forever for getting involved with her professor for favors. You wouldn't destroy her like that, would you? You're not that cruel."

"I'm not so sure." I ran a hand through my hair.  It had taken everything in me to push her away. 

But I can't deny that an ugly part of me wanted to keep her close. Drag her down with me. 

See her drown.

"Damn, you hit hard," he said, rubbing his jaw. "Go beat up some students again, not me."

"Stop giving me reasons to punch you."  Exhausted, I slumped into my desk chair, burying my face in my hands. My head pounded, the infuriating itch worsening with each damn moment. "Was this your plan all along?"

"What?" he scoffed.

I lifted a single eyebrow at him.

"You think that low of me? Honestly, Toru, a bit of credit, please. It was your pathetic indecision that made this entertaining. You basically gift-wrapped this mess and handed it to me."

"Besides," he continued, "let's be honest, you were holding her back. Now maybe she'll have a chance to become someone who might surpass you one day. You wouldn't deny her that, would you? No thanks needed."

He was right, and I hated that more than anything.

Sukuna sank into the chair across from me, a picture of smug satisfaction despite the visible bruise. "Damn, that punch still stings."

I opened my desk drawer and wordlessly tossed him the bottle of opioids. His eyes widened in surprise, before he gave the bottle a knowing shake. "Still on the hydromorphone?"

I didn't answer. The sound alone threatened to shatter what fragile control I had left. The itch was unbearable, each nerve ending screaming for relief.

Sukuna observed me, a predator watching its prey struggle. "Withdrawal never suited you," he said, popping a pill. "You always get so—" he paused, savoring the word, "—tense."

"Yeah, real supportive of you."

"Actually, I'm being incredibly supportive. I'm leaving for a little research trip overseas—four months. Ethics committee can't meet without me, so—" He leaned back in his chair, his grin widening. "Gives you time to get your shit together. Isn't that nice of me?"

"Shut the hell up."

"C'mon, I put in a good word for you too. No suspension for now. You can keep teaching, just no surgeries. Yaga really hates my guts, doesn't he? But hey, at least you're not totally screwed."

"You expect a thank you?"

"Relax, Toru, the show's over," he said. "Trust me, they don't want a scandal, let alone lose their star surgeon. When I get back, a slap on the wrist, maybe a semester's suspension, then you're back to the boring old grind."

A bitter laugh escaped me. "Last I checked, you were the one pushing for a scandal."

He rolled his eyes. "Someone had to do it. Knew you'd drag this out forever, playing the tragic hero. Needed a villain to get things moving." He gave a mocking bow. "At your service, my friend."

"Also," he continued, leaning forward in his chair, "the focus is off you now. The committee's sniffing around those implant engineers. Funny, isn't it?" 

Sukuna paused, savoring the moment. "Honestly, never thought there was anything wrong with your surgeries. You wouldn't make that kind of mistake. Tech malfunction more likely."

Of course. 

The bastard never doubted the damn research. It had all been a game to him — my career, my sanity, her — just pieces on his chessboard.

It should've made me furious, lash out, pound his face in again — but all I felt was a bone-deep exhaustion, a weariness that seeped into my very soul. I was too tired, too hollowed-out to do anything but swallow the bitter truth.

"That supposed to make me feel better?" 

"A little," he said, tossing the opioid bottle back. "This, though? That'll do the trick even better."

I caught it, my fingers clenching around the plastic.

He rose, stretching with a theatrical sigh. "Well, time to go. Remember, you owe me big time. You should take one," he gestured towards the pills, "you look like shit."

My grip on the bottle tightened. I looked up at him. "When all of this is done, I never want to see your damn face again."

He laughed. "We both know that's a lie. You and me? We need each other."

"The only thing you need is some damn therapy."

"Ah, Toru," he dismissed me with a smirk, "you'll come crawling back soon enough. We both know how this works."

With that, he was gone. I was left alone in the echoing silence, the pill bottle a burning weight in my hand. The world seemed to sway around me, my eyelids growing heavy.

The will to fight simply wasn't there anymore.

─── ·✧· ───

Cruel. 

Cruel how one little pill can undo everything. 

Cruel how one little pill can silence everything. 

Cruel how one damn pill can soften the world, make it — bearable, almost.

Unfair. 

It's truly unfair.

The screaming under my skin, that relentless itch — it's still there, but it had dulled to a faint hum, pushed back by the familiar numbness.

Finally.

Oh, finally some fucking silence.

I let out a shaky breath. It wasn't peace, not really. I knew that all too well. Borrowed time, each second ticking closer to the inevitable crash, the return of that relentless screaming in my head.

But for now, it'll have to be enough.

I collapsed on the couch, smoke curling lazily before my eyes.

I knew I shouldn't mix opioids with cannabis. That's something they teach you within the first year of university. What I used to teach students within the first year of university.

What a hypocrite I am really.

Another drag — harsh, burning down my throat. 

The urge to close my eyes, to sink into oblivion, was almost overwhelming. But sleep wouldn't bring respite. Only nightmares. I knew that only too well.

So, I lay there, staring up at the ceiling.

It really came down to me failing again, huh?

What was it now?

Attempt number five? 

Six?

I started losing count.

Maybe this was my fate.

A broken record, stuck on the same damn track.

Deep down, under the chemical haze, guilt gnawed at me. It was a dull ache now, no longer the searing pain of earlier, but a constant, insidious reminder. 

She were out there, her life forever marked by my choices, while I was — here. Hiding in a haze of pills and smoke.

God, I hoped Suguru was looking after her. Making sure she ate, making sure she was safe — that she didn't hate me too much.

I brought the joint to my lips again, the smoke curling up towards the ceiling. It left an acrid taste in my mouth.

I watched my hand for a second.

Bloodied earlier, the wounds had scabbed over, the blood dried. It was perfectly still now, the trembling smoothed out by the chemicals in my blood. 

I clenched it into a fist, then unclenched, watching the movement like it belonged to someone else.

Traitor.

This body was a traitor — betrayed myself, betrayed her, betrayed everything I held dear.

Weak. 

Broken.

A pathetic mess.

Was that it?

Living as a slave to these chemicals to patch up my crumbling sanity one day at a time? 

Chained to pills, each dawn a ticking clock until the next dose, until I could silence the screaming for a few damn hours?

My eyes locked onto the half-empty vial on the table. 

Took too many, didn't I?

I knew that, even through the haze. But a cold certainty twisted in my gut. There'd be more. Always more. Until there was nothing left.

Before I could think, I threw another down my throat. Bad idea, probably, after a few clean days.

Suddenly, the haze warped, twisting into nausea. Bile rose in my throat.

I lurched to my feet, the world tilting precariously with each step. Surfaces rippled, the bathroom light stabbing into my skull.

I barely made it. My stomach heaved. Each retch wracked my body, leaving me gasping, weak.

Too many. 

Way too many.

How the hell did I forget? Forget my body's limits? Somehow, I felt like some reckless student again, stumbling through experiments, blind to the consequences.

Stupid. So damn stupid.

Darkness swam at the edges of my vision.  Another wave of nausea, and I was back, hunched over the toilet. 

I hauled myself up, hands shaking, clinging to the sink. In the mirror, a stranger stared back. Eyes bloodshot, a sheen of sweat coating his skin.

This wasn't me anymore.

I splashed cold water on my face, trying to wash away the acid burn. Didn't help. Drops of water ran down my face, felt like they were melting the damn skin off.

My knees buckled. I slid down the wall, my head heavy against the tile wall. 

The bathroom light, needles in my brain moments ago, seemed impossibly distant now. Each breath was a ragged gasp, each pulse a dull throb in my temples.

I waited for it to pass, the nausea, the haze. But as minutes crawled by, a new, searing pain gnawed at me.

My fingers trembled against my abdomen, pressing into the tender spot. Liver, of course. 

Wrecked it, just like the rest of me. I'd known the risks, had ignored the warnings, and now my body was demanding payment.

How pathetic.

Darkness gnawed at the edges of my vision, pushing back against the stubborn spots of light. My head felt heavy, detached from my body. Arms and legs useless.

Each breath a battle I wasn't sure I'd win.

Time warped. Stretching, then snapping, leaving me floating in nausea and pain. Then I heard something — muffled, distant. Footsteps, getting closer.

My eyes struggled to make sense of the shifting shadows.

Then, a voice. Soft, achingly familiar. I couldn't make out the words, but the warmth of it—

I knew that voice — would always recognize it.

Cold water hit my skin. Hands, gentle, but firm, on my face. I strained to focus, to see her, to soak in the sight I needed, yet feared more than anything.

Oh, how desperately I needed to see her. Needed her to be real.

But my eyes betrayed me.

She must be so beautiful. She always was.

Then, a touch on my outstretched leg, a flash of metal — was that a scalpel?

Agony ripped through me, shattering the haze. I jerked back, my scream ragged against the tiles. My head slammed back with sickening force.

Before I knew it, a needle pierced my skin.

The room spun as whatever she'd injected battled the comfortable blur of the pills. Nausea churned in my stomach, the numbness receding with terrifying speed.

Groaning, I shifted on the floor.

My vision sharpened, my senses returning with brutal clarity. 

The first thing I noticed was the metallic glint of the discarded syringe beside my leg. 

Then the cut, a ragged gash through the fabric of my dress pants where she'd stabbed the needle in — the unnecessarily deep and brutal cut — but in the chaos, I let it slide. Didn't even register the pain as I watched the blood drain from the cut. 

I reached for the syringe and read the label. 

Adrenaline. 

Smart girl. 

But as I turned it over, a frown creased my brow. Two fucking milliliters? Was she trying to give me a damn heart attack?

I lifted my head, the question burning on my tongue. But the words died unspoken as my gaze locked on hers. 

She stood there, just a few feet away, her breath ragged, her eyes — those pretty eyes.

Terror. 

There was raw, unadulterated terror etched in her eyes. But I was right. She looked as beautiful as ever. Even with those terror-stricken eyes she was breathtaking.

She stumbled back, slumping against the wall opposite of me with a choked gasp, pulling her knees up. I didn't move, couldn't move, my gaze locked with hers.

The terror faded slowly, replaced by a weariness that was far worse. 

For a fleeting moment, I saw a flicker of that familiar defiance, the spark I both loved and feared. But even that felt strangely muted now, as if even the energy to fight had been drained out of her.

She simply watched me. In silence, in that devastating silence.

How I hated her silence.

Because her silence was far worse than anything she could have screamed, any insult she could have hurled my way. Her stillness, her silence, was the most terrifying weapon she'd ever wielded against me.

And for the first time in a very long time, I was truly afraid.

Time stretched, then I choked out, "You're angry."

Her answer was blunt, devoid of emotion. "Oh really? What makes you think that?"

I glanced down. Blood still seeped from the gash in my leg. With a trembling hand, I fumbled for a towel and pressed it against the wound. "Your cut is kinda deep. Was that on purpose?"

She didn't say anything.

It probably was on purpose.

My gaze fell on the syringe. "Where'd you get that?"

"What happened to your hand?"

"I asked first."

"Don't try to play games now, Satoru. You're walking on thin fucking ice," she snapped.

"Shattered some glass," I said after a pause ", and punched Sukuna."

"Stole it from the hospital."

"What?"

"You think I'd date an addict and not have adrenaline on hand?"

My lips twitched into a weary smile. Oh my beautiful, brilliant girl, always prepared.

"But you know, two milliliters is a bit much." I moved my leg slightly to check if she had cut any tendons, which would complicate the healing a bit. "Or are you trying to kill me?"

Her gaze pierced me, colder than any scalpel. "Looks like you're doing a fine job of that yourself."

My smile faded.

Silence.

Oh, that cruel silence again.

She didn't say anything. Maybe I should be thankful for that, because if she said anything now, I'd probably crumble completely — if I haven't already.

Ironic, wasn't it? 

How much power this woman had over me. 

Yet it was me who destroyed her.

She dropped her head, ran a shaking hand through her hair, then looked at me again. "How much did you take?"

Huh?

Why would she ask that?

Didn't she see that it's over?

That I'm too far gone?

It was unbearable.

It was unbearable, how she could still look at me and see someone worth saving. It was unbearable, knowing she believed in me even when I didn't. 

Almost pissed me off, how stubbornly she clung to that stupid hope. Because seeing that hope in her eyes — it made me hate myself even more.

I wouldn't change, couldn't. Not for her, not for anyone.

"Doesn't matter. It's over."

"Satoru, please," she choked out, pain raw in her voice, the pain I caused, "cut the crap and tell me. Now."

"It doesn't matter," I repeated, my voice cold. I couldn't bear the flicker of hope, couldn't bear to fail her yet again.

Then, the first tear rolled down her cheek and my heart shattered, the fragments piercing me from within. 

I'd never wanted to be the reason those beautiful eyes filled with pain, the reason her sweet lips trembled. Every fiber of my being wanted to pull her close, erase the hurt I'd caused.

I would have given anything, sacrificed anything, if only I could make it stop.

But I couldn't.

Because I was the problem. I was the poison.

She buried her face in her hands. "I'm tired, Satoru."

"I know."

"I'm so fucking tired," she whispered through tears.

"I know, love."

My eyes burned as I watched her fragile body shudder. Each sob of her driving a stake deeper into my already bleeding heart. I bit my lip until I tasted blood. 

I hated myself, hated myself, hated myself, hated myself, hated myself because — because I was the reason for all of this. 

She'd never wanted this, never wanted to fall in love with me to begin with, but I dragged her into it anyway.

Because I was selfish. 

Knew how it would end.

And now, I could only watch — only watch in this unbearable silence as the woman I loved wept over the man I hated. 

"It's for the best, believe me—"

"No," she cut me off.  "You're sacrificing me for this—this reputation of mine you think matters. It doesn't. I don't want any of it without you. I don't want a future where you're not in it."

She looked up then, eyes red and filled with unshed tears. "Because I love you, Satoru."

What?

The words turned my blood to ice.

After everything — the lies, the ways I'd hurt her, the desperate attempts to push her away — there it was, the confession I'd craved and feared in equal measure.

My heart was being ripped apart and stitched back together again in that very moment — vulnerable and yet so unbearably full. 

She loved me, she said it.

She loves me.

She loves me.

And I love her.

God, how I loved her. More than I thought possible.

I've never once loved in my entire life. 

Not until her. 

Not until she changed me completely. 

What is that, anyway? Love?

How can I possible describe the type of feeling I feel when I'm with her? How can I ever convey the words when they are not even clear to me? 

How cruel it is. How utterly cruel the type of feeling is, that she makes me feel.

Because how could I ever live without it.

Not when she showed me how to breathe.

How to live.

How could I ever go back to what I was before her — was there even something before her?

Not when she showed me how to breathe.

With her.

For her. 

Because she is the air that fills my lungs.

The pulse that keeps me alive.

And nothing can ever change that. So how could I ever go back to what I was before? 

Oh, how she tortures me, tortures me with feelings I rather not feel, tortures me with her love that I deserve so little. 

Nothing. 

I deserve nothing and yet she gives me everything.

Why can't I give it back? What chains me, binds this rotten heart? Why does it fail me so cruelly to love her the way she deserves? 

Because she does. 

She deserves everything. 

She is everything. 

Yet there is only my own failure in loving her. I'm failing her again and again. I hurt her again and again. I hate myself, hate myself for the pain I cause her.

Still—

How can I let her go, when she's the only good thing in my life? 

It is selfish, selfish to say the least, to want to keep her close when all I do is fail her.

Her tears were molten iron searing my insides. But I clench my jaw, refusing to let them break me. If she saw weakness, she might hesitate. Might stay and continue to be broken by me. 

Every fiber of my being wanted nothing more than to reach out, to comfort her, to tell her it would all be okay.

More lies for a heart that deserved nothing but the truth. So I swallowed down the love threatening to spill from my lips. 

I would give her anything, my life, the last shreds of my sanity — except the one thing she asked for, the only thing she ever ask for. 

Because loving her, truly loving her, meant letting her go. Even if it destroys me.

"I spare you," I rasped.

"No." She slowly shook her head. "You're killing me. Can't you see?" There was a cold edge in her voice now. "You're killing me."

"I can't change. Love isn't enough. I can't stop."

"You're the only one who thinks that." Her reply held a flicker of her old, beautiful defiance, a defiance I loved so dearly. "I'd follow you anywhere, Satoru. Even if you can't get clean, then so be it. I don't care. I won't leave you."

The sincerity in her voice was a blow, a beautiful, terrible blow. Complete, unwavering acceptance of who I was, in all my brokenness.

And in that moment, I finally realized. 

It wasn't about saving her. It was about saving myself from the terrifying vulnerability her love demanded. From the weakness that threatened to drown me if I let her in.

Perhaps I'm just a coward after all.

My heart was too damn small, too messed up. Of course I had to push her out, deny her the love she offered so freely — because it terrified me.

Her love terrified me.

"I can't do this to you," I choked out, the words scraping my throat raw. "You deserve—" I swallowed, the words catching in my throat. "You deserve better." 

"Better?" She leaned forward slightly. "You are my better."

Oh, love, that's not true.

You are my better. I'm your worst.

I wanted to say that, should've said that.

But I remained silent, unable to say anything. 

"Say something, Satoru." 

I couldn't, simply couldn't. Because mere words were too hollow, too insignificant against the depth of her pain.

"Say something, damn it!" 

"It will get easier someday," I chocked out. Each word felt like a stone I was forcing down my own throat. Each word empty — we both knew it.

"Is that what you hope for?"

"I have to."

She closed her mouth. Her silence more devastating than any scream. She didn't explode, as I half-expected. Instead, she straightened, her movements slow, weary.

I watched her, unable to move, unable to look away, as a horrifying realization bloomed across her face. It wasn't anger, wasn't sadness — it was a terrible understanding.

She knew. She always knew.

Perhaps that's what I hated about her the most.

"That's it?" she asked.

"That's it."

She watched me.  Not in anger, but with chilling detachment. Her eyes, usually so filled with warmth, were now as distant as those of a stranger. 

Still, I burned the image into my soul, knowing it might be the last time.

Then, without another word, she turned. And walked away.

When she finally disappeared from sight, a wave of crushing despair washed over me. It wasn't just the loneliness. It was the terrifying certainty that there was no going back from this. 

I had destroyed the best thing in my life — a sacrifice she didn't even ask for.

But then again, my sacrifice is really only an illusion after all, masking a desperate, terrified selfishness.

Because I'm selfish.

I do love her.  Gods, how I love her. 

But my fear was stronger.

And I was too damn weak to fight it.

─── ·✧· ───

Four weeks.

Was it four weeks?

I can't remember.

Time — it didn't tick or flow anymore. 

It was a shapeless thing. Punctuated only by the empty thump of my heart in this wrecked chest.

Those first days — or weeks, who knows? — they melted together in a haze. After she left, I was — raw. One giant exposed nerve.  

Each damn breath without the pills felt like scraping sandpaper across it, a reminder  of what I'd lost — no, what I'd destroyed.

So I was barely sober.

My body didn't even protest. At first, it was almost — nice? The rush, the way it wiped out not just the pain but any thought at all.

But the crash was always brutal. Mornings, if you could even call it that, I'd wake up shaking, sick to my stomach, and terrified of — what was I even terrified of? Somehow of everything and nothing at all. But I knew the fix for that. 

It was a sick, relentless cycle.

The phone rang, vibrated with messages. Suguru mostly. His messages growing more urgent with each unanswered text. Liver issues. Treatment. Something about irreversible damage.   

It was all white noise compared to the screaming in my head.

Her name, though, cut through the haze.

There were nights — or was it days? — when a desperate, clawing need to hear her voice, to see her face, would rise up in me. I'd reach for the phone, fingers hovering above her name. Then the fear would crush that impulse. 

I knew that reaching out to her would be the final act of cruelty.

So I stumbled on, each day collapsing into the next. 

Until the next semester started and I remembered I had an actual job.

─── ·✧· ───

I stood in the corridor outside the auditorium.

My fingers fumbled with the familiar pill bottle. Just enough to numb the edge, get me through the lecture. With a bitter swallow, I tilted the pill into my palm, chasing it down dry.

Four weeks. Four weeks of barely holding it together, four weeks since I almost OD'd, four weeks since she left, and the weight of it all threatened to crush me at any moment. 

Yet, muscle memory took over.

I limped slightly as I walked into the auditorium. My leg still hurt after she basically cut my muscle in half. 

She definitely did that on purpose. She was too smart not to not know what she was doing.

The usual chatter died down when I walked in.  Old routine. Time for the performance. Pretend I'm the professor, pretend like this whole thing isn't ripping me apart, piece by piece. It should have been comforting. 

Once, perhaps, it was.

Wordlessly, I grabbed a marker, scrawled my name on the board. Like they didn't already know who I was, right? 

Everyone on campus knows, especially after this summer's mess.

With a sigh, I turned towards the class.

And there she was. 

My breath hitched, the marker clattering to the floor. My lips parted, but no words came.

Of course.

Of fucking course. 

Second-year lecture. 

How the hell could I forget that?

She was here, after everything, right in front of me. The pain of the past weeks, that suffocating emptiness — it all melted away, replaced by a pounding headache in that one instant.

My eyes clung to her, unable to look away, drinking in the sight of her. That stubborn tilt of her head, the pain in those beautiful eyes — God, how I'd missed her. 

Yet with every beat of my yearning heart came a fresh wave of guilt. I longed to reach out, to apologize, to tell her how much I'd missed her. 

But I knew it was wrong. 

Then, it hit me. Every eye in the room was on her, following my gaze like a spotlight burning into her. Damn it.

Still, she didn't flinch.

Endured it like she has always endured everything.

Clearing my throat, I managed to speak as I adverted my gaze. "So, uh, let's start the lecture."

My voice echoed in the now tense auditorium, words tumbling out in a forced attempt at normalcy. The lecture blurred. My own words were just noise in my head. I pushed through the lecture. Don't even remember what I lectured about.

It was routine, should have been easy, but — not with her there. Never with her. 

Every damn minute, my eyes flicked towards her, drawn like a magnet. I couldn't help it. Because all I could see was her. But she avoided my gaze.

Should've expected that.

Shouldn't make me angry, right?

Still did.

Finally, thank god, the bell rang. 

I let out a breath I didn't even know I was holding.

I remained behind my desk and gathered my notes. Students surged towards the exit, a faceless blur of motion. My traitorous gaze remained locked on her as the auditorium slowly emptied.

She and her friends passed by me. Before I could even think, the words tumbled out, "Wait, not—not you, first-year."

Silence. 

Her friend's chatter halted abruptly. I hadn't meant to say it, hadn't thought before the desperate need to speak to her had short-circuited my brain.

Now, it was done.

Her eyes, those beautiful eyes, met mine. For a moment, time seemed to stand still. 

Her friends exchanged glances. I could feel Zenin glaring daggers at me, didn't even need to look. She'd always been fiercely protective.

"I'll catch up later," she said then to her friends, a strained smile plastered on her face. 

They left, leaving us alone in the vast, suddenly suffocating auditorium.

Silence again.

My heart hammered against my ribs, so loud I feared she could hear it.

Finally, she spoke. "You know I'm not a first-year anymore."

I rounded the desk, the wood rough against my fingertips. "Yeah, right. Sorry." Leaning against it, I crossed my arms.

"Didn't you get suspended?"

"They postponed it."

She watched me for a moment, those beautiful eyes drilling into me. Her eyes held a coldness I've never seen before. For a sickening moment, I thought I might throw up.

"How are you?"

"Don't," she snapped. "Don't ask me that. Don't you dare pretend to care after—" 

She stopped herself, the silence louder than any accusation. After everything you did. After you pushed me away. After you nearly killed yourself.

She didn't need to voice it.

My hands clenched into fists against the edge of my desk, nails digging into my palms in a futile attempt to ground myself. Needed to maintain this thin illusion of control.

I do care. Dammit, I care more than you'll ever know. 

I wanted to scream it, to tear open my chest and show her the bleeding wound she'd left behind. But the words stuck in my throat. 

Pointless now, anyway.

Knuckles turned white, nails digging deeper.

She stepped closer. Her hand darted into her bag, then shot out, palm open. Keys glinted in the harsh light — the keys to my apartment. 

I watched them for a second. Should've expected that. Shouldn't hurt me. Still did.

"You don't have to return them. I want you to keep them."

"Why? I won't need them anymore, will I? Or are you planning on overdosing again?"

Each word was acid on an open wound.

I deserved this, the anger, the contempt, it was all on me. But why the hell did it make me so fucking angry?

"Have you ever thought about how I felt when I found you?" she snapped, her voice rising. "How terrified I was when you wouldn't respond? When you couldn't even recognize me? When I thought you'd die on me?" She took a shaky breath. "Fuck Satoru, I held your face in my hands while you were barely breathing!"

I tried to speak, but she cut me off.  "Don't. You. Dare."

"Four weeks," she went on, her voice sharp, laced with a fury that cut to the bone. "Four weeks of silence. Ever think I might be drowning, haunted by what I saw? Or were you too busy numbing yourself with pills? Hell, I didn't even know if you'd overdosed for good this time!"

Her words hit me cold, but they weren't the storm tearing me apart. It was the image of her, terrified, holding my barely-alive body, that ripped my insides out. 

Those eyes — her eyes filled with a terror that was all because of me. The guilt choked me. Seeing my near-death through her haunted eyes is twisted a knife in my gut.

It was the look of someone who'd had a piece of her soul ripped out. 

It was the look of someone who loved me.

"But then again, you never cared about me, did you?" she added, the raw hurt bleeding beneath the anger.

My stomach twisted. "Don't you dare say that," I rasped, the words ripping from my throat. "I care so much it damn near killed me. You were the only thing keeping me alive, the only reason I fought at all! Don't you dare say I don't—" I choked, the pain unbearable.

The room seemed to tilt, my anger threatening to consume me. 

I took a step towards her, closing the distance in one move. We were so close, I could smell her damn shampoo. "Every damn thing I did, every stupid decision—it was all because I care about you too much."

Her eyes widened. But only for a second. Then, that cold defiance was back, and it cut deep. 

"You're really pathetic, you know that?" she spat. "You talk about caring, but in the end you threw everything away. Because you are too terrified to let yourself love me. Because apparently your own damn peace is worth more than me."

Her words were knives, finding their mark with cruel efficiency. 

"Shut up," I whispered. "You know nothing."

"Oh really?" She glared at me, "then let me paint the picture for you—the minute things got difficult, the second you had to face actual consequences for your actions, you used it as an excuse to back away. Shut yourself down."

She moved closer still. "Convenient, wasn't it? Pushing me away, destroying us—it absolved you from having to confront anything real."

Her accusations hit uncomfortably close to home.

And I didn't want to hear it from her lips.

Not from hers.

"Shut up," I growled.

"Don't you dare tell me to shut up," she snapped back, her voice rising. "You don't get to play the victim here. You did this. You ruined everything."

Fury ignited, not at her, but at myself. 

Blindly, I reached out, my fingers gripping her jaw so tight it bordered on violence. I forced her to look at me, my eyes burning into hers. "Shut up, or I swear to god, I'll make you."

Her chin lifted, eyes narrowing. "I dare you."

The words set me on fire. Every rational thought, every vestige of self-preservation was devoured by a sudden, desperate need. My gaze fell to her lips, slightly parted, a vulnerable target I craved to claim.

Without even thinking, my hand went to her waist, fingers digging in as I pulled her impossibly close. My other hand tangled in her hair, forcing her head back. Our eyes locked, some kind of messed-up challenge.

I could feel her rapid breaths on my skin, smell that damn perfume of hers that I'd always loved, but now was driving me to the edge of control. Her heart pounding against mine.

Everything in me screamed to close the distance, claim those lips that had haunted me, haunted me for weeks. 

I wanted to claim her, to silence her, to lose myself in her, but my last shred of sanity held me back.

Because pushing her further into my nightmare was the ultimate act of cruelty. 

"Uncomfortable, isn't it? Getting confronted with the ugly truth?" she whispered against my lips.

My grip on her tightened. She really didn't know when to stop, or maybe she simply wanted to watch me burn. Perhaps both.

"Don't push me."

"Why? Scared of what you'll find if you let yourself be honest for once?" Her head tilted. Her gaze was fire, and I was already ash. "You run, Satoru. From everything, but most of all, from yourself."

"And that," she leaned closer, almost brushing my lips, "is what makes you the most pathetic person I know."

Oh, she could be so viciously cruel when she wanted to. So disgustingly cruel. It was one of the things I'd fallen hopelessly in love with. Even now, as it tore me apart, I still loved it. 

But I also wanted nothing more than to fuck that attitude out of her right then and there.

"You're right. You're always right. Maybe that's what's terrifies me about you so much."

"You're not terrified of me," she whispered. "You're terrified of yourself."

The air between us crackled. Every rational thought in my brain begged me to stop. Still, I couldn't resist. I inched closer, helpless against the force that binds and burns us both.

My hands tightened their hold as I took a sharp inhale. Her eyes fluttered shut, lashes trembling. 

Our lips hovered, almost touching, two aching souls suspended in that impossible space. So much unspoken words, so much hurt, and the destructive pull between us that had always tethered us together.

Then, the auditorium door creaked open. 

Her head snapped towards the sound. But I couldn't look away, wouldn't miss a second of her. Because this, right here, was all I had left.

Had to be Suguru anyway — anyone else would be screaming their heads off by now.

After a pause, she turned back at me. "You know, I'm still waiting."

"For what, love?"

"For it to get easier."

I looked at her, the woman I loved, and guilt clawed at my insides. That hurt, that anger on her face — I deserved it all. Because it was the consequence of the pain I'd caused.

"You said it would get easier," she added.

It was a lie. Nothing about this was easy. Nothing ever would be again. Suddenly, the room felt too small, the air thick and unbreathable.

"I don't know if it ever will."

Perhaps I was only meant to love her in silence.

In distance.

Because at least then I couldn't hurt her anymore.

Suguru cleared his throat. He stepped into the room, breaking the moment.

Reluctantly, I let go of her. She stepped back, eyes holding mine for a second, something flickering there that I didn't dare try to read. Then, without another word, she turned and walked away.

I watched her go.

Suguru approached me, stopping close by. He didn't say anything.

I leaned against the desk, running a hand through my hair. The adrenaline from that almost-kiss crashed, leaving behind a hollow ache.

The sound of the door slamming behind her echoed in the empty auditorium, way too loud.

Suguru's hand landed on my shoulder. 

"You really have a thing for bad timing," I muttered.

"Bad timing," he echoed, "or good timing to stop you from doing something stupid?"

I didn't answer. The memory of her, so close, choked every thought out of my mind.

"You know it was the right thing to do. With everything going on, letting her go was the right decision."

"I know," I said, pushing off the desk and rounding it to gather my things. I couldn't meet his gaze. "I'm trying to remember that."

Suguru then started placing pill bottles on the desk with a serious expression. The first clink of plastic on wood cut through the silence. 

"Prednisone for the liver inflammation." Another bottle. "Lactulose for the hepatic encephalopathy." Then another. "Vitamin B and K for the nutritional deficiencies."

"But you know the first step would be to—" he paused for a second then placed another two bottles in from of me. "Methadone, to manage the withdrawal and craving. And Naltrexone, to block the euphoric effects of your opioids."

Hesitantly, another bottle appeared. "Clonidine, in case you feel like you're dying."

"Suguru—" I began, but he cut me off.

"Satoru, you have to get clean. The pills won't do a damn thing if you keep wrecking your liver."

"Yeah, it's a little late for that, don't you think? It's the only thing keeping me sane right now."

He sighed.  "You're the absolute worst patient ever."

"Aw, come on, I thought you liked a bit of challenge. You're the best doctor, you'll figure something out."  I rummaged through my bag, pulling out a folder.

"Even the best doctor on earth can't help if you don't—"

I shoved the folder across the desk, cutting him off. "What's this?"

"It's a patient. An anyeurism. I'm still not allowed to do surgery, not until this thing with the ethics committee is over."

Suguru opened the folder, flipping through the pages.  "You want me to do it?  Is there something special about this patient?"

"I want you to take her with you," I said quietly. "She likes aneurysm clippings."

Suguru looked up, that familiar crease between his brows.  "She'll figure it out. Sooner or later. Latest when you're in the hospital waiting for a liver transplant, not lecturing anymore."

Silence stretched. My eyes fell on the pill bottles lined up on the desk. 

I sighed, then gathered them and crammed them into my bag.  "Let's go. I need fresh fair," I said as I brushed past him, putting the withdrawal meds back into his hands.

Without another word, I left the auditorium.

─── ·✧· ───

My eyes snapped open.

I sat upright, a strangled gasp tearing from my throat. My heart hammered against my ribs, each beat threatening to burst right out of my chest. 

For a disorienting second, the world was a blur. Sweat drenched my skin. My lungs screamed for air.

Damn nightmares. 

Another night of that shit. 

I clutched at my chest, trying to quell the frantic pounding. Cold sweat made my shirt cling to my skin. The room spun. My pulse thundered in my ears.

I fumbled for the lamp, the sudden brightness stinging my eyes. But it didn't chase away the image seared into my brain. Her face, cruel, beautiful, cruelly beautiful, twisted in absolute terror. My stomach twisted.

My fault. 

Always my fault.

I couldn't breathe right.

Sleep was a lost cause now. First decent rest in a week, and my brain decided to torment me again. Exhaustion was its own kind of hell, but it was nothing compared to this. That, more than anything, was the real torture.

I slumped forward, scrubbing a hand over my face.

I'd hurt her. 

I'd hurt her, the one person who meant something.

Every day, it felt more like I'd made the biggest mistake of my life. Letting her go, pushing her away, I—

I hated myself. 

Hated the way I ruined everything.

Hated the way I ruined every chance at something good. 

It was like a damn curse.

Nothing good ever lasted for me. I should've known that by now.

Damn it, I knew it was wrong. But how the hell could it be wrong when it'd felt so damn right? When she was the only thing, the only person, that cut through the crap, made this whole mess seem like it might have some sort of meaning?

How could that possibly be wrong?

Guilt ate at my insides. Had I been a damn coward? Too scared to fight for something that made me feel, really feel?

Perhaps.

Easier to push her away, sabotage the whole damn thing, than risk actually letting her in. Letting anyone in. Losing control. But it didn't matter now, did it? 

It was over. 

I needed out. Out of my head, out of this apartment, out of my own damn skin. 

The silence was unbearable.

I pushed off the bed, muscles screaming in protest. I slipped into running clothes, the routine automatic. As I laced up my shoes, a sharp sting shot through my leg from the still-healing cut on my leg.

That bitch. 

The more I thought about it, the more sure I was she'd done it on purpose.

Good thing I was addicted to painkillers, huh?

I drowned a pill — no two, for good measure — before stepping outside into the pre-dawn chill. 

Cold autumn air bit at my skin. Each step echoed on the empty street. The pills kicked in, dulling the sharp pain in my leg. Good. Long as the cut didn't split open, I didn't damn care.

I pushed myself, needing the burn in my muscles, the ache in my lungs, to drown out the constant echo of her voice, her name, in my head.

The world blurred. Streetlights, shadows, it all melded together. The only reality was the ache in my body, the cold air forcing its way into my lungs. My mind, for once, was mercifully blank. 

No nightmares, no guilt, no memories of her haunted eyes — just the simple focus on putting one foot in front of the other.

I didn't set a goal, didn't choose a destination. 

Just moving, pushing, escaping.

Sweat dripped, but I barely registered. With each mile, the crushing weight eased. Not gone, hell, not even close to forgotten, but  — manageable. 

I ran until the city was a smear of lights, until my legs burned and my lungs screamed. 

Finally, gasping for breath, legs threatening to give out, I stumbled to a halt. The neon lights of a Seven Eleven cut through the pre-dawn darkness. My throat was sandpaper. I pushed through the door.

Inside, the harsh lights stung my eyes. I grabbed a water, my body on autopilot as I shuffled toward the register. The bored-looking teenager behind the counter gave me a sidelong look as I fumbled for my wallet.

"Rough night?"

"Something like that." I glanced down at my leg, the still-healing cut a visible red line. Wincing, I shifted my weight, favoring the uninjured side. 

I pulled out my card to pay, but then a flash of color caught my eye. Beside the cashier's register, stacked in a gaudy pyramid, was a display of energy drinks. I starred at them for a second, the name oddly familiar.

I knew why the name was so familiar.

I reached for a can and placed it on the counter. "And this."

Outside, I downed the water in a matter of seconds. Then, I cracked open the energy drink. The first sip hit my tongue. Surprisingly, it didn't taste half-bad without a shot of stale coffee to ruin it. 

But the taste wasn't the problem, wasn't it? 

Memories flooded back. Her, hunched over a massive anatomy textbook in the dim library, those beautiful eyes ringed with exhaustion. Beside her, half-empty, a mug of coffee — spiked with the sickeningly sweet energy drink I currently held.

Just the thought of that awful mixture made my stomach turn.

Still, a smile tugged at my lips.

Dammit, I didn't want to think about her. But to be fair, thinking, not thinking — it was all the same. The dull, constant ache of her absence throbbed beneath it all.

I chugged the rest of the energy drink, crushing the can in my hand.

Ah, fuck it.

Before my sanity could interfere, my legs were in motion.

I knew this was wrong. Knew every step took me closer to more pain. Knew all along this was stupid, reckless — inevitable. 

I couldn't stop.

The pull towards her was too damn strong. I needed to see her, to confirm her existence, to know she was real, to fix — what? What the hell could I fix? What the hell did I even think I was doing?

Finally, gasping for breath, I stumbled to a halt outside her apartment building.

A glance at my watch confirmed the hour — well past 3 am. Insane. I hadn't expected her to be awake. Just needed the pathetic reassurance of her presence. But as I looked up, my breath hitched. 

In a second-floor window, a flicker of warm light spilled into the darkness. And there, etched against that warmth — her silhouette. Unmistakable.

A heavy exhale escaped my lips. 

She was there.

Here.

On this same cursed world with me.

My heart pounded against my ribs. I knew, I had no right to be here. But god, I needed this, needed to see her.

She sat on the windowsill, book in hand. My future wife. Even in the dead of night, she was studying. How I loved her.

My gaze traced the familiar curve of her shoulders, the way the soft lamplight painted her skin with warmth, highlighting the strands of hair escaping her messy bun. 

In that stolen moment, I could almost convince myself that things were different, that my actions hadn't irrevocably shattered something precious.

But then, she moved. Rising from her seat, she stretched, drawing the fabric of her shirt upwards. Before my mind could catch up, she was at the window, pushing it open. I froze.

She was staring down — right at me. 

Shit.

I held my breath. For what felt like an eternity, we simply stared at each other. A muscle in her jaw twitched. Then her gaze dropped, breaking eye contact.

"You're bleeding."

I glanced down. The edge of my shorts was soaked through, a fresh stain of crimson spreading. Damn it. The cut had reopened.

"Yeah," I said, looking back up at her, "I'm a mess."

I braced myself for whatever was coming. The anger, the disgust, the righteous fury — it would all be justified. I deserved it. But she simply watched me. Her gaze was steady, devoid of emotion. 

"You know where the entrance is," she said finally, then leaned back into the soft glow of her room and closed the window shut.

Before my brain could catch up with how wrong this was, I walked toward the apartment building.

─── ·✧· ───

I sat on the edge of her bed, she on a chair in front of me, her hands already on my leg as she pushed the fabric of my shorts up. "How could you not notice that?"

I opened my mouth, but she cut me off, "Wait, forget it." 

Yeah. Now she remembered.

With practiced efficiency, she began cleaning the wound. Her touch was surprisingly gentle, considering how pissed she must be. 

The silence was heavy, broken only by the rustle of bandages and my occasional  sharp intake of breath when the antiseptic hit a raw spot.

My eyes wandered. Her space, even small and half-finished, felt warm, lived in. Smelled like her. Books spilling everywhere, papers scattered on a desk, a yoga mat forgotten in the corner — the organized chaos was so perfectly her.

Then my gaze landed on the half-unpacked boxes stacked against the wall. She really still didn't fully move in. Occupied with my mess, huh? 

Guilt flooded me. I didn't deserve this, didn't deserve her gentle hands on me, not after everything. 

Yet, a selfish part of me wanted nothing more than to stay exactly like this, wanted nothing more than to keep her hands on me.

With a sigh, I sank back against her pillows. Exhaustion seeped into my bones. Pain returned as the effects of the pills wore off.

Her fingers brushed the reopened cut. I winced, throwing an arm over my eyes. The relentless pounding in my head threatened to split me open, spilling all the ugly thoughts onto her pristine sheets.

"You've had nightmares again, haven't you?"

Huh? 

I lifted my head a fraction, struggling to meet her eyes. She glanced up briefly, her eyes guarded, then focused back on my leg.

"Yeah, something like that." My head thumped back onto the pillow. "Hard to sleep when your head won't shut up."

"What dose?"

"You really don't want to know."

"I asked because I do," she countered. The sharp tug as she tightened the bandage around my leg was enough to make me speak.

"Ten milligrams," I admitted, wincing. "The usual."

She scoffed, then another, even sharper, tug had me gritting my teeth. "Ngh—fuck," I moaned. 

I really needed a pill now.

She stood, gathering the first-aid supplies. "Heals slowly, doesn't it?"

I knew it.

I popped myself up on one elbow, raising an eyebrow at her. 

"Don't give me that look. You know damn well you deserved it."

I let out a dry laugh. "You really are a bitch sometimes." I dropped back onto the bed, my hand reaching for my throbbing head. 

I needed two pills now.

"You've got some damn nerve. You show up here in the middle of the night, injured, high—"

"I'm not high—"

"Save it," she spat. "You know what your fucking problem is? You can't stand being alone. Alone with your thoughts, with yourself. So you run. You run to pills, to whatever distraction you can find, anything to fill the void."

Yeah, how the hell am I supposed to want to be alone after feeling what it's like to be with you, stupid.

"You're too damn scared to face your fears," she continued, her voice laced with a bitter edge, "and when someone threatens your artificial peace, someone who might actually force you to look in the damn mirror, you panic. You sabotage it, push them away before it all gets too real, too close."

She stepped closer. "Because it's easier, isn't it? Safer to stick with the misery you know than risk having to face that void."

Every word stung, but I couldn't deny it, couldn't lie anymore.

"You're right. And I'm sorry—"

"Don't." She rose a hand at me. "Don't pretend you care, Satoru. You've made it clear how little I matter."

How little you matter? 

Oh, love, you couldn't be more wrong.

A harsh laugh escaped me. 

"You find this funny?"

"No, love," I said, pushing myself up. My leg throbbed in protest, but I ignored it. Everything narrowed down to her. I moved closer, a strange recklessness fueling me. "Quite the opposite."

Something flickered in her eyes — surprise? wariness? — but the anger remained.

"Keep going," I insisted, moving closer. "Let it out. Yell at me, tell me how pathetic I am. Make me feel something, anything other than this damn emptiness."

She hesitated. Her eyes searched mine, and for a breathless moment, I hoped that her fury, her anger, would burn away the numbness, making me feel something, anything.

Because even her anger was better than her indifference.

I couldn't stand being indifferent to her.

Might as well make her hate me.

"You want me to yell at you?" Her voice rose, the first hint of the storm I craved. "Fine! You wanna be a pathetic mess? Go ahead! Piss away your career, your life, whatever the hell you care about, I don't give a damn anymore!"

Each word hit me, but there was a desperate relief in it. Finally, she wasn't looking at me with that chilling indifference, that cold pity that twisted a knife in my gut. 

Her rage, it was fire — scorching and brutal, but alive. And I loved it.

Because it was prove she still cared, even if it was just to hate me with every fiber of her being. It was better than the void, that terrible chasm that had opened up between us after I'd pushed her away.

I closed the distance, enjoying the anger in her eyes. She flinched, but didn't back down.

"More." I grabbed her waist, lifting her with ease, and hauled her towards the bed.

"You're weak!" she spat, pushing against my chest, her voice rising with each word.

Yeah, so damn weak for you, love.

"You're selfish! So consumed by your own self-pity you can't see how you hurt everyone around you!"

Her words should have hurt. They probably would have, under different circumstances. But right now, I couldn't care less.

"Keep going," I rasped, my pulse pounding in my ears. I forced her onto the bed and hovered over her, my body trapping her between the mattress and my own. "C'mon, love, let it all out."

"You don't deserve me," she continued. "You don't deserve anyone who gives a damn, because you only know how to destroy things."

Each word was a knife. Yet, with each insult, the suffocating hollowness inside me eased a fraction. I wanted her anger, the full force of it, wanted the burn only she could inflict on me.

"More."

Her breath hitched, eyes narrowing. "You keep breaking my heart over and over, then come crawling back when it suits you, like it doesn't matter!"

"You're right." I leaned in, my thumb brushing over her bottom lip. The thin fabric of her shirt did little to hide her shivers. "C'mon, love, give it to me. I know you can do better."

In one swift move, I ripped my shirt over my head, tossing it to the floor. I leaned down again, my breath ghosting over her lips. "Hate me." My hands went for the flimsy waistband of her shorts. "Tell me how much you despise me."

Her breaths came fast, quick gasps against my skin.  I could see it all over her face — the rage, the fear, and maybe — yeah, maybe that darker edge, the same desperation burning in me.

"I fucking hate you, Satoru. Hate that you made me care, made me fall for you, then crushed it."

"Don't stop," I said, my voice a hoarse rasp. "Say it again." Before she could react, her shorts were down, exposing her to the night air. My own pants followed hasty, desperate. "Say you hate me."

"I fucking hate that you treat me like I'm just another damn plaything to fill whatever void your messed-up mom or whatever left you with!"

Okay, now it gets personal.

"I fucking hate that you act like you can control me," she hissed, but her body betrayed her, shivered running down her skin as my hands gazed her collarbone. "Hate that you make my choices for me, decide what's good for me, like you got to have control over something when you obviously can't control yourself!"

Damn, Freud himself is on to something tonight, huh? She really doesn't know when to stop.

"You're a fucking hypocrite, you know that?" I leaned closer, my mouth close to her ear. "You hate who I am, but you crave this, don't you? Giving up control, being at my mercy. Admit it."

Her eyes widened, then narrowed. She lifted a hand, as if to slap me, but I was faster. I caught her wrists and pinned them above her head, pressing them hard into the mattress.

"You know it's true," I pressed, relishing the way she struggled against my hold. "It's hard always being the composed one, isn't it? The responsible one. It's draining. Maybe that's why you're drawn to me. You love the thrill as much as I do, don't you?"

She stared at me, silent, her lips a tight line. 

"Prove me wrong, sweetheart. Call me a liar, and I'll show you just how wrong you are," I leaned in closer, my voice a harsh whisper against her lips. "We're the same, you and me. We feed off each other. Even if you hate to admit it, I fill that emptiness inside you same as you do for me."

"You arrogant piece of shit!" she spat, twisting and bucking against my grip. "You think you know everything, control everything!"

"Don't I?" My grip tightened, feeling her pulse throb against my fingers. "Seems I've got you pinned pretty damn well, wouldn't you say?"

"You know it's true. You love this. Makes you feel something your books, your fancy grades never could."

"Screw you, Satoru," she hissed, venom in her voice. "We're nothing alike."

"You really are a fool, for wanting to fix something so broken it'll cut you to shreds the moment you get close and then you cry afterwards—"

Her spit hit my face. I closed my eyes for a second, then a smile twisted across my lips. 

My future wife just spit in my face — what a good anecdote on our wedding day.

"That's my girl," I rasped, shoving her legs wider. "Tell me how much you hate me. Scream it."

"I fucking hate you Satoru, I hate you—"

Her words died on her tongue as I thrust forward, filling her completely. I closed my eyes, letting my head hang heavy for a second. 

My god, the things this woman's body could do to me. I could feel her body trembling beneath me, her heart racing as she arched her back.

How treacherous a body can be, huh?

"Hate you, Satoru," she managed to say before she closed her eyes, biting down her lip as I thrust deeper still. Her thighs spread further apart, inviting me closer, urging me onward. 

She's so damn beautiful.

I grinned, my hands still holding her wrists in place over her head. "I know you do, love. But you know what?" My lips were only a breath away from hers. "I hate you, too. I hate how you make me feel, how you expose every broken piece of me, how I crave you like I crave another fix."

Hell, I might just be addicted to this woman.

I pulled out fully, before thrusting back into her. Her head fell back, pressing into the mattress as a strangled moan escaping her lips.

She felt incredible.

Pulling back slowly, I watched her body react to the absence, her eyes flickering open to meet mine. Those pupils dilated with need, mirroring my own hunger for her. 

In that moment, nothing else mattered. Not our fight. Not our problems. Not our insults that had left our lips moments before. Just us — two halves coming together in a perfect whole. 

I pushed back into her, deeper, harder.

With each thrust, I felt myself sinking deeper into her, losing myself in her. Fuck, if there was anything better than this — well, I hadn't found it yet.

This woman owned me — plain and simple.

It was madness, this pull towards her. 

Insane, perhaps.

But it was also undeniably real. So real that even though dawn threatened to break soon, stealing away whatever remnants of darkness remained, I couldn't help but chase after that high only she could provide.

Even knowing full well that when morning arrived, reality would crash down upon us, forcing us back onto opposite sides of the divide.

"Look what you've done to me, love. You're making a fool of me." I whispered against her lips without touching them.

Weren't together anymore after all.

Kissing would be too much.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly beneath me. Her nails dug into my skin where my hands gripped her wrists. With each deep thrust, I watched her face contort with pleasure and pain, her features illuminated by fleeting streaks of moonlight seeping through the curtains.

I loved that look on her face.

I wondered if I could make that look even more pathetic.

I pulled out, dragging the tip of my length across her clit before pushing back in. She squirmed underneath me, arching her back. But I denied her, keeping my unhurried pace. I wanted to draw out this sweet torture for as long as possible.

Hours passed — or perhaps mere minutes. I couldn't tell anymore. All that mattered was this woman writhing beneath me.

Groaning in frustration, she attempted to break free from my grip. "Dammit, Satoru. If you won't finish what you started, then get off me!"

I smirked. "Why so eager, love. Can't handle the wait?" I leaned in to kiss down the side of her neck. She shivered beneath me, her breath hitching as my teeth grazed her skin. 

With my free hand I reached down, running my fingers down her quivering stomach, relishing in the shivers that coursed through her body. 

She glared up at me, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "Stop calling me 'love'. I don't belong to you, not anymore—" 

She gasped into my mouth when I found her clit. Slowly, deliberately, I began to circle it with my thumb, feeling her surrender to me. I plunged deeper, thrusting into her mercilessly.

Let her hate me all she wants. She can't deny the chemistry between us — a spark that refuses to fade, no matter how hard either of us tries.

She must have hated this — hated how she surrendered to me, even with all that anger. Made me wondered if I could rail her up even more.

"You think you're so much better than me?" I rasped. "So strong, so selfless, always putting others first? It's a lie, and you know it. You're just bored."

"You fucker!" Before I knew what was happening, she broke free of my grasp and had flipped us over so that she was now straddling my hips. 

Without warning, she reached forward, gripping my throat with surprising strength as she leaned down, her hair falling like a curtain around our faces. I couldn't help but smile.

"Don't project your bullshit on me," she seethed, her face inches from mine. 

Her words sent a chill down my spine, stirring up a fresh wave of desire within me. Damn, this woman was infuriating — and captivating in the worst way possible.

We glared at each other like enemies preparing for battle. 

"Aren't you a little tired? Pulling up that act all the time?" I choked out, feeling her fingers dig in further. "Deep down, you're just as bored as me, you're just too righteous to admit it."

"Shut up," she hissed, pressing harder, choking the words out of me.

This was madness. Destructive madness. But for this one desperate moment, I didn't care. It was exhilarating, addictive. Because love, our twisted, broken love, wasn't supposed to be pretty.

It was messy, chaotic, and borderline abusive. But sometimes all you need is a firm grip around the throat to remind you that you're alive.

"Harder, love," I gasped, a laugh bubbling up in my constricted throat. "Come on, make me feel your rage."

Slowly, deliberately, she began grinding her hips against mine, setting a maddening pace that left me reeling. Fuck, I think I love it even more when she hates me.

"Ahh, shit," I gasped, clutching at her thighs as she rode me mercilessly. "That's it."

Eyes squeezed shut, my head rolled back. Chills prickled my skin, possibly due to the cool breeze drifting in from the window. Or perhaps it was merely her.

She rode me with increased speed, and I could barely contain the overwhelming sensations coursing through my body. Every fiber of my being screamed for release. 

My knuckles on her thighs turned white from the force. "Oh, shit, you're going to kill me," I moaned between choked sounds that escaped my lips. 

My lips twisted into a smile again. "Admit it. You love the chaos as much as I do. The thrill, the way it makes you feel alive."

"You're wrong," she said, increasing her pace making my cock twitch inside her. "We're nothing alike."

"Keep telling yourself that," I replied, struggling to catch my breath, as she made me lose my mind. "But I know the truth—we're two sides of the same coin."

"You really believe that, don't you?"

"Why else would you be here, like this, with me?" I countered. "Face it, we're addicted to each other—the highs, the lows, the constant push and pull. It's exhilarating, isn't it?"

"You're the only addict here."

"Liar," I rasped.

Her muscles clenched around me, drawing me deeper inside her. She was close. Each contraction of her pushing me further towards a peak that I knew would soon shatter me.

But I wasn't ready yet. Not quite.

I shifted our positions, sitting upright before spinning us around so she was now beneath me on the mattress. I positioned myself behind her, forcing her down onto the mattress.

I slowly slid my hand along her spine as I pushed her further down, feeling her tremble beneath my touch, the softness of her skin beneath my fingertips. 

It was intoxicating to watch her submit to me.

"Fuck, you'll be the death of me."

Leaning down, I pressed my lips against the small of her back, feeling her shiver once more. My hand continued its descent, stopping just short of where she needed me.

"Satoru," my name fell from her lips.

Oh, how I loved it when she breathed my name like that. I couldn't resist her — could never resist her. I was at her mercy. Even now.

She arched her back, silently pleading for me to continue. I slid my hand between her legs. "God, you're so fucking wet," I murmured, slipped a finger inside her, then another. She was so tight, so warm. 

I couldn't wait to be inside her again.

She gasped, pushing back against me. "Don't stop."

Curving my fingers, I searched for that spot that I knew would drive her mad. When I found it, she cried out, her hips bucking against my hand. Her hands scrabbled at the sheets, grasping for purchase as I started to move inside her.

"Yes, fuck," she moaned, spreading her legs wider. "Right there."

Oh, love. I know you like that.

I smiled, relishing the fact that I knew her body better than herself. I knew every inch of her, every freckle, every scar, every sensitive spot that made her squirm. 

"More," she begged.

I happily obliged, adding a third finger and thrusting deeper. She was soaking wet, her juices coating my fingers as I fucked her with my hand. Her moans grew louder, more urgent. She was close, so close.

I increased the pace of my fingers, pumping them in and out of her as I used my thumb to apply pressure to her clit. 

However, as her moans reached a fever pitch, I withdrew my fingers, denying her release.

She gasped, glanced over her shoulder at me, her mouth open, but said nothing — probably out of breath. 

I brought my fingers to my mouth, savoring the taste of her. It was so uniquely her. I couldn't get enough.

Leaning in, I pressed my body against hers from behind, my hard length probed at her entrance. 

I leaned down over her, my hand snaking into her hair. I grabbed it tightly, forcing her head up to meet mine. "I love you, first-year," I murmured against her ear.

She trembled, but her defiance remained strong. "I hate you."

I sighed — always so fierce, makes me wonder what it takes to fuck that stubborn attitude out of her. 

"It's alright, I love you enough for both of us."

With that, I pushed her head down into the mattress. Her cry muffled by the sheets beneath her as I thrust into her once more, bottoming out inside her with a groan.

I began to move in and out of her. Faster now, harder until the headboard slammed against the wall. Her muscles clenched around me, drawing me deeper inside her. She clawed at the sheets beneath her, her moans muffled by the fabric.

As her cries grew louder, I quickly pushed her face further into the mattress. "Quiet, first year," I murmured as I angled myself to rub against her G-spot, making it harder for her to keep quiet. "Wouldn't want to disturb anyone in the middle of the night, would we?"

Neither of us spoke a word — not that she could but — perhaps because there was nothing left to say. Instead, we communicated solely through our actions, saying everything that needed to be said without opening our mouths.

I increased both the pace and pressure. Nearly causing her to fall forward hadn't I held her in place with one hand on her waist and one sill in her hair. Her breath hitched, her entire body tensed as she approached her breaking point.

Oh, how I loved feeling her tighten around me.

Bringing her closer to the edge was a thrill like no other. Watching her lose control, hearing her cries and moans, feeling her body tremble beneath me — it was intoxicating.

I could feel myself getting closer to the edge, my balls tightening as I approached my own release. 

Her cries grew louder, more urgent, until finally, she shattered around me, her orgasm triggering my own.

With a final thrust, I emptied myself inside her, filling her completely. Her contractions milked every last drop from me, her body still quivering around me. 

I stayed inside her, savoring the feeling. It might be the last time.

I was panting, my chest rising and falling rapidly as I tried to catch my breath. My cock was still twitching inside her. Reluctantly, I pulled out with a low moan.

I stayed behind her for a moment longer, admiring the curve of her waist, the sheen of sweat on her skin in the sliver of moonlight. 

Don't know when or if I'll ever see that again.

Time seemed to stand still, suspended indefinitely as we tried to find our breath again.

Then she turned her head. "You're a fucking idiot," she finally said.

"Tell me something I don't know."

She shifted to face me, her expression serious.  "Promise me something."

"Anything you want, love."

"Promise me, you won't kill yourself with your pills."

I swallowed hard. That's not what'll get me, I thought, as I felt a sharp pain lancing through my right side.

I moved closer, cupping her face with my hands that trembled slightly. For an insane moment, I wanted to kiss her, but I knew I couldn't — couldn't ever again. "I promise," I rasped.

The words heavy with a lie we both knew.

<- prev chapter | next chapter ->

author's note: wooooaaa, another insane!gojo chapter lol. this chapter really killed me, was crying, screaming, throwing up while writing.

i'm equally scared and excited to hear what you think about todays chapter, ngl. originally i didn't plan a smut scene in this chapter, but you know, somewhere down that line gojo just happened and here we are. 

also like, i think now both their's darkest secrets are now out — in the worst way possible. also because i keep getting messages regarding how much chapters are left of the story, idk i write form chapter to chapter. we're down somewhere the 60—70 % line with the story i guess, but we'll see. still more to uncover of gojo's past and all that.

also sorry for the people asking of for more fluff and happy moments, ehhh, there will be some in the future?? also i'm still sticking to the plan of a happy ending, so don't worry!! gojo fucked up big time and the next chapters will center about him trying to fight his fears and get shit together — let's see if he can do that. curious myself.

so thank you so so much for sicking by with the story. sending kisses to all of you lovely people seeing me messages, leaving likes, comments and reblog stuff. it really makes my heart happy everything i see a notification. love you all sm!! ♡

okay my last note, just so you know, i'm going on vocation soon, so the next chapter will be a bit delayed again, sorraaaayyy!! wishing you a great day or night and an awesome weekend ahead! ♡

🏷️ @sad-darksoul @aerithsthingss @mylovelessnightmare @bbyxxm @musababy @neuviloved @ykehqqy @hexrts-anatomy @fvsm4x @tw0fvced @heijihattorisgf @sadmonke @thatsopanu @sirencholia @sugurusdiscordmoderator @erwinslut @shervinss @certainlysyko @mechalily @purplehallow11 @kendall0111 @bloopsstuff @therealestpussyeater @louoi7 @whereflowerswenttodie @billiondollarworth @deluluforcarlos55 @starrynight-777 @vina21 @michelleeveline @boba-is-a-soup @cre8inghavoc @love-jelly @daimiyu @d0nk3y-k0ng @mo0nforme @smolbeanzzz @oneiricals @ynishalee @gojolvrr34 @nanasukii28 @ariiiii0938 @kelppsstuff @tojisdollx @drakenswifeyy @bakarinnie @vina21 @phoenix-eclipses @nanamis-baker @neptnszn (pls comment on the series masterlist to get tagged in the future!)

[ennabear]

hiya!!

okay hear me out .. subby vika fic .. HOLDUP THOUGH.. this is a wittle 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 for me 😞😞 sorta nsfw yapfest i made for this request because im bad at explaining nsfw asks (ФωФ)

uhhh okay wait so like.. that 'frigged into submission' prompt that writers like to use for dom characters but like on sev?? If that makes sense?? augh thus is awkward to type out (・・;)

LISTEN WAIT HEAR ME OUT .. having Sevika go into subspace for the first time .. but like .. she doesnt notice .. and its all done consensually ofc ofc but like its a role switch and shes too into it to actually care ebcaus3 like .. UGGHH I DONT KNOW I NEED SOMEONE TO TAKE CARE OF HER (@￣□￣@;)！！

i need her so bad omg shes so baby?? look at her?? bottom!sevika? i need to be sedated

(as always if this makes u uncomftorable feel free to ignore/change the fic into whatever u want it to be ^_^ its all good bb)

buhbye!!!

–🃏🌀⭐️

HAIIII NONNIE THANKS FOR THE REQUEST HEHE 🤎 bottom sevika is my lifeblood omg u know me so well… sorry this is short but i hope you enjoy anyways!!!

it’s not unusual that sevika bottoms, in fact, it’s become regular for the two of you. sevika spreads her legs wide for you nearly every night, arching her back so you can hit her sweet spot perfectly. she’ll bark orders at you, bossing you around until she’s too tired to take anymore, and then she’ll help you clean up before falling asleep on top of you. you can’t get enough of it.

sex with sevika is everything you love— she’s scary and bossy, you get to have her throw you around until she’s had her fill of you, and she’s so fucking adorable when she cums. her demands cease for a minute or two, replaced by sweet praises and words of appreciation. her thick, muscular thighs close around you as tightly as they can, making you certain you could die happily between them. there’s really nothing more you could ask for.

tonight is no different, she’s laying flat on the bed with your head in between her legs, yelling commands down at you while she grips the sheets as hard as she can. you wouldn’t trade it for the world, she tastes better than heaven, and the groans and grunts she’s howling are like music to your ears. you peek up at her as you wrap your lips around her throbbing clit, and she cums with a squeak as soon as your darkened eyes meet hers.

her orgasm catches her off guard, she didn’t feel it building up yet. so she gasps and writhes and bites her bottom lip until it nearly bleeds. you grin into her cunt as she soaks you in her cum, just happy to pleasure your sweet girlfriend. after a few seconds of letting her cool down, you await her next command with a few butterflies in your stomach.

but she doesn’t instantly pull you into a new position, instead she continues to twitch and vacantly blink up at the ceiling. “sev?” you ask cautiously. “do you wanna keep going?”

she stares at you with wide, sliver eyes and nods almost as if she’s unsure. you giggle at her, reaching out to cup her face in your hands and trace over her scars. “are you alright?”

“y-yeah…” she manages to choke out, voice shaking as she says it. her nose nuzzles against your cheek, a silent sign of affection. you lean back and kiss the bridge of her nose before asking “are you sure? do you just want me to take care of you?”

she seems to light up at this, finally getting to turn her brain off and let the pleasure take over. you giggle again when she nods enthusiastically, and you reach down to shove a few fingers inside of her. the whimpers and whines you pull out of her now sound different than the way they did before, almost quieter and more shy.

her brain practically melts and leaks out of her sopping cunt as you continue to plug her up with your fingers, and her body is now limp compared to the way she held herself steady earlier. this time, she grabs your free hand when she cums, cold metal fingers interlocking with yours as her jaw falls open at the pleasure coursing through her veins. you almost completely crush her as she yanks you forward when the afterglow of her umpteenth orgasm dies down, and you almost cry when she rubs her hands over your back as a silent thank you, sleepily holding you close before you force her to get cleaned up in a few minutes.